And through this profound experience, Mickey made it more profound by saying softly, “Thanks.”
My voice was low and had a husk that I hoped he put down to emotion for his children and not the fact that he could touch the back of my hand for less than half a second and it had the power to make my nipples get hard when I replied, “Don’t mention it.”
He nodded to me. “See you in the mornin’, Amelia.”
I fought back a defeated (or possibly aroused) sigh and forced a smile. “Yes, Mickey. See you in the morning. And thanks for introducing me to your kids.”
He started moving even as he threw a return smile over his shoulder at the same time he shot an arrow straight through my heart.
“Look forward to you returnin’ that favor.”
At this juncture the way things were he’d meet my kids when I was on my deathbed and they were making their guilt trip visit to say good-bye and make sure I put them in my will.
I kept the smile pinned to my face even knowing it now looked totally fake.
Luckily he’d turned his back to me and was walking away.
Not to appear rude, I waited until he was halfway down the drive before I closed the door.
And so he wouldn’t hear me doing it, I waited until I knew for certain he was well out of earshot before I locked it.
And when the only thing I wanted to do was curl up somewhere and let loose all the feelings I was feeling, all the things I kept burying, everything I continued to push aside, even if doing that allowed them to destroy me, I didn’t do that.
I went to the kitchen, made sure everything was covered, decided against a glass of wine and hit the shower.
Then I hit the bed.
I fell asleep slowly and once asleep did it fitfully.
And when I woke, not refreshed in the slightest, I knew this had happened for a variety of reasons.
But I didn’t allow myself to feel any of them.
*
“When are your kids gettin’ here?”
I turned my head at Mickey’s voice.
It was nearly noon the next day and clearly my decision not to pay for simple notices but place ads not only in Magdalene’s weekly newspaper but every paper in the county with a short list of the items for sale (and the brands) had made the day an unqualified success.
We’d been overrun.
In fact, there were cars lining the street before six o’clock.
This meant good things, including us making wads and wads of money and all my stuff heading out the door.
It also meant that I’d been way too busy to fret about spending time with Mickey.
But now, most of the stuff had been picked over, the dregs were remaining (which meant all of my stuff that I had on sale was gone and even some of it I didn’t intend to sell but sold anyway) and the crowd was waning.
Which meant Mickey could get to me and do it sharing the fact that he’d noticed my children hadn’t shown.
His had and they’d worked their behinds off. Alyssa and Junior’s had and they’d done the same. Jake and Josie’s Conner, Amber and Ethan had also arrived with their parents.
Though, only Ethan was Josie’s and she’d only recently adopted him after recently marrying Jake. A long story she’d shared amongst planning sessions, but one that explained why she’d also only recently taken over league fundraising.
Not to mention, several other budding boxers and their parents had shown, with brothers and sisters.
It meant the crush hadn’t been overwhelming and the day had been a winner. I had no idea the ongoing tally but I knew we’d made thousands. Josie and Alyssa had started beaming at around eight o’clock and were now walking on air.
I had been too. I felt wonderfully free watching my old life walk out the door in the hands of people who were delighted to get a screaming bargain and who would enjoy my stuff far more than I ever had. And I just felt plain wonderful doing what I was doing to give good to a bunch of boys who wanted to learn how to box.
But right then, at Mickey’s question, both of these feelings fled instantly.
“They’re with their dad,” I mumbled, rearranging some of our wares (none of them mine) on the kitchen counter for better visibility.
“You got a big gig like this goin’ on, their dad doesn’t let them show?” Mickey asked incredulously.
I looked at him.
He took in my look and noticeably flinched.
This meant he read my look completely.
Seeing that, I decided the time was nigh to share with Mickey Donovan—my attractive neighbor who did not look at me like I looked at him, but even if he did he didn’t deserve to be saddled with the likes of me—some of why he might wish to keep distance from his neighbor.
“Their father would not be pleased if they came because he doesn’t want our children around me. But Auden and Olympia not being here is not their father’s choice. It’s theirs. My kids and I aren’t very close. We were. We aren’t any more. And that’s my doing.”
“Sorry, babe,” Mickey murmured, holding my eyes. “Wasn’t my business. Shouldn’t have said anything.”
The evening before, he’d given me his honesty.