Soaring (34 page)

I loved what he said but feeling Mickey, looking at the view, smelling the smells and hearing the sounds off Magdalene’s wharf, having lived the life I lived, it occurred to me I’d never had a home.

Not a real one.

I thought I did, with my husband, my family, until Conrad tore it away from me.

And I wanted a home.

A home that looked like that, smelled like that, sounded like that and felt like it felt to stand there in Mickey’s arms.

Lulling me with that beauty, Mickey went for it.

He did it gently.

But he did it.

“You’re not ready, Amy, then you decide the time. But you’re eventually gonna have to share how he got your kids from you, baby.”

I felt every inch of me grow solid and Mickey didn’t miss it, couldn’t, and his arms grew snug around me.

He also dipped his head so his jaw was no longer resting against the side of my hair and he said in my ear, “If this is not the time, it’s not. But I’ll say now, this is what this feels like it might be, you gotta learn there’s no safer place than in my arms and when you’re here, Amy,” his arms gave me a squeeze, “you can give me anything.”

I closed my eyes.

This is what it feels like it might be…

Maybe, just maybe, he felt the same way as me.

And if he did, he needed to know, sooner rather than later.

No safer place than in my arms and when you’re here, Amy, you can give me anything.

I opened my eyes.

“I told you how things went with him and Martine.”

I felt his breath whisper along my ear, then his lips, before I felt his jaw again pressed to the side of my head.

“Yeah.”

I drew in a breath and let it out, saying, “When he left me, I lost it.”

“Within your rights, Amy.”

I stared at pure peace and beauty.

Then I decided this was important, Mickey was important, and I had finally grown up.

So there was a way this needed to go and I had to find the courage to make it go that way.

I did this, turning in his arms, lifting my hands to his biceps, and most importantly, catching his eyes.

“When I say I lost it,” I whispered when he was looking down at me. “I lost it, Mickey. Like,
lost it
. I went more than a little crazy. I was hurt and I wanted
them
to hurt so I made them hurt. I went out of my way to do it. I took every opportunity to do it and if there weren’t any, I created them. I did not do what I should have done, felt the pain, but powered through it for myself and my kids. I nursed it and fed from it and behaved selfishly, thoughtlessly, and worst of all, spitefully.”

“He fucked and got engaged to another woman while he was married to you, babe. Again, within your rights,” Mickey told me.

“For three years?” I asked.

He didn’t even blink.

He asked back, “Is there a time limit for bein’ pissed about betrayal?”

“My kids saw it, Mickey.”

To that, he said nothing.

My heart pinched but I had to keep going.

“I should have shielded them from it. I can’t say it was frequently. But it was not rare. It happened at their school events. When Conrad would pick up the kids. When I’d pick them up. They should have never seen that. And what they didn’t see, they heard. I connived to find ways to get into it with Conrad and Martine, embarrass them, take my pain out on them. I went to Conrad’s practice. I went to the hospital where Martine worked. I wanted everyone to know what kind of people they were. In the end, it was only me I made a fool of.”

“How’d your kids know about that other shit?” Mickey asked.

“Eventually, as he went for more and more custody, Conrad shared it with them. Before they came here, they were old enough to speak with the judge and decide who they wanted to live with. I made it so they did not want to live with me.”

Mickey’s mouth got tight but he said through it, “He shouldn’t have done that, Amy.”

“I shouldn’t have given him the ammunition
to
do it, Mickey,” I returned and shook my head, looking to his shoulder, dropping my voice and admitting, “I don’t think you understand how bad I got. How ugly I was. Petty and stupid. He had no choice but to push things with me, and in the end, move across the country to make his family safe from my ugliness.”

When Mickey didn’t say anything, panic started leaking into me.

