Whiskey Island (22 page)

They followed him into the kitchen, with Winston acting as tour guide for his sister.

Niccolo knew immediately that the hot chocolate wasn’t going to do it. Not one of the kids, except Josh, looked underfed. Yet they were always starving. He remembered how rarely he had felt full at their age, despite having a mother and a grandmother who were happiest when he and his brother were eating. He saw the way the kids’ eyes lit up when he took out the milk, the way Winston sidled up to the stove to see how much he poured.

“French toast or pancakes?” he asked, resigned.

“I had breakfast.” Tarek politely averted his eyes.

“I bet you wouldn’t mind another.”

Joachim was lodged in the doorway, as if he were afraid that there might not be room for the others if he came in. “I like everything.”

“Never had French toast.” Winston sounded as if he would like to change that, and soon.

“Then French toast it is.” Niccolo hoped he had enough bread.

A pounding at the front door interrupted the murmur of assent. Without being asked, Joachim went to answer it.

Niccolo was removing a pound of bacon from the refrigerator when Megan walked in. He hadn’t given much thought to who might be at the door, but he hadn’t even considered her.

She didn’t seem surprised to discover an entire kitchen knee-deep in hulking teenagers. She wore jeans and a rust-colored sweater that almost matched her hair. “Oh good. Are you going to feed me, too?”

He hadn’t seen Megan since their stir-fry dinner, although he’d thought about her frequently. And now, right here, surrounded by watching eyes, his chest tightened and his pulse sped. He managed a casual grin. “Only if you help.”

“Cook for an army? I suspect I can manage.”

He introduced her to the kids, watching their reaction. For the most part they were wary, which he expected, but Megan took that in stride. She didn’t seem put off by Winston’s stare, Tarek’s studied indifference or Josh’s embarrassed mumble. She saved her warmest smile for Joachim, who put out his hand and shook hers with enthusiasm. And she greeted the reticent Elisha the way one woman friend greets another.

“So, what can I do?” She came to stand beside Niccolo, pushing the sleeves of her sweater above her elbows. “Shall I work on the bacon?”

“Terrific. We’re making French toast.”

“Umm…I came at the right moment.”

He wanted to know why she’d really come. Their relationship revolved around secrets and revelations. If she had come simply to visit, they were moving into an entirely new chapter.

They worked together like longtime partners. She cooked the bacon just the way he liked it. She lavishly praised his French toast and made a mixture of melted butter and honey to extend a half-empty bottle of syrup.

The table wasn’t large enough for everybody, so the kids clustered around it, while he and Megan stood side by side at the sink eating theirs. He was reminded of the evening in her kitchen when he had been consumed with desire and afraid even to kiss her. Like then, he could smell the sweet scent of her hair, feel the subtle warmth of her hip against his thigh. He was an adult male who had abstained from sexual contact for more than a decade, but suddenly he wasn’t sure he had as much self-control as the boys sitting at his table.

“So, what brings you here?” he asked her. The kids were arguing about music videos, and the conversation promised only to get louder.

“Lord knows I wouldn’t have come if I’d known you were holding a Crips prayer breakfast right here in your kitchen.”

“They’re good kids.”

She smiled up at him. “I can tell you think so.”

“And you don’t?”

“They’re kids. They bear watching.”

He tugged one of her curls and watched it bounce back into place. “She talks tough, but she’s the one who gave Joachim an extra helping when he batted his eyes at her.”

“That boy will break hearts. As soon as his hair grows out.”

“So you like big, dark-haired guys?”

“Occasionally.”

“You didn’t say why you’re here. Not that dropping by without a reason isn’t good. Very good.”

“I took the day off. I wanted to talk to you, but I can see I’ve been outclassed.”

“They have surprisingly advanced attention spans, but they’ll probably leave after the next meal. Why don’t you stay and help? Then we can talk.”

“Help?”

“Sure. We’re going to insulate the attic. You can watch, if you don’t have any skills.”

“You don’t understand. I can do anything. What I want to know is how you rounded up this work crew of yours. Who are these kids and where did they come from?”

“Magic.”

“Meaning?”

