A Passion Denied (49 page)

He could never forgive himself.

17

Mary tugged her jacket closer and hunched her shoulders. “As much as I hate to admit it, I really needed tonight—Millie, Frank, and the whole questionable dance-marathon atmosphere.” She clutched her overnight bag close to her chest as if bracing against the frigid November night.

Lizzie squinted at her out of the corner of her eye, then unlatched the gate to her yard despite fingers stiff with the cold. Her chuckle billowed into the air. “Well, anything to do with Millie is usually questionable, that’s for sure. But it was fun, wasn’t it? I think Frank may be on the verge of making an honest woman of her.”

Mary followed her to the front porch. “ ‘Honest’ might be a stretch, since it is Millie we’re talking about, but I’ve certainly been praying he would. I think it would do Millie good to settle down, even if it is with Frank.”

Lizzie unlocked the door and butted it open, peering into the dimly lit parlor. She glanced at the clock on the mantel. “Ten thirty on a Saturday night, and nobody’s up?” She winked at Mary as she flung her coat on the rack by the door. “Mother and Father must have gone to bed early since Katie’s spending the night at Charity’s.”

Mary smiled and hung up her coat. “You’re so lucky, Lizzie. Your parents have everything in a marriage I’ve ever wanted. They act more like newlyweds than people married for a quarter of a century.” She sighed. “I sure hope I have that someday.”

“I know, me too,” Lizzie whispered. She thought of Michael’s diamond ring, safely tucked in her drawer until she could muster the courage to tell Mary the truth. She hoped she and Michael would have the depth of love for God and each other that her parents shared. At least someday, God willing.

They tiptoed upstairs to Lizzie’s room and quietly shut the door. Lizzie kicked off her shoes and flopped on her bed while Mary did the same on Katie’s.

“Speaking of wonderful relationships, I’ve been dying to ask—how’s it been going with Harold? Has he asked you out for any more sodas after Adult Catechism Class?”

Mary blushed. “As a matter of fact, he has. Twice now. And he actually hinted at asking me out to dinner.”

“No! Shy Harold? I’d say that’s progress. And you think there’s potential?”

“Oh yes,” Mary breathed. She plopped her chin in her hand and grinned. “I mean, when it comes to loving God, he’s no John Brady, but he sure knows his Catechism.” Her blue eyes brimmed with excitement. “And he sure is cute.”

“Oh, Mary, I’m so excited for you. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if both you and Millie ended up getting married in the next year or so?”

Mary rolled on her back and stared at the ceiling, a dreamy look in her eyes. “More than wonderful. I never dreamed my life could be like this—a good job, good friends, and the interest of a good man.” She sighed. “None of it would have happened if it hadn’t been for John Brady, you know. He saved my life.”

Yeah, well, he’s ruining mine.
The mention of Brady’s name spoiled Lizzie’s good mood. She jumped up from the bed and traipsed to her closet, unhooking her nightgown from the back of the door. She quickly undressed, then shimmied the gown over her head. She thought about Michael, and relief flooded through her. Her eyes flicked to the nightstand drawer where she’d put the ring. She needed to tell Mary.
Tonight
—whether Mary liked it or not.

Lizzie scowled as she hung up her clothes. For some reason, her best friend and her fiancé did not get along, and it bothered Lizzie a great deal. Their one and only meeting at the bookstore had been less than cordial, but Lizzie blamed that on John Brady too. To Mary, Brady was one rung below the Pope, and anyone Brady didn’t like, Mary didn’t either. Her lips flattened as she closed the closet door. And one thing was for dead certain—papal tendencies or no—Brady didn’t like his brother.

“Why the frown? Does Brady still bother you that much?” Mary reached for her overnight bag. Her brow puckered as she unbuttoned her blouse.

Lizzie exhaled and dropped down on the bed. She scooted up against the headboard and bunched a pillow between her chest and tented knees. “Yeah, I guess he does. I thought I could get used to the idea of just being friends, but after the day at the lake, I don’t think it’s possible. At least, not until I’m safely married to someone else.”

“Oh, Lizzie, I’m so sorry. I thought you had fun with Brady last week—did something happen to stir things up?”

