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A Place You Used to Call Home - Part Two
After their red-eye flight to Massachusetts, they checked into a suite at one of Boston's loveliest hotels, Jordan puttering around, hanging up clothes in the closet, laying out toiletry items in the bathroom until Danny finally steered her toward the big windows and held her shoulders, keeping her close to him, as he made her gaze out on the city she hadn't seen for so long. Even in the grey of a bitter winter day, the city made Jordan's heart beat faster.
Or maybe that was just the reality of being back.
McCoy took it slowly with her, not prodding her about leaving the suite or contacting anyone, letting her lounge around, take a nap, whatever she wanted. This was going to be her show and he could go at her pace. She surprised him when she chose her first location to visit. Gamely, he went with her however, sitting and waiting as she did what she needed to do.
Jordan closed the door to the small booth behind her and bowed her head. Quietly, she murmured, "Forgive me, Father, I have sinned. It's been… a long time since my last confession." She watched through lowered eyes as the priest seated in the other half of the confessional recognized her voice.
The panel separating them slid back. "Jordan?"
"Hi, Paul," she said with a shy smile.
"My… You're… When did you get back?"
She chuckled softly. "This morning."
"They must be thrilled – your friends at the morgue, I mean."
"I haven't seen them yet. They don't know I'm here."
He raised a brow. "You came here first?"
She nodded. "Seemed like a good place to start."
His smile was warm and genuine. "I'm glad." Then he fixed her with a mock stern look. "And how long has it been since your last confession?"
Her eye roll was greeted with a low laugh of his own. "Come meet Danny McCoy," she said.
"But, my child," he coaxed, his eyes brimming with laughter, "your confession?"
Jordan snorted. "Right. Like I'd tell you anything."
As Jordan introduced them, Paul studied the man from Las Vegas, trying to guess what his relationship with Jordan was. Danny McCoy was clearly protective of her and the gleam in his eye bespoke something deeper than friendship. His relaxed posture indicated patience and an understanding of who Jordan was, as well as an easy confidence in himself that Paul had found lacking in Jordan's other suitors – those he'd met, at least.
Paul asked a few questions and got vague answers. He hadn't expected much more. Jordan had always kept herself to herself when it came to emotions, and five years of hiding had only served to hone that instinct in her. She couldn't even tell him that she was staying in Boston for certain. She did promise not to slip out of his life again as she had so often in the past twenty years.
"Oh," he said with a start as Jordan and Danny prepared to depart. "I have something for you. Give me a minute… to go get it?"
She nodded.
While they waited, Danny rested against a pew and regarded her. "He didn't exactly know what to make of – of us."
She smiled and slid into his arms. "I'm not sure I know what to make of us."
He tipped up her chin with one long finger. "I know what I'd like to make of us," he purred, leaning down to kiss her softly. The nights of talking had inevitably led to a physical intimacy, one that Jordan had denied herself for five years. Really more one she hadn't craved in that long. Danny had reawakened things in her long dormant. He was perceptive enough to see that and smart enough not to rush her into anything just because of it. It didn't mean he couldn't tease a little and drop hints from time to time.
Behind them, Paul cleared his throat. "Normally, people only do that in here under very certain circumstances," he teased.
"Fine by me," Danny shot back, his smile the equal of Paul's.
Jordan swatted his shoulder, and he knew he'd better not dare any further in his gentle teasing.
Paul advanced and held out something to Jordan. She gasped softly and looked up at him, her eyes filling with tears. "How did you…?" Her fingers trembled as she took her mother's locket from him.
"Your friend – uh – Nigel. He – He found it in your desk and thought it would be safest here."
She nodded. She'd taken it off before leaving for the rehearsal dinner, wearing instead a necklace Lily had given her. In the chaos following Pollack's murder, she'd never thought to put it back on, only realizing she'd left it behind when it was far too late to go back for it.
Her fingers were shaking too much to handle the clasp. Wordlessly, Danny took it from her and slipped the fine chain around her neck, letting the tiny clasp click into place. He let go and the cool gold nestled into the hollow of her throat. Paul watched the moment with a knowing eye. He wondered if McCoy would fight for her. Boston had always been home for Jordan – the place she ran from, but the place she always returned to in the end.
Then again, the priest thought, she was always searching for something. He didn't feel that from her anymore. "It suits you, Jordan." And I don't mean just the locket.
She smiled softly, her fingers flying up to brush the front delicately. "Thanks."
