Mary Gates

Missed any Third Time’s The Charm quotes?

Missed any of the quotes I’ve been sharing on Facebook? Here is a collection of them so far as we countdown to the release of Third Time’s The Charm! And stay tuned for an exclusive, never before seen, Mickey & Mary flashback coming soon!



He opened his eyes and the sound of boyish laughter died in a ghostly echoing way, replaced by the terrible soul-searing sound of silence.

Chapter One

This guy… a handful of weeks into retirement and he’d already done a 180 and was acting like someone had stolen his favorite blankie from him – the same blankie he had just declared himself too old to snuggle with.

Chapter Two

James must have sent the flowers in a preemptive strike knowing he was going to be late. It was awfully sweet of him, she thought, and a cunning move. She really loved that about him. She couldn’t wait to show him how much tonight… whether he wanted it or not.

Chapter Three

“The first time, I ran away. The second time, you ran away. If they try it again, let’s just run away together.”

Chapter Four

“A man who doesn’t protect his family is nothing! Less than nothing. I’d rather be dead. You wanna do it your way, that’s fine, but I’ma do it my way.”

Chapter Five

Had he asked for twenty-four hours without any more surprises?
Hell, he’d like to make it a full hour.

Chapter Six

“One of the things I find most attractive about you is the massive sneaky streak you have.”
Kiki jumped and turned. She placed a hand to her racing heart and caught her breath at the huge grin on her fiancé’s face. She met it with one of her own.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this, Agent Hoffman.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s my line,” he answered with a chuckle.

Chapter Seven

“These are mine. You meant them for me. You might want to lie to yourself they were meant for you, but the lying to me stops today. Now,” Mary finished firmly.

Chapter Eight

The logical part of Tommy’s brain understood that maybe she had only done it to protect him as child and not because she wasn’t willing to be with a mobster. But the child in him resented the lack of a father when he had needed him most. Now that he was an adult, watching them together made him feel like it was all for nothing—the loneliness, the fear, the lies, and resentment.

Chapter Nine

“She has a sweet, giving heart,” Downey said, leaning back in his leather office chair.
“I know.”
“Girl like that just attracts predators.”
“I’m not a predator, sir. I’m just a man who’s in love with your daughter.”

Chapter Ten

“And you better start praying, amico, that she’s in pristine condition when we find her or I’m not gonna stop cleanin’ ’til a whore’s hooch shines, capiche?”

Chapter Eleven

Just one word, infused with naked desperation; half prayer, half enchantment. It felt like a freezing charm on her soul making her his prisoner, yet setting her free all at once. She had always felt that way with him, like a butterfly in a zoo exhibit, permitted to flutter about and live its life without restraint yet never truly free.

Chapter Twelve

Tommy flipped the watch over.
“‘Famiglia’… That’s it?”
“That’s everything.”

Chapter Thirteen

“Ye claim to love my son but ye sure as shite don’t understand him if ye don’t understand why he stayed away. Yer the one who left, ye daft woman! Wit’out even tellin’ him why or givin’ him a choice. Of course he’d be waitin’ fer ye to make the next move. That’s how the game of chess is played. At least he gave ye the respect of makin’ the choice to not choose.”

#ThirdTimesTheCharm #asmsg #Oct: Get a glimpse into how Mary and Mickey began…

Less than two weeks left until Third Time’s The Charm!

Get a glimpse into how Mickey and Mary began with this flash-fiction:



by Genevieve Dewey

Mary set the shoes back in the light brown box and started to place the lid on, but at the last second, set the lid back on the bed. Again.

Just one more time won’t hurt. Then I’ll give them back, she thought. Her stomach twirled from equal parts guilt and pleasure.

She pulled one pump back out of the little bag in the box and traced the high arc on the red bottom, breathing in that fabulous new shoe scent. She closed her eyes and replayed the look on Michael’s face when he had given them to her like one of those old film strips stuck on loop.

He had such amazing eyes. She had never seen such a vibrant shade of green and they left little to the imagination of his thoughts.

He’d said he wanted their third date to be extra special and he was going to take her someplace fancy. Or, at least, that’s what she thought he had said since she was too distracted at the time by his hands under her sweater. His warm, strong, rough, yet strangely gentle hands. She had never been particularly intelligent—nor stupid, either—but she could swear on a stack of Bibles she lost at least twenty IQ points around this man.

But now that some of the haze had worn off, it did seem a little… unusual for a gift. He claimed the high heels were castoffs from a client’s wife, but they had clearly never been worn. The box, too, was impeccable, and they were exactly her size. The shoes were–hands down–the most sinfully extravagant thing she had ever worn, much less been gifted with. And that was why she had to give them back tonight.

But not just yet, her mind whispered and she opened her eyes with a long sigh.

