sea grass down toward the Atlantic.
I liked the sound of that. No dead air this time.
'If you insist,' I said.
We were strolling beside the rumbling waves at the shoreline when she dropped her beer. We went to grab it at the same time and bonked heads as the surf splattered around our ankles.
'Are you okay?' I said, holding her by her shoulders. We were so close our chins were almost touching. For one delicious second, we looked into each other's eyes.
That's when she kissed me. Softly, sweetly. I put my arms around her waist and pulled her toward me. She was lighter than I thought she would be, softer, so delicate. After a minute as we continued to slowly kiss, I felt her warm hands tremble against the back of my neck.
'Are you okay, Mary?' I whispered. 'Are you cold?'
'Wait. Yes. I mean, no. I mean, I'm sorry, Mike,' she said, suddenly breaking away.
In the faint light from the bar's neon signs, I watched her cross the beach at a fast walk that turned into a jog. Rooted to the wet sand, feeling about fifteen emotions at once, I noticed my hands were also trembling a little now. She passed the bar at a sprint, heading back toward the house.
'Sorry?' I said to myself as I rubbed my hot and sore head by the water. 'That's the best thing to happen to me all day. Maybe even all year.'
Chapter 8
After that Casanova moment, instead of heading straight home, I decided to stop in at the Sugar Bowl to apply something cold to my wounded-What? Heart? Ego? I couldn't decide. I sipped a crisp Heineken as I watched the Mets lose to the Cubs at Citi Field. It seemed like there was an epidemic of striking out all over Queens tonight.
As I drowned my sorrows, I thought about what had just happened between me and Mary C. Or to be more precise, I lamented what hadn't happened.
Because I had to admit, it had been a nice kiss. Tender and sweet and surprisingly sensual. I definitely would have liked to stay down there along the water line with her, perhaps reconstructing an outer-borough version of that famous beach make-out scene in From Here to Eternity. Instead, she'd run like it was a scene from Jaws.
'Hey, you're cute,' said a young dark-haired woman next to the pool table as I was coming out of the men's room five minutes later.
I stopped in my tracks and took in the attractive thirty-something's barely-there tank and tight shorts, her slightly drunk-looking cute face, the Tinker Bell tattoo on her left ankle. I couldn't remember the last time a tipsy young woman with a Disney tattoo had hit on me. Probably because it had never happened before. My summer hookup radar was going like gangbusters. Maybe the night wasn't such a bust after all.
But before I could come up with a snappy, charming response, the text jingle sounded from my cell.
I glanced at it. It was from Mary Catherine. Of course it was. Now she wants to connect? I thought, thumbing the message open.
Sorry I freaked on you, Mike. Putting the kids to bed. Left the back door open.
'The kids?' Tinker Bell said, reading my BlackBerry smartphone over my shoulder. 'Where's your wedding ring? In your back pocket? Get a life, creep.'
I opened my mouth to explain myself but then closed it as I realized Tinker Bell actually was right. What was I doing? I wasn't some barhopping kid anymore. I definitely wasn't Peter Pan. I was more like the old lady who lived in a shoe. Someone had to be the grown-up, and unfortunately that someone was me.
I dropped a five on the bar on my way out.
I came in through the cottage's back door ten minutes later. I tiptoed through what we called 'the dorm,' the big, rambling family room where all the boys slept on pull-out couches and air mattresses. They were all asleep, sunburned, exhausted, and dreaming happy midsummer-night dreams after another day of all the beachside heaven the tri-state area would allow.
My baby, Chrissy, giggled in her sleep as I kissed her good night in the girls' tiny, crowded bedroom next door. I looked at the massive pile of seashells on the table. At least someone was still having a good time.
As I was heading to my own bunk, I saw Mary Catherine through the crack of an open door. With her eyes closed, she looked ethereal, otherworldly, serene as a cemetery angel.
I tore my eyes away and forced myself to continue down the hallway before I succumbed to the urge to go in and kiss her good night, too.
Chapter 9
It seemed like I'd just fallen asleep when my eyes shot open in the dark, my heart racing. Confused, I lifted my cell phone off the bedside table to see if its ringing was what woke me up. That's when I heard glass breaking.
'Dad!' one of the kids called from down the hall.
It was coming from the dorm. I jumped out of bed and began turning on lights as I ran.
Beside Ricky's bed by the bay window, there was broken glass and a chunk of concrete. I ran to the window, then ducked as a beer bottle ricocheted off the glassless frame and whizzed past my ear.
I could see a small car parked in front of the house with its lights off. Two or three people were in it.
'You suck, Bennett!' called a voice. 'Get out of the Point while you still can!'
On the wings of hate, I flew out of the room toward the front door. I was past pissed, more like enraged. Those bastards could have hurt or killed one of my kids. In bare feet, wearing just my boxer shorts, I ran out the front door, picking up an aluminum baseball bat from the porch as I ran.
The car's engine raced as I hit the street. Its tires barked as the car peeled out. I could hear teenage kids inside laughing and yelling. Instead of trying to get the plate, like the trained law enforcement professional I was, I went another route. I hauled back and threw the bat as hard as I could at the car's taillights. It clinked across the empty asphalt as they rounded the corner.
I ran to the corner, but there was no sign of them. They'd gotten away. I was absolutely wide awake as I stood there in the dark. My adrenaline was definitely pumping. I didn't care how old Flaherty was. No one messes with my kids. I really felt like killing someone.
Brian came up behind me as I was retrieving the bat.
'Was that the Flaherty kid, Dad?' he said. 'Had to be, right?'
'I didn't see any faces, but it's a pretty safe assumption,' I said.
'I asked around about him, Dad. They say he's bad news. Actually, his whole family is crazy. He has five brothers, each one badder than the next. They even have a pit bull. Someone said they're Westies, Dad.'
I thought about that. The Westies were what was left of the Irish mafia, latent thugs and gangsters who still ran some rackets on the West Side of Manhattan. One of their signature moves was dismembering bodies. And we'd apparently just gotten into a feud with them?
Brian looked at me, worried.
I put an arm around his shoulders.
'Look at me, Brian,' I said, indicating my lack of attire. 'Do I look sane to you? In the meantime, try to stay away from them. I'll take care of it.'
I wasn't sure how, but I kept that to myself.
Everyone, and I mean everyone, was awake and on the porch as we came back.
