Family

Countdown to Third Time’s The Charm: A Tommy and Mickey excerpt from First, I Love You (Downey #1)


Here is another fan-favorite moment from The Downey Trilogy:

This one is going out to Mary, a huge Tommy and Mickey fan who tells me this is her favorite father-son moment from First, I Love You:

Tommy was half glaring at him, lips pursed. Then he, too, let out a sigh and shrugged, running his hand through his hair.

“Truth is, my mom had already mentioned something to me a couple times before last night about spending more time with you while I’m here. I think I’ve been soundly outvoted here,” Tommy said, still sounding agitated.

“And you hate that, don’t you?” Mickey asked with a smile.

This boy was so much like him sometimes it was uncanny. But he knew instinctively that would be the last thing he should say to him right now. He walked over to the wet bar in the study and fixed an Old Fashioned. It was 5:00 somewhere. He got a cooled bottle of water out for Tommy from the mini-fridge and handed it to him. Tommy was watching his movements with a wariness and body language that spoke of fatigue.

“I’ve made no secret of my desire to have you be a part of my life. Everything’s been said, what feels like a thousand times over by now. But the last thing I want is you standing in my home against your will. Out of some sense of obligation to the people you do actually care about. It pleases me to see you, but it pleases me to see you happy most of all. What would make you happy?” Mickey asked softly.

Tommy looked down at his bottle in his hand and back up at Mickey through the fringes of his hair then looked away again. He didn’t answer, but he took a drink from his water and walked to the Chippendale desk in the corner of the room. Tommy fiddled with Mickey’s Al Capone bobble head someone had given him as a joke when he first moved to Chicago. It was difficult, but Mickey bit his tongue and waited, giving Tommy the space he needed to answer.

“If I didn’t care it would be easier, wouldn’t it?” Tommy finally answered, not looking at Mickey.

Mickey remained silent, such was his shock at hearing his son say he cared about him. Or is that what he said? Maybe by ‘cared’ he simply meant ‘cared to never have anything to do with you ever’. His confusion kept him mute.

Tommy finally turned and looked at him.

“It’s not like we’re strangers. Like we just met or something. We have… loved ones in common. A shared history; a few fond memories, though long ago. We’ve spent a couple holidays and family events together. But it’s not as if we’re close either. We don’t really know each other except for facts on a sheet and a superficial understanding of likes and dislikes. And, yes, that has been intentional on my part. I’ve told you why. I haven’t been able let go of my anger at you for what you put my mother through, and I can’t help but think,” Tommy stopped and ran a hand through his hair again. “What’s the point of getting to know you better? I’m still a cop and you’re still a man who has zero respect for what I do for a living. But I’ve never claimed to be indifferent. Of course I care. I care that my own father loves me, but I also care that he obviously doesn’t respect me—”

“Now hold up just one second, son! I do respect you. I am very proud of you and of the man you’ve become—”

“I care that you make me feel important and valued but treat others—”

“It’s true I don’t have any faith in law enforcement—”

“—with such breathtaking callousness and cruelty.”

“—or the justice system but I admire your dedication to it. I admire—”

“I care that you lavish us with obviously heartfelt gifts with money stolen—

“—that you are a good person and a good example to your—”

“—from ‘dedicated’ and ‘good’ people who fear you—”

“Enough!” Mickey shouted.

The bourbon in his glass spilled all over his trembling hand and dripped to the worn wooden floor below. His stomach churned with tension and residual panic, and far from calming his nerves, the alcohol seemed to be ramping up the suffocating sensation of powerlessness that had threatened at the edges since Frank’s call. For years he had called all the shots. For years he had commanded respect from everyone around him. But with the one man whose respect he was so desperate to earn he was completely ineffectual. Everything was hanging in the balance on every front, and he couldn’t guarantee that a few loyal men and few billion dollars would be enough to protect his children and the woman he loved and he had given all that power up for this man – this man! – who refused to even see him as anything but the sum of his worst actions.

–Copyright 2012, Genevieve Dewey

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Countdown to Third Time’s The Charm: An excerpt from Second of All (Downey #2)


First, congratulations to Fran S. for winning the contest yesterday on my Facebook Page. She won a signed paperback of First, I Love You. I’ll be having more contests while we wait for Third time’s The Charm, so don’t worry if you didn’t have time!

