Drowning in the East River (22 page)

"Sorry." David stopped. He took a deep puff on his cigarette and turned in his chair to face her. He slowly released the lungful of smoke as he continued. "I lost my wife and daughter about six months ago now. It's been a long half a year.”

"No. I'm the one who should be sorry," she replied. She shifted her gaze to the bar ahead of her, somewhat embarrassed at the personal nature of his revelation. They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. "That's awful.”

"It's not your fault." David replied, trying to break the tension. He ran his fingers through his hair with an exhausted sigh. He took another sip of the dark whiskey in front of him and shrugged. "Besides, you didn't know.”

"I thought I recognized a kindred spirit."

"Excuse me?”

"I lost my husband in '17." She stopped talking and unclasped a small gold locket hanging around her neck. Holding it out to him, inside there was a picture of a fresh faced, but steely man in a military uniform. "Sean was executed by the British Army the year after the insurrection."

"I'm sorry," David said, handing her back the necklace.

She smiled sadly. She slid the locket back over her head and nestled it just under the fabric of her dress. "You didn't pull the trigger." She looked up at him, meeting his eyes.

"You have the same lost expression that I wandered around with for fourteen months.”

"Very insightful." David said, taking another drink.

"Why run away?" She asked, looking him up and down. "You obviously aren't a trade sailor. You aren't... weather beaten enough. Besides, I don't think loosing your wife is really something really classifiable as a mistake.”

"I did some things I'm not proud of, I guess." David looked around the room, part of him secretly hoping for a distraction. Ignoring the pounding in his head, he felt himself compelled to keep talking. "My wife and I weren't ready. Jess- She had so many things going on, and I can't shake the feeling that I trapped her…"

"I doubt that's the case," she replied, quietly. She looked over at him; her hand braced against her cheek. She spoke again after a moment of contemplation. She reached out, resting her hand on top of his. "If you don't mind me asking, what was her name?”

“Jessica."

David ran his hand through his hair as he knocked three times on the tenement door. He closed his eyes. The hallway was spinning and nausea coursed through his system. He braced all his weight on the doorframe, afraid he would stumble if he let go.

The door opened, and Jessica stepped out into the hallway. Her bathrobe was tied tightly around her growing figure. Both her hands were draped over her bump. "David." She said, as she looked him over. Her eyes were hard in the dimly lit entranceway.

"I'm sorry," he said, breaking eye contact with her. He pressed his palms into his eyes, the pain centering him in the sea of alcohol dulling his synapses. He continued slowly, struggling to keep his words clear. "I'm really sorry Jess.”

Jessica stared at him, her arms folded over her chest. "What are you doing here, David?”

"I've been an ass," David said. He swallowed hard, "I'm sorry for hurting you, baby."

Jessica wiped her eyes. He could see her struggling to keep emotion out of her eyes. "You're drunk," she said, a light sob slipping from her throat. She cracked a small smile as she looked him over once again. "You're pathetic.”

"And I really don't feel so well..." David said, bracing himself against the wall.

"Inside," Jessica said, laughing at his obvious discomfort. "Let's get you out of those clothes."

He took a step inside the apartment, but her voice stopped him in his path, "But David..."

He turned around to face her.

“I love you, but one thing…”.

David reached out, running his hand down her forearm. “Anything…”

“If you ever do that again, I'll kick your ass.”

"I'll get it," Jacqueline said, unsnapping the violet clutch in her hand. She pulled out a few bills and dropped them on the counter.

"You don't have to do that," David replied, continuing to reach for his billfold.

"I insist," Jacqueline replied, reaching for his hand. "I do have one condition.”

"Which is?”

Jacqueline stood up and fastened her thick woolen coat around her narrow waist. She looked up at him, cracking a flirtatious smile. She licked her lips quickly as her deep brown eyes quickly sized him up. "Walk me home.”

David took a final drink of the beer in front of him before he grabbed his own coat off the rack.

"No arguments?" She asked, her hands on her hips. She raised a curious eyebrow as a smirk crossed her lips. Her flirtation was far from subtle. "I figured you'd have something mysterious and urgent to do.”

"I can't let a lady walk home alone in a neighborhood like this." David slipped his coat over his shoulders, and took a discreet glance at his pocket watch. He looked back up at her as he tucked it back in his pocket. "Besides, it is getting pretty late.”

She smiled as he helped her slide her coat over her shoulders. She crossed in front of him, leaning suggestively close to whisper in his ear. "I like to think I can defend myself," she replied. Her slightly upturned nose lightly grazed his earlobe as she moved back from him. Her breath felt warm on his exposed neck. "I'm using your male protective instincts to my advantage in hopes of flirting with you.”

Outside, a frigid darkness had settled in over the city as they stepped out into the peaceful silence of Fitzwilliam Square.