Paul watched her for another moment. "I don't suppose you know that Max came back."
Her eyes widened.
The priest smiled. "Maybe he's your next stop?"
She didn't answer, just hugged him tightly for a long moment. McCoy then shook his hand. Paul watched them go, bundling up before heading back into the raw weather. He noted the way McCoy's hand slipped easily into the small of Jordan's back, the way Jordan relaxed into the small gesture, the way she allowed him to open the outer door. He found himself approving greatly of Danny McCoy.
XXXXX
Max Cavanaugh looked up from the paper he was reading. Damn Sox were about to head into spring training with most of the outfield a mess and a depleted pitching staff. The knock on the front door was a welcome distraction, even if it probably was just that nice Lily Lebowksi – no, whatever her last name was now. Max snorted; he couldn't pronounce it if he tried, so he mostly thought of her as 'that nice Lily from the Morgue.' She tended to check up on him a couple times a month. Nigel took another shift and Woody still another. They thought he hadn't noticed. Right.
He was harrumphing to himself when he opened the door. The sight he'd imagined so many times, dreamt about even, pushed him backward a few steps when it actually confronted him on the doorstep. Good Lord. She was so beautiful, even with her hesitant smile and clouded eyes. For a moment he was certain he'd fallen asleep over the paper again and then she spoke. "Dad?" Just that, something simple, her voice low, almost childlike in uncertainty and that was all it took. He wrapped her in a bear hug and forgot how beautiful she was, ignored the man with her, just held her as if he might never let go. In that moment she was his child again, the vulnerable, trusting child who'd always been Daddy's little girl. He whispered her name over and over.
Only when the winter chill tightened its grip on all of them did Max let go, ushering her and her companion inside without a word. Jordan stood in the front hall, shifting from foot to foot, unsure of her welcome here, despite Max's embrace. He looked at her, taking her in from head to toe. The lines around her eyes were more pronounced as were those around her mouth, but she looked happy enough for the most part, happier than he'd expected at any rate. For the first time, he took note of the tall man with her and instantly decided that he must have something to do with the sense of security humming in Jordan, despite her anxiety at being back in her father's house. He gave his daughter an expectant look.
Clearing her throat, she introduced the two men.
Max shook Danny's hand. "From Las Vegas? You helped look for Jordan?"
Danny nodded.
"Found her, huh?"
"Sort of," McCoy answered.
"He – uh – ran into me, you might say," Jordan added.
"When?"
Jordan sighed inwardly. Her father was happy to see her, no doubt about that, but he wasn't going to let either of them off the hook so easily as all that. "About eight months ago."
"Eight months!"
"Jordan needed time, sir," Danny leapt in.
Max respected him for that. He made a noncommittal noise. "Suppose you gave her that time, huh?"
"Danny's been – been there." She looked down for a moment, then her spine straightened and she looked back up at her father. "I had a lot to deal with. He didn't rush me."
"I guess not." Max surveyed the pair of them again. "When did you get back to Boston?" She told him, confessing that she'd been to see Father Paul first. To that Max only nodded. "And how long are you staying?"
"I don't know."
Danny glanced from father to daughter. The strain was evident in Jordan's ramrod posture and the fluttering of the tiny muscles in her jaw. He knew from their long conversations that her relationship with Max had been fraught with as many complexities as his own with his father had been. He also knew Jordan well enough that, for her, sometimes a good argument could clear the air. He suspected she came by that trait quite honestly. "Um – Jordan… do you mind if I make some calls? Business and all."
She flashed him a grateful look and pointed toward the kitchen, where he could have some privacy.
Shaking his head at the useless subterfuge, Max lead Jordan to the front room. "He – what? – works for a casino?"
"He runs the Montecito," she answered with an absent, automatic tone.
"And you've been there – with him – for … eight months?"
She nodded.
"You couldn't have called? Once? It's been damn near six years, Jordan."
Her heart soared and broke over the familiar, drawn out vowels of her name from his tongue. Jah-don. How she'd missed that! She felt hot tears scald her cheeks, overflowing the tender boundaries of her eyes. Whatever argument Max was looking for was shoved aside as he drew into his embrace again.
He stroked her hair, thinking how it was still so soft and silky, just as it had been when she'd been a child. He crooned her name softly, a mantra to be repeated, and told her it was all right.
At last, she sniffled and pulled back. "I'm sorry, Dad. I really am."
