AOIFE
THE CALL CAME on a Sunday night.
The one I’d spent the entire summer waiting for.
When the unknown number flashed across my screen, I debated answering, but something inside of me told me not to ignore it.
Sprawled out on the couch, looking like a beached walrus, and stuffing my face with grapes, I snagged my phone off the sitting room floor and clicked accept. “Hello?” I said with a yawn, using the remote to turn the volume down on the television, where Scream, my old creature comfort, was playing.
“Molloy.”
My heart.
My poor, poor heart jackknifed in my chest at the sound of his familiar deep timbre. “Joe?”
“Yeah, baby, it’s me.”
“Joe?” I cried, face contorting with emotion, as I tried to roll myself off the couch, knocking my punnet of grapes all over the floor in the process. “Is that really you?”
“It’s really me,” his voice came down the line and I had to sit back down because my legs were shaking too badly to keep me upright.
“Oh my god.” The floodgates opened and I cried loud and ugly down the line for a solid three minutes before I had the ability to compose myself. “Hey, stud.”
“How’s my queen?”
“Missing you,” I choked out through tears. “How are you calling me right now? Are you home? Oh my god, please tell me that you’re back in Ballylaggin and on the way over to my house.”
“Soon,” he told me. “I promise, baby. I’ll be back to you soon.”
“Then how?”
“Finally earned myself some phone call privileges,” he explained. “So, expect a lot of phone calls.”
“What are you calling off?”
“There’s a communal phone in the day room.”
“I’m surprised you remembered my number?”
“Are you kidding? I memorized your number when I was twelve.”
“You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice,” I told him through tearful laughter. “God, Joe, I’m shaking so hard I can hardly hold my phone to my ear.”
“I know the feeling,” I heard him say. “I’m sorry it took me so long to call you. I’ve been trying since the day I left, I promise. It’s just…” He sighed heavily down the line. “They have all these rules and shit here, and there’s no getting around any of them.”
“So, you’re doing okay?” I dared to ask, and then clammed up tight with tension. “You’re staying clean?”
“Sixty-two days,” he replied, sounding more even toned than he had in years. “They even gave me this weird little gold chip for hitting the two-month mark.”
“They did?” Sniffling, I clenched my eyes shut and sagged against the couch. “I’m so proud of you.”
‘So, how’s it going?’
‘Uh, you know,’ I replied with a sigh, feet tapping with excitement, as I feigned playful boredom. ‘This asshole guy I used to go out with abandoned me, so I’ve been pretty pissed about that.’
‘What a prick.’
‘He is,’ I agreed with a nod. ‘Turns out I’m having his baby, too.’
‘No shit.’
‘I shit you not.”
‘And the prick still left you?’
‘Yep.’ I feigned another sigh. ‘Turns out he’s this huge drug addict.’
‘I hear drug addicts make the worst boyfriends.’
‘They really do.”
‘Does he at least have a big dick?’
“He definitely has big dick energy.”
“Okay, I’m not even going to pretend to know what that means.”
Sniffling, I choked out a pained laugh. “Keep talking. I need to hear your voice.”
“Aoif.” There was a pause and then his words came in a flurry. “Christ, Aoif, I’m so sorry, baby. For all of it. For leaving you. For the letter. Jesus, I can’t into put into words how bad I feel for everything I put you through these past few months. When I came here, I wasn’t myself. The truth is, I haven’t been myself in a very long time. I’m not sure if you’ve ever met the real me or if you’ll even like him, but I’m trying. I’m trying so fucking hard to get back to you —”
“I already love him,” I blurted out. “All of your shapes and versions, remember?”
“You have no idea how much it means to hear you say that.”
“What? I love you?”
I heard him sniff before saying, “Yeah.”
“Well, I love you, Joey Lynch,” I croaked out, wiping my cheeks with my free hand. “And apparently, I can’t stop.”
“Thank fuck for that,” he replied. “Because, apparently, I can’t stop loving you, either, Aoife Molloy.”
“Joe, I’m so – ugh!” I sucked in a sharp breath.
‘What’s wrong?’ he demanded, instantly on alert.
‘Nothing. Baby’s just kicking me really hard these days.’
He was quiet for a long moment, clearly absorbing my words, before asking, “How’s my baby?”
“Growing by the minute,” I half-laughed/half-sobbed as I stroked my bump. “You should see me now, Joe. I’m like a beached whale.”
“I wish I was there with you,” he admitted quietly. “So fucking sorry for leaving you alone in this, Molloy. You’ll never know how much.”
