Page 75 of Offside Bride

“Under control?” I scoff. “You’re in prison, and I’ve got goons threatening my family. How is that ‘under control’?”

Dad’s lips curl into that slimy grin I’ve come to hate. “All in good time, my boy. You know I always take care of youse.”

I run a hand through my hair, exasperated. “Can you at least tell me what’s up with those trinkets you’ve been sending Siobhan?”

“What can I say? She likes trinkets. You know that. For you, it’s always been hockey this and hockey that. My Little Clover…She collects bric-a-brac.” He looks around the room at the guards, the surveillance cameras, the other inmates playing checkers with their visitors…and he sniffs inquisitively. “Do I smell popcorn? I would love some popcorn.”

I glance over at the vending machines and the little table set up with a microwave and condiments. It’s a far cry from the movies. I was expecting to sit behind protective glass, talking to Dad on one of those old-fashioned phones. This place has hot pockets and frozen burritos for sale.

“I’ll buy you some popcorn and whatever the hell you want to eat,” I say. “Just tell me what the cyphers mean.”

He chuckles, the sound grating on my nerves. “Ask ya sistah. After all, she’s the intelligent one.”

"As a man in a relationship, you have a choice: You can be right or you can be happy."

— RALPHIE MAY

24

MAGGIE

I’m exhausted, my brain feeling like mush after hours of staring at cryptic messages and trinkets. Siobhan’s not faring much better, her usually pristine hair now a messy bun atop her head. But Sawyer? He’s on another level entirely.

His jaw is clenched so tight I worry he might crack a tooth. The visit with his dad clearly didn’t go well, but he’s been tight-lipped about the details.

Suddenly, he grabs the snow globe from the table and hurls it across the room. It smashes against the wall, sending a shower of glittery water and tiny clovers everywhere.

“Sawyer!” Siobhan shrieks, jumping up. “What the hell?”

Siobhan rushes to clean up the mess, muttering about anger management classes. But Sawyer’s on his hands and knees, spreading out the tiny clovers on a paper towel like he’s inspecting diamonds.

“Um, did prison make you lose it?” I wave my hand in front of his face. “You okay there?”

He ignores me, meticulously turning each clover over.

Just as I’m about to get him some chamomile tea, Sawyer lets out a triumphant “AH-HA!”

“What?” Siobhan and I chorus, peering over his shoulder.

Sawyer holds up a tiny clover, grinning like he’s Indiana freaking Jones. “Look!”

Siobhan and I lean in close. There, embedded in the tiny leaf, is what looks like a microchip.

“Holy crap,” Siobhan whispers.

“Ask your sister, he says. She’s the intelligent one he says,” Sawyer mutters, contemptuously. He turns to Siobhan, waving the clover. “Not so smart now, are ya, sis?”

Siobhan pulls a sassy face, but I can see she’s impressed. “Lucky guess,” she grumbles.

“Luck o’ the Irish had nothing to do with it,” Sawyer boasts, puffing out his chest. “Pure O’Malley genius right here.”

I’m still processing the fact that we’re living in some kind of spy movie. “So, what now? Do we…eat it?”

Sawyer looks at me incredulously. “Why would we eat it?”

I blink at him. “Jason Bourne swallowed a microchip once. I think.”

Sawyer and Siobhan stare at me in confused silence.

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