Page 25 of Almost Priest

“Fine. You?”

With Kelly she had already formed a type of unspoken and completely nonthreatening camaraderie for which she was extremely grateful. She went to the cabinet and searched for a mug. After two tries she found the shelf where Maureen kept them and pulled one down. Pouring a cup of coffee she asked, “Where is everyone?”

“Church. They should be back soon. Bray’s still in bed if you want to go wake him up sweetly.”

She scrunched up her face and frowned into her coffee.

Kelly chuckled. “What is it with you two? I have to admit I’ve never seen one of Braydon’s girlfriends that weren’t forever trying to be the center of his attention. You act like you couldn’t care less.”

Samantha moved to a seat opposite Kelly and shrugged. “I’m not going to follow him around like some lost puppy. If he has other things to do…it’s his vacation too.” She certainly wouldn’t be following him around when Jen Miller already had the job covered.

“And what about you, Sam? What do you hope to get out of this vacation?”

“I don’t know. Some time to relax, experience the mountains, meet new people.”

He nodded almost theatrically as if he were someone wise and not a wild disheveled man sitting shirtless in a pair of Scooby Doo pajama pants and nothing else. He reminded her of a rebel leprechaun. The way his hair spiked in clumped points, this way and that, almost gave his ears and eyes an elfin quality. Like the rest of them, he was beautiful in his own unique way.

As he took a large bite of his kiddy cereal and slurped back a dribble of milk that ran down his chin, his eyes crinkled merrily. They looked at one another for a long, silent moment, the ticking seconds each passing with a loud crunch of cereal.

Her gaze quickly darted to his unclothed chest. He, like Luke, had Celtic tattoos, but somehow Kelly’s seemed a bit more menacing. Gaelic verses wrapped his arm like a tribal brand. Maureen was right. He was a rogue.

Kelly’s spoon clanked onto his empty bowl and Sam’s gaze returned to his and away from his body.

“What?” she asked accusingly as if she wasn’t gawking at him.

“Ah, my dear, no need to be ashamed. Look to yer’ fill. If you like, I’ll drop me drawers and show you where the real treasures lie.”

“You’re an ass,” she mumbled, drowning her laugh in her coffee as she hid behind her mug.

Kelly smiled knowingly and stood. As he walked past her he playfully tugged her ponytail.

“Try all you want to deny you were eyein’ me goods, but there’s no denyin’ that blush turning yer cheeks pinker than a misbehaving youngster's bum.”

She pressed the back of her fingers to her skin as the truth of his accusation burned under her touch. Kelly dropped his dish in the sink and stretched loudly beside her, his fingers locking and pressing far above his head as his torso lengthened, dropping his loose Scooby Doo pajama bottoms down another inch.

“Rut-row, almost gave you that show you were wantin’. Better get dressed before you come after me lucky charms.”

She still found it amusing how being in this house somehow altered their dialect. Anyone who didn’t know they were all American would’ve assumed they had come right off the boat from Ireland.

Gravel crunched and Kelly peeked out the window. “They’re back,” he casually announced as Braydon made an inelegant entrance into the kitchen.

“Morning,” he mumbled. To who, Samantha wasn’t sure.

Bray only had eyes for the coffee pot. He clumsily poured a cup for himself as more cars pulled up and car doors opened and slammed followed by the slow build of McCullough voices.

“Fuck. They’re all comin’ aren’t they?” Braydon mumbled.

Kelly slapped his brother on the back and gave an overzealous squeeze which caused Braydon to wince. “Yup. Better take your woman and your coffee and hide now if you want to escape them. Once the Grans get here there’ll be no getting out.”

Like the slow moan of thunder produced by a thousand hooves in an approaching stampede, the McCulloughs rolled in. While most were just beginning their day, Maureen looked as though her day was at its peak. She entered the house as if she had been there all along. Walking into the kitchen in the midst of a story being told to whoever was trailing behind, she somehow managed to tie an apron around her sturdy waist while lighting the burner, heating a pan, and shuffling an exorbitant number of eggs from the refrigerator.

Frank came in silently holding a brown paper bag stuffed with something. He placed it on the counter next to Maureen while she continued to chatter without pause and crack egg after egg into an enormous skillet.

“…And I’ll tell you something else that Francine needs to watch. She looks as though she’s loosin’ a pound a day. I’m thinkin’ I should send over a few baskets of food, Frank. Lord knows her boys aren’t lookin’ after her the way they should. A damn shame, boys with a mother who did nothin’ but worry over them for decades and now they’re all too busy to help her mend after such a fall. Bullshite is what it is!”

Sam found it amusing the way Maureen frequently dropped names into her dialogue as if she were having a conversation with a specific person when really she was addressing the room at large. Frank nodded, but remained silent as he poured himself a mug of coffee. Braydon’s mom needed no acknowledgement that he’d heard her. She just continued on.

“Perhaps I’ll make her some soup and a nice apple pie. You know how people love my pies. Good mornin’, darling,” she said without breaking her momentum as she passed Braydon. “I’m going to have to take a trip into town to get her a bag of paper goods too. Francine doesn’t need to be standin’ ‘round at the sink doin’ dishes on her cast. Kelly, take this out to Rufus,” she instructed passing a large bowl of something that resembled canned meat to Kelly and bustling back to the stove to stir her eggs.

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