I lifted my eyes to his and assured urgently, “I know this is crazy. But that isn’t me anymore. If there’s a lesson to be learned, any mother will learn it when her children are taken from her. I learned it, Mickey. I fell into a pit of agony that I dug myself and allowed myself to drown in it, wanting to pull everyone down there with me. And I went to extremes to do that, taking my kids with me. I didn’t
deserve
to keep them because no good mother behaved like me. But the minute Conrad and Martine moved out here and took my kids with them, I knew something had to change. Months, I gave them, seeing my kids one weekend every four weeks, and I gave them that to give them a break from me. I did this planning to move out here, fix my relationship with the kids, heal my family so I could give my babies something that would be safe and healthy. So I went crazy, but I learned. I learned that was not me. That was someone else. But she was not me.”

When I stopped talking and he simply continued to stare down at me impassively, I turned my head and looked to the sea, knowing he thought I was a psycho bitch, a terrible mother, and if things went bad between us, he’d be treated to the same thing.

And I lived right across the street.

This was our beginning and our end just as I knew, when he’d learned the worst in me, it would be.

I clenched my teeth as the tears threatened, but I didn’t blame him.

That didn’t mean I wasn’t bleeding.

“You done?” he asked matter-of-factly.

My eyes shot to his.

“Yes,” I answered tentatively.

“Raised by nannies,” he stated strangely.

“I’m sorry?”

“Growing up, your parents give you anything?”

I knew what he was asking, shook my head, but said, “Well, they taught me I should act appropriately, which in this case was championing all my shenanigans because they also taught me a Bourne-Hathaway should demand to be treated a whole lot better than Conrad treated me.”

“A Bourne-Hathaway?”

“Mom’s a Bourne,” I told him then reluctantly kept the information flowing. “As in Bourne-Tran Freight and Shipping.”

His eyes got slightly wide as his arms convulsed around me before his gaze went over my head and he sighed.

He’d heard of Bourne-Tran.

Not surprising.

“Oil and shipping,” he muttered.

Strike two.

I had a feeling I wouldn’t be getting to strike three.

“You’ve never heard of me and we’re not objects of fascination because great-granddad Hathaway was into privacy,” I stated stupidly and Mickey looked down at me, expression still impassive. “He was a very smart man, so even back then he saw the way of things and decreed that any of his offspring would behave with decorum. Flash and attention and exploits were not tolerated, and he guaranteed this by putting a codicil on all Calway money that would guarantee if this ever happened, a trust fund wouldn’t be awarded, and if it happened after, it would be rescinded. We lived quiet, at his command, even if he’s long since dead. And Mom and Dad were perfect for each other since her family had much the same philosophy.” I looked to his throat and finished, “Though, Uncle Hugh is a bit of a wild one.”

“Amy,” Mickey called.

I looked to him.

“So you’re an oil and shipping heiress,” he noted.

I nodded.

“Raised by nannies,” he went on.

I nodded again.

“And you’re not tight with your parents,” he kept going.

I shook my head.

“Your brother?” he asked.

“Lawr barely speaks to them,” I whispered then added inanely, “At least he barely speaks to Dad.”

“Right,” he grunted, then he said, “So you’re an oil and shipping heiress with a shit ton of money who got married, had kids, then your husband fucked you over. Until then, your life had been golden and you probably had everything you ever wanted, except what was important. So when something you wanted was taken away from you, you had no clue how to deal and no foundation to keep you solid. What you did have was parents who felt you should stick it to your ex because he had the audacity to fuck over a Bourne-Hathaway.”

My life hadn’t been golden.

But I knew what he was saying.

“That’s pretty much it,” I kept whispering.

Mickey nodded once. “How long were you with him?”

“Married sixteen years. But we were together for three before we were married.”

Something moved through his eyes at my answer but he didn’t address that.

He stated, “So he fucked you over, you lost it, and went psycho on his ass.”

Yes, there it was, he thought I was psycho.

“Yeah,” I confirmed.

“And your parents didn’t advise you to go psycho by hiring a really fuckin’ good attorney?” he asked.

“I had that too,” I shared. “I just lost sight of priorities and didn’t let him fight like he wanted to because I didn’t want it to get ugly for the kids.”

“But they saw a different kind of ugly.”

I couldn’t say it aloud again so I just nodded.

“Shit happens, Amy.”

I felt my lips part.

It took a while but I finally asked, “I’m sorry?”