“Hocus-pocus, they appeared on my doorstep. And they’re multiplying like rabbits in a top hat. Elisha’s new, and if they keep coming, I’m going to have to throw myself on the mercy of the local food pantry.”

She wrinkled her nose. “You mean these kids are strangers?”

“Not anymore.”

“Didn’t you tell me you needed time to decide what you wanted to do next? How can you hear yourself think?”

“When they’re here, I don’t even try.”

“I knew you were a pushover. I just didn’t know to what extent.”

He considered that. “Is pushover the same thing as nice guy?”

“Close, very close.”

“And that’s not good?”

“What do you get from helping them?”

“I like having them around. The house needed laughter as much as it needed new plaster and wiring.”

That silenced her.

He noticed the party at his kitchen table was breaking up. The French toast was gone, and the bacon was a memory, even though Tarek had carefully eschewed it. “So, are you going to stay or not? We’d like to have you.”

“I was serious, you know. I can do anything. I’ll put you to shame.”

“Like to see you try.”

“You’re on, then.”

“You’re going to get dirty, and that’s a pretty sweater. Why don’t you let me give you an old shirt?”

A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “It’ll come down to my knees.”

“Then even less of you will get dirty.”

“Just show me where to change.”

Niccolo thought that Megan in a piece of his clothing was going to be a huge temptation. Even surrounded by teenagers.

14

I
t took two hours for Elisha to warm up to Megan; then she refused to leave her side. Winston was skeptical right up until the moment Megan unobtrusively shored up a sagging Sheetrock panel and held it in place as the boy finished driving his nails. The others had taken to her the moment they saw that she was good with her hands and better at keeping quiet, letting them find their own ways of doing things, even if they made mistakes along the way.

By lunchtime the attic rafters were newly insulated and wallboard covered most of them. As they drifted away after toasted cheese sandwiches and vegetable soup, the kids were discussing when they could come back to tape and spackle.

“The attic fascinates them,” Niccolo told Megan as he closed the door behind Josh, always the last to leave. “I had a million things that were more important to do today, but I think they see the attic as a clubhouse. They’re always sneaking up there.”

“And that’s why you insulated it and put up the wallboard?”

“The insulation was a necessity. The wallboard?” He shrugged. “I wouldn’t have chosen that particular insulation, either, but I had to use something they could work with safely. I spend half my time trying to figure out what projects they can take part in without running into lead, asbestos, radon….”

“They love this. It’s amazing.”

“No one’s more amazed than I am.” He stretched, and his hand brushed her shoulder. “And speaking of amazing, you’re something else. Where did you pick up all those skills? You wield a hammer like Thor. And I heard you explaining the basics of electrical polarity to Elisha.”

Megan didn’t move away. “Somebody had to keep a roof over the saloon. I can do a little bit of everything. Wiring, plumbing, plastering.
And
roofs.”

His gaze was warm. “I’m impressed.”

Praise always made her uncomfortable. She averted her eyes. “Have you spoken to any of their parents? Do they know how much time they’re spending here?”

“I probably should, but I get the feeling most of the kids have been set adrift. Winston and Elisha’s mother works two jobs since their father died. I imagine she’s thrilled they have a warm place to come while she tries to catch a little sleep between shifts. Joachim is one of seven kids, and he speaks fondly of his family….”

“But they’re too busy to keep up with him,” Megan finished. She’d seen enough of that in her day.

“I suspect they know he’s okay. He’s big, and he’s smart. Tarek’s parents are strict but busy at their store. He’s the only kid who calls home to report in and checks the clock to be sure he’s home when he’s supposed to be. Josh is the one who really worries me. He never talks about his situation.”

“They’re your own little youth group, aren’t they?”

He fell silent. Megan cursed her tongue. She hadn’t meant to sound critical or condescending. Now she was afraid she’d done both. “Niccolo, I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s all right.” He started back toward the kitchen, and she followed.

“I never really had enough time for individuals when I was a priest.” He motioned her to the table and held up the coffeepot. She nodded, and he poured two cups and brought them over, stopping for cream along the way. “That was one of the things I disliked. The better I was at it, the larger my congregation grew, and the less time I had to really involve myself in people’s lives. Sometimes I couldn’t even remember names.”