Between now and then, let’s get back to reliving some fan-favorite moments from First, I Love You and Second of All. This one is going out to Caroline, another huge James and Kiki fan who tells me this is her favorite moment from Second of All:

She felt a fissure of awareness that made goose bumps on her skin and she somehow knew he had shifted his brooding gaze to her profile. She waited for him to say something, but the limo remained silent. She felt him shift ever so slightly towards her then the car began to slow.

“We’re here, Miss Downey,” Kevin said through the intercom.

“Thank you, Kevin,” Kiki answered, slipping her heels back on.

She glanced at James and saw he was frowning menacingly at his jacket across from him. It was both exciting and off putting at the same time. Exactly who was he mad at? Her? Her family? Poor Kevin? Ugh, she was so tired of worrying about everyone else’s feelings. When Kevin opened the door she got out and marched into the lobby without waiting for James. She pretended like he didn’t exist as they rode in the elevator to their sensibly priced room (as sensible as one could get at a five star luxury hotel – a hard won victory on her part over his stubborn pride). She could tell he was still sending her intense almost predatory looks, but if he wasn’t going to communicate, why should she?

Kiki heard the hotel door thunk closed behind them and the snick of the security bolt as she walked forward and started taking her heels off. She hadn’t made it but three steps in when James grabbed her arm and twirled her around. She looked into his eyes, startled, and gasped a little as he yanked her towards him, crushing his mouth to hers. She could taste the alcohol from his drinks on his lips and reflexively put her arms around him as he wrapped his arms around her, kissing her madly.

James hitched her up around his waist and pressed her up against the wall of the hotel room, one hand making its way under her dress and yanking her underpants down a bit. Her head felt sandwiched between the wall and his mouth, his tongue as demanding as his fingers on her pelvis. She dug her fingernails into his arms and wrapped her legs around him, trying to both get a better grip and a bit more freedom. Instead he pressed his torso even more against hers, and she could feel the gun from his holster against her side and the badge against his belt. He scooted her up a bit then dropped his grip on her waist, and undid his pants as her legs slowly listed down. She held onto his shoulders with her hands, and managed to gasp out between kisses,

“James!”

He ignored her and finished dropping his pants, then grabbed her legs back up around his waist. His mouth crushed against hers again, almost painfully in its possessiveness and his hands grabbed her hands and pressed them above her head against the wall.

–Copyright 2012, Genevieve Dewey

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A Letter from Mickey Downey, Part Eight.


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~~~

Dear Tommy,

First, I love you and think of you often. I keep hoping you will call but maybe I’ve just forgotten how busy a young boy gets. Or maybe you can’t call long distance? You can always call collect, just ask your mother how. I did try to call you on Christmas but there was no answer and no way to leave a message. I can’t understand why your mother wouldn’t have an answering machine. Perhaps I’ll send her one and a calling card.

What have you been up to since my visit? Is third grade a challenge? I don’t know why but I remember it being the first time I ever thought school to be fun. We finally started learning some math that was interesting that year. Do you like math like me? Maybe you like music like your mother. She is an exceptional pianist. I’m sure she’s forgotten to mention that as she’s quite modest. I know she teaches music but I’m not sure if she ever plays for recreation anymore. You should ask her to play something for you some time. Maybe you could even tell her I miss her beautiful voice. You don’t have to.

Anyway, your little brother is teething. In case you don’t know what that is, it’s when an ordinarily angelic baby become an impossible to please demon. And that is saying something with Joey. I think I mentioned he is usually as mellow as you were as a baby so this has been quite the adjustment for both of us. Ah well, this too shall pass. Your sister Kiki is having a blast in Kindergarten. She has a whole tribe of boys and girls she has convinced that she is actually a princess and somehow gets them to bring her things and give her their desserts. But here’s the kicker, son, she kept all of it and had an ‘auction’ on the playground to sell it back to all of them. Then she gave her teacher the money. I asked why and she said, ‘so she can buy us some good snacks for story time. No one likes carrots and crackers.’ HA! As a father I’m torn between pride at her entrepreneurial and management skills and pointing out that the establishment frowns at that sort of ‘business’. Or so the government and my lawyers tell me. I can’t wait to see what sort of scheme your brother dreams up in five years. I actually woke up in a sweat the other day thinking about what sort of shenanigans he could come up with if he’s anything like me.

