25. Brady
Brady
I slide the cabinet back into place over the basement’s trap door. Shooting my cuffs, I go to the back office to see what I can on the monitors.
Finn’s at the desk. He’s using one of the screens to play Call of Duty.
“Where’s Cora?” I snap at him. He should know better than to leave her side.
Finn points to one of the monitors without looking away from his game. Cora’s in the front room. She’s playing cards with Mam, Kieran, and—Shit. Da. I know he still thinks of her as a Muloney.
I push out through the pub’s back door and stride around the block to reenter through the front. When Cora sees me through the glass, her expression brightens.
My wife is happy to see me.
It’s such a small thing, yet it fills me with an unsettling warmth.
I have to look away. I take my time sauntering into the front room before I glance at her again.
She’s wearing one of my shirts. She’s wrinkled the shit out of it, and somehow turned it into a jackety thing over the dress I told her to wear. God, she looks good in my clothes.
“Who’s winning?” I ask, though I can tell by the amount of coins in front of everyone.
“Your wife.” Da indicates Cora’s hoard of neat stacks. I could swear I hear respect in his voice.
I pull up a chair beside my wife. Pointedly, she hides her cards from me. I give her a look to tell her there will be consequences. She flings me a look back, daring me.
We only get to the round’s first call when Liam comes into the pub. He’s carrying two bags of chafing dishes from our steakhouse. Kieran leaps out of his seat to help.
My wife also stands up, laying her hand face down on the table. As she approaches my older brother, I peek at her cards. She had nothing. But she’d readied her coins to match big blind without hesitation.
I realize, in this moment, the depth of my appreciation for her.
She’s at the front door, taking an insulated bag from Liam, ignoring the curiosity of nearby customers.
As she balances the heavy bag in her arms, she turns toward me and catches my eye by accident.
Her cheeks turn that perfect shade of red.
Then she strides toward me with her shoulders back and head high.
Mam dispatches Kieran to fetch Finn. When everyone’s gathered in our front corner, Liam closes the door and draws the green velvet curtains for privacy.
The acoustic-layered fabric silences the voices beyond, and all the locals know that the green curtain means stay away. Erin will keep everyone else in line.
For our more intense family meetings, we use the back room. But for dinners we use this space. The multipaned exterior window gives us a prime view of our empire’s main thoroughfare. Mam prefers no business talk while we’re eating. But when it’s necessary, we keep it oblique.
“Finished?” Liam asks me, using an undertone as we take our seats.
The others are clattering serving spoons and chafing dishes and plates and silverware, too preoccupied to hear.
But Cora’s directly across from us. And even though she’s pretending to be preoccupied herself, reaching to pass the soda bread to Kieran, I know she’s listening.
I answer Liam with a firm nod. Yes. That fucker is finished.
But this war is just getting started.
Over sirloin and walleye, parsnip mash and creamed cabbage, Cora holds her own during our family’s conversation.
She parries Finn’s underhanded comments about Chicago transplants without batting an eye.
She’s respectful to Da, Mam, and Liam, though not exactly deferential.
She asks Kieran about his off-season basketball league.
My usually shy youngest brother tells her all about his game last week.
Cora’s questions not only encourage him, but make me think she must’ve played at some point in her life.
I feel a weird urge to ask her about it. I’ve never cared much about others’ backgrounds, unless it’s to exploit them. But I want to know more about this woman I’ve married.
This woman who used an attacker’s weapon against him. This woman who’s making a point to know everything about my family and my men. This woman who’s resilient and feisty and too clever by half.
I think of the present I bought for her, safely tucked in my suit’s inner pocket. In truth, it’s half-gift, half-test.
She tries to help Kieran clear the plates, but Mam stops her.
“He needs to earn his allowance,” Mam says.
Cora gives Kieran a sympathetic look. Then she scoops up the Crown Royal bag full of her winnings, and tucks it neatly into the corner of his bus tub.
“For the extra trouble,” she says. Kieran grins. He’s been raised to know the value of a dollar, despite how rich we are now. Cora must’ve seen that during their game of poker.
Her ability to intuit people baffles me. Although, it makes sense considering how well she hides her own feelings from everyone else. Everyone but me.
I alone have discovered what makes my wife tick. And that thought fills me with a heady sense of victory.