She noted that he’d left room for lots of cream in her cup, as if he’d been pouring her coffee all his life. “And now you have the time?”

“It’s a great luxury.”

She wondered if he knew how lonely he sounded. On the surface he was talking about doing his job, but she thought he was really talking about making personal, meaningful connections in his own life.

“The kids eat it up.” She took her first sip, then put the cup back on the table to add sugar. “And so do you. I watched you with them. You really like them.”

“What’s not to like?”

“Not everyone would see it that way.”

“You do, though.” It wasn’t a question.

She set her cup down again. “Me? Don’t get me started. The best thing you can say about that bunch is that they’re rough around the edges, Nick.”

He leaned across the table and covered her hand with his. “You were having fun.”

“I stayed because I wanted to talk to you. That’s the only reason.”

“You could have come back.”

“It’s cold outside. I wasn’t sure Charity would start.”

“Funny, I haven’t noticed Charity having trouble starting on my street. Maybe she feels at home.”

Megan liked the feel of his hand over hers. Maybe she liked it too much, but she wasn’t worried enough to pull away. “So far I’ve just been lucky.”

“I haven’t figured out if you really believe you’re a cynic, or if it’s all an act.”

She
was
a cynic, only Niccolo was still too much the priest to see it. She sighed and reached for her coffee cup. With both hands. “That brings me to my reason for being here.”

He sat back and waited, as if he knew this might take a moment to prepare for.

She sipped until the coffee was half gone. “Okay, here’s the thing. My sister Casey has a friend named Jon Kovats who works in the district attorney’s office. He told her there’s been some serious vandalism down on Whiskey Island, and that the company that was hardest hit is going to post extra security and bring in dogs.”

When he didn’t answer, she went on, realizing as she did that this had been his hope. “Casey didn’t think anything about it. It just came up in conversation. But then I told her about your trips to Whiskey Island and the snapshot you found.”

“What did she say?”

Megan couldn’t repeat a good portion of Casey’s response, beginning with, “Who in the hell do you think you are, keeping this from me for so long?”

She tried a synopsis. “She’s no fan of Rooney’s, but she was concerned.”

“Do you think your father might be the one causing the problems down there?”

“He’s certainly caused his share, hasn’t he? If he’s still breathing, he’s still causing problems. That’s Rooney.”

“You told me he drifted in and out of your lives and then he left you. But was he violent? Given to acting out his anger?”

“He never raised a hand to us, if that’s what you’re asking, not even in a family where a good cuffing or a smack on the backside are time-honored child rearing practices. But I can remember a fight or two where Rooney was right in the middle, supposedly to separate the parties but loving it anyway.”

“Was he a man who sought retribution?”

“Occasionally you talk like a priest.”

He smiled at her, a friendly smile with something more behind it. “Occasionally I don’t feel like one.”

She realized how tense she was when she couldn’t smile back. “He was never a man who wanted to get even, Nick. I can say that for Rooney. Not much else, but I can say that. Most of the time he was off in his own little world, and I’m not sure he even noticed there was anything to get even for.”

“Not a bad thing, if you think about it.”

“I don’t think about it, or I haven’t for a long time. I put Rooney out of my mind years ago. I thought he was dead!” She realized her voice had risen, and she took a deep breath. “Now I have to think about him again.”

Niccolo gave one brief nod, which managed to convey understanding, patience and hope that she would go further with this.

“Damn it.” Her hands were shaking. “Don’t be so nice, okay? You’re making it harder.”

“What am I making harder?”

“I want you to take me to the place where you think he’s living.”

His expression didn’t change. He didn’t congratulate her or tell her how mature this decision was. He waited.

“He’s my father,” she said at last. “That doesn’t mean much, but I guess it means something. It must, because I can’t get him out of my mind. Maybe there’s something that can be done for him. I doubt it. Everybody tried, and nobody could make any headway. Not counselors, not psychologists. Uncle Frank used to take him to AA meetings and pretend
he
was the one with the problem. But you can’t be helped if you don’t want to be.”