The Currency of Time Ch. 04

"I'm happy for both of you. I do have one question though. With you so tall, and O'Brien so -- height deprived -- how do the two of you -- you know...?"

She just smiled a feminine smile.

"He's tall enough to reach all of the good parts."

O'Brien -- as God is my judge -- blushed.

There are sailors who told me in my travels there are instincts that cannot be explained rationally. That there are times when all the scientific equipment is clear and the forecasts call for brilliant skies and calm winds. And you're on the deck of a ship and you're looking at peaceful vistas of calm water when a strange feeling will begin to grow at the base of your spine.

It grows up through your stomach and the hairs on the back of your neck rustle and then rise in fear and it takes over your body and even if it is still and calm, you can sense a wind from Hell beginning to sweep across the water. Your eyes strain to see -- things -- beginning to move deep within the blue. The ship begins to move beneath your feet.

They called it the Dark Seas. And if you ever feel it, they said, get the hell out of there if you can, or get to the nearest shore, because all Hell is about to break out. And when I asked them why I hadn't heard about it before, the answer was simple. The people who didn't run didn't live to tell anyone about it.

I'd never heard anyone talk about it occurring on dry land. But I now knew what it felt like because it swept over me like a chill wind from Hell.

I stared at my old friend and told him, "You'd better call the cops right now, O'Brien. Because I know you used to be a pro fighter and all, but that was 40 years ago. When this is over, I'm going to hurt you."

Sugar stared at me with fear clear on her face, which must have meant she believed my threat.

"When this is over, you've got the first shot," O'Brien said. "And it's been 40 years, but no man has ever put me down. You're welcome to try, Michael, but there are things you don't know, and you need to know. If I get a beating, it will be worth it."

"Hello, Michael."

I turned to face my undying personal nightmare.

Ten years had filled out her coltish lines, added weight to her hips and breasts, added a few lines to her face and almost eliminated the faint scars from that accident so long ago. Her hair was still that blazing crimson and it still crackled as if flowing around her head, She looked like some angry Irish deity, ready to hurl lightning. She wore a simple red dress, cut lower in back than in front, high enough to show those great legs of hers.

"Why are you here, Deirdre? Why the hell won't you leave me alone?"

She took a step toward me and involuntarily I took a step back.

"I know what happened to your friends five years ago. I'm sorry. I never meant for any of that to happen. If you don't believe anything else I say, believe that."

"I don't believe anything you say, including that. When your lips are moving, you're lying."

"Can we sit at a table and talk?"

"Short answer is I don't want to talk to you."

"Michael, please. Just a few minutes."

"I can't afford to lose another few minutes out of my life. No thanks."

"What do I have to say to convince you to talk to me."

'Say Goodbye."

She stepped back and sank into the chair at one of the small tables that dotted this part of the bar.

"Just talk to me, Michael. Let me say the things I need to say to you. Let me try to help us both find closure. And then you can go off and vanish again for the rest of your life -- the rest of our lives -- and I will never try to find you again."

"Sorry, Deirdre -- or Spawn of Hell as I like to call you -- but I already told you I don't believe anything that comes out of your mouth."

"What will it hurt?"

"What did it hurt to see you sucking on his lips and gasping for more at the fucking con-ference in Bailey's office? You could have pulled my fingernails out and been more merciful. You didn't have to play with him in front of me, but you did. So, what will it hurt to sit and talk with you? It will hurt like having my skin set on fire. I gave up masochism for Lent."

"I...I wish there was some way I could make you believe how sorry I am for what I did -- for what happened. You ever stop to think I was 22 years old. He was my first love, the man I wanted to be the father of my children."

"Good luck with that."

"You never did anything you regret, Michael? Don't forget. We used to talk. I know how you used to be. I know what you did when you were 16 and 17 and 18. I know about the woman in Cuba that killed herself after you took her away from her husband and abandoned her.

"You ever think about her? Or any of the marriages you left shattered after you'd had your fun? You told me yourself you were a cold blooded asshole."

"I was a kid, Deirdre, that's the difference. Twenty two and married for two years is not a kid. You were a grown woman and you knew what you were doing."

