Page 38 of Starting Over

The room quieted down, and everyone looked at our table. Maureen looked at King, then glared at me, before going back to her food.

“What do you need to explain?” Blade asked.

I turned to my daughter’s old man, confused. “You know what I said?”

“Only a couple of words. My mother was Irish. When she got mad at my dad, she would start yelling at him in her language. I picked up a few words here and there, but he wouldn’t let her teach me. He didn’t want us to be able to talk without him, and he was too much of an asshole to learn himself.”

“That sounds like Eduardo,” Maureen agreed.

“We need to talk,” I insisted, turning back to Maureen.

Setting her utensils down she asked, “An bhfuil a fhios aige?” Does he know?

I shook my head.

I wanted to talk to her, explain, but I couldn’t do it in front of my brother.

“Someone better tell me what the fuck you two are saying,” King demanded, slamming his hand on the table.

Maureen sat back and glared at me.

“Your brother and I knew each other when we were kids.”

Fuck.

King turned to me. “What the fuck is she talking about? You’re from Arkansas.”

“You’re from Arkansas. I was born in Boston, Massachusetts,” I said with a heavy sigh.

“Church, now,” King growled.

He stood from his seat and stomped through the room, yanking the double doors open and disappearing behind them.

Placing my hands on the table, I hefted myself up and followed my brother.

Maureen wisely stayed where she was, but as I passed her, I leaned down and whispered, “We will be discussing this later, alone.” I saw the shiver, and smiled. “You think New England is cold, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

Stepping into church, I closed the doors softly behind me. King stood at the front of the room, leaned over, with his hands braced on the table. His head hung between his shoulders.

“King—”

Without looking up, he raised his hand to cut me off.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I waited for him to calm down. Most people saw him as calm, methodical. Whereas I knew the hothead who couldn’t control his emotions. Hell, I raised him. I knew everything about him, and I knew if I said anything before he was ready to hear it, he wouldn’t listen to a word.

So I stood there.

And waited.

I must have stood there for twenty minutes when he finally let go and dropped into his chair.

“When did you know who she was?”

“The morning I ran her plate. Once I recognized her husband’s name, I knew exactly who she was.”

“What the fuck, Dec?”

He sounded sad.

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