Climbing out of the SUV, Jimmy fished a set of keys from the pocket of his trousers. He found the one to unlock the front door, looking forward to a hot shower before falling face-first into bed and knocking out for a few hours until his alarm went off sharply at eight.
Walking into the house, Jimmy was taken back to find nearly every light on, but no sign of either Catherine nor Fiona. Setting the keys on the small table beside the door, he locked the deadbolt as he called out their names. When he got no answer, Jimmy eased the blade out of his pocket, keeping his thumb firmly on the switch. He did a quick sweep of the house.
On the coffee table in the living room, he found a bottle of booze and two half-drunken glasses, an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. Catherine's room was empty, as was the one he quasi-shared with Fiona. Both beds were made, all suitcases were accounted for.
The inconvenient nag of nervousness chipped away at him, wondering where in the hell the two could have possibly gone at this hour. A federal raid and them being locked away in some brightly lit room while pompous agents hammered them with questions was the last thing he imagined. What worried him to the core was thinking one of the women finally snapped, taking out the other in a long-overdue burst of jealous rage.
There were no signs of a struggle or blood, which he guessed was a good sign. But he knew Catherine, and he didn't put it passed her to come up with a scheme more diabolical than one he'd ever be able to think of.
As he shuffled into the kitchen, he found something that put his mind somewhat at ease. The vertical blinds which normally covered the sliding backdoor were pushed back, and the lock on the handle was flipped. Opening the door, he went outside. Jimmy was immediately hit with the sickly pungent aroma he couldn't confuse with anything other than marijuana. Besides the vocal crickets singing to their heart's desire, he could hear the faint feminine giggles.
Crossing the length of the patio, he stepped onto the dewy grass and rounded the corner of the house. Sure enough, there they were. Both had their backs turned to him.
Careful not to wake the neighbors, Jimmy lowly hissed, "For fuck's sake."
Startled, Catherine and Fiona spun around, with Catherine quickly hiding her hands behind her back.
"What in God's name are youse don' out here?"
The women exchanged looks as if they were teenagers being caught red-handed doing something they knew they shouldn't be. They tried to keep their faces straight and serious to mirror Jimmy's demeanor, but Fiona broke and started laughing.
"Busted," said Catherine. Smoke wafted out of her mouth as she spoke. Stretching out one of her hidden hands, Jimmy's eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he saw what she had clamped between her thumb and index finger. "I think this belongs to you."
Taking the joint from her, Jimmy held it up. "I cannot believe you crazy bitches went digging through my shite. Whose brilliant idea was this?"
"Mine," they crooned in unison.
Beyond tired, starving, and suffering from such a pounding headache he thought his skull would split at any moment, Jimmy wasn't in the mood to deal with their childish antics.
"Both of youse get in the house. Now."
Catherine and Fiona didn't need to be told twice.
As they passed Jimmy, under her breath Fiona muttered, "Aye aye, limp dick."
Lacking the basic ability to hold her laughter, Catherine snorted.
"What the fuck did you say?" spat Jimmy.
Over her shoulder, Fiona assured, "Nothing!"
As the women filed back into the house, Jimmy looked down at the joint still burning between his fingers. He had no idea how to even begin to comprehend the sight he walked in on. Twelve hours. He left them alone together for twelve hours, and now they were suddenly best friends?
Civility between the scorned women was something he didn't mind, but the last thing Jimmy needed was his pseudo girlfriend and former mistress forging any semblance of camaraderie. He imagined it ending with one of them — Fiona — holding him down while the other — Catherine — smothered him with a pillow.
He didn't like this one bit, but making them hate each other again was a feat for another day.
Taking a hit from the joint he'd stashed away for later, he furrowed his brow when he realized all the fun had been sucked dry from it now that Catherine and Fiona were in on his latest favorite pastime. Slowly exhaling the lungful of smoke, Jimmy couldn't figure out why all the women in his life — including Kerrianne — were hellbent making him miserable and trying to put him into an early grave. The only one who didn't ask him for anything was Eamonn. But even then he'd only give it another year or two. They always had to have their greedy little fingers in something he found joy in.
Back in the living room, Jimmy took a seat in the armchair facing the couch the women occupied. The bag of Flamin' Hot Cheetos Fiona and Catherine were passing back and forth never looked better. He forced himself to concentrate on the discussion at hand, not the delicious spicy snack.
"I'm only gonna ask this once: who went through my bags? If I don't get a straight answer outta youse, I'm putting your arses on the first flight out to Dublin. Good luck dealin' with immigration and customs."
"Oh, Jesus Christ. It was me!" Catherine raised her hand. "If you didn't want me to rummage through it, you never would have made Eamonn's birthday the goddamn lock combination."
Jimmy sat forward in the chair, his glassy eyes narrowing. "What am I gonna have to do so it gets through your thick skull not to break into my fuckin' locks?"
"Leave the poor girl alone, Jimmy," said Fiona, taking the bag from Catherine. "You went soft on her and she saw Filip all within a handful of hours. Don't you think she deserves a wee pick-me-up?"
Jimmy's head nearly exploded. "You bloody told her?!"
