I think you’re scared of liking me.
That was true.
My eyes stung, not because of those words but because of his assessment of me. Lorcan’s words from last night kept repeating in my head. I’d often doubted myself over the years. Finn had seen me cry more than once. A couple of times, I lost my temper and screamed at him, only to burst into tears right after. I didn’t feel like I took the best care of him. Hearing Lorcan’s take on things eased some of my worries. Maybe it was ridiculous to believe a criminal’s judge of my character, but he was the first person to tell me I hadn’t failed. Mum never said I failed but she never praised me either. I didn’t blame her. She had too many worries.
I wanted children one day, when my life wasn’t quite a mess anymore, and when I had a partner at my side who’d be willing to take care of them too. It was ludicrous to imagine Lorcan as that person. Could a criminal be a good father? Maybe. I didn’t know. There were plenty of people who weren’t criminals that were very bad parents.
I tossed and turned in bed. I’d been awake since four in the morning, when Lorcan left for the docks. I hadn’t slept much that night, not because of the sex. It just felt strange to fall asleep next to Lorcan. I had never slept next to anyone, except for Imogen or Finn. Lorcan didn’t seem to be bothered by my presence in the slightest. He was sound asleep soon after we’d gone to bed.
The darkness in the room was interrupted by the light on my phone. As soon as I saw Mum’s name flash across the screen, I reached for it. I hadn’t found the time to call her since the wedding. May I just don’t know what to tell her.
“Mum?”
“Aislinn! I’m sick with worry! Why didn’t you call?”
“Mum, I married only two days ago, and Lorcan has kept me busy.” My face burned. My sleep-deprived mind had spewed words I really didn’t want to say to my mum.
“Don’t you dare act like Imogen. You are the responsible one. I can’t lose you too.”
“Mum, I’m fine. I’m safe. You don’t have to worry. I simply didn’t have time to call you yet. Are you just getting home from work?”
“I was working the day and evening shift. I’m working more shifts, in case I need to come to New York to save you and Imogen.”
I shook my head. “What about Finn?”
“Old Sinead is sleeping on our couch so he won’t be alone at night. If he wakes and calls for you or me and doesn’t calm down, she gets me and I end my shift. It’s better than nothing.”
Sinead was our neighbor. She was nice enough, but she wasn’t family. “I feel so bad for Finn. He’s already lost too much in his short life.”
“Indeed, so make sure he doesn’t lose you, Aislinn. Be careful.”
“I am, Mum. Promise. I’m going to call again in the afternoon so I can chat with Finn.”
We talked a couple of minutes more, but I could hear the exhaustion in Mum’s voice, the fear and worry. “Promise not to worry about me. I am fine. I can handle Lorcan, Mum. Focus on yourself and Finn. I’ll take care of the rest.”
Mum sighed. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.”
“That’s just how our lives are.”
“Indeed.”
We hung up and I got out of bed, no longer capable of resting. I needed to do something, anything that would allow me to return to Ireland, to Finn and Mum.
I grabbed a quick shower, taking extra time to wash between my legs, but it didn’t change how I felt. It was as if Lorcan had imprinted himself into me. I could still feel him. I’d probably be sore for weeks to come, especially if Lorcan kept jumping me any chance he got.
It wasn’t even eight o’clock when I left the apartment with an old wicker basket filled with a plastic container of soup and half of the bread. I’d left a big portion of stew and a slice of bread for Lorcan. The street was busy with people heading to work and delivery trucks providing the local shops and restaurants with goods. Many people nodded a greeting at me.
My phone beeped, and I fumbled it out of my pocket, surprised to see Lorcan’s name pop up.
Don’t take any detours on your way to Mildread.
I gritted my teeth. Are you watching me?
I have eyes and ears everywhere.
I looked around, and suddenly the friendly greetings seemed hostile. I sped up, hating this feeling of being watched.
When I arrived on Mrs. Byrne’s doorstep, it was only 8:30, definitely too early for stew, but I didn’t have anywhere else to go and I was eager to talk to someone who knew everything about the local community and Lorcan.
I rang the bell. Immediately a loud barking rang out, followed by scratching and yowls. Someone wasn’t happy about visitors.
Mrs. Byrne scolded her dog for what felt like half an hour before the door finally opened and she appeared in the narrow opening. She glared at me. “You?”
“Me,” I said with a pleasant smile. I’d worn my church dress and put my hair up in a chaste hairdo, all to win Mrs. Byrne over. I held up the basket. “I made lamb stew and soda bread for you.”
Mrs. Byrne opened the door a bit wider and harrumphed. “You did?” She regarded me as if she couldn’t imagine a young thing like me knew anything about cooking. “I thought girls like you wanted equal rights. No cooking, cleaning or laundry. Only makes the shops richer and the people unhappier.”
I nodded as if I agreed. That was usually a tale spun by the old gents who visited Merchant’s Arch, so I was familiar with the narrative. “I like cooking.”
