A Passion Denied (33 page)

Patrick’s eyelids slitted open. The edge of his mouth flickered, giving Mitch hope. “Are ya planning on telling me now . . . or will I be reading it in tomorrow’s paper?”

Mitch smiled. “I think it’s something we’re both pretty familiar with. It’s called pride. And it’s steeped in fear. Your daughter lied to me—over and over—and the thought of taking her back seared my pride something fierce. I loved her more than life itself, but she made me feel like a fool, so I cut her off, hurt her, just like you’re doing to Marcy. Then the fear told me I could never trust her love again. Only it was a lie from the pit. Charity’s love is the most precious gift God has ever given me, aside from his Son, and I trust her with my life.”

Patrick blinked several times and looked away. The corners of his mouth twitched. “You trust her?”

“With my life, yes.” His tone lightened. “When she’s finagling for something she really wants? Not a chance.”

Patrick finally smiled, and Mitch felt the knot ease in his stomach. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desk. “This is no way to live. We both know that. Your pride has cut you off from everything you hold dear—your family, the woman you love, and God. It’s got to stop.”

Patrick nodded, his eyes filling with moisture. He put a hand to his brow. “I know. I just don’t know how.”

“I know, but God does. You have to give it to him, ask his forgiveness, then pray to forgive Marcy. And when you do, Patrick, the Bible will prove itself true. ‘The law of Jehovah is perfect, restoring the soul.’ ”

Patrick stared out the window for a long time before he wiped a sleeve to his eyes. In slow motion, he sat forward to join Mitch with his elbows firmly on the desk. He fisted his hands and lowered his head on top. His voice was rough with emotion. “I will pray, Mitch, because it’s the right thing to do. And I will repent. But my heart—” An almost imperceptible trace of a shiver traveled through him. “It’s raw, you understand, and I . . . I don’t know when . . . how soon I . . . I can love my wife again.”

“I understand. But as you and your family have taught me on more than one occasion, prayer is the first step. Taking the hand of God and gripping it like your very life depends on it. Because it does. And he will lead you home . . . to forgiveness, to healing . . . and then to Marcy.”

For moments, it seemed, Patrick remained silent, head bent over the strained clasp of his hands. The bulk of his body sat in the shadows, cut off from the sunlight that sliced across his desk, highlighting only a faint touch of silver at his temples. Divided—like him—a soul half in the light, half in the shadows, wrestling with the pull of both. He finally released a struggling breath, and his hands, knuckled white, relaxed. Mitch heard a muffled rasp that might have been a chuckle. “My daughter may be stubborn like her father, but at least she had the wisdom to marry well.”

Mitch smiled. “It was God’s wisdom and mercy that brought us back together, Patrick, nothing more. But cheer up, my friend, because you’re a blessed man. He’s about to do the same for you.”

12

Lizzie popped her head around the corner of Mary’s office and smiled. “Hello, stranger. I’ve missed you.”

Mary looked up from her paperwork with blue eyes shadowed with fatigue. A tired smile softened her lips. “I’ve missed you too.”

“Still not feeling well after that bout with the flu?”

“No, I’m better, really. Just not sleeping all that great.” She pushed at the stack of invoices on her desk and wrinkled her nose. “Blame it on the new inventory Mr. Harvey insisted I order. There seems to be more to do than hours in the day.”

Lizzie strolled in and plunked into a chair. She didn’t like the haggard look in her friend’s face. She studied her while grating her lip in nervous habit. “I know. You haven’t made one of our Bible studies in weeks. We miss you.”

“Well, you, anyway.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Brady misses you too.”

“I doubt that, but that’s okay, Lizzie. He’s your friend.”

Lizzie gave her a thin stare. “He’s your friend too, Mary. Did something happen? Between you and Brady? Is that why you’re avoiding him?”

Mary laughed and stood to face the window, but not before Lizzie saw her cheeks blot with color. She gazed out at the brick-wall alley, fixed in a stare, as if it were a vibrant summer garden. “Of course not, I just haven’t had the time.”