“Just come home,” I whispered, feeling a shiver roll through me. “Get better and come home to us.”
“I am.”
“Wow.”
“Wow, what?”
“You said I am.” I clenched my eyes shut as a wave of hopeful warmth washed over my heart. “Not I will.” Sniffling, I added, “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear you say the words I am.”
“About time, huh?”
“Just a tad overdue.”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“Joe.” I couldn’t stop myself from smiling as I soaked in every second of having his voice on the other line. “I can’t believe we’re finally talking.”
“I know,” he agreed thickly. “So, come on, queen, talk to me. Tell me what’s happening at home. Give me all your gossip.”
“Oh, so now you want my gossip?”
“The heart wants what it wants, Molloy.”
“Yeah, it does.” I bit down on my lip and grinned. “So, gossip. Hm…Al and Podge are in America for the summer.”
“No shit?”
“I shit you not.” I choked out a laugh. “They managed to snag J-1 visas.”
“Doing what?”
“Nannying.”
“Are you shitting me?”
“I swear it’s true.”
“Jesus Christ,” he chuckled, sounding half-amused, half-appalled. “Those two shouldn’t be left in charge of a tray of eggs.”
“Hey, you’re preaching to the converted,” I agreed with a snicker. “And Casey’s gone to Benidorm for two weeks with some of our class from school, so you can only imagine the deviant adventures she’s having over there.”
“Actually, I’d rather not,” he drawled. “So, you’re alone, queen?”
“Yeah.” I sighed in contentment. “But it’s not so bad.”
“No?”
“Not since you called.”
“Aoif.”
“Oh my god. I almost forgot to tell you!” I gasped and slapped a hand on my head. “Damn this baby brain.”
“Tell me what?”
“I had a visit from Paul.”
Silence.
“Chill, Joe.” His silence spoke volumes and I rolled my eyes. “I’m eight months pregnant. He’s not looking to steal me away.”
“I wouldn’t put anything past that prick.”
“Well, that prick came bearing the most amazing news.”
“Which is?”
I sucked in a deep breath before blurting, “Shane Holland is in prison.”
Another long stretch of silence followed.
“Did you hear me, Joe?” I repeated when he didn’t respond. “The drug squad caught him up in a massive drug bust. According to Paul’s dad, he’s looking at some serious time.”
“Can you, ah…” I heard him exhale shakily before adding, “Can you say that again?”
Not leaving anything out, I told him word for word about the conversation I had with Paul at The Dinniman. “Of course, I wasn’t entirely sure if he was being truthful,” I added when I finished. “So, I did a little snooping of my own and it’s all true, Joe. He’s gone.”
“Fuck.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“How do I feel?”
“Yeah.” I shrugged. “I mean, I know you had this weird bond with Shane.”
“Aoife, I feel like the weight of the world has just been lifted off my shoulders,” he interrupted me to say. “I was dreading having to deal with him.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” I agreed. “Every time I had to pass him on the street since you left, he would wink or leer, or make some snide comment about how he couldn’t wait for his best customer to come back to town.”
“He didn’t threaten you, did he?”
“No, no, nothing like that,” I replied honestly. “He was just being Shane. His usual asshole self.”
“I can’t believe he’s actually in prison.”
“Well, now you have one more thing to look forward to when you come home in three weeks,” I told him with a smile. “A Shane-less Ballylaggin.”
More silence.
It unsettled me.
“Joe?”
“Listen to me,” he said, tone thick and gravelly. “I don’t want you to worry about anything, okay, but there’s talks of them keeping me here a little longer.”
My heart sank into my ass. “How much longer?”
“I don’t know.”
“What?” My breath hitched in my throat. “But you’re supposed to get out on the 22nd of August, right? Fourteen weeks, Joe. That’s what they said. The first two weeks for detox and then the twelve-week treatment plan afterwards. I’ve been marking it off on the calendar. That’s what they said.”
“I know, baby,” he groaned, sounding pained “But Darren went meddling in shit he has no business meddling in, and apparently, I can’t sign myself out. I have to be discharged, and the doctor heading up my treatment thinks it’s a good idea.”
“But if you stay, that means you won’t be home in time —”
“I’ll be home before you have the baby,” he cut me off and said. “I will be there for you.”
“Joe,” I squeezed out, clutching the phone with a death grip. “I can’t do this on my own.”
“You won’t have to,” he vowed. “I’m coming home to you, Molloy. I promise.”
