Page 65 of Cillian

“Actually, I was wondering if Sandra was in today. She’s always the one I get to do my hair because I stay away from perms and presses.”

“Yeah, she's out back tossing out some trash. She'll be back in a minute. You look good. Not sure what I was expecting with you marrying a white boy.”

“That's what I said. You ain't had your eyes set on no Colored boys?” Another woman jumped in. These were the conversations I expected, but had been skilled at avoiding until now.

What my parents didn't share was why and how we got together, something I was actually grateful for. It wasn't anyone's business, but I hated how the first thing that popped into people's minds is that you didn't care for your own people just because you were with someone white.

The moment Sandra came from out back, she washed her hands and we debated what we were going to do with my hair. We finally settled on Hollywood waves, since it could be achieved with rollers and not as much heat as a hot comb.

“Oh, you're better than me. I couldn't be with no white man. Think the man loves you, and the first argument you have he can't wait to call you a nigger. Plus, I don't doubt they be having some slave master fantasies. Why else would they pursue us? They miss the days when we weren't free.” That was where I had to stop of them from talking, because people spewing lies didn't help with how most people were going to think when they saw us.

“Well, my husband's people never owned anybody. He's not even from America. He's from Ireland, a country with their own problems and history with oppression. He's not like those confederate flag carrying white folks down south,” I argued, only to be interrupted by someone who just had to get their opinion in.

“But I bet he ain't no God-fearing man, either. What's his family do for a living? Because if his last name is Sullivan, he sure as hell ain't no servant for the lord. I'm gonna tell you, like I told your mother when she first met your father. Be careful with those dangerous men. You do one thing to piss them off and you'll never be seen from again.”

Back and forth the misinformation spread, as I decided to just stay silent because at some point you had to accept that you weren't changing anyone's mind. To spew all that falsity when you didn't even know someone, was why I hated confiding in people now.

No one's opinion or business was sacred. I knew I was naive to think that people who looked like me wouldn't feel any kind of way about me being with an Irishman. All it was was fear mongering, and there was a select breed of people who were just never going to live beyond the twenty percent of the world that they knew, out of the fear of discovering the unknown.

There was really no safe space for either of us. Cillian and I truly were each other's havens. Once Sandra finished up my hair, I made my way over to the nail station, the only stylist available being the main one having the most to say. Wanting to hurry up and get out of here, I opted for a simple half-moon design and made sure to leave a tip that left her mouth gaping, courtesy of my dangerous husband. I knew the moment I left, they’d likely called me all types of names like snobby or bougie, but it felt good shoving it in their faces that money was just something that no longer gave me worry.

Making my way down Main street, I nearly walked by the watch shop I’d called a few days prior. My heart broke thinking back to a conversation about the prison losing the watch his father gave him. Perhaps it wouldn't replace the one he lost, but I thought it might be nice to surprise him with a new one.

One personalized and engraved, and one that would make him think of me when he wore it. The clerk in charge of the shop must have been the man I spoke with over the phone because he was really helpful. Helped me decide what kind of detail a man like Cillian would like, down to the color and chain style.

It was a simple pickup at this point, as it would have taken hours, but I’d been able to pay for it in cash and leave with it. The box it came in wasn’t fancy, so I wanted to walk around to see if I could find a gift-wrapping place nearby.

Seamus would make his rounds soon and I still had some dresses to buy. If my memory served me correctly, there was a dress shop four blocks away, so my hope was that I’d see both on my way there. It wouldn’t have department store variety, but it was bound to have something I’d leave with. Something Cillian would like.

Taking in the city sites, the Boston air, especially around these parts felt safe. Secure. Free to just be without any stares. An elderly black couple waved, asked me how I was doing in passing and I returned the gesture exchanging a respectful greeting.

Nothing seemed extraordinary about today until it took my good sense to notice the cars that had been following me. I could have ignored it, had it been a block or two coincidence, but I took a chance and detoured from my original destination, turning a corner off the main road, only to have the same two cars not far behind.

The smartest thing I thought to do was make sure I surrounded myself with other people, but everyone seemed to be inside today. One of the cars tried to flag me down to get my attention, but I pretended not to notice and keep walking until I found an area more populated.

Immediately sensing I wouldn't stop, a back door of one of the cars flew open, the other car blocking my chance to cross the street. The man who came out was white, foreign, but there was no possible way I'd met everyone Cillian worked with. Something about this situation though? Everything in my gut was screaming that it didn't feel right.

“Elizabeth Sullivan.” An Irish accent called out to me, as he held his hand up in silent surrender.

“I'm sorry, I don't know you. I don't talk to strange men I don't know.”

“It's alright, Elizabeth. I work with Cillian and his family. Seamus got a little tied up, so he sent me in his place instead to escort you home.” Perhaps I hadn't been a Sullivan long, but any acquaintance of Cillian knew that I didn't go by Elizabeth, the first of many red flags. My husband hadn't taught me as much as he should have, but one thing was certain. If he hadn’t introduced me to said person, he wouldn’t send just anyone to fetch me. And if it wasn’t our regular driver, it’d only ever be his brothers he trusted.

“I think I'm just going to wait in the diner nearby—" I managed to maneuver around the car blocking me, moving faster than before. An antique shop, a dry cleaner, even backtracking to the watch shop seemed smarter than being alone. At least there, the owner could have a gun to scare them off with.

“You're not going anywhere.” The click of a barrel from a loaded gun caressed the back of my neck, my fear crippling me as tears streamed down my face. “Get in the fucking car, or I'll just blow your goddamn brains out. Wouldn't want a pretty head like yours missing half a face,” the man threatened and I had no choice but to throw up my hands and beg for mercy. I looked to the car and clocked three other men.

One driver, two passengers, all white, watching and waiting for my next move. I didn't know these people. For all I knew they planned to rape, torture or murder me, and my husband would never even know what happened to me. Cillian was a good man in the ways that counted, but I hoped that if I screamed that it would bring enough eyes in my direction and would somehow get back to Cillian so he could make them pay.

However, my attempt at bringing attention to myself had been short lived, as my cries hardly reached anyone nearby before they were gagging my mouth and forcing me in a car. I had no way of knowing what their plans were for me, but if they’d gone through all this, it couldn't have been anything good. Luck would be if I was fortunate to walk away with my life, but in Cillian’s world, there was no guarantee.

Twenty-Three

Cillian

The combination of sweet and citrus was always too hard to resist a sniff, as I leaned in and became soothed by the scent of peonies. Queenie was always excited for the little things. I could buy her a row full of jewelry and she would get giddier for the boxes that they came in.

She surprised me with food from home and while it may not have seemed like a big gesture to another man, when you weren't similar cultures, it took effort not to lose your own trying to make room for theirs.

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