“No, nothing out of the ordinary. Just Brady being Brady, and me loving him that way.” Her lips skewed into a sad smile. “It was a wonderful day, as usual, talking, laughing, teaching me to use his rod and reel. And then all of sudden he just looked at me, and I swear, Mary, my stomach did a flip right on the spot. I felt so foolish that I’m sure I turned seven shades of red.” She sighed and laid her head against the pillow. “Somehow I managed to get through dinner, which was wonderful, of course, all the way up until the moment he kissed me on the porch.”

Mary’s arms grappled wildly inside her nightgown before her head popped through in shock.
“Brady kissed you?”

Lizzie pursed her lips. “On the cheek. But that’s just it, Mary. For one heart-stopping moment, I actually thought he was going to kiss me—Lizzie O’Connor—right on the lips, even though I
know
it’s the last thing he would ever do.” She closed her eyes to ward off the tears that stung beneath her lids. “I was so heartbroken that I broke down and cried after he left.
Again.
”

“Oh, Lizzie . . .”

“I’m through, Mary, through with heartbreak over John Brady. There’s only one way to get over him, apparently, and that’s by falling in love with someone else.”

Mary sat down next to Lizzie and gave her a hug. “I totally agree. When I arrived in Boston, I was running away from heartbreak too. And then I met Harold, and suddenly everything made sense. You’ll meet someone too, Lizzie. I’ll bet the right guy will come along any day now and sweep you off your feet—probably way before Harold even works up the courage to ask me for a second date.”

Lizzie turned and took Mary’s hands in hers. “Someone already has.”

Mary’s lips parted. “What?”

Lizzie reached over and opened her nightstand drawer, tugging the diamond ring from its velvet box. Her heart pounded as she slipped it on her finger.

Mary gasped, her gaze locked on Lizzie’s hand. “What? Who?”

“Michael.”

Mary blinked and took Lizzie’s hand in hers, the shock evident in the tightening of her fingers. “But how? When?”

“Last week, after Brady walked me to the door. Oh, Mary, I was so devastated and so depressed and then all of a sudden, there he was, sprawled on the floor playing Magic Mysto with Steven like he belonged there. Talking to Mother and Father like one of their own—”

“But he’s not!”

“No, but he could be. Don’t you see? I’ve prayed and prayed all this time to get over Brady when the answer has been right under my nose the last three months. Michael loves me, Mary, and he wants to make me his wife.”

Mary jerked her hand away. “But he’s no good, Lizzie, at least not according to Brady.”

Lizzie bristled. “I’m done living my life according to Brady. Besides, when it comes to forgiving his brother, I’ve learned that John Brady is no saint. Michael has changed a lot, and no thanks to John. If I can be a positive influence on him, then why not?”

“Because you don’t love him!”

Lizzie drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “You’re wrong, Mary, I do love him. Maybe not in the starry-eyed, fairy-tale way that I love Brady, but then that’s nothing more than a little girl’s fantasy. Well, I’m all grown up now, and so are my needs. And unlike Brady, Michael has offered to fulfill them. He loves me.”

“But he doesn’t love God—not like his brother.”

Exasperation puffed from Lizzie’s lips. “Nobody loves God like his brother. I’m beginning to realize that he’s the exception rather than the rule, and it’s not fair to judge Michael—or any other man—according to Brady’s standards. Michael is a man with an unfortunate past who’s looking to be a good man. I think I can help him.”

“Do you even know his past? Or why Brady doesn’t trust him?”

Lizzie studied the worry in her friend’s face and touched a hand to her cheek. “A little. I know that he was jealous of John because he was their stepmother’s favorite, and that it caused a terrible rift between them. And I know something awful happened to John, but neither Brady nor Michael will tell me what it was.” She hesitated, her voice lowering to a whisper. “Mary, you’re my best friend and I need you to be happy for me.”

“But, Lizzie, I—”

Lizzie gently stilled her lips. “
Please.
”

The blue of Mary’s eyes glistened. She nodded and looked away. “Okay, if that’s what you want.”

“It is.”

“Have you told Brady yet?”

Lizzie moistened her lips. “No, not yet. He left with Michael the next day to sign inheritance papers in New York, but he’s due back tomorrow. I was planning on telling him right after church.”

Mary nodded.

“It’s going to be okay, Mary, I promise. Father is making us wait six long months, so we have plenty of time to pray about it.”