Like yesterday, she was impeccably dressed in a long skirt and blouse, and had makeup on, even lipstick. “Well, you’re here. Come on in. But you can’t stay long. I had to lock Uggie in the bedroom so he doesn’t work himself up too much. He hasn’t had his heart medication yet.”
Judging by the barks and scratching going on behind the bedroom door, he was working himself up anyway. I followed Mrs. Byrne down a narrow corridor, which displayed dozens of photos of her and her husband and their children—five in total if I counted right. We arrived in a cozy eat-in kitchen. There was a sofa draped with a white crocheted blanket, and a small very old TV. I could see a splendid room through the door across from the kitchen that had a plush flowery couch and a colorful carpet. I bet she never used it. It was the nice living room, the one reserved for special guests and feasts, both of which were probably now a rarity in Mrs. Byrne’s life. Though, I bet Lorcan got to sit in the living room when he visited.
I placed the basket on the wooden table and unpacked the bread and soup container. Mrs. Byrne didn’t ask me to sit down on the sofa, so I stood awkwardly beside the table while she took out a spoon and knife. She opened the lid and took a sniff. She pursed her lips, then dipped the spoon inside the stew. She tasted only the soup, her eyes narrowing. Still not saying a word, she cut off a slice of the bread and took a bite. Her blue eyes settled on me. I forced a smile as I awaited her judgment. I knew it was tasty, but Mrs. Byrne was determined not to like me, so I was up against more than her taste buds.
“You can cook,” she said. “Why are you still standing around as if you’re on the run. Sit down. Don’t be rude.”
I blinked then quickly sat on the sofa, feeling a spring dig into my left ass cheek. Mrs. Byrne put the rest of the stew into a pot and warmed it while she cut the bread into slices. “Have you had breakfast?”
“No.”
“Then, we’ll eat.” She pointed a finger at me. “A good stew can be eaten at any time.”
I nodded, not wanting to argue.
“Sit down at the table, child. You can’t eat on the sofa! Haven’t they taught you manners?”
I got up with a tight smile and slinked over to the table where I sat in an uncomfortable chair. Mrs. Byrne set down a bowl of stew in front of me before taking a seat across from me with a generous portion for herself. A board with sliced bread and a ceramic butter dish created a border between us. We ate in silence, and I was glad that I was busy slathering the bread with butter.
When I took a bite, I moaned. “What is this?”
“Homemade butter. When I have time, I take a bus to a farm just outside the city where they have good cows, not Irish cows, but good cows, and I make my own butter as my mother taught me.”
“It’s unbelievable. If I ever get a chance to open my own restaurant, I want to serve butter like that as a starter with warm homemade sodabread.”
I flushed at the curious look on Mrs. Byrne’s face. “A restaurant?”
I nodded and took another bite. “It’s a silly dream.”
She narrowed her eyes in thought. “Silly is who silly does.”
I wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean, so I focused on the stew.
“Lorcan is a resourceful man. He could open a restaurant for you.”
“I don’t want to rely on his money and power.”
She shook her head and clucked her tongue. “Marriage is about unity. What’s his is yours. What’s yours is his. Together you can do what can’t be done alone.”
Maybe in an honest marriage, but not in ours. If I took something from Lorcan, he’d expect something in turn. I’d be indebted. “We haven’t been married for long.”
“It’s not a matter of time but willingness. I can tell you don’t trust Lorcan.”
I swallowed. “I don’t know him very well yet. I need to get to know him. Maybe you can help me? You know him better than I do. You’ve known him since he was a little boy, after all.”
“Indeed, but I don’t know if it’s my story to share.”
“You know how men are. They want to impress but talking about their childhood makes them feel silly.”
She nodded. I knew those words would hit the mark. “Lorcan was a boisterous boy. He could make the vein on his father’s forehead swell like no other. But he was also a mum’s boy. He loved his mother. His parents had a very good marriage, just like Jack and I did. I think he strives for the same unity in marriage as he experienced at home.”
I frowned. Starting a marriage with blackmail was the wrong way to go about it. “Family is important,” I said softly. “It’s why I’m so heartbroken over my sister’s disappearance. I can hardly focus on anything else. Maybe I could really start giving my all in this marriage if I just found her.”
“I’m old, but I’m not senile.”
I smiled as if I didn’t know what she was talking about.
“Are you trying to get me to help find your sister?”
My smile became sheepish. “I’m sorry. I’m desperate, and I know how well connected you are in this community. Imogen was a striking Irish woman. She would have drawn attention to herself if she walked these streets.”
“Show me her picture.”
I quickly pulled my purse from my handbag and extracted the last photo I’d taken of Imogen in front of Ha’penny bridge with the sun setting behind her.
Mrs. Byrne looked down at it for a long time, but I had a feeling it wasn’t only because of Imogen. “I never liked Dublin,” she said. “I preferred Killarney and the countryside, but now I miss even Dublin.”
“I know. I do too, even Temple Bar on a Sunday morning.”
She smiled wistfully. “I saw your sister once, in church, but she never returned. She should have asked Lorcan for help.”
