17. FIGURE IT OUT
17
FIGURE IT OUT
JACK
“ S o tell me again, Penelope, why you’re still not finished your book?”
While Penny was at the kitchen island rolling her eyes at her mother’s weekly question about her apparent lack of progress, Jack was stirring the stew he was making for their dinner. It was a good, hearty Irish stew with quality grass-fed chuck roast, Yukon potatoes, and carrots. He tossed in the onions, which he’d almost forgotten to add, and then poured in a glass of Guinness to make it extra thick and rich.
Not bad if he did say so himself. This was the fourth time he’d made it for Penny since they’d been dating. She swore she couldn’t get enough of it or him. Nearly a month and a half of talking and cooking together, taking care of “her baby” Trixie, cuddling on the couch, and having mind-blowing sex, each day with her only seemed to get better and better.
When he brought over a spoonful so she could sample his progress, Penny gave him a thumbs up. Her foot swung lazily from the high stool while she played with a clean spoon. She was a fidgeter, he’d noted, always something in her hands. Maybe a leftover from her intensive music training. At any rate, that habit had resulted in a new scarf for him and a growing series of yarn critters on the mantle.
“Is that Jack I hear in the background?”
“Yes, Mom. He’s making us beef stew for dinner, Irish style.”
“Well, what makes it Irish versus any other kind of stew?” Erica asked.
“It’s got Guinness in it.”
“It’s got what?” Erica shouted on the phone as if there was interference on her end.
“Guinness. It’s beer, Mom.” Penny winked at him and tweaked his butt.
“Behave,” he mouthed at her.
“Beer? For Heaven’s sake! Irish coffee, Irish stew. Is there anything there without alcohol in it?” Erica exclaimed.
“Cereal?”
“Well, just tell Jack to go easy. Anyway, Penelope, about the book. I hope when you’re done, you can finally start thinking again about performing. With the violin. At a proper venue, not some juke joint in the hills. Remember all that money your father and I shelled out, putting you through years of lessons. Not to mention Julliard! You are so talented. Please do not spend any more time letting that go to waste.”
If Penny kept rolling her eyes like that, all those old wives’ warnings about them getting stuck in her head might actually come to pass.
Erica Mayfield had been cool toward him since Penny casually dropped that she was dating a local. Her mother made it clear she was not impressed by pretty much anything about him, not even the oversized bank account when she’d found out how he’d earned that money. And even though Penny had given up playing the violin for at least a century before he came along, Erica still somehow believed he was partially responsible for her self-exile from the high society of classical music.
Russell Mayfield, on the contrary, turned out to be a fan. Jack would have loved to tell him his daughter had already said yes to getting married, but that would not be the case. His beautiful woman was still stubbornly holding out on making their relationship legal.
Despite them having unprotected sex every day, she said it was “too soon” for something as permanent as marriage. Jack suspected timing wasn’t the issue. He had a pretty good fucking idea what the issue really was.
He tuned Erica out while he stirred, surreptitiously giving Trixie a bite of the meat, which she happily accepted with a wagging tail. Then she went to paw at Penny’s leg until she was picked up and placed on Penny’s lap. Jack wanted to be held close to those gorgeous tits too. He planned on sucking them later that night, among other things.
“…. goodbye Jack.”
“Goodbye, Mrs. Mayfield,” he said when he realized he was being addressed.
That was progress. She usually rang off without acknowledging him at all.
“Can you believe her?” Penny huffed with indignation once the call was over. “A juke joint? What the fuck? She acts like it’s 1925, and I’m a vagrant side character in The Color Purple. ”
“You do be sounding like one when you play the banjo riff from ‘Old Man’ in the morning. Every morning.” He smiled to himself when Penny made a sound of exasperation.
“I’ve explained this to you. I need to play Neil Young in the morning or the whole day after is weird.”
“If you say so. You’re lucky, anyway. Not many parents want their kids to be musicians. They could have pushed you to become a solicitor or a judge like your father,” he said.
“She should support my desire to be a published author,” Penny retorted haughtily, setting the silverware on their napkins at the table. Pretty floral cotton napkins of her choosing. “I guess that doesn’t sound prestigious enough for her fancy lady society friends compared to having a concert violinist for a daughter.”
“Dierdre wasn’t happy when I decided to go pro. She didn’t believe getting paid half a mil per fight was worth getting me pretty face bashed in. Never came to a single one. Hated seeing me hurt. Doesn’t mean she wasn’t supportive in her own way.”