Catherine jumped to her feet, pulling the knitted cardigan tighter around her torso. "Of course I told her! I needed someone to talk to and you fuckin' refused to!"
"Unbelievable." Lunging forward, Jimmy gave in to his craving and snatched the bag of Cheetos from Fiona.
She wiped her greasy, crumb-covered fingers onto her pants, leaving behind a bright red stain. "You can't be mad at her. She was feelin' like shite, and undesirable...just needed some reassurance is all."
"I — I fuckin' told you..." He dropped his head, unable to look Catherine in the eye, before gazing back to Fiona. "Did you tell her that it never happened to us?"
"So it was me!" Catherine shouted, her voice growing thick as the tears rolled down her cheeks. "It's because I haven't lost all the pregnancy weight, isn't it?" She lifted her shirt to her bellybutton and eased down the waistband of her joggers, showing off the puffy pink c-section scar. "Or because of this?"
The smoldering joint in one hand and Cheeto's in the other, Jimmy shrugged. "I couldn't give a shite about the scar, and you've always been on the wee chubby side, but-"
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Fiona asked, genuinely.
Catherine only cried harder.
"If you would let me finish," he took a drag, "I was gonna say, Catherine, that your...chubbiness is part of your appeal."
Fiona pinched the bridge of her nose before shooting Jimmy a nasty look. She was irritated the only thing he ever managed to do was make a bad situation even worse.
Watching Catherine bawl her eyes out and half-listening to Fiona as she chewed him a new asshole, he leaned back in the chair, wondering how everything went from zero-to-sixty in the blink of an eye.
As Catherine turned on her heels to run to her bedroom, Fiona called her back and told her to sit on the couch. Standing up, she took the joint from Jimmy for another hit. She was too sober to be playing peacemaker between the malcontent quondam lovers. After passing it to Catherine, she pointed a finger to Jimmy.
"You need to apologize and kiss her arse for the next century for sayin' what you bloody did." Fiona turned to Catherine, fighting the urge to laugh at the blubbering mess of a woman trying to toke. "And you — you need to just ignore him. He's a prick; nothin' he says is worth listenin' to."
Jimmy fell silent. He didn't have the slightest clue that his nerves getting the best of him the night before affected her as much as it did. The last thing he wanted to do was make her feel like shit. Catherine met his gaze, wiping her tears with the sleeve of her cardigan.
When it seemed like the situation was calming, Fiona took the joint and Cheetos. "I'm going to bed so youse can figure this shite out. For the love of God, keep it in your fuckin' pants; the both of youse. Ya each deserve a smack for thinkin' it was a good idea in the first place."
With that said, Fiona headed to her bedroom. That left Jimmy and Catherine. He was the last person she wanted to be around at this point, but he didn't give her the chance to escape. Before they heard the sound of Fiona's door closing, Jimmy moved off the chair and cornered Catherine on the couch.
She tried pushing him away as his hand darted out to dry her cheeks. She gave up with he pulled her in for a tight hug, curling her arms around his neck.
He whispered, nuzzling his nose into her hair, "I'm sorry, a chuisle. I didn't mean it."
Jimmy could feel her tears dampening his shirt. It was too late before he realized what he said earlier. Holding her as she cried, in the context of what just happened, it was all too reminiscent of the time he comforted her after Catherine overheard one of her brother's friends refer to her as Liam's pudgy wee sister.
"You're an arsehole." Catherine pulled away, wiping her nose.
"Aye," he moved her thick, heavy tresses behind her shoulder, "I'm the biggest jackass on the face of the Earth. And you're the most gorgeous woman I've ever laid eyes on."
"Just stop. You're only sayin' that because Fi told you to."
"Catch yourself on. Ya really must be high to think I'd do somethin' just because Fi told me to. C'mon, how long've you known me?"
Too long, Catherine wanted to say.
"Last night had nothin' to do with you, okay? So get that thought outta your wee head. After hearin' you talk about how mind-blowing sex with Dessie is, it fucked with me head. I wasn't focused on you, I was too busy thinkin' about him. That was the problem. Not you."
She nodded, and Jimmy took her cheeks in his hands. "Can we move past this? Try again?"
"Are you askin' if I'll shag you?"
Jimmy crinkled his nose. "When you put it like that, it just sounds so...so crass."
"I'm the one bein' crass? Because if Jimmy O is anything, it certainly isn't crass."
"Just shut up and kiss me."
"You're provin' m-"
Before Catherine had a chance to finish her thought, Jimmy sealed his mouth around hers.
His tongue pushed passed her lips, desperate to taste her honeyed mouth. Catherine struggled to breathe; he sucked the breath right out of her chest. Wrapping her arms around Jimmy's neck, her fingers raked through his graying hair. His hands found her sides, seamlessly sitting back and moving Catherine onto his lap.
Feeling his hand slip under her joggers and panties to grab a handful of her ass, Catherine's senses kicked in.
She broke the kiss, resting her cheek on the side of his head. "We can't be doin' this, Jimmy. I'm not seventeen anymore — I have three kids, a husband...I pay a bloody mortgage."