Ah speak of the devil, he’s up again. I’m beginning to greatly appreciate the sacrifice your mother made raising you with only a part time parent to help. I guess it’s time to hire an au pair. That’s a fancy word for live-in babysitter.

I love you (I know I said that already–can’t be said enough). Hope to hear from you soon.

Your Loving Father,

Mickey

PS- I put the calling card in with this letter and another business card.

Read the rest of the letters here: Letters From Mickey Downey

Countdown to Third Time’s The Charm: An excerpt from First, I Love You (Downey #1)


Getting impatient for the third book in The Downey Trilogy? While we wait for the cover reveal on September 19th and the release on October 31st, I’m going to try and keep things interesting. Maybe some contests like we did with the others, giveaways, excerpts, who knows…

But first, I’ll begin with reliving some fan-favorite moments from First, I Love You and Second of All. This one is going out to Brenda, a huge James and Kiki fan who tells me this is her fave moment from First, I Love You:

“Kiki open the door! At least let me explain. Please, baby,” he said, panic seeping into his veins.

Once again he’d underestimated Downey. He’d clearly already pissed on his territory and gotten his version of events out first.

“Go away, Agent Hoffman. Before I call the police,” her soft voice finally said.

The tears and pain in her voice squeezed at his heart. He rattled the door handle a few more pointless times then took out his frustration by banging the door with both fists and kicking it to punctuate each word.

“Kiki! Dammit! Kiki. Open. This. God. Damned. Door! I told you it was separate! I told you—!”

His last words were abruptly cut off by hands jerking him back and slamming him into the opposite wall. The man he’d seen with Downey in the alley pinned him to the wall, forearm choking off his airway. James brought his arm up but he wasn’t quick enough to stop the pistol blow across his head. Jesus, he thought as the gun repeatedly wacked down on him. James twisted sideways, training finally kicking in and swept his assailants legs, punching him in the kidney as he dropped. The man fell down and his gun skidded.

James reached for his own weapon but his hands fumbled as the world spun and the lost seconds were enough for the man to get up and land a solid rib punch, knocking him breathless on the ground, followed in quick succession with well-placed strategic kicks to his midsection, hands and legs, intended on immobilizing him. The guard was clearly well-trained in the dirty street-fight. He tried his best to block the attacks, but his head was throbbing from the pistol whip and he couldn’t seem to gain traction or calculate a plan as the man wailed on him. Stupid, stupid, he thought hazily. He had been so focused on her he had let his guard down.

“STOP!! My God, stop! Carlo, stop it! James! James!” he heard Kiki shrieking and the abuse stopped.

Blood and sweat stung his eyes but he could see her face suddenly hovering over his, world still spinning madly. He could feel her tiny soft hands cupping his head, smell her sweet smelling hair against his face and he used all the strength he had left to raise his hand up and bring her head down to his. He could taste her tears on her lips as he heard himself whisper against them,

“I love you…”

Then the world went black.

–Copyright 2012, Genevieve Dewey

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NEW BEGINNINGS (A Downey Series flashback)


(A Flash fiction featuring a young Tommy Gates and Kyle Anderson from the Downey Series)

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NEW BEGINNINGS

by Genevieve Dewey

Tommy’s favorite thing to do after school was cut through the park and play Hunt the Bad Guys in the baseball diamond. He’d walk straight to Aunt Claire’s house like he was supposed to, wait for his mother to call and check on him before she left for her other job, then sneak out while Claire watched her soap opera. Mama would freak if she knew he was wandering around alone—Omaha was by far the biggest town they had lived in so far—but the way Tommy saw it, he was only a couple weeks from turning ten. And once you hit the double digits, you were practically an adult.

He always began his game by sneaking behind the man-sized trunks of the cottonwood trees nearby and ambushing the bad guys that were after him and his mom with a gun he’d made out of wood and rubber bands. Then he would run a Coke bottle along the fence and imagine the chink-chink-chink was the sound of prison bars closing. There was weeping and teeth gnashing and the classic ‘I would’ve gotten away with it if it hadn’t been for him!’. The grand finish was pretending the snow-like seeds in the air were confetti celebrating his victory over the bad guys. He was never a cop or anything like that, though, in this game. Just a regular kid. That was why they were throwing the party, because he was a kid hero. And Mama would say, “That’s my little man!” and the kids would have to stop teasing him. In his mind, the bad guys often had the amalgamated faces of the boys who teased him. Ironically, it was the one constant in his life, other than Mama and Uncle Jack. Everywhere they lived, there were always bullies who taunted him about his run down, out-of-date clothes and having no family.