Jack turned the cooker off, having taken one final taste and deciding the stew was done. He ladled two decent helpings into the ramekins Penny had bought. He’d had a fairly complete kitchen before she showed up, but it had been pretty spartan: one bowl, one spoon, one fork for everything. Her additions were a nice touch.
Placing the bowls on the placemats, which she had also bought, they sat together at the table and began to eat. The meat was tender, and the broth was thick. The potatoes flaked apart when they were merely touched.
“Good job, Jack. Oh my God…” she moaned.
“I prefer it when you say that in bed,” he said, and she punched his arm lightly.
Jack glanced at her, then took a few more bites while Trixie whined for a bite of her own. Penny gave it to her, then put Trixie down.
“You already ate,” he told Trixie sternly. But he relented and went to put some hunks of meat in her bowl.
“You better not get her drunk, or I’m telling your mother.”
Whereas Erica still had a long way to go warming up to Jack, it was a totally different story for Penny and Dierdre. His mother had been thrilled he was finally dating again. And not just dating but seriously dating. He couldn’t get the two of them off the phone when Dierdre and Bran checked in.
“Oh, sure, run and tell on me like you did last week. If she doesn’t like how I take care of her dog, then she should come get her,” Jack said. Penny made a face at him, and he pinched her cheek gently. “They’re extending their trip. Bran wants to spend a month in Italy. They’re thinking about buying a condo in Sicily.”
“Oh, I can see why. Sicily is awesome. I stayed at the cutest little bungalow on the beach while I was there. I never knew they had black sand beaches till I saw it. I always said I’d go back to visit my friend Guiseppe. The one that makes mandolins.”
“Right, the mandolin.” Jack ate thoughtfully. “How long were you in Italy for research?”
“Mm…about a year or so? My base was in Sicily, but I traveled to a couple of other places. Rome, Florence. Venice was amazing.”
“I haven’t been. None of my fights were held there.” Jack was silent again for a moment. “Y’know…we haven’t heard any blowback about your book since the festival. I guess that gobshite Stillwell changed his mind about badmouthing your work.”
“Yeah. I think a certain giant popping his guard in the mouth might have had something to do with that. From what Squeeze told me the last time we texted, it’s all been squashed.”
Jack wished that had been true of all the freaks they’d encountered that weekend. He hadn’t wanted to mention it to Penny, fearing it would upset her, but he had heard from Simon FitzGerald.
Not a week after his Samhain spectacle with Clarissa, Jack had received a call from the accountant at the foundation saying there had been a sudden jump in the donations from several high-profile individuals. The surprise was the cheque for €1 million from Mr. Simon FitzGerald. But why? Hush money?
Sure enough, Simon FitzFuckingGerald had followed up with a note sent directly to Jack that same week, written in his fine English boarding school penmanship.
“ Dear Mr. Valentine.
I want to thank you again for coming to our little gathering. I do have to say it was somewhat upsetting to me personally that you did not seem to enjoy all the festivities we’d so carefully planned. My sincerest apologies. I did not take into account that you might be a much more private individual than I’d presumed, given your spectacular and very public career in professional sports.
I’d very much welcome another visit on terms more beneficial to us both. I’m including my direct number at the bottom. Do not hesitate to use it should you need anything. In the meantime, please accept my donation to your foundation as my mea culpa and extension of goodwill.
My warmest regards to the lovely Mrs. Valentine.
Yours, SF ”
Jack hadn’t known what to make of the note. Was it an honest apology or another offer to sell his ass as well as his soul? Disturbed, his first instinct was to crush the letter in his fist and toss it. But on second thought, it would be smarter to save it. Not for a favor. As proof. Just in case.
Shrugging off the thought of the persistent couple and what they wanted from him now, he finished his stew, regretting he hadn’t indulged even more. He should have baked flatbread for dipping. But tomorrow morning’s workout would have been longer if he did.
And now he was pondering the conversation between Penny and her mother about her book. What did Penny plan on doing when it was done?
“I was just wondering…” Hesitant, he closed his mouth.
“Wondering what?”
“ Is there some reason you’re not finishing the book? You spend all your time either at the gym, or at that coffee shop you like or here with me. I feel like I haven’t seen you write this whole time.”
His observation was met with an eye roll. “I’m a procrastinator. I do my best work under pressure. I’ll get back into it. Are you saying you don’t want me at the gym?”
“Angel, I love when you come hang out at the gym with me. I just don’t want to think I’m somehow the cause of you ignoring your own thing.” Penny shook her head and folded her arms. “Are you dragging your feet because you think if you finish, you’ll have to decide if you’re staying or going home?”