“Honest to Christ, I’m actually shocked you had it in you to pull yourself together at all.”

I was so surprised, I couldn’t say anything.

Mickey didn’t feel the same way and kept speaking.

“Grew up, you know I had money, not like you but in this town we were part of the elite,” he told me. “Dad got offered membership to the Club. Granddad didn’t because he was Irish and he was Catholic and they were assholes. They were still assholes when they offered membership to Dad, who’s also obviously Irish and Catholic, but by that time, he made so much money, they felt they could lift their racist, bigoted, unwritten rule and offered it to him anyway. He took it just so he could find ways to shove it up their asses.”

When he stopped speaking and didn’t go on, without anything else to say, I said, “Okay.”

With this prompt, Mickey continued, “So Dad went and got drunk and loud and obnoxious and loved every minute knowin’ those arrogant fuckers hated it. Dad let his boys go knowin’ we’d get drunk and loud and obnoxious too. We upped it by doin’ that as well as gettin’ into fights with any stick-up-his-ass asshole who looked at us funny, and you probably get there were a lot of them. He also probably knew we’d go all out to get whatever rich bitch pussy we could nail, which is undoubtedly why he snuck us condoms, puttin’ ’em under our pillows.”

I emitted a soft gasp at this but didn’t respond verbally.

So Mickey kept going.

“And we did. Had my fill of spoiled little rich girl, Amy, and none of them were near as well-off as you. They grew up and some are still around, and not one of ’em has it in ’em to learn a fuckin’ thing except to think they’re entitled to have what they want and do whatever they wanna do and they don’t give that first fuck if it’s right or wrong or hurts anybody.”

“I—” I started but stopped when his arms got extra tight and he dipped his face so it was close to mine.

“You stumbled,” he stated firmly. “Then you picked your ass up, opened your eyes and saw what was important and started fightin’ for it. So you fucked up. Now you’re makin’ it right. And that’s the only thing that means
anything
.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“Do you…really think that?” I asked.

“Fuck yeah,” he answered. “The mistakes we make in life don’t define us, Amy. The way we handle ’em after makin’ ’em do. You made a mistake. Now you’re handling it and doing it the right way and that’s who you are. A mother who wants to heal her family and make them safe and healthy. So really, you got that strength in you, that’s all you ever were. Your ex tripped you up and you weren’t expecting it and you didn’t handle it right. But that’s over, so you gotta find the strength to keep handling it right now.”

“I…it’s hard to get over the making the mistake part.”

He lifted his head away, but not far. “Yeah, what you lost makin’ yours, I get that. But the root of this issue is not your burden to bear. I understand how it went down, but a cheater manipulating a bad situation
he
created, gettin’ the upper hand with his kids and continuing to beat down the wife he fucked over.” He shook his head. “No. You get that now, I’m seeing. But I’ll repeat…no. You’re right. You know it and I don’t have to say it, but your kids shouldn’t have seen that. But what
I
saw is this guy who shared your bed for sixteen years then tore your family apart and sent you reeling up in
your
face at
your
front door without you buyin’ that shit at all, just movin’ to be close to your kids. He’s a motherfucking asshole, Amy, and in all this, whatever you served up to him, he bought that and deserved every second of the shit you shoved down his throat. So that…you let go. Because that’s not on you.”

“I shouldn’t have licked my wounds, kept them fresh, torn at them more, Mickey,” I told him. “I should have taken my licks, sorted myself out and moved on.”

“Rhiannon was passed out every night before I could make love to her and that shit went on for months,” he declared.

I stared.

But he wasn’t done.

“Seein’ my wife like that, sloppy drunk before she was unconscious, half the time she got to that point, she still had a wineglass in her hand. So many stains on the carpet, I had to put new in when she moved out because the carpet was a mess but more, to erase those memories for my kids and for me. So I didn’t have it in me to go for it when she was sober. A man needs to fuck, Amy, and I was dry for eight months when I had a wife in my bed and I
still
never even
considered
steppin’ out on her. She was my wife. Good or bad, you do not do that shit. It’s bad, you end it and
then
you find ass to tap.”