I took a deep breath. I was not going to let my feelings show in my voice.

"I deserved better from you, Deirdre. I was a good husband. I loved you. And I trusted you. And apparently nothing I ever did was good enough for you. You got exactly what you de-served."

The crowd that had begun to fill the tables were staring at us, I realized. O'Brien stood behind me.

"You need some privacy. I'll open up the restaurant for you. It's not open for customers yet."

"Not necessary, O'Brien, I'm out of here. I'll give you your beating another day."

He closed his hand around my wrist.

"You've been running for 10 years, Mike. Stop it here. Finish it. Do it so you can bury the past and start a new life."

"I haven't been running from anything, O'Brien, and not from her."

"And in ten years you haven't found a woman you loved. Haven't found a place to sink roots. Haven't found a place to call home. You call that anything you want, but I call it run-ning."

He was wrong. I hadn't been running. I'd just been living my life. But I thought about it. What could she do to hurt me worse than she'd already done. It was just a few minutes and maybe if I was honest with her, she'd release me.

"Ten minutes. It won't take longer than that."

I started walking toward the restaurant. O'Brien walked ahead of me. In a moment I felt her walking beside me and then ahead of me. I closed my eyes to try to scrub the vision of her ass in that red dress from my mind. But when I opened my eyes, she was still there.

Sugar must have opened it from the bar, because the doors swung open. It looked like an all-night diner, the kind that used to spring up near bus stations. Formica counter top with the coffee pots behind it and behind that the kitchen. There were plastic round swivel seats at the counter and tables with red plastic table clothes. They hadn't been set with napkins and utensils but I could hear people in the kitchen.

O'Brien bellowed, "Stay in the kitchen for a little while guys. We can open a little later tonight. I got customers who need some privacy out here."

Then, "it's all yours," and he walked out.

She leaned back against a table top which naturally highlighted those legs of hers.

"What is so urgent that we had to meet face to face, Deirdre? What do we have left to say to each other?"

"Why didn't you take the $10 million the first time? Or the second time in Guatamala?"

"Why did you offer it the second time?"

"You know why. It didn't take a year after you left before I realized what kind of man he was. Before I realized I'd been a silly little girl that fell for a pretty face and that the only thing he ever loved about me was my money. I realized my father had been right in everything he said about Julian. He was greedy and narcisistic and violent and he never could keep his hands off any woman that was around him.

"I put up with his putting his hands on me for awhile because I told myself I deserved it. I had thrown away a good man for a piece of shit who was good in bed. But, it wasn't long be-fore I decided he had to go.

"And you know about his trying to have me killed. I should have known from the way he wanted to deal with you that he'd treat me the same way. But the good thing was, Julian was always stupid. There were a lot easier ways he could have killed me, but he tried to be fancy and hire a hit man."

She ran her hands over her dress, smoothing it down over her thighs. Whatever she did, reminded me of the body beneath.

"I had no idea you were going to burn the first check. I understand now why you did it. You were saying 'fuck you' as eloquently as you could. But I hoped after five years your anger had cooled and you'd take the money. There was no other way I could try to make up for the hurt I did to you, the pain I caused."

"They call that blood money, Deirdre."

"Sometimes money is the only way you have to say you're sorry."

"It's not enough. It never was."

She stood up.

"So that's it. We're done. You don't believe people can change, grow, become better people. Despite your own experience."

"Maybe people can change. Maybe you're not the same person you were. But I don't care."

I thought the look of pain that crossed her face was what I'd been waiting for for 10 years. It was the perfect ending to my last trip to Jacksonville. I was about to walk away, but I stopped. She would never understand, she would never hurt the way I wanted her to hurt unless I explained it to her.

"You know how my father was, I talked enough about him. I don't know if I told you that much about him before he went to work for your father. He started working the oil fields in West Texas when he was 14. He was a millionaire three times before I was ten years old. And he lost it all each time.

"He loved that life, but he told me that it was never fair to my mother. She was a woman, he said, and a mother, and they want stability. A steady paycheck. A house. So he went to work for your father. He got to travel and Mom got the stability she wanted. It only lasted a few years before she died, but he enjoyed working for Orion and so he stayed.