He palmed a few strands of hair away from her damp face and then shook his head. "No, it's all right." He smiled a little. "Well, maybe not all right exactly, but I understand."
She thanked him and they sat down, close, on the couch. Max kept an arm around her and she laid her head on his strong, warm shoulder.
"You feel like telling your old man where you've been?" He kept his tone light.
She chuckled. "Using a skill you helped me acquire."
"Dear God! I hope it was legal." His eyes twinkled.
"Tending bar. San Francisco." They were silent for a while. "How long had you known?"
"About the judge?" If she was surprised that he could answer her question with no more detail, she shouldn't have been. Between them "it" had always been the big question. "Since about the time James died."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Her voice held no accusation. She simply wanted to process the information.
"They would have killed you."
"Me? Why? And who?"
He gazed down at her, his heart tight with love for her, his only child, the person he loved more than anyone in the world – had since the moment he had first held her as a screaming, protesting infant. "The judge, Eddie Cahill… a few others."
"Who?" His pause had made her suspicious.
"Malden."
"Dad."
"Pete."
She gaped. "Uncle Pete? Why?"
"Why do people kill, Jordan?"
A deep sigh fell from her lips. "Money. Jealousy. Anger. Cover something up."
"Well, your mother was killed for all those reasons. And to keep me in line all those years."
She closed her eyes. "You always knew."
He shook his head. "No. I had my suspicions. I didn't know about Pete until – until the thing with Cahill. I thought – I thought after that… maybe I could tell you."
"The judge?"
"Him." He rubbed her shoulder. "I am sorry, Jordan. All those years."
She opened her eyes and looked up at him. They didn't need words.
"So, tell me about Danny McCoy."
She grinned. "He's – He's… different."
"He loves you."
Now she looked away.
Max put a finger under her chin and turned her head back toward him. "Do you love him?"
For a long moment, she was silent. "I'm not sure. I – I care about him. I like having him in my life; I like being part of his life."
"But…?" Max raised a knowing brow.
His daughter shrugged. "You know me."
"You're right. I do." His eyes sparkled with a deep love and an abiding concern. "And I know as much as you like to pretend you don't need anyone, you do."
"I know."
"You do?"
She smiled and gave a harsh chuckle. "Believe me, five years… away taught me that."
"So what's holding you back?"
She bit her lip and met her father's appraising look with a surprisingly uncompromising one of her own. "I need to figure out if I need him. He deserves more than to be some substitute in my life."
"He found you – what - eight months ago?"
She nodded.
"That isn't enough time?"
"Dad," she drew the word out, chiding him. "It's just not that easy."
He gave her a grimace. "All right. You never could do things the easy way."
She glared at him with the slightly antagonistic affection they had always shared. "You know, this time, writing off everything and everyone in Boston and making a life with Danny would be the easiest thing. But it would never work. I have a few… problems here that I need to face before I figure out where I go from here."
Max smiled softly. "God, you really have grown up."
XXXXX
By the time their visit with Max ended, it was past dinner time, a fact for which Jordan was grateful. She needed some time to decompress, to sort through her troubled and troubling feelings before facing her morgue family. She made her father promise not to call anyone from the morgue, told him that she'd go in the morning. Despite a heartfelt invitation, Max declined having dinner with his prodigal child and her… and Danny. He, too, found himself foundering in a sea of difficult emotions. He pledged to meet them tomorrow for a meal.
Danny took her back to the hotel and they ordered room service, eating in an easy silence. He gave her time to think, to feel, to deal with the shock – happy shock though it was – of seeing her old friend and her father.
After dinner she sat on the couch and stared into space, music playing softly in the room. Danny worked on some figures and reports for the casino, surreptitiously studying her from the corner of his eye every so often. The only movement that gave away her emotional state was so tiny as to be almost unnoticeable as she picked relentlessly at a hang nail on her left thumb. Her first words in nearly two hours surprised him. "I can be a medical examiner again." There was wonder and awe in her voice. "If I want to be."
He could only nod.
She sighed. "It's kind of late. I should – um – get some sleep."
"I'll be there in a bit," he told her.
She nodded and went through the doorway into the suite's bedroom. He heard her padding around, taking out pajamas from her suitcase, going into the bathroom where he knew she was brushing her hair, washing her face, cleaning her teeth. The little things still fascinated him. He took a deep breath and willed away the fear that after tomorrow – or next week, or even next month - he might only experience those little things in memory. The suspended animation she'd been living would end, one way or the other.
END Part Two