Mary slipped the shoes on and stood awkwardly in them. She grinned like a fool at herself in the full length mirror. She could almost imagine herself on a stage in a fabulous gown singing encore after encore. And there Michael would be, smiling and cheering the loudest…

Her right ankle started to wobble and she quickly sat back down on the bed. She wore heels all the time but nothing quite this high or delicately made. She slowly slipped them off again.

Nope, she thought, put them away and quit daydreaming all this poppycock and nonsense.

The phone ringing in her tiny apartment startled her and she dropped the shoe she was holding in the box like a kid who stole a cookie.

“Ninny,” Mary said out loud with a self-deprecating laugh.

She threw herself across the bed and grabbed the phone, hoping against all odds and good sense that it was her mother. She had been gone six months, surely they missed her?

“Please tell me you’re not bailing on choir practice again,” Claire Underwood said without preamble.

Mary let her chin drop to the bed. It shouldn’t still matter, but they were her parents, and she was all alone, except for Claire, and maybe…

“Claire? If a man gives you a pair of shoes after the third date, that’s… ok, right?”

Claire was silent for so long Mary was beginning to wonder if her phone had been disconnected. She had paid the bill this month, hadn’t she?

“Did you put out already?” Claire finally asked.

Mary rolled over and scrunched her nose.


“Oh my God! Are you serious?! Mary, this is Brooklyn, not Podunk, Massachusetts! What if this guy had AIDS or something?”

Mary rolled her eyes at the hysteria in Claire’s voice. True, Claire was a solid five years older than Mary, and married, but she had never shown any signs of being a prude.

“Claire, we’re in the twentieth century, not the middle ages. And aren’t you from Nebraska or something? Talk about middle of nowhere…”

“Mary, I’m just saying, you don’t know anything about this guy!”

“Well, I didn’t mean to sleep with him. Our first date we talked all night, and then the second, we went ice skating, and then when he picked me up for the third, well… we never actually made it out the door. Oh, Claire, he’s just got these hypnotizing sort of eyes…”

“Good Lord, stop, cheese alert! And why is this the first I’m hearing of him? We’re supposed to be best friends and yet you had two dates, sex, and a pair of shoes without telling me? Are they designer? No, wait, hold on, buzz me in.”

Mary sat up.

“What, you’re here?”

But all she got in response was the click of the entryway phone being hung up.

Mary put the phone back on its cradle, ran across the apartment—which really was a matter of steps—and slapped the button. She opened the door and waited for a breathless Claire to make it up the steps. Stupid Super (as Mary thought of him) had promised to fix the elevator since the first day she moved in six months ago. Everyone from here to Queens knew to just take the stairs.

Claire skidded to a stop in the doorway, grabbing the stitch in her side. She raised a hand and waved it wildly.

“Shoes,” she gasped. “Bring me the shoes.”

Mary laughed at the dramatic action and tone. She had always thought that Claire had missed her calling in the theatre.

She brought the shoes to Claire and opened the box with a flourish.

“Oh my saints alive! Louboutins!”

“Is that good?”

Claire squinted her eyes and examined the shoes like a judge in court.

“Are you sure they’re real?”

“Well, how would I know?”

“Mary, these shoes, if they’re real, cost more than a month’s rent!”

“Well, I gathered that much! They reeked of expensive. So does he, actually,” Mary finished with a wide grin.

“What’s his name? Spill!”

“What about practice?”

“Didn’t want to go anyway,” Claire replied and flopped on the grungy tweed couch.

She clutched her purse on her lap and practically panted like a dog at the shoes.

“His name is Michael… something.”


“Well he told me, but I forgot. Doorly or something. He’s some sort of finance guy for a shipping firm or something.”

Or something? You have sex with a guy and he gives you shoes after the third date and you don’t even know his last name?”

“Well, I didn’t grill him over it or anything. I have his business card somewhere. Who cares what his last name is?”

“Right, because you’re too busy sticking your tongue down his throat. Give me the Fabio scale.”

Mary giggled. It amazed her she had only known Claire for a few months but felt closer to her than her own sisters.

“Mmmnn, he’s more classically handsome. Distinguished…”

“You mean old?”

“No! I mean, I think he said he would be turning thirty this year, so only—”

“A good solid ten years older than you,” Claire interrupted, eyebrows lost in her brown curly bangs. She looked both scandalized and titillated.

Mary sat criss-cross on the other end of the couch.

“I’m going to give them back. He’s supposed to be picking me up for another date tonight and he wanted me to wear them. I’ll just wear those black suede ones you lent me instead. He won’t tell me where we’re going, just that it’s fancy.”

Claire opened her mouth but there was a knock on the door.

Mary jumped up and opened it, ignoring the ‘For Pete’s sake, look who it is first’ from Claire.

She gaped in stunned confusion at Michael standing there in that gorgeous, fur-lined, winter coat of his.

“How did you get in the building?” Mary asked.