"When I was a little boy and he had just lost a couple of million dollars and we had to spend the night in the home of one of my mother's aunts, Mom was a little upset. And I was old enough to realize not having any money was not a good thing. He sat down with me and told me the truth about money.

"He said money was like food, or water, or air. If you're starving or dying of thirst, or suffocating, nothing in the world is more important. If you have enough, you don't even think about it. And he said I'd never had to worry about money.

"He said, 'son, you're never going to be poor. You have my knack. I can't smell oil under the ground. But I can sense it, I can feel it. People say I'm crazy, but I know I can -- and you'll have the same knack. Once you've proven you have it, all kinds of people will throw money at you.

" 'And that's why you should never worry about money. People fight and die for it, but it's not what counts in the end.You can't take money with you and it's not the measure of whether you've led a good life.

" 'The currency of time, the measure of what your life has been worth, are the memories you make, the people you've loved, the impact you leave behind you'."

"He knelt down beside me in that strange house and told me, 'If I was to die tonight, with nothing but the change in my pockets, I wouldn't die a poor man. I've loved your mother, and I've loved you. All the rest of it is dust in the wind'."

I could almost hear his words in my ears across the gulf of 30 years. He was still the smartest, wisest man I've ever known. And I'd never forgotten his words.

"Part of the reason, Deirdre, why I rejected your $10 million checks was to poke my finger in your eye. But the real reason is the $10 million doesn't even come to making up for what you did to me."

"I don't understand."

"I know. You never have. I never wanted to love you. But I did. And that spell you placed on me made me want things I'd never wanted before. I wanted a home, a family, a life. I dreamed of wandering the world and always coming back to you. I dreamed of our children. A little red haired boy and a little red-haired girl. In my dreams I could see them perfectly.

"It's been ten years, Deirdre,and once in a while, a rare while, I still dream of them.

But they're still toddlers. They've never grown. And they never will. Because they'll never be born. They're ghosts from a life that I'll never have.

"That's why I hate you, why I'll never forgive you no matter how much money you throw at me. You stole that life from me."

I walked away from her to the door that led to the bar. I raised my hand to knock when I felt her hand on my shoulder. As she always had, her skin burned. I thought she must have a normal temperature of 108.6. She stroked the back of my neck and then ran her fingers across my scar. I would not give her the satisfaction of turning to face her.

"The scar makes you look mean, Michael. I wonder how many women it's drawn into your bed."

I reached up to knock on the door hoping O'Brien was waiting for my signal.

"So you hate me, Michael. All right. I'm a businesswoman. Maybe we can work a deal. If you won't take the $10 million in a lump sum, maybe I can pay off my bill on the installment plan.:

I knocked on the door.

"If you ever are back in Jacksonville on business, you are welcome to come to St. Augus-tine to enjoy the estate. You remember, the sleeping facilities are first rate and Andre is still my personal chef. I had him prepare Duck L'Orange tonight which I remember was your favorite. I'll only charge you $1,000 per night against your tab.

"You don't even have to see me if you want to spend the night there. I'll stay out of your way. I remember you loved the estate when you lived there."

I removed her hand from my face.

"You are literally insane, Deirdre, if you think I'd come within a thousand miles of you voluntarily."

"You can even have me whenever you're in the mood. I think you'll find you'd pay $10,000 a night for the experience if you had a professional rate my services. I'm very good. Oh, and I know you hate me. But you'd still fuck me."

The door finally opened allowing me to escape. The bar was filling up but I saw Sugar and O'Brien behind the bar. There was an open bar stool in front of them. I honed in on it and told Sugar, "give me one Coors to get the taste of that conversation out of my mouth and I'm out of here..

I closed my eyes but I could still sense her behind me.

"Before you leave, Michael, I hope you'll come out to my limo. I have something for you."

She was gone or the brooding feeling of a live electric wire behind me was gone. I opened my eyes and grabbed the mug full of Coors. I hoped the beer would sooth the trembling vibration inside me.