“Are you sure she didn’t?”
Mrs. Byrne straightened her shoulders. “I hope you’re not suggesting your husband is involved in your sister’s disappearance.”
“No, of course not. I just wonder why she didn’t contact him if she found her way into this community. She didn’t take Gulliver’s help, so Lorcan would have been the next logical choice.”
“Well, I guess you’ll have to ask her if you ever find her.” She glanced at the clock at the wall. “Time for Uggie’s heart medication.”
I knew when I was being dismissed. I got up and grabbed my basket. “Is it okay if I bring you homecooked food on occasion?”
“Do what you must,” she said, but I could tell she was pleased.
I headed outside. I hadn’t really found any answers, but I believed Mrs. Byrne. So if she hadn’t heard of Lorcan and Imogen meeting up, it was unlikely my husband had been involved in Imogen’s disappearance. I wasn’t sure if that made me happy since it meant I didn’t have any leads at all.
On my way home, Maeve called me to ask if I wanted to come over for tea and biscuits this afternoon. I agreed. Suddenly feeling claustrophobic at the thought of returning to Lorcan’s apartment—it was his, not ours—I decided to discover the area a bit more. The weather was beautiful, sunny albeit a bit cooler than the days before. Still warmer than September in Dublin.
My steps faltered when I walked past the Bronx police station. Was this where Desmond worked? I glanced around inconspicuously. No one was watching me. Or at least it seemed that way, but I didn’t trust Lorcan, and he didn’t trust me. The majority of the Irish community spied for him. Despite my desire to find out what Desmond might know, I quickened my stride and hurried past the building. I felt a little lost after that. Maybe I needed to return to Sodom. It was the place where answers were buried. I could feel it. I turned into Central Park and followed a small steep path through the greenery. It was a slice of nature in the big city that soothed my worries. Eventually I took a seat on a bench and closed my eyes, listening to the distant sound of children at play and chirping birds.
I spent the rest of the morning on the bench, thinking of possible places I could still visit to find out more about Imogen. The first on the list was a small modeling agency not too far from where Lorcan and I lived.
After grabbing a Reuben sandwich at a food truck, and having a quick chat with the owner to see if he knew anything—he didn’t—I made my way to the agency. I froze when I encountered a line of girls in the hallway, portfolios in hand. I soon realized it was a casting call. At least twenty girls waited in front of me, and those were only the ones I could see.
I didn’t have that much time. I tried to squeeze past the waiting girls, but one of them gripped my wrist, her sharp nails digging in. Another shouted at me, “Get in line!”
“I’m not here to be a model. I’m looking for my sister. I just want to ask a few questions.”
The girl who grasped my wrist sneered. “Right. That’s what they all say. Get back in line, bitch.”
My eyebrows shot up. I shook her grip off then slanted a look at the other girls. They all looked ready to scratch my eyes out if I dared to walk past them. “I’m not competition.”
“Obviously,” one of them snickered.
I sighed and finally returned to the end of the line. “How long will this take?”
“All day.”
I sank my teeth into my lower lip. All day. I fumbled with my phone. Swallowing my pride, I called Lorcan.
“What a sweet surprise,” he said.
“Lorcan, I need your help.”
“What is it?” The concern and tension in his voice, as if he was ready to pulverize whatever stood in my way, stunned me.
“Uhhh. I was bored so I went to a local modeling agency to ask about Imogen.”
“I told you to let me handle it.”
“Yes, when it comes to underworld investigations and asking around in the community, but this is normal stuff. I can handle it. I’ll go crazy if I stay at home all the time.”
“If you can handle it, why do you need my help?”
The condescension in his voice made me regret calling, but I didn’t want to stay here for hours. “There’s a long line of girls going to a casting call and I can’t get past it.”
What I didn’t say was that I needed someone to get me to the front of the line and a possible speak to the receptionist. Lorcan chuckled. “Ahhh, you need a bully-boy.”
I flushed. “I—don’t.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” He hung up. I gnawed on my lower lip, hoping this wasn’t a mistake.
The girl in front of me rolled her eyes then tossed her hair over her shoulder, slapping me in the face with it. I took a step back and leaned against the wall. I resigned myself to hours of boredom unless Lorcan sent me someone. I wasn’t sure if he would. Maybe he saw it as a lesson for me.
“Wow. Do they do male models too?”
“He could play the new sexier version of Wolverine,” another girl muttered.
Leaning with my back against the wall, I had started to doze off, bored to death and tired of the bitchy glares from the girls around me. My lips parted in surprise when Lorcan climbed up the steps to the first landing where I waited. He was sweaty, dressed in oil-smeared cargo-pants and an olive-green wife-beater that accentuated his muscles. Heavy steel-toed boots rounded off his outfit; his attire would have gotten him the role of the villain in any movie.
Seeing the lusty looks of the girls around me, I felt a hint of jealousy that caught me by surprise. Lorcan said I wouldn’t have to share him, and now I realized I definitely didn’t want to.