“Ah, well, this building is actually owned by my employer. He owns quite a number of these rentals.”

“Oh,” she said weakly, staring at his handsome features and the hint of mystery in his smirk.


“Oh! Um, this is my friend Claire. Claire, Michael.”

He nodded curtly and brushed past Mary into the room. Then he turned and dismissed Claire.

“Sorry I’m so early, I just wanted to do this in person.”

Mary’s stomach dropped to her toes. He wasn’t going to dump her, was he? Right in front of her friend?

“I’m afraid I have to cancel tonight,” he continued gravely. “Something’s… come up. But I hope you’ll keep my gift and allow me to reschedule?”

She felt slightly mesmerized by the intensity of his gaze and the soft lilt in his voice. His words were so formal but there was a slight Brooklyn-Irish accent to it. She couldn’t quite figure out if he was covering the streets with a veneer, or was a rich man trying to seem less posh. She didn’t much care, truth be told. She just liked the way he made her feel.

“Sure, that’s fine,” Mary managed to say after a moment. “Um, I actually forgot I was supposed to go to choir practice tonight with Claire anyway.”

“Ah,” he said and pivoted back toward Claire.

Claire was almost rudely staring at him with her eyebrows scrunched.

“And, what church?” Michael asked.

“Our Lady of Angels,” Mary answered for Claire since she was still gaping at him like a statue.

Michael seemed to start a bit then frowned and looked down at his leather shoes.

“Have we met? You seem… familiar… sort of…” Claire trailed off weakly.

Michael shrugged and dismissed her once more with his body.

“I don’t think so,” he replied while looking at Mary.

It was Mary’s turn to be taken aback because his eyes were no longer soft and expressive like she had been gushing over in her memories. Their emerald depths were now icy-cold and aloof, as was the rest of him.

He reached out with a gloved hand and ran the back of one finger along the side of her face.

“I’ll call you after I finish my errand. Enjoy your practice,” Michael said then leaned down and gave her a brief, chaste kiss. It still somehow managed to make her lips tingle and her toes curl.

Then he was out the door in a matter of seconds.

“He seems… intriguing,” Claire said after he shut the door behind himself. “And wow! The way he looks at you. Like there’s no one else in the room, literally. I doubt he could pick me out of a line up. They’d all be described as curvy nineteen year olds with milky-white skin and wild, curly red hair.”

Mary giggled so hard she snorted. She leaned up against the door, trying not to feel disappointed.

“Guess you get to keep the shoes a little longer,” Claire continued with a cheeky grin. “Which means, I get to wear them!”

Mary laughed. “Do you think you might’ve met him before?”

Claire shrugged without looking up from the tennis shoes she was taking off.

“I’m always seeing people come and go at the store. Probably just saw him buy groceries once.”

“Probably,” Mary replied faintly.

She ignored the stirrings of worry and focused on his kiss. Intriguing, yes… and also, young, rich, and gentlemanly. How often did one find that combination?

Maybe her Prince Charming had finally come.


–Copyright 2013, Genevieve Dewey


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Don’t forget to enter the Goodreads Giveaway:


“What makes a family is love and loyalty.” — Third Time’s The Charm

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Mickey and Mary’s love has stood the test of time.

“Sometimes you don’t realize how taxing it is holding onto something until you let it go,” she said.

Michael walked over and embraced her from behind. He kissed her bare shoulder.

“That’s because it isn’t things and proximity, or even blood that holds us all together. What makes a family is love and loyalty. I don’t think I ever really understood that until you, Mary. It’s not a line or a come-on when I say you are truly the best, most good thing that has ever happened to me. All the other good things I can trace back to you. Even my other two children owe their existence in some part to you.” –Third Time’s The Charm (Downey #3)

What has been your favorite Mickey & Mary moment so far?

Let me know, here or on Facebook,

and I will send you a Third Time’s The Charm swag pack.

Then I will randomly pick one person’s name and that person can request their very own Mickey & Mary Flash Fiction,

either a missing moment from the series OR a flash back.



Coming soon!




#ASMSG COVER REVEAL: Third Time’s The Charm (Downey 3) |#SEP #BYNR|


The Downey Trilogy #3

Adult Contemporary Fiction: Family Drama/Intrigue/Romance

Expected Release: October 31st, 2013



Once to Begin, Twice to Bind, and Third Time’s The Charm…

Of all the things Mickey Downey has accomplished in his life, successfully quitting his vices is the one thing he hasn’t been able to master. For the first time Mickey is free to have both Mary and Tommy in his life but yet he’s never been closer to being pulled back into the criminal world. While Tommy, Ginny and James work overtime to expose a nefarious plot threatening all of them, Kiki and Maeve Downey are hatching their own plots to make Mickey’s dreams come true. With shenanigans afoot in every aspect of Mickey’s life, he may be forced to pick up the weapons he promised Mary he would leave behind in order to protect his children. Can Mary finally accept he might never truly be free of it or will Mickey’s enemies once again succeed in tearing them apart?


