Total Rush (38 page)

Sean rotated his palms upward. “What did you expect? You were a stranger. They lightened up once they heard who you were, didn't they?”

“True.”

“So, how are you doing?” Sean asked, hands thrust deep in the front pockets of his pants. Gemma had never really noticed before, but he looked very handsome in his work “blues.” In the past she'd been so preoccupied with worry for him she'd failed to appreciate what a dashing figure he could be—solid, formidable, striking.

“I'm okay.”

“Is the loony safely locked up?”

“Don't call him that. It's not nice. He's being treated at Bellevue.”

Sean rocked on his heels. “That's good.”

Gemma's urge to wrap up the conversation was strong. It was so hard, standing here on the pavement with him, chatting away like good friends, when deep down inside, she still got a fluttery feeling every time she looked at him, followed swiftly by regret over their abysmal inability to meet each other halfway. It was time she faced the truth: She would probably never feel his mouth conquer hers again, or experience the utter tranquility of lying in his arms. And that hurt.

“I really should get going,” she murmured.

“I guess.”

“Thanks again for all you've done.”

“No problem.” Sean bunched his shoulders. “I guess I'll see you around.”

“Actually, I'm going away for a week.”

Sean looked interested. “Yeah?”

“A week at Michael's summer house on the Jersey shore.”

Sean nodded appreciatively. “Nice. When you leaving?”

“Friday.”

“Have a good time.”

Gemma smiled. “I'll try.”

 

 

“
What took you
so long?” Mike Leary called out as Sean reentered the kitchen. “She give you some special herbs to sprinkle on the cannolis?”

Bill Donnelly's eyes popped. “That's the New Age whackjob?”

“That's her,” Sal Ojeda confirmed. “Too bad she couldn't read some tea leaves, see Grandma was in danger, and teleport herself over to rescue the old broad herself, huh?”

The guys laughed.

“Maybe she knows what crystals to use to get the freakin' LIRR to run on time,” Joe Jefferson chimed in.

Disgusted, Sean peered around the table. “You guys are pricks, you know that?”

“What are you, on the rag?” Leary sniffed derisively. “We're just having some fun.”

“She comes down here to thank us in person, she brings fresh-baked cannolis, and what do you do the minute she leaves? Start tearing her to shreds. Real nice.”

“We tear everyone to shreds,” Leary pointed out. “It's the American way.”

“If people knew how we talked when we were alone, they'd think we were assholes, not heroes.”

Leary looked amused. “Gather 'round, boys, young Kennealy here is developing a conscience. Let's watch it grow.”

“Fuck you, Mike.”

“No, fuck you, Sean. This is the way things are around here and you know it. No one's immune. Unless, of course, you still like her.”

“What if I do?”

Leary's expression changed immediately from one of belligerence to support. “Well, in that case, we'll all back off, no ifs, ands, or buts. 'Cause no one—but no one—rags on a firefighter's woman. Right, boys?”

“That's right,” rang an assortment of voices around the table.

“Okay, then,” Sean declared with a defiant lift of the chin. “I still like her.”

Leary cleared his throat as if preparing to make an important announcement. “In that case, gentlemen, Miss Gemma Dante is now off-limits as an object of derision, since young Sean here still has feelings about her.” He turned to Sean. “Which prompts me to ask: Whatcha gonna do about it, bro?”

If I were
rich,
Gemma mused as she strolled the moon-lit beach,
I would buy a little house here on the shore just like Michael and Theresa. I'd pay for full-time care for Nonna. I'd expand the store. And I'd get a really nice hybrid bike.

She stopped, closing her eyes to better enjoy the night breeze as it gently caressed her face.
You are rich,
she reminded herself, breathing in the briny scent of the sea. Tough times made that hard to remember, but it was true. That's why she'd come outside tonight: to remind herself of all her blessings, to sit peacefully under the stars and take stock of her life, and most important of all, to relax.