The best part was after Tommy’s victory over the bad guys, his father would come out of hiding—because he wasn’t really dead—and he’d bring with him a whole score of aunts and uncles and cousins and Tommy would have a big boisterous family like Aunt Claire had. Uncle Jack always joked that the Andersons had made an Olympic sport out of having children, so they did their part as Underwoods by not having any. Tommy reckoned he just said that to take Aunt Claire’s mind off the fact she couldn’t have her own kids. But Tommy figured there’d be nothing more fantastic than having a big family because it meant he’d never be alone. There’d always be someone he could count on wherever he went.

He was laying in the browning grass watching the fluffy white clouds glide behind the water tower when he heard the tell-tale crunch of leaves. He grabbed the rubber-band gun and rolled over like soldiers did in the movies. In front of him was a boy a few years older than Tommy in a Catholic school uniform. He had neatly combed brown hair and a big grin.

“Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. Aunt Claire told me to come look for you,” the cheerfully bored-looking boy said. Tommy always figured ‘cheerfully bored’ was the best way to describe that type of person that never seemed to mind having nothing to do. This kid was one of Aunt Claire’s many nephews and nieces that came to visit from time-to-time. Tommy couldn’t remember what his name was… something with a ‘K’.

“I’m Kyle, remember? From the picnic on Sunday?” Kyle said then flopped down on the ground next to Tommy, head on his crossed arms. Tommy stared in stunned silence for a moment then mirrored his body language.

“I’ll just pretend I found you in a bit, if that’s alright with you. I just gotta get away from Motor Mouth for a while.”

“Motor Mouth?” Tommy asked.

“My sister. She never shuts up. And I mean never,” Kyle said. “And she constantly follows me around. It’s the pits having a sister sometimes. And I got three of ’em.”

“What a pain,” Tommy said, but really, he figured it would be neat to have a pesky little sister.

“Saw you playing cops and robbers, but I figured you wouldn’t want me to bug you or anything. I’m going to be a cop when I grow up, I figure. Or a fire fighter.”

“I’m going to play professional hockey,” Tommy said. This was the nicest any kid had been to him in the four months they had lived here and he wondered how long it would last. He hoped this was one of those Anderson kids that lived nearby in Ashland. It really was hard to keep them all straight. It’d be nice to think he could finally have a friend, even if it was just a sometimes friend.

“Hockey?”

“Yeah, and I’m going to get rich and famous and buy my mom a mansion and a billion servants so she never has to work again.”

Kyle nodded his head a few times on his arms.

“Your mom’s the new choir director at St. Augustine’s, isn’t she? What’s your dad do?”

Tommy pressed his lips together and glared at the letters on the water tower until they merged a bit.

“He died. He was in the military,” Tommy finally said.

He had made that one up on the first day of school. He figured with Offutt Air Force base south of town people would buy it pretty easy. The truth was he had no idea how his dad died or what he had done for a living or even what his name was. Mama refused to talk about him. Tommy figured it had something to do with the bad guys that made them be on the run. He liked to imagine his dad had died a hero protecting them, like somebody in the military would. So that was going to be his story as long as they lived here.

“Oh. Sorry,” Kyle said softly after a minute. “That’s tough.”

Tommy shrugged.

“Kyyyyyyle,” a girlish voice called out.

“Ugh,” Kyle sighed as he got up from the ground. “Well, it was nice while it lasted. C’mon,” he held out a hand to help Tommy up. “Bet your mom’ll be by to pick you up soon anyway.”

“Yeah,” Tommy mumbled.

As they cut across the park towards the Underwood house Tommy felt a shiver cross his body. He stopped and looked over his shoulder. He scanned up and down the park but it was just kids and moms and parked cars. He figured he was just beginning to get as paranoid as Mama was so he shook it off with a laugh and jogged to catch up to Kyle and Motor Mouth. Tommy’s relief at Kyle’s welcoming smile and the idea he might have made a new friend had him on cloud nine all the way home. It also caused him to miss the Rolls Royce that pulled away from the curb and followed them there.

