Purling Road - the Complete Second Season: Episodes 1-10 (26 page)

She stared at him slack-jawed.

“I do listen to you when you ramble, you know.” He turned and walked away. Quickly, she got off her bike and scurried after him.

“Peter, I had no idea you knew all of that,” she said, struggling to keep up with him. “Please, stop.” He didn’t.

“I’m sorry!” she yelled and that brought him to a stop.

He met her with cold eyes. “You want me to consult with you before I do anything regarding your business? Fine. I’m officially consulting with you. I want to take over morning deliveries before work.”

“Why?”

He couldn’t hold up the angry exterior for long. “Because you’re tired. Because you do too much. Because your energy should go into building the paper, not throwing them. Because I love you. Because I’ll do anything to help you succeed.”

She was too moved to speak. She shocked him and herself when she threw her arms around him and kissed him desperately. Ian blew a teasing whistle from the boat and they ignored him.

***

“It’ll be any day now,” Maura said, tucking fresh laundry into the drawers.

“That’s what ye said last week,” Ian replied, grinning.

“I know, but I’m certain this time. The women in my family always deliver a bit early.”

“Is Gordon taking her to the hospital then? Or will he let ye see to her?”

Maura’s smile faded. She was so looking forward to helping deliver her niece’s child.

“He’s taking her to the hospital in Gloucester. After his first wife dyin’ in childbirth, he’s takin’ no chances this time.”

“Understandable.”

Scottie burst into the room grinning and sweaty. “Mam, Jean and Eddie are here. Can I go with them?”

“Where to?”

“We’re having a club meeting. Secret business.”

“A club?” Ian said and stood up from the bed. “Can I join?”

“No,” Scottie said with a twisted smile. “You’re a grown up. Besides, you have to be special to join this club.”

“Special how?” Maura asked.

“It’s a secret.”

“Yes, run along and play. Be home by dinner!” she yelled as he ran off. She peeked at Ian over her shoulder. “That should make ye happy.”

“It does. That and the conversation I had with Caleb.

“Ye never did tell me about that.”

“Not much to tell.” He crossed the room and hugged her from behind. “Only that ye were right. I’m glad we stayed.”

She smiled and leaned her head against his. “Whatever ye got settled, I’m glad ye did.”

He could have told her that he finally felt like he belonged here, even if it were in a different way than he’d been looking for. Scottie found his place among his friends, the next generation was palling around, and getting into mischief, and that had been more of a concern for him than his own feelings. It was his own insecurities that kept him feeling inferior. He didn’t bother. Instead, he mentioned something that had been on his mind a lot lately.

“So we are staying here. Making this home.”

“Yes,” she answered with a leading tone.

“We’re gettin’ by like we always have.”

“Yes.”

“It’s been months since… well, I was wondering if perhaps ye didn’t want to try again fer a babe.”

Her smile fell, her spine stiffened and he felt it.

“Not just yet,” she said softly.

“Are ye not feeling well?”

She turned to him and put her hands on his shoulders. “I’m feelin’ fine. It’s just not the right time, is all. Things with you and Scottie are finally returning to normal. I do not have to run to and fro to save our friends from catastrophe. Tarin is getting ready to have a baby and that will be a wonderful thing to celebrate. And you are finally happy here. I want to be happy here with ye fer awhile without any other distractions. For a little while, let’s just… be.”

It wasn’t what he’d hoped to hear, but he agreed. As usual, he had to agree with his wife. And it would give him more time to save for the eventual babe that he wanted Maura to have so desperately. To give her what had eluded her all this time was something he considered without thinking of their circumstances or their future. The want for her to have another child, his child, just… was.

***

Arianna held out her hand. “Can I see that?” she asked.

He glanced at the book before handing it to her. She tossed it aside and without warning, straddled his lap.

“What are you doing?” he asked, leaning back, hands up.

“I need to tell you something.”

“You can’t tell me from over there?” he asked, gesturing off to the side.

“I’m tired of sitting on the other end of the sofa.”

She took his face in her hands and held it firm. “I love you. You don’t have to believe me. You don’t have to love me back. But you need to know.” Her voice cracked and wavered, but she went on. “I messed up. I messed up so big. And I’ll be sorry until the day I die. Not just for that, but for not being grateful to your mother while she was alive. I won’t make that same mistake with you. I won’t let another day go by without letting you know that I realize how good you’ve been to me. I’ll never take it for granted again.” She wanted to kiss him, but the way he stared at her, she didn’t know if it would be welcomed. Saying what she’d intended, she started to move off his lap. He took one wrist and held it. He didn’t speak but continued to stare. She had no idea what to expect, no idea what to do next. He wasn’t moving, wasn’t speaking, and she remembered what David said. She moved slowly, leaning against him and put her head on his shoulder. After a moment, he put one arm around her, then another. She closed her eyes with a deep breath. It was more than she’d hoped for.

***

Jonathan wasn’t expecting to have to tip the lookouts. Grudgingly, he pulled a dollar from his pocket and handed it to the man with the scarred pockmarked face. The idea that his wife was here, out in the middle of nowhere with scruffy men guarding the dirt road made him even more upset with the situation.

She’d asked him to come every Friday before she left. Every Friday he stubbornly refused. Including tonight. After pacing the floor like a caged lion, he pulled the children from their beds and took them to Caleb’s, made up a lame excuse and left in a hurry.

If she wanted him to see her, fine. He would. But if the place wasn’t as decent, or if she wasn’t as safe as she claimed to be, he would put an end to it. He’d stopped short of forbidding it before. If he didn’t like the looks of this place, he
would
outright forbid it. And from the looks of the men watching the road, he didn’t like it.

