Once finished with the nightly battle-slash-ritual of a little outdoor basketball playtime with Daddy, using the miniature hoop Anton had installed, they trooped in for their baths. A loose term, meaning more “water all over the bathroom and sometimes tears” than “cleanliness.”
She plunked them in front of a half hour of recorded cartoons, and then carried Dominic into his brothers’ room so she could read them all a book. Antony fell asleep first, as usual. Kieran next. Dominic would require a second book, a glass of milk, a toy, a snack, and sometimes a stern warning from his father to “hush up and go to bed” before he finally succumbed. She kissed his slightly sweaty forehead and turned on his ceiling fan.
“Mama,” he said, sounding sleepy, thank the good Lord.
“Yes, my darling?”
“Am I your fav-rit?”
She smiled and turned to him. “You’re my favorite blond Love.”
“Ant-nee is fav-rit black hair. Kee-an is fav-rit ginger.”
“Don’t call him that.” She occasionally wished he weren’t so verbal already. Damn kid was ahead of the curve on almost everything, it seemed.
Dominic giggled. “’Night, Mama. Love you.”
She flicked off his light and closed the door, eager to get to her husband, until she recalled the bad timing. She grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge—a new, dark chocolate stout she really loved—and poured them into tall glasses.
He was sitting on the lower patio, a huge fan trained straight at him while he leaned back, hands behind his head, eyes closed. She observed him for a few minutes, taking in his strong, reliable, stocky physique, hardly changed from the day she met him, wearing his usual jeans and brewery t-shirt.
The reunion after Dominic’s early, chaotic months at home had brought them closer. He’d even begun to talk about the brewery and his plans for it, which pleased her. It was her name on those bottles and kegs, too, after all. She’d gotten him to teach her how to brew a few batches, going so far as to create her own special hoppy wheat variety for summer they called “Ginger-Head Wheat.”
“The lawyer called again today,” she said, by way of making her presence known. She handed him a glass. He took it, drank half, then stared down into it.
“And?”
“And, I have to decide what I’m going to do about it.”
He finished his beer and set the empty on the table with a distinct bang.
She frowned at him. “You’re not going to change your position about this? Remain as stubborn as my daddy’s mule?”
“Lindsay, I can’t stop you from accessing your inheritance. But I’m telling you right now that if you use it for anything but the boys’ college funds, we are gonna have a problem.”
“Anton,” she said, trying to arrange her face in neutral, calm lines. “The house needs a new roof. We won’t make it through another winter without one. I’m wasting time and money taking our clothes to the Laundromat because the dang dryer keeps giving up the ghost. Dominic’s hospital bill is enormous.”
He raised a dark eyebrow at her. She fumed but forced her voice to remain calm. “And don’t even start with me on why that is. I’m not about to listen to it. The dishwasher is on its last legs. You want to build a pole barn. The money for all of these things and more is there, in that trust fund, waiting for my signature.”
He sighed and looked up at the darkening sky. Lindsay waited him out, sipping her beer, watching the fireflies flicker in the yard behind him. “No,” he said, leveling his stare at her. “When your father fired me for something I did not do to his precious baby daughter, no matter what I or anyone said—even his beloved Patrick—I swore to myself I’d never again accept anything from him. I didn’t even take my last pay packet, and I needed it.”
“No, you took me instead.” She knew she was treading thin ice now, but she was sick to death of this lame excuse.
“No, you offered yourself up to me, if I’m not mistaken, and I don’t think I am.”
“You wanted it as much as I did.”
“I won’t deny that, Lindsay, but I wasn’t going to act on my base impulse, unlike some folks I know.”
“Damn good thing I did, I guess.”
He studied her, eyes narrowed, as if pondering her statement. Anger heated her face. Her throat closed up. Memories of the most God-awful months of her entire life, spent trying to manage the boys, the house, herself—alone—washed over her. “I mean, maybe I’m assuming you’re as glad about it as I am.” She rose.
“Oh, sit down and calm your horses. Lordy. You are the most hair-trigger woman I know.”
“So let me get this straight. You’re happy to consider taking … how much was it again?”
“Two-hundred fifty,” he said under his breath.
“A quarter of a million dollars from a total stranger so you can move a perfectly good-sized brewery out of that beautiful old building you spent years and thousands of dollars bringing up to code and prettifying. So you can maybe, hopefully, possibly sell a few more bottles in states that don’t even border this one.”
“That about sums it up, yes.” A hard edge had crept into his voice. She knew it well, and also knew she’d be better off dropping the subject now and picking it up again later.
“And yet, when I tell you our very house is coming down around our ears, you still won’t allow me to touch the money my family left me legally in order to make a few God damned repairs.”
“No need to curse.”
“Fuck you, Anton. You are the stubbornest damn wop on God’s green earth.” She jumped up and headed indoors. He grabbed her arm.
“Let go of me.”
“Honey, you’re as stubborn a cursed red-headed Mick, and I love you. But I won’t have a dime of your father’s money spent on my house. We’ll get the stuff done, and we won’t freeze in the winter or hand wash dishes. And I’ll buy you a new dryer next week. I can swing that.”
She sighed. They stood, glaring at each other in the darkness, the fan blowing her hair in her face.
“Whatever,” she said, too tired at the thought of arguing anymore to bother.
He tugged her and she dropped into his lap.
“I’m not having sex tonight, Anton. I can’t afford to risk it.” He lifted her hair and started kissing her neck. Her body reacted instantly. She squirmed, sighing when he cupped her breast, already sensing herself giving in to him the way she wanted.
As she was about to pull him up and into the house, wondering if they should head for the bottom basement since it was cooler there, a loud crash and terrifying shriek from Kieran made her leap to her feet. Anton barreled into the house, taking the flight of steps in two strides. She ran behind him, heart in her throat. The scene was so confusing at first that she had to look everywhere to sort out who was hurt and what had happened.
There was no blood. No one seemed to be dead. But, for some reason, Dominic was sitting on the very top of the large bookshelf that held various framed photos, a few books, and was the repository of Anton’s massive collection of signed Kentucky Wildcat basketballs. Dom had somehow climbed up and pushed half of them to the floor where they rolled around at her feet. One of them must have hit the floor lamp, causing the crash. Kieran stood at the top of the short flight to the bedroom hall, thumb in his mouth, tears running down his cheeks.
Anton reached for Dom, cursing a blue streak. The boy squished himself into a corner, as far from his father’s grasping hands as he could get.