"I've been broken for a long time," David said, tucking his hands deep into his pockets as an icy wind swept through the empty street. His muscles clenched as she looped her arm through his, hoping for support on the slippery pavement. He glanced over at her as he continued. "I keep hoping that something'll click in my head and I'll just forget about everything that's happened in the last year…".

He paused as they crossed over an icy patch, struggling to focus his coordination through the drunken fog hanging in his head.

"You've been through the ringer," Jacqueline said, jumping in and looking up into his eyes. She shivered slightly as another cold breeze cut through the square. "I wish I could have met you before-“

"Let's talk about you," David replied, breaking the intimate eye contact as they passed a shuttered newsstand. "There's nothing to my story.”

There was a covered fruit stand sitting nearby, the fruits were covered with a thick, dirty canvas blanket. There was still another hour or so before the release of the morning papers. The tired energy of morning had not quite taken over Dublin yet.

"I'm a war widow," Jacqueline replied simply. They continued walking down the street, the clicking of her heels echoing loudly in the deserted city block. The sparse lamps lights lining the sidewalk reflected on the wet cobblestones ahead of them. She tightened her grip on his arm as they continued through the dark square. "My husband had ties with the ...uprising." She paused, chuckling. "I'm never quite sure of the best way to say that.”

"You aren't Irish," David said. They stopped at the corner, pausing for a lone automobile to chug passed them. "I can hear it in your accent.”

"London." She replied as the vehicle turned in front of them. Still arm in arm, they moved across the street. "Good ear. Dad ran a small newspaper out of the West End. My husband was a correspondent from Dublin. He covered the 'Irish Problem' for them." She smiled softly, "That was how we met.”

"You moved here?" David asked, thankful to have the topic of conversation shift from the smallest details of his life.

She looked over at him, her eyes reflecting the golden undertones of the street lamps. "You mean why did I turn up my nose at my family money for political idealism and passionate revolutionary sex?”

David chuckled and looked down the street, surprised once again at the frankness of her reply. "I guess you can say that."

"Sean and I were best friends, and he opened my eyes to the political issues I didn't know I cared about. My parents remembered I existed long enough to tell me never to come back." She turned to him and cracked a sly smile. "I won't lie, the sex was pretty good.”

She slowed down as they passed a quaint row of brownstones. "This is me." She looked up at one of the darkened houses. "Would you like to come in?" Her eyes had a hint of hopefulness as she looked over at him.

David returned her gaze, running his fingers through his hair. He reached into his vest, pulling out his dented silver plated pocket watch. He had to break the image of her brown hair spilling over her bare shoulders; her head thrown back as her dress slowly slid down her body…

"I have nightcaps," Jacqueline replied, picking up on the uncertainty in his body language. She dropped her voice down to a whisper as she leaned into his body. "Just have a drink with me..."

She kept a firm hand on his arm, guiding him towards her house. Stopping at the door, she took a moment, squinting at the keys in her hands before pushing the door open wide for him.

As she was about to close the door behind them, the synchronized marching of a British Platoon echoed down the residential block, shattering the peaceful tranquility of the night.

As Jacqueline shifted her glance towards the group of uniformed troops, she kept her arm looped through his. With unconscious fluidity, she took a half step in front of David, maneuvering her body between him and the soldiers. In seconds, her mood morphed. He watched as intensity replaced the playful flirtatiousness visible in her eyes just moments before.

Jacqueline’s eyes remained glued to the soldiers as they gradually marched out of view.

"Assholes," She replied under her breath as she turned back towards the door. She ran her fingers through her hair, straightening her up-do. "They've an entire empire to guard, and they insist on parking a platoon of armed goons on a residential city block." She paused, fighting against the emotion building in her voice. "For Christ sake, my neighbors have 8 year old twin girls. They were playing hopscotch out there just this afternoon." She held the door open for David as he stepped into the main room of the home.

Stepping inside, the entrance way opened up into a well decorated living room. A sweeping staircase lead up to the upper floors. There was a small armchair, as well as a simple couch. Photos lined the walls, which were covered in cream colored wallpaper. A fire flickered in a small corner fireplace. He could see the wedding photos of Jacqueline and her husband hanging high on the wall. Her husband was a stoic figure, always wearing his military uniform. "I'm sorry for back there," she said, draping her coat over a chair.

"What for?" David asked, following behind her. He loosened his layers in the comfortable heat of the house. 

"The fact that the English are totally fine with coming into countries where they aren't wanted, using all of the resources, and leaving. They kill children in the street." She turned around and looked back at him. She smiled, forcing a cheerful note into her voice. "Feel free to take off your coat. I'm really bad at being proper.”

David slid off his suit jacket and draped it over the coat rack.

"Drink?" Jacqueline asked, walking towards the bar in the corner of the room.

The expensive oak bar was well stocked with a number of half-full bottles, which by the look of them, were fairly high quality. David paused for a moment as he moved towards the kitchen table. "Just straight whiskey for me, please. Thank you.”

"Rocks?" Jacqueline asked, pulling an intricately carved glass from one of the shelves.

“Please."