The outside of the mansion worried him even more. Looked like the place was about to fall down with boarded up windows and decaying bricks.

He got out quickly, slamming the door. To think his wife was here, right now. He never should have let her leave, not this time, not any time. He’d seen enough that he knew what he had to do. March in there and take her, over his shoulder if need be, back home.

He climbed steps that wobbled. A few people milled about on the porch, sipping drinks, fanning themselves. Others huddled close in shadowed corners with fervent whispers and feminine giggles. He pushed the door open and stepped inside. He stopped, mouth falling slowly agape.

She wasn’t lying. The place wasn’t half-bad. If he hadn’t been able to remember so clearly the opulence and luxury of clubs he’d visited years ago, he’d consider it nice. While he could spot a few people with money to speak of, he noticed many more pretending. Dresses that didn’t quite fit, tulle and lace in tatters, black suit jackets with small tears neatly sewn. A glass tiara with a few of the stones missing. To him, they looked like a bunch of people who were refusing to give up that decade of abundance, the legendary party that seemed like it would never end.

But it did end, violently, leaving impoverished, broken souls to find what happiness they could, where they could. This set found it here. Outside was a world of hellish struggle. Inside, they could go back, even just for a night. These were, and not just in regards to the alcohol and cocaine, Arianna’s people. The ones whose entire lives had been about the party, the lifestyle.

They didn’t come here to get drunk. They came here to remember.

It was no wonder Arianna lost her mind here. If he squinted, he too could return to that time. The question was, did he want to?

A few drinks would blur the sight of his own black shoes, and no matter how polished, would show the signs of age and wear. Seeing the humanity in what was happening here, he felt more humbled, less scared. This club didn’t exist for profit only. It served a need. The need to escape and pretend, so folks could wake up and face another day—which was exactly what he decided to do.

He wandered over to the bar, his head on a swivel for Ava. He ordered two whiskeys and asked the bartender about the entertainment that night.

“Across the hall, in the ballroom. She should be on anytime.”

Jonathan took his drinks one after the other. It seemed like the thing to do here. Blur the edges quickly, and then have a good time. He leaned his elbow on the bar and took a good look around. There was some trash here. A few buying and selling a deeper escape. The kind that nearly ruined Aryl’s life. They stayed off to the sides and people went to them, they didn’t wander around harassing the pretenders. He left the empty glasses on the bar, unbuttoned his jacket and left it open. His white shirt, his last good white shirt, had a stain, just over his stomach. Courtesy of Amy’s fingers, red with beet juice. He saw it, frowned, and then squinted until he couldn’t see it anymore. He chuckled at the trick and started walking again.

It was warm inside. There were more candles than electric light, and it helped to mask the cheap improvisations, but it also added to the heat. He opened the first two buttons of his shirt. He surprised himself how calm he was. Only moments ago he’d been ready to charge in here to rescue his wife from his own vulgar imagination.

He smiled to himself and a dark haired beauty smiled back. He slowed, glancing at her as she slinked past, flirting shamelessly. It was the woman with the broken tiara. She winked. He narrowed his eyes, sweeping them to the floor and back, holding the smile. His head snapped forward, his smile dropped.

“Let’s not go that far into the past, Jon,” he whispered to himself.

He found a seat at an open table. It wasn’t overly crowded, and what crowd there was, was subdued. Chatter blended, surrounded him in a murmur. He found it strangely comforting. So many people with a collective fantasy. Women in short skirts and beaded tops ferried food to tables. It was simple food, but again, everyone was pretending. It didn’t matter if the dish was boiled beef and cabbage, doused heavily with pepper. The people desperately clinging to their visions saw something else he was sure. The overhead lights cut, and when the spotlight came on, he found himself suddenly swept up in that vision.

Ava stood center stage, eyes low. She started singing, so low it was nearly a whisper the first two lines of ‘Mean to Me,’ a Ruth Etting song before the band joined in.

Jonathan sat back with a thud. If the state of the club and its patrons surprised him, he had no words for how he felt now. She could sing—better than any stage bird or Broadway honey that he’d ever seen. She was singing Ruth Etting’s song better than Ruth Etting herself.

It had taken her the entire first song before she began to look comfortable. Her stage fright was evident, and for that, he felt bad for her. But the next song was met with whoops and hollers, and he had to smile wide. The selection, again a recent Ruth Etting was fitting.

“I work at the Palace Ballroom but, gee that Palace is cheap.”

The more they cheered, the more relaxed she became. Jonathan watched her transformation in awe. She was no longer the timid little sparrow, afraid to speak out of turn. She was breathtaking, her hair done in Etting’s style, her dress modest enough to keep him in his chair, sexy enough to keep other men at the edge of theirs. She looked elegant. He rubbed the spot between his eyes.

God, what he’d been imagining. It was nothing like this. He glanced around and saw all the faces watching Ava. They were transfixed. She was a part of their illusion. A precious part of it. No wonder the owner offered Ava a job on the spot. She classed this place up like no other.

A waitress came by and bent low, asking if he’d like a drink.

“What the hell. I’ll have a Scotch.” His favorite long before the need for illusions and distractions.

She hustled off, and his eyes floated back to Ava. The song ended and applause erupted, Jonathan’s being among the loudest.

Two men looked over at him curiously. Jonathan grinned and pointed. “That’s my wife.”

One man laughed. “Yeah, sure, buddy. Don’t you wish?”

Ten songs and she took a break. Jonathan made his way to the stage and approached her as she came down the side stairs. Two men stepped in front of him. Together, they formed an impenetrable wall.

“I’m Jonathan Garrett. That’s my wife.”