Copyright 2013 by Genevieve Dewey, All Rights Reserved.

~~~

You can read more about The Downey Series HERE.

A Letter from Mickey Downey, Part Seven.


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~~~

Hello Joey!

I do hope you’re settling in well at school, and that you are not having me on about being happy to go. I usually don’t worry about you pretending to be happy about something you are not, unlike your sister, but in this case you can chalk it up to a case of your father having some anxiety about sending you so far. Not to mention so unsupervised. Yes, I realize it is a military school but I can recall being thirteen with a clarity that would frighten you. I’m sure you have trouble imagining me so young. I wish I had had your maturity when I was that age, who knows what might have happened? In any case I would appreciate you using the new phone and computer I bought you for regular facetime. Emails or letters will not be enough. You are a Downey so I know mischief runs heavy in your veins. And the sneaky twinkle in your sister’s eyes has me uneasy as well. I do want to say I would not mind if you showed an interest in taking up letter writing like me and your great grandpa Seamus. It is a forgotten art form. People just dash off texts and emails these days without a care.

 I just scared myself with how old that made me sound. You can stop snickering any time. On another note, I just got off the phone with your brother who was surprisingly friendly. Well, perhaps not friendly, but polite and animated. He’s moved out of that horrid old house he was renting off 48th and found a single apartment closer to downtown. I said that was a good move because the hours he keeps he has no business having to keep up another man’s yard, and let’s be real the other tenants in that house never did their part. He’s thinking he might be making the rank of Detective soon. I’m sure he figured that would just ruin my day, but quite the opposite. I told him if he doesn’t make it, I could get him placed here in Chicago, the Alderman in our district is always carrying on about needing more boys in blue. Tommy laughed quite a bit at that. Who knows at which part? But he thanked me for the call, which was a first. If you were here you’d be able to tell me if I was making too much out of it. This is another reason I will miss you greatly–our talks about Tommy. It’s not the same with your sister. She is too much of a people pleaser, always wanting to fix things that can’t be fixed. You inherited your poppa Big Joe’s skill for listening. Another forgotten art.

I’d better wrap this up, especially since I will be seeing you soon anyway, in fact, maybe before this letter even arrives. See? Your old man can be sneaky too. Possibly you already knew that. (nyuk nyuk nyuk) I’ve a friend in DC I haven’t seen in quite a while and I thought I’d surprise him with a visit and I can pop over and see you while I’m there. You can show me around your dorm and introduce me to your new friends, of which I am sure you already have several. Did your mother tell you that you actually have a cousin on the Bonanno side not too far from there? I’m not sure of the exact connection, you’ll have to check with her.

I love you and don’t forget I’m always keeping an eye on you, so no shenanigans, alright, boyo?

 See you soon!

Your Loving Father,

Mickey

PS- Keep your grades up and my pilot says he’d be happy to have you along for a ride in the cockpit. Won’t that be a fun bragging right for your friends?

Read the rest of the letters here: Letters From Mickey Downey

A Letter from Mickey Downey, Part Six. (Warning: angsty and raw)


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The following is a letter referenced in Third Time’s The Charm;

Beneath the tray was a bundle of letters, no envelopes, about an inch thick…

~~~

My dearest Mary,

I struggle to write this. I guess I’m not sure if you care. I wonder if they’ll even give it to you. I guess it doesn’t matter because I’m not even sure if I’ll ever send it to you. I just can’t help but wonder if I’d stayed that night, hadn’t walked out, if I could have changed your mind. An hour. That’s the length of time it took me to lose everything that mattered. An HOUR and you were gone. I think they do that on purpose, the Feds. That way they can fill your head with lies and manip manu manipulations. Never noticed how long that word was before.

I guess I just need you to know I love you and Tommy and that’s a truth I need to make you know. But they won’t let me see you. They won’t tell me where you are. It’s inappropriate, my lawyers advise, in any case. That’s a long word too. Of course it is but you’re not just any witness are you? I know how this game works and ain’t that just the Goddamned joke of it all? For the first time I want to get to someone just because I need you to understand I was working on it. I had a plan and if you’d just waited. just waited a goddamned hour

 I don’t know what the fucking Feds are telling you but I know for sure whatever you have to say it isn’t enough, so why do this thing? Why? What could they have promised you? Tomorrow I’m going to hope seeing me in court will make you see reason. If you were tired of it I mean I know you were but like I said I was working on it and you can’t take my son from me we could have worked something out

 I hope there’s some way tomorrow

I don’t know maybe it’s best Big Joe is so pissed and Theresa just won’t shut the fuck up about getting her own baby and now I’m just alone

you’ll laugh because I just did that thing you can’t stand, lick the end of my pen. As if anyone ever died from that. I miss the way you nag. I miss tucking our boy in bed and I miss every fuckin thing

I should not write letters when I’m drunk. there. I nagged for you 

I love you

Mickey

Read the rest of the letters here: Letters From Mickey Downey

A Letter from Mickey Downey, Part Four.