Jimmy wrapped his arms tightly around Catherine, never wanting to let go. He took a deep breath, his head spinning by the scent of her perfume he loved so much.
"It's over, isn't it?" he asked. "For good?"
Catherine nodded, not even bothering to hold her tears back. She didn't want him to let her go either, but she couldn't even begin to fathom the thought of losing Dessie.
And for what? A few nights of mediocre sex at best.
Now it was her turn to whisper an apology.
"I love you, so much," she croaked, holding Jimmy's head against her chest. He could hear her heart racing. "I'll love you for eternity, I promise, but it would be a disaster to try to resurrect whatever it was we had. Especially with how shaky things have been between us the last year."
I love you.
That was all Jimmy needed to hear.
Dundalk - Republic of Ireland
Patrick had no idea what he was doing walking into that party.
Nothing good ever happened after midnight.
He was fifty-three, not twenty, and three steps inside, he was already annoyed with the loud music and swaying blokes who clearly couldn't hold their liquor.
Then again, scoping out the drunken candidates who Dessie had his eye on recruiting was far better than being in Belfast with Olivia nagging him.
Nonchalantly making his way into the kitchen, Patrick grabbed a beer from the fully stocked fridge. On his way outside, he was stopped to do a shot. The tequila went down far smoother than he'd expected. As they lined up another round, he couldn't believe how much younger and younger the recruits were getting these days.
He passed up the glass some blond kid tried offering him, opting to sit in the garden instead.
The crowd outside was more his style. The five old-timers sat in silence, drinking their beers, smoking, and watching the chaos unfold inside. Finishing his can, Patrick crushed it. He got up, heading back in to piss before grabbing another beer.
He found the bathroom upstairs, tucked away at the end of a dark hallway. Curling his hand around the doorknob, he jiggled to find it locked.
"Occupied!" came a male voice.
Patrick froze. The voice sounded too familiar. Husky, a thick South Armagh brogue.
What are the fucking chances? he wondered. Showing up at the same goddamn party as his son-in-law. It was a Saturday night, so maybe he couldn't blame Dessie for needing a couple of hours to himself after being solely in charge of the three boys for the last handful of days. Still, that didn't mean Patrick wouldn't chew Dessie a new asshole for handing off his one responsibility while his wife was halfway around the world dealing with Chibs.
Resting his back against the wall opposite of the door, Patrick lit a smoke as he waited for Dessie to finish up. He was almost through the cigarette when the door finally opened.
"Shite, Paddy!" Dessie said, quickly closing the door behind him. "When did you get here?"
The way Dessie went from relaxed to agitated in half a second flat made Patrick's palms start to sweat. He surprised himself by staying so calm.
"Not too long ago. Figured I'd check out the sacks'o shite you've been lookin' to recruit. Gotta tell ya, I'm not impressed."
Dessie was about to defend his choice of recruits when the bathroom door started to open. He grabbed the knob, quickly jerking it shut.
The door opened again, this time too fast for Dessie to react. Patrick's blood ran ten-degrees below freezing when he saw the leggy blonde fluffing her curls. He looked at Dessie, fighting every urge to kick the asshole's teeth in.
"Paddy, I swe-"
Patrick bit the inside of his lip so hard, he could taste blood. Not caring there was an extra pair of eyes watching, Patrick dropped his smoke, then grabbed Dessie by the collar of his shirt shoving him up against the wall.
"How many have there been?"
Panicking, Dessie tried to crawl out of the hole he dug himself into. "Nothin' happened, I was jus-"
"Don't you fuckin' dare lie to me, boyo," Patrick snarled through clenched teeth. "How many other women?"
Dessie's gaze flicked to the woman who bolted down the stairs. Suddenly the second-rate blow jobs didn't seem worth the inevitable beatdown.
Not like he didn't deserve it.
Somehow, getting caught by Patrick felt a hell of a lot worse than getting caught by Catherine.
"This was only the second time."
Patrick couldn't believe how blase Dessie's answer came across. Smelling the tequila oozing from Dessie's pores, he told himself it was only the booze and not a lack of guilt.
"Only the second time, huh?" Patrick pressed his forearm against Dessie's throat. "You came to my house six months ago and promised me you were done with this. I guess that makes me a fuckin' fool for thinkin' a piece'o shite like you would treat my Catherine right."
Never in his life did Dessie feel as sub-human as he did now. "I'm sorry."
"Apologize to your wife, not me."
"Are you gonna tell her?"
Patrick shook his head. He hated Dessie for putting him in this position. "It's not my place to. That's on you to tell her."
A weight lifted off Dessie's chest. "I appreciate that. As soon as she gets back, I'll tell her. And I swear, I'm fuckin' done with the whores."
"Fuck you." Letting go of Dessie, Patrick started walking back down the hall. All he wanted to do now was get back to Belfast. Stopping mid-way, he turned on his heels to see Dessie crouched, his face in his hands. "You know, since Catherine left to go Stateside with Jimmy, I've been a nervous wreck wonderin' if anything'll happen between 'em. Right about now Dess, I wouldn't blame her if she fucks the bloke."