Eyes still closed, she delighted in the absence of noise, so much a part of life in the city. She heard nothing but the wind, the tranquil lapping of waves, and her own slow, steady breathing. She opened her eyes, noticing the beach was deserted, which amazed her. It was a clear, beautiful night. Why weren't people out, delighting in the sand squishing between their toes, or reading the stars? Then she remembered: It was off-season. No wonder the only beach house with light coming from it was Michael's.

Feeling more relaxed that she had in weeks, she strolled a few more yards, walking right up to the edge of the shoreline. Water rushed over her bare feet, cold and invigorating. The full moon beamed down on her, its gentle rays of light stippling the surface of the water. Taking it all in, Gemma's heart swelled with appreciation.
Thank you for this beautiful, natural world.

She backed up, out of the reach of the waves, heading toward a flat expanse of sand. Unclasping her cloak, she removed it and put it down before setting up eight wind-proof, glass-encased candles she'd brought with her in a small bag. She lit each candle carefully and set them in a wide, wide circle. They flickered tenaciously, their dancing brightness against the night sky hypnotic. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, she sat down in the center of the circle.

She thought about her family, and how lucky she was to have them, despite all the craziness. A warm feeling spread throughout her body as she recalled the sensation of finally being hugged by her mother, the soft skin of baby Domenica, and the rice paper thinness of her grandmother's hand.

She thought about her closest friends, and how much they enriched her life: Frankie, Theo, Miguel. Especially Frankie. Her best friend's freckled face popped into her mind, and Gemma smiled. Michael and Theresa came to mind as well. Yes, they were family, but they were also her friends. Good friends who were sheltering her, taking care of her. Just thinking about all of them made her feel tranquil.

Drawing her knees up, she wrapped her arms around them, rocking a little as she thought about poor Uther, and how troubled he was. She hoped he got the help he needed, and that he eventually found the right woman. There was someone for everyone. She firmly believed that. Somewhere out there in the big, wide world, there was a damsel who longed for a lover with a Norman helmet, a woman who dreamed of meeting her knight in shining armor at a reenactment. Gemma prayed Uther found her.

Thoughts of Uther inevitably led to thoughts of the Golden Bough. Now that she had a little distance, she could see how serious the hostage situation had truly been. She was glad nothing had happened to Julie. Julie: a little moody, but a hard worker. Without her uncomplaining flexibility, Gemma doubted she would ever have been able to manage juggling Nonna and the store all these months. Julie was getting a raise.

Finally, with a sweet twinge of melancholy, she thought about Sean. How handsome he was. How kind, sexy, romantic. How, if she were given the chance to do it all over again, she wouldn't worry so much about what he did for a living, nor would she fret so much about whether they fit into each other's worlds. If you loved someone, you made it work. You took chances, expanded your horizons. Compromised. You accepted them as they were.

“Is this a private party, or can anyone join?”

Gemma froze. Someone had been watching her! Serenity went on hold as she peered anxiously into the darkness.

“Who's there?”

She heard someone scrambling through the beach grass. Then, stepping out of the shadows, she saw him.

Sean.

He halted at the ring of candles, which were still blazing strong.

“What are you doing here?” Gemma asked, not unkindly, curling and uncurling her toes in the sand.

“I wanted to talk to you.” His expression, illuminated in the flickering candlelight, was uneasy, almost pained. “Is that okay?”

“Of course it's okay.” She tried to regain the feeling of relaxation, but her heart had started fluttering. “Just let me blow these out and we can walk back—”

“Don't blow them out.” Sean stepped into the circle. “Let's talk here. This is really nice.”

“Okay.” Gemma's heartbeat picked up even more momentum. “I'll get us something to sit on.” She hurried out of the circle, returning with her cloak. She spread it on the ground like a blanket. “Here.” Sitting down, she patted the ground beside her, doing her best to mask her nervousness. “Is this all right?”

He sat down right next to her, so close their shoulders practically touched. “This is great.”