“If you’re asking if I’m putting off deciding whether I want to stay here with you, the answer is no.”
Thud . A blow from a sledgehammer couldn’t have landed harder or hurt worse.
“No, you don’t want to stay with me,” he reiterated. Well, this conversation was going to fucking crush his soul. Just in time for dessert.
“I do want to stay, baby.” Penny laughed, putting her hand on his. “I want to stay with you. Have I given you any reason to think I don’t?”
Quirking an eyebrow, Jack listed the reasons one finger at a time. “Number one. You won’t move in with me, even though you spend nearly every night here already, and you’re wasting your money on rent. Number two. You’re still wearing the ring, but you won’t make plans to get married or even call this an official engagement. Number three.”
He had to stop when he drew a blank.
With her saucy smile, Penny taunted, “What’s number three?”
“There is no number three, but those first two are enough. Seriously, Penny. Are you staying whether you finish that book or not?” he pressed.
“I’m staying, okay?” she exclaimed with frustration. Penny got up to clear the dinner dishes, choosing to wash them by hand rather than use the perfectly functional dishwasher. “And I love this house. It’s a great house. Who wouldn’t want to live here?” she grumbled, slapping the soapy sponge on the plate and scrubbing hard.
He mean-mugged her and turned back. “You, apparently.”
Jack looked around, seeing the place through her eyes. Four bedrooms, three bathrooms. A home designed for the family Dierdre insisted he should have.
Back then, he'd scoffed at that suggestion. After all, it was just a decent place to eat, sleep and piss. But now he finally acknowledged it needed something more. It needed Penny in it, permanently.
“You sure this isn’t just a way to save yourself some money and get rid of your cleaning lady? Because I’m not taking on that job, mister.”
Jack shook his head. “I think I can dredge up enough to keep her. The queen of this castle won’t have to do more than those dishes if she doesn’t want to.”
“You had me at queen. I’ll move in. Officially. Satisfied?” she huffed. She flicked a dish towel at him, then turned back to keep scrubbing vigorously, her shoulders shaking with the effort.
He got up from the island and wrapped his arms around her luscious frame, hugging on her until she relaxed into his body. Jack pressed his chin against the cute, springy twists she’d made in her just-washed hair and scratched her temple with his stubble. He’d discovered early on she rather liked it when he grew it out a bit — called him her silver fox zaddy or some such thing.
“Okay. Whenever you’re ready, we’ll haul your stuff. But I have to wonder if not finishing the book is also your way to put off…moving on. Really moving on. Deciding what you’re going to do with the next ten years of your life.”
Penny hunched her shoulders again, the tension tightening her back. “Oh. My. God. Erica Mayfield, please remove your spirit from the body of my boyfriend.” She turned and flicked water on his forehead with her fingers. “I cast thee out, demon!”
Jack exhaled. “I’m just trying to understand you, angel. If you’re feeling stuck somehow, you can talk to me. Maybe I can help.”
Twisting around to face him, Penny wound her arms around his shoulders and laced her hands behind his neck. Frustration still burned in her gaze, but she sighed in resignation.
“I’m not stuck, Jack. I’m not.” She might have believed she was being honest, but Jack didn’t think so. “I’m going to finish the book. Whatever comes next, I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.”
Two more weeks passed. In that time, Penny had slowly moved her things in from the Pink House, as they’d been calling her place. Jack offered to bring his truck to do it, the one he had stashed in the private lot along with his other prized vehicles, but she’d declined, and he didn’t push. Ecstatic that she was coming, however slowly, he eased down and enjoyed the process of waking up every morning to see one more item of hers in his home. He enjoyed merely waking up and seeing her in his bed, all sweet and warm. It was the best part of his day, followed by the second-best part when she was wrapped in his arms at night.
Then one morning, he woke to find Penny already up before him. That almost never happened. He yawned, went to have his first piss of the day, and shuffled into the kitchen. Penny was at the island with a steaming cup in front of her, but it didn’t smell like her usual first thousand volts of caffeinated coffee. She beamed at him over the rim of her mug. The aroma was light yet unmistakable. She was having a cup of Barry’s.
“What are you doing up so early?” Jack asked with a yawn. He went to get his morning protein shake started when Penny nudged his leg with her slipper-clad foot.
“I had to pee.”
“Why didn’t you come back to bed?” He glanced at her blearily. “And why are you drinking…tea?” Eyes widening, he turned back to stare at her. “Penny?”
“Well. Looks like I do know what I’ll be doing for the next ten years after all. And the next ten after that. And so on.”