I closed my eyes and wished that magic was real, other than the kind that vengeful Irish demigoddesses wielded. What would my life be like if I never gotten involved with Deirdre Lancaster? I might have a wife and children and a home. Except that it wouldn't be the same. Because she wouldn't be there.

I took a gulp of Coors and told O'Brien, "Why do I have this really bad feeling about what she's got waiting for me out there?"

"The only way to find out is to step outside and take a look."

"You know, don't you?"

He shrugged.

"What do you suppose your father carried down with him into the ocean that day?"

I didn't need to answer him because he'd known my father, but I said, "He carried the memories of my mother and me."

"And what are you going to carry down with you on the day that it's your time, Michael?"

After awhile I got up from the bar and walked outside. It seemed like a long time and she had probably already left.

She was bent down beside a 2014 stretch white limo talking to someone inside. Then she turned back toward me. She walked toward me in that hip-strutting gait that no other woman had ever managed to quite imitate.

"You couldn't resist."

"Can't we just get this over with, Deirdre? Tell me what the next mind-blowing secret is and let me get back inside to drinking."

There was a faint smile on her face, coupled with an expression I couldn't decipher. Behind her I could see a pretty young woman getting out of the back passenger seat, and on the other side of the car a hulk easily the size of Harper-Stevens dressed in a black suit.

She stepped to one side and I saw what walked along behind her holding the hand of the pretty young woman.

There are moments when the world turns on its axis and everything that was old and established vanishes like dew in the sunshine; when the world you knew changes and you change with it.

He had the same flaming red hair as my ex-wife, the stocky body of a four-year-old big for his age. He wore shorts and a Jacksonville Jaguars tee-shirt.

"He's yours. I know you might not believe me, but..."

I looked into my father's eyes, into my eyes, and knew I didn't need proof. He was me, the earliest pictures my father and mother had shown me. I had no idea how she had done it, but she had said she had magic.

I studied him, his face, his stance. He was studying me, holding tightly onto the hand of the woman who must be his nanny. He didn't look at me with fear, glancing from Deirdre back to me. It was more caution. I couldn't really blame him. I'm a big guy, that scar across my face didn't do anything for my cuddly factor, and I was pretty scruffy as well.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the bodyguard moving around the car behind him. He carried what looked like a Glock on his hip and had that tell-tale bulge on his left side. When you're guarding $250 million, I could appreciate the caution.

I bent down on one knee. Closer to his height, I felt I might not be quite so frightening.

"You're my daddy."

"I am?"

"I recognize you from your pictures. Mommy has them at home."

"What's your name?"

"Michael Orion McCarthy. Orion is for my grandpa."

I looked back at Deirdre. She had taken my life away from me. Thirty minutes before my life had been my own. I was an orphan. No mother and father, no wife, no children. I could risk my life, or throw it away, and no one had a say, because it was my life.

It wasn't mine to throw away any more, to take stupid risks with. Because there was someone else who had a claim on it.

I held out one hand to him, moving as slowly as I could.

"I'm sorry I haven't been here, Michael."

"Mommy 'splained that. She said you're really busy. You fly all over the world. You do 'portant things. But she said you would come someday."

"I'm glad I came today, Michael. I won't leave you alone anymore."

I fell to both knees as he hurled himself into my arms. I tried not to hug him as hard as I felt like doing. After awhile he pulled back and said, "You're awful big, daddy."

"Your grandfather, my father, Patrick McCarthy, was a big man, too. And you will be someday."

Deirdre came up behind me and took his hand.

"It's getting late, Michael. You still have to eat and brush your teeth and get to bed. Say goodbye to your father."

"Can you come home and tuck me in? Read me a story. Mommy reads me a story every night."

"I guess that depends on your mother, Michael."

She handed him over to the nanny.

"Let me talk to your father. He may be able to come by. But you have to get ready for bed."

The bodyguard and the nanny got him into his car seat and the bodyguard got behind the wheel. As the nanny closed the door, his small hand waved.

"What? How?"

Thunder rumbled in the distance and you could smell rain in the air. We moved under the awning in front of O'Brien's. The regular summer thunderstorms were getting ready to sweep through, although it might take a couple of hours to move in off the Jax Beaches which was the usual summer pattern.