Emily
“Well, you’ve been a help, old man.”
I rise to my feet. The old man stands up almost at once. He turns to me, a concerned expression on his face, almost like the expression of a father regarding his daughter. It makes me feel weird, as though a puzzle piece has been slotted into a long-empty place inside of me. The look this old man gives me, this stranger, is a look I’ve yearned for my entire life. A look Patrick never gave me. The look a loving family member is meant to give.
As he stands, his coat clings onto his knees, tugging his neckline down. I see his tattoo, which I only half-noticed when we first met. It’s the same as Jude’s tattoos!
I take a step back, stunned.
“You’re . . .”
“Mickey O’Donnell,” he says, extending his hand. “And you’re Emily Ness. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
He walks to the edge of the pond, watching the ducks. I join him, standing at his shoulder. “We’ve been talking for over an hour. Didn’t you think it would’ve been a good idea to let me know who you are?” I pause. “Wait a second…Did Jude send you?”
Mickey laughs. I try to find some hint of murder, sadism, in the laugh, but his voice is still the kind old man’s voice. Discovering that he’s Jude’s boss, the leader of one of the most dangerous crime families in America, does little to change my perception of him.
“Of course Jude sent me,” he says. “But I’m not here to take you back. I won’t even tell Jude I found you.”
“So why are you here?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” He turns to me with a fatherly smile. “I’m here because Jude cares about you a whole lot, and Jude’s my family. That makes you family, too, girl.”
A tingle moves over me at the word. Family.
“I shared a lot with you,” I murmur.
“You did. And did it help?”
“Yes,” I admit. “I think so.”
“Then my work here is done.”
“How did you find me?” I ask.
“I have an intricate network of homeless people,” he says. “I put out an announcement, you were spotted entering the park, I was contacted. Don’t tell anyone, though. I’m pretty sure most of the men think I’m psychic or something.” He taps his nose in a keep-a-secret gesture.
I can’t help but laugh.
“I like you, girl,” Mickey says. “You don’t deserve all the nasty shit that’s happened to you. I’m sorry about that.”
“Were you telling the truth?” I say. “When you told me about your dad. About the girl.”
He nods somberly. “Oh, yes. I was telling the truth. I’d ask you to keep that a secret, too, if you don’t mind. Not many people know about it.”
“Of course.”
He looks deep into my eyes. “Jude’s a good man,” he says. “Jude’s the best man I know, Emily. Tool told me once he thought Jude would’ve been a vet or something like that in a different life. Maybe a nurse like his sister. I don’t know about that, but I know that boy; there’s more to him than appears at first glance.”
“Isn’t that the same with all of us?”
“Perhaps, perhaps not.” Mickey shrugs. “You’re family now, girl, but I won’t overstep and tell you what to do. All I’ll say is this. Jude’s a good man and he cares a great deal for you. Oh, he tries to hide it, of course. But he’s like a teenager trying to hide a crush. He’s been different these past weeks, even if he himself hasn’t realized it. You can almost smell the love radiating from him. He only wants you to be happy.”
“He’s said all this to you?” My tone is disbelieving; I could never imagine Jude offering all this up to anybody else, especially a man in the life.
“No. But he doesn’t have to. It’s written on the boy’s face.”
We pause, watching ripples and ducks and leaves floating on the breeze. “You’re different than I expected you to be,” I say.
“We all are. No person in this life is evil. At least, few are. There are the Barrys of this world, of course, but they’re few and far between. Mostly we’re just men with a job to do. That’s something else I need to tell you, girl. You’re my family now. If Jude’s my son—and in many ways he is—you’re my daughter-in-law. I will never have a quarrel with you. But I have one with your brother, Patrick. You should think about distancing yourself from that brother of yours before it’s too late.”
“It’s already too late.” I don’t feel the pang of confusion and grief I felt before talking with Mickey. Strange, how one conversation can change so much. “He’s dead.”
“He’s not dead.”
“What?”
He tells me; it was Barry’s blood. Barry’s the one who’s dead.
“Then why…” I reel all the way back to the bench and drop into it. I lean my forearms on my legs and let out panting breaths. “Then why didn’t Jude tell me? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Both for the same reason, I expect. We wanted you to let him go. We wanted you to see that those black eyes of yours outweigh all the supposed good he’s done for you. Judging from our conversation, I’d say it was a successful venture.”
“It was.” I breathe heavily. “But…I thought he was dead!” I massage my temples. “I don’t know whether to be relieved or terrified.”
Mickey walks to the bench, standing over me. “There is no easy answer to that one, I’m afraid,” he says. “But I think you’ll find some kind of answer, if you really look.”
With that, he leaves me.
After around fifteen minutes, I stand up and make my way through the park.
Despite everything, I feel stronger, braver. The old man—Mickey, I correct myself—has helped me see something that was there all along. He’s helped me see my steel.
I’ll get my last paycheck from the bakery, I think, smiling despite the madness of the last couple of hours, and then I’ll return to the apartment. I need Jude. I need him badly right now.