Mary’s chin elevated the slightest degree. “Don’t think I won’t.”

Lizzie smiled and squeezed her in a tight hug. “No, Mary, I would never think that. Not in a million years.”

A third thunderous boom sounded at the door as Collin stumbled down the hall of his flat in a daze. He scrubbed one hand across his bare chest and stifled a yawn with the other, hurrying as quickly as his comatose body would allow. He glanced at the clock on the parlor mantel and groaned. Six a.m.! The hinges of the front door rattled with another frantic pounding.

“I’m coming,” he screamed, irritated at the loss of precious Sunday-morning sleep. He unlatched the lock and flung the door open, ready to take the intruder on.

“H-he’s dead! B-Brady’s dead!” Cluny trembled on the threshold, his freckled face bloated and red from a crying jag still in progress.

Fear constricted Collin’s throat. He grabbed him by the shoulders. “What are you talking about? Where is he?”

“In h-his b-bed. H-he won’t w-wake up.”

Collin tightened his grip. “Calm down, Cluny. Did you shake him? You know what a sound sleeper he is.”

Cluny’s throat bobbed as he shook his head. “N-no, I was afraid because h-he wouldn’t answer. We were supposed to work out at the gym last night, you know, after he got home? But he didn’t show, so I got scared and came over this morning. I yelled his name over and over, but h-he w-wouldn’t answer!”

“Collin? What’s going on?”

Collin glanced over his shoulder at Faith, barefoot and sleepy-eyed. “It’s Brady. He might be sick. Would you mind getting Cluny something to eat while I go check on him?”

“No! I’m going with you.”

Collin turned back to study the boy. His chin, although quivering, had a stubborn bent. “Okay, little buddy, we’ll go together. Wait here while I put on some clothes.”

Collin didn’t waste any time. His fingers trembled as he buttoned the fly of his trousers, not even bothering to tuck in his shirt. Faith handed him his shoes and clean socks, and he yanked them on before grazing her cheek with a quick kiss. “Start praying, will you, Faith? Hopefully I’ll be right back, but if not, I’ll meet you at church.”

She nodded and he flew down the hall, snatching his coat on the way out. They sprinted to Brady’s apartment, six blocks north, Cluny huffing on his heels all the way. At Brady’s building, Collin took the steps three at a time. His blood throbbed in his veins as he heaved the glass door open. Cluny shot through, his spindly legs pumping up the steps like his shoes were on fire.

“The door’s open,” he rasped. “Brady gave me a key.”

They were both out of breath when they reached Brady’s room. He lay facedown on the bed, clothes rumpled and shoes still on. His arms and legs were sprawled at odd angles in a sea of covers, and the side of his jaw was shadowed with at least two days’ growth of stubble. No movement whatsoever, not even the faintest rise or fall of his breathing.

Collin shook him. “John, wake up!”

Nothing.

He shook harder. “John! Do you hear me? Wake up!” His heart hammered in his chest. He grabbed Brady’s wrist and checked for a pulse. Still nothing.

Cluny started crying.

Frantic, Collin lunged for his other wrist beneath a mound of covers. His hand hit something hard and he blinked, feeling a bottle still clutched in Brady’s hand.
Alcohol?
Collin rechecked his pulse. Relief flooded his veins.
There!
A beat—slow and irregular—but there all the same.

He glanced up at Cluny, careful to keep the bottle hidden. “Bud, I need you to go get Father Mac, will you? He’s got time before Mass, so tell him Brady needs him right away.”

Cluny nodded and darted down the hall, slamming the front door behind him.

Collin snatched the unmarked bottle from beneath the covers and sniffed. He detected the faintest odor of alcohol from what looked like a quarter bottle of water. The bed linens were soaked where the bottle had lain, still clutched in Brady’s hand.

Vodka?
Where the devil had he gotten it? Collin hurried down the hall and threw the bottle in the trash. He clattered through several cabinets until he found the coffee, and the smell of ground beans made him hungry. He poured water into Brady’s antiquated percolator and added the coffee to the steel basket before flipping the switch. He rolled his sleeves and rattled around in the drawer under the stove to grab a good-sized pot, then ducked into the bathroom to turn on the light. When he returned to Brady’s room, he laid the pot on the bed.