“So, ya talking about me?” Millie breezed in as if she owned the place, parking her embroidered silk skirt on the edge of Mary’s desk. She crossed her legs and flung her head back in her best Theda Bara imitation, then puckered scarlet lips, the exact shade of her blouse. “Because if you’re not, we can start now.”

Mary spun around with a crooked smile that seemed edged with relief. “The world doesn’t revolve around you, Millie Doza, no matter how much you want it to.”

“Sure it does.” She flicked a piece of lint off the cuff of her satin sleeve. “You two just don’t know it yet.”

Lizzie glanced at her watch and jumped to her feet. “Oh, sweet mother of Job, I forgot—I’ve got to get home.”

“Not so fast, Lizzie Lou, what’s your hurry? Got a date?” Millie vaulted off the desk to fasten several blood-red nails to her arm.

“No, not a date. Just . . . company.”

Theda Bara’s brow slithered up. “With Mr. Brady
again?
”

“It’s not a date, all right?” Lizzie removed Millie’s fingers from her arm with the utmost calm, but she was pretty sure the heat in her cheeks gave her away.

“You’re . . . dating Brady?” Mary’s tone was as astonished as her face, which bordered on stunned.

Lizzie glared. “It’s not a date, Millie, how many times do I have to tell you? My family will be there.” She gave Mary a wavering smile. “I’ve been wanting to tell you, but I haven’t had the chance.”

Mary sat down, her cheeks as white as the invoices pressed beneath her palms. “You and Brady . . . you’re . . . seeing each other?”

Lizzie sighed. “No, Mary, not John. We both know how impossible that is. This is his twin brother, from out of town. His name is Michael, and I actually met him by accident—at Brady’s apartment last week.”

Mary stared and Millie snickered.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but there’s really nothing to it.” She ignored Millie and gave Mary a timid smile. “Pretty shocking, though, isn’t it? Brady having a twin?”

Mary nodded and took a deep breath.

“We’re nothing but friends, honestly. I actually almost feel sorry for Michael. I mean, Brady won’t have anything to do with him, which is odd in itself. He says Michael has no faith in God, but he won’t reach out to him or show him God’s love.” Lizzie stood to her feet. “So when Michael said he wanted to go to church with me and my family, what else could I do? Besides, I’m just doing for him what Brady did for me.”

“And Brady’s okay with that?” Mary rose and gathered papers, her eyes trained on the stack in her hands.

“Well, Brady doesn’t know about it exactly, at least not yet. But I plan to tell him on Wednesday.” Her chin notched the slightest degree. “But he has no reason to be upset because nothing’s going on, nor will it. I promised him when I fall in love, it will be with a man who seeks God.”

“You mean . . . like his brother appears to be doing?” Mary’s gaze lifted, piercing hers.

Lizzie straightened her shoulders. “No, Mary, Brady has spoiled me. It will have to be a man who not only seeks God but lives for him too. With all of his heart.” She turned to go. “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

“Lizzie . . .”

She turned, startled by the gravity in Mary’s tone.

“I don’t have a good feeling. If Brady wants you to stay away, maybe you should.”

“I’m guarding my heart, Mary, and girding it with prayer. No man will get through unless it’s John Brady himself . . . or the hand of God.”

“Please . . . talk to Brady first. Before it goes any further.”

Lizzie paused. “Mary, trust me. It’s not going anywhere. Just because he looks like Brady doesn’t mean he is Brady. There’s no one like Brady. I know that.”

Mary’s eyes burned with intensity. “Do you, Lizzie?”

She blinked. “Yes, Mary, I do. I’ve been in love with the man since I was thirteen, remember?”

“Yes, I remember. I’m just hoping you do.”

“When am I gonna get muscles like you? We’ve been working out three times a week, and I still look like a girl.” Cluny scowled as he flexed his arm. He slouched in dejection on the wooden bench and scratched his bony chest. It was a sad commentary when compared to the likes of John L. Sullivan, Gentleman Jim Corbett, and Jack Dempsey, all hanging in crooked frames on the dirty plaster wall overhead.

Brady bit back a smile as he studied the boy—scrawny, sweating, and naked from the waist up. His heart went out to the little beggar. Just turned fifteen years old and no height or muscles in sight. Why, at Cluny’s age, he and Michael had been close to six foot tall with hair on their chests and faces. It had to be rough on the little guy.