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The following is a letter referenced in Third Time’s The Charm;

Beneath the tray was a bundle of letters, no envelopes, about an inch thick. Mary’s hands trembled and she quickly rubbed them against her pant legs to remove her sweat. She sent a brief nervous glance at the doorway and lifted the first letter up.

~~~

My dearest Mary,

I would say first, that I love you, except mostly these days I despise you the way a man can hate only that which he once loved more than life. I take joy in that, actually, because today I realized I still have a heart. How could I still hate you this much if I didn’t? The truth is I hate you because I still love you and I would give anything if I could stop. You wanted me in prison for my crimes once, well this is a worse punishment by far. I hope you are happy, wherever you are. No, I hope you are empty. Empty like I am. I hope you ache the way I do. For everything we could have had together.

I decided to stop writing you today. It’s not fair to my children. I held my new son in my arms last night and I made a promise to myself. I will not rest until I find you. It was better to let you run and hide when Big Joe was in charge, but now I’m the man in charge and I will find my son and bring him home to his sister and brother. But until then, I have to stop holding on to the past. I thought writing these letters would help. I know now, nothing will help but to see you in front of me instead of in my memories. I’m only left to wonder, which will win out when I see you again? The love, or the hate?

Until We Meet Again,

Mickey.

Read the rest of the letters here: Letters From Mickey Downey

#TantalizingTuesday: An Excerpt From Third Time’s The Charm |#ASMSG|


Here is an excerpt from the forthcoming Third Time’s The Charm (subject to final editing, etc)

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“Would you like some, Mary girl?” he asked with an eyebrow wiggle, a devilish smirk, and a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“Michael!” She worried the sternness of her tone was contradicted by the weak nervous laughter that bubbled around it.

“Is that all you can say?” he asked. He took a lighter out of the pencil drawer and lit the pipe. He got up and started walking over to her.

“Michael, what if Tommy or James found that and—oh!” Mary let out when he yanked her by the hand back towards the chair.

He scooped her up and plopped her on his lap as he sat, pipe still in his mouth. She laughed out right this time and cupped his scratchy face in her hands. Fifty-six years old and still spry as a randy old goat, Mary thought fondly. She kissed him on his forehead and he swiveled the chair back and forth, holding her close.

“What on earth has gotten into you lately?” she voiced the question everyone had been asking themselves. “You’re a thousand different moods in one body these days.”

She smoothed the front of his track suit. She far preferred him in his suit and tie—what woman wouldn’t?—but he still looked amazingly fit. Tired…worried…but fit. She looked up into his face again. He was watching her closely but still said nothing. He reached up and took the pipe out of his mouth and smiled a slow contented sort of smile. The smoke whispered around them both. She wrinkled her nose at the herby musty scent. It wasn’t sweet like the tobacco.

“Michael, smoking something illegal to take the edge off quitting something that is legal is probably not a better move,” Mary said, but she smiled as she said it. They both knew she didn’t really care. On the spectrum of laws Mickey Downey had broken over the years, this was pretty low on the totem pole.

“And I’m pretty sure they work the opposite anyway,” she continued. Mary hoped that was a little bit stern. It sounded weak to her ears.

“Or do they?” she wondered out loud. Way to be indecisive, you ninny, she thought.

He stuck the pipe back in his mouth with a chuckle and his free hand played in her russet curls.

“Why don’t you wear your hair long anymore?” Michael finally responded.

“Mmnn, I don’t know,” she said as his large palm teased at her neck.

It made goose bumps rise on her flesh and a shivery feeling snake through her stomach. She sighed and leaned into him. It was an amazingly domestic and normal feeling, sitting on his lap. As if all those years apart had never happened. She wanted to get lost in the moment, at least until his mood shifted again.

His head nuzzled hers. “I haven’t been entirely truthful with you,” he said, so softly she felt it more than heard it. She smiled weakly.

“And this should surprise me?” she answered. She could feel his silent chuckles underneath her bottom.

“Why did you come?” he asked. She shook her head at the rapid topic change again.

“Do you want me to leave?” she parried with another question.

“Mmmn,” he hummed and scooted her closer to him. His pipe was in his hand and his mouth moved to her forehead. He kissed it gingerly and haphazardly, as if he didn’t even realize he was doing it. “How long can you stay with us this time?”

“Can and will are two different words. Are you asking if I’ll stay?”

“Ahh, was I? Seems the second question would be superfluous with an answer to the first.”

“And which was the first, why I came, or what might make me stay?”

“Would your answer change if you knew my mother was going to be staying with us for the weekend?”

“I suppose that depends. Who is ‘us’?”

His deep chuckles moved her whole body and he pressed his lips against her forehead in one long kiss.

“We could do this all night,” he finally said against her skin. “It was always one of my favorite things.”

She smiled. Talk about falling into old patterns… she thought to herself. Maybe Kiki was right, maybe she needed to make the first move.

“I recall your favorite thing to do required no clothes. Maybe—” she squeaked as he squished her in another bone crushing hug. He dropped the pipe on the table and she had the vague thought of chastising him for potentially starting a fire a nanosecond before his hand bunched in her hair and his mouth was on hers.

Ahh, how he kissed. It was like nothing else. He put everything in him into those kisses. The same energy he had put into becoming a billionaire, into rising through the ranks of the mob, into raising his children. Her tongue furiously dueled with his and her arms made their way to his neck. She moved to try and straddle him but his arm was in a vice grip around her and his hand in her hair showed no give. Her lips began to hurt under the onslaught of his, but she made no moves to stop him. Her insides felt like they were melting and her only cognizant thought was marked amazement that he could still make her feel such overwhelming passion.

She panted against his mouth as he let her loose just enough to hiss against her mouth,

“Believe it or not, the thing I loved most was your mind,” he said. “Just sitting with you and our boy and talking.” His hand still held her hair, though not painfully.

Her eyes searched his for answers to this mood shift. They were glimmering with hunger and frustration. Why was he upset again? She thought hazily. One minute they were talking, the next kissing, and now he was moody again. He closed his eyes and kissed her one more time, just a regular, ordinary and gentle kiss. Then he slowly moved her off his lap. She stood up shakily.

“I don’t think I can do this,” Michael said.

–Copyright 2013, Genevieve Dewey. All Rights Reserved.

A Letter from Mickey Downey, Part 3.


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The following is a (partially coded) letter sent shortly before this event referenced in Second of All;

Maeve had turned in the doorway, still ignoring Mary, and said to a sticky faced Tommy, ‘until we meet again, grandson’. When Mary asked Michael about it later he had said that he simply wanted his mother to meet them ‘just in case’. All further prying was met with stony silence until finally, ‘Family’s family, Mary girl. You never know when you might need them.’ And subject closed.