Gemma looked out at the ocean, his nearness unnerving her. “So,” she began, shuddering involuntarily, “let's talk.”

“Are you cold?” Without waiting for her answer, he shucked off his leather jacket, draping it over her shoulders.

“Thank you.” Again Gemma drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them tightly, this time waiting.

“Michael told me how to get here.”

“I figured.” Gemma glanced sideways, catching a quick glimpse of his profile in the candlelight. As had always been the case, she liked what she saw: the patrician curve of his nose, the strong solid jawline, tousled curls . . . “What did you tell him, if you don't mind me asking?”

“That I knew you were here and we needed to talk.”

“And he didn't grill you? Or make you sign a slip of paper vowing you would never cause me undue pain and anguish?”

Sean chuckled. “He did sound kind of suspicious, but I could hear Theresa in the background shouting, ‘Give him the damn directions,' so I assume, if he had any reservations about it, she more or less put the kibosh on them.”

“That sounds like them.”
Thank God for Theresa. Michael is so clueless sometimes!

“So here you are.”

“Here I am.” His gaze turned toward the sea.

It was impossible not to contemplate the ocean while sitting on a beach, or at the very least to use it as a distraction while formulating exactly what you wanted to say. Gemma assumed that was what Sean was doing now, his blue eyes fixed on some invisible point on the dark horizon. She rocked a little, keeping warm, keeping faith. She knew Sean: When he was ready to talk, he'd talk.

Eventually, his gaze left the far distance and sought hers. “I want to apologize to you.”

“For?”

Sean's laugh was self-deprecating. “Where do I even begin?”

“At the beginning?”

“There's a thought.” He swallowed hard. “I'm sorry I asked you to hide your faith from my folks. And that I didn't really give your friends a chance. That was wrong of me.”

“I'm sorry, too,” Gemma said, dropping her eyes while her finger shyly traced a line back and forth in the sand.

“For what?” Sean sounded genuinely baffled.

Gemma looked back at him. “For turning into a basket case every time you walked out the door to work. That only added to your stress. I can see that now. I also feel badly that I was so pushy, trying to get you to talk about things you didn't want to talk about.”

He cleared his throat. “People in a relationship share things. Good and bad. Obviously, given what I do, I would never want to give you the gory details of some of the stuff I have to deal with, but I could have given you more than I did. Shared more than I did.”

Gemma's gaze turned sympathetic. “I hear that's not unusual in your line of work.”

Sean grimaced. “No, it's not. But it's slowly changing. It has to. It doesn't do any of us any good to hold this shit inside, thinking we're not real men or real heroes if we let things get to us.

“When that kid almost died in the brownstone fire because of me, not only did I doubt myself, but I worried about you doubting me.”

Gemma was puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“I didn't want you to think I was a failure, Gemma. Which is what I felt like. It was easier just to withdraw.”

“Oh, Sean.” Her heart traveled to his, wanting to heal it, ease his pain. “I could never think you were a failure.”

Sean's mouth twisted into a rueful smile. “No, but you could think I was a taciturn jackass, hate what I do for a living, and make it clear that you didn't think much of my friends.”

Gemma faced him head-on. “I won't lie: I do hate what you do for a living. It scares me. As for your friends,” she continued tentatively, “I really don't know them well enough to judge them, and that's what I did. I'm sorry. I was wrong.”

Sean shook his head. “It's okay. Look, I know they're not perfect. They can be a bunch of immature pricks: stubborn, opinionated, close-minded. But they're good people with big hearts.” His voice rang with emotion. “Any one of them would give me the shirt off his back if I asked. We watch out and care for one another, not only because we have to, but because we want to. Our lives are in each other's hands.”

Gemma was genuinely moved. “I never thought about it that way.”

“It's the truth.” His eyes searched hers, and the intensity she saw there had Gemma fighting for breath. Those blue, blue eyes, asking silent questions of her in the moonlight. The eyes she saw that night when casting her love spell. She broke eye contact.