“It’ll come, bud, give it time. You’re eating plenty, if my grocery bill is any proof, and it’s only a matter of time before you shoot up and fill out.” Brady leaned close and sniffed. “And if it’s any consolation, you smell like a man.”

A grin split Cluny’s freckled face as he lifted his arm to take a whiff. “Thanks, Brady. I do, don’t I? Starting to smell just like you. At least that’s better than stinking like Miss Hercules.”

Brady wiped his face with the towel draped around his shoulder, then flicked it at Cluny’s spindly legs. “Hate to tell ya, bud, but you still reek like her too. If you want to turn the heads of the ladies instead of their stomachs, you’re going to have to develop a fondness for baths.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I think I’ll wait to get my muscles first. No sense in wasting good water until I can tempt them with more.”

“You teaching this boy to tempt the ladies, Brady, is that what I’m hearing?” Collin slung an arm around Cluny’s shoulders and cocked a brow at Brady.

“Yeah, Collin, spread the word. I’m a devil in disguise.”

Collin leaned close to the boy’s ear to whisper in a loudly conspiratorial tone. “Don’t have to spread such talk, do we, Cluny, my boy? Bet every gal in town already knows, eh?” He tapped the kid on the head with a rolled-up magazine. “Here, brought you something.”

Cluny laughed and hunkered down on the bench to leaf through a copy of
The Ring
magazine with Billy, George, and Dave Shade on the cover. “Wow, thanks, Collin, this is swell!”

Brady rolled his neck and flexed his fingers. “Put your money where your mouth is, Collin, and get undressed. I aim to do some punching, and it doesn’t matter to me whether it’s you or the bag.”

“Don’t tempt me, John. I’m in a punching mood myself. Butted heads with Faith again last night over quitting her job, so I’m more than ready to take both you and the bag on. But you’re in luck. I need you in one piece. Three more jobs came in tonight after you left. Friday deadlines.”

Brady groaned. “That’s it. We have to hire somebody. We’re growing way too fast.”

Collin stripped off his shirt and tossed it over the bench. He kicked off his work shoes and dropped his trousers to reveal a faded pair of gym shorts. “Yeah, I know, but I want to hold off as long as possible. Not real anxious to dole out more money to somebody who won’t work as hard as we do. I’m having a devil of a time as it is convincing Faith we don’t need her paycheck. The more we do ourselves, the more money we can make.”

“Can’t spend it if you die from exhaustion, you know.”

Collin stepped out of his ink-stained pants and flipped them over the bench. He sat down to lace up his boxing shoes and shot a quick glance at Cluny, who was absorbed in the magazine. He lowered his voice and gave Brady a wicked grin. “What are you exhausted for? I’m the one who works all day and then has to go home and try to get his wife pregnant.”

Brady wrapped his fingers in a soft cloth before tugging a padded leather glove on with his teeth. “That settles it. I’m going first. I’ve got some pent-up aggression I gotta release. And since I need
you
at work, I’ll have to beat the stuffing out of the bag instead.”

“That might be a good idea.” Collin stood to his feet, his gaze flicking to Cluny and then back. “Especially after I tell you what I know.”

Brady loosened his muscles with two quick swipes of his arms. He nodded for Collin to get into position behind the bag. “So tell me.”

“Lizzie’s seeing Michael.”

Brady was supposed to be the one doing the punching, but he felt like Collin had just landed one square in his gut. “What are you talking about?”

“He was sitting with her at Mass yesterday morning, bold as you please, like one of the family. You can imagine my surprise when he was still around for Marcy’s Sunday dinner last night.” Collin braced the back of the bag with taut arms, as if preparing for Brady’s assault.

Brady bludgeoned the bag with several blows that slammed hard against Collin’s chest, knocking the wind out of him. “I’m going to beat him to a bloody pulp.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you feel like it,” Collin whispered, still gasping for air, “but you and I both know that’s not an option. You need to make amends and let it go. You’re like a brother to me, John, but I gotta tell you—she has a right to see whoever she wants.”