Mary lifted her head and stared dully at his body lounging against the door frame, hands in his pockets, as usual. She was so permeated with emotion and memories and her eyes stung with that dry wetness of too many tears, she couldn’t bother to feel shame at being caught. She said the first thing on her mind.

“You—you never sent them,” Mary stopped and swallowed. “How come you never mailed them to me?”

Michael came and sat on the bed next to her. When the mattress dipped to accommodate him, her hip tilted into his and she put a hand out onto his thigh to brace herself. His left hand reached out and covered hers, tracing the faint wrinkles on her knuckles. His other hand reached across and gently took the box from her lap.

“I didn’t know where you were. But even if I had, I wouldn’t have. I couldn’t. They were never meant for you to see. I thought by writing them I could somehow exorcise you from my heart, get the memories out of my head.”

“But… After you found us and you started writing Tommy…”

“It was easier with him. There was no resentment and pain with the guilt, just love. We’re family. It was my duty as his father to make sure he knew his siblings at the very least. When I wrote to him it felt like a gift. With you…” his voice trailed off and she could tell by the tightness in his tone he was battling his emotions. “I knew after I saw you again, there would never be a day when I didn’t love you. And I no longer wanted to cut you out of my heart.”

She turned her head and looked into his eyes. They were bloodshot but otherwise dry.

“Oh, Michael,” Mary’s voice broke and his face blurred again from her tears. She wiped them impatiently. She moved her body so she could face him more directly. “Don’t you know how much I would have given to have known even half of this?”

His lips tightened and his gaze dropped to their hands.

“I thought you did know, Mary. I tried the best I could to show you what you meant to me. Words are cheap. I spent my days lyin’ to people. You know I’m damn good at it. I thought, with you, the words weren’t as important as showing you. When we were together in Brooklyn, you had all of me. All of the real me. The rest of the world had the smoke and mirrors.”

She reached up her hand and laid it flat against his chest. His heart was racing. He grabbed her hand and pressed it to his lips. She scooted closer and laid her head against his neck. She could feel the sinews of his muscles and bones and his breathing seemed labored.

“Spend the night with me. We’ve wasted so much time. You said you came for me. I’m tired of this dance, so tired,” Michael stopped. She lifted her head and watched him grit his teeth before he continued. “I’m done with it. Done with being a gentleman. We can go on as many dates as you like, but I’m not going to be under the same roof with you and not have you in my bed.”



It is necessary to read First, I Love You (Downey #1) and Second of All (Downey #2) prior to reading Third Time’s The Charm.

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About the Author:


(Get missing scenes and supplemental flash fiction!)

Twitter ~ Facebook ~ Goodreads ~ Pinterest ~ Google+ ~ YouTube ~ Amazon

Genevieve Dewey is the author of The Downey Trilogy and the Downey spinoff short romances featuring Katelyn & Dominic (The Bird Day Battalion and The V-Day Aversion). She is a wife, mother, sister, friend and Anthropologist. She is also an unapologetic lover of chocolate, bourbon, high heels, guns, and spending hours getting lost in research. Gen lives in Nebraska with her husband and three children. Her books include:

The Downey Trilogy

First, I Love You

Second of All

Third Time’s The Charm

Short Romances

The Bird Day Battalion (Free everywhere!)

The V-Day Aversion


#TheDowneyTrilogy: Get to Know Detective Tommy Gates

At the heart of The Downey Trilogy is the relationship between mostly Irish-part Italian gangster Michael “Mickey” Downey and his son Detective Tommy Gates.

You can learn a bit more about Tommy Gates here or get to know him through Mickey’s eyes here.

Here are some more interesting facts about Tommy Gates:

1) Tommy is named after Mary’s father Thomas Gates and of course, his middle name Michael comes from his father. No one ever calls him Thomas, though he probably wouldn’t mind if they did. Oddly, it does bother him when people call him Tom. He never got to meet his namesake as his grandfather died while Tommy was in witness protection.

2) He takes the Stanley Cup Playoffs very seriously and has been known to break up with a girlfriend or two when they failed to understand the importance of this.

3) He is a workaholic with a lot of acquaintances but only a handful of real friends.

4) He purposefully tanked his date with his partner’s sister Katelyn Anderson because his number one rule is never mix work and personal life. Of course, that was before he met Agent Ginny Sommers.

5) He donated all of his presents from his father to Goodwill until he was in his teens when he started sending them back (just like the letters). Mickey stopped sending presents and started transferring money to Mary’s bank account after that. On Tommy’s eighteenth birthday, Mary showed him the account she had put it in and said he could use it for college. Tommy still hasn’t touched it.

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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,


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

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


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,


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)


“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,