~~~

Dear Ma,

Dublin? I’m to believe you spent a week in Dublin just for grins and giggles? Pull the other one. I say this with love in my heart but what’s a woman of your age thinking? I seem to recall you once saying you’d eat gruel and potatoes for a month before you’d ever spend more than a passing moment there. If you’re needing something to do you might consider visiting your children. Has Rosa told you she’ll be working uptown after she graduates? That’s two of your children situated fine, in case you’re counting. Not that I’m fishing for compliments, I’d never bother to be so modest. Ha!

Truth be told, I wouldn’t mind another visit if you’ve a yen to hop the pond. Recently I’ve been listening to some songs that have me a wee down in the mouth. Makes me think of the bonds of family and days gone buy. Speaking of, I’ve a project I’d like to show you. It’s my best creation yet and near to my heart. It would bring me great pleasure to know you’d seen it. And though I know you hate morbid talk, I would be comforted knowing it had a safe home should mine crumble. After all, the weather in New York is as capricious as ever.

As for those cigars you saw on Arthur, I’ve purchased three; one for your next visit, one for a rainy day, and the other for posterity. For myself, I prefer the Cubans. And, yes, I do believe you are correct, too much Italian food does give one heartburn. Next time I’ll wash it down with some whisky.

All My Love,

Mickey.