Finally Finn (Los Rancheros #4) Read online

  As I perform manicures for a dozen girls, the twins sit with the kids that aren’t in my line of cosmetology. I was worried about the boys, but they shrug off their girl status when they show that they know everything that is Batman. I tried to give them a crash course this morning, thinking if it was fresh they wouldn’t forget it, but it seems the superhero gene carried strong in the Brennick family, and they’ve watched all of the cartoon flicks with the three men at home.

  When my line is done, I make the rounds to each of the groups watching something about trees and Hoodoos or whatever.

  I gather the girls over an hour later to go into the patients’ rooms asking, “What movie was that again?”

  “The Lorax.” Huh. Never heard of it.

  “Cool. Okay, remember what I said?” I ask before opening the first door. They nod their heads in sync.

  “Don’t act like there’s anything wrong.”

  “Don’t ask about any tubes or why they don’t have hair. Geez, Aunt Sadie, we know.”

  “If we want to leave, say we have to go to the bathroom.” Well, okay, then.

  I knock on the door, and when we’re told to come in, we’re greeted with a mom that’s all smiles and a teenager that tries not to act excited as she unconsciously reaches to push hair behind her ear that isn’t there anymore.

  “Hi, Mara. I brought a treat.”

  “Where’s your Batalicious?” she says, in her typical snark. I push the twins forward.

  “These are his. I brought them to you for bloodletting.” She rubs her hands together in glee.

  “Yessss. Come sit by me, my pretties,” she says in a horrifying voice. The girls’ heads move back on their shoulders before they square and move forward. “Mmm, you’re hair’s so pretty. Will you give it to me?”

  The girls are silent, considering before the brave one, Hannah, of course, moves forward.

  “You want my hair? What color was yours?” I hold my breath. I can literally feel my face draining of blood. Mara blinks slowly, like she can’t believe what she heard. Her mom gets up and moves toward the bed in my peripheral vision.

  “Darker than yours,” she mumbles. “Shorter, but straight. I like your curls,” she admits grudgingly, then cuts her eyes to her mom. The woman sits back down slowly.

  Hannah walks closer. “I wish my hair was straight. It gets so tangled all the time. Did you have to worry about that?”

  Mara moves her head from side to side. “No. No tangles, just limp, stick straight hair.”

  “Well, when you grow yours back, it’ll be great! You won’t have to sit for hours while someone brushes it, or have it ripped out when there’s tangles.” Mara eyes her, then her mom, and then Bridgette.

  “Can I brush your hair, little dwarf?” She shrugs self-consciously. “I kind of miss it.” Mara’s mom puts a hand to her mouth and Hannah looks at me. I nod.

  “Yeah, sure. Do you want me to get on the bed, or what?” Mara watches her mom fight back tears and swallows. She looks to Bridgette.

  “Do you mind if my mom brushes yours? I’m sure she misses it, too.” Mara’s mom’s chest heaves on a silent sob that she doesn’t let escape. Bridgette nods readily, like a good little trooper, and Mara’s mom is diving for the wall lockers that house her bags. She pulls out a comb and a brush with a helpless shrug.

  “This is all I have,” she says shakily. I smile and pick up Hannah to put her on the bed.

  “This is perfect.” Mara gets the brush and her mom takes the comb, sitting Bridgette on the couch by the window as the room falls silent. I watch them both choke back tears as they brush my girls’ hair slowly, almost reverently.

  I swallow and try to blend with the wall. The girls talk about school when asked, their various extracurricular activities, and catch the masks before they fall when they get caught on the various tines. I don’t know if Mara is doing this for her mom, or if she’s even aware of the tears rolling down her cheeks. But I see, and I remember. This moment will be with the three of us for as long as we’re alive, even if it’s insignificant to the little girls making it possible.

  Finally, Mara gets tired and sits back. “That had to be more than a hundred, kid. Your hair will be shiny for days.”

  “Thanks so much! It feels silky now. You’re the best.”

  Mara smiles back, even though she can’t see the other girl’s bright, toothless grin. Mara says she wants a nap, but I think she’s tapped out of nice, so we make our way to another room.

  This little boy is on my list of “those to be won over.” I’ve played the games, and sat silently, asked questions, and he’s never said a word.

  “Jamal! How are you today, bud?” I say loudly. Nothing. The kid doesn’t even look away from the TV. “This is Bridgette and Hannah. They’re here to play.”

  “Thanks for coming today, Robin,” his mom, Bethy, says quietly. She’s always quiet, like she doesn’t want to break his concentration.

  “Are you playing Castle Crashers? I love that game!” Bridgette goes right over to the bed and taps his leg, in case he didn’t hear her. He moves his leg to the side. “Can I play, too?”

  His eyes move. He eyes the little masked kid like she’s a bug on his windshield and shrugs. He shrugs! Bethy meets my eyes with hers huge in her face.

  “Thanks, Jamal. Scoot over. Is there another controller?” Jamal’s dad, who was a shadow in the corner before, jumps up to get it, while I help Bridgette on the bed. She settles shoulder to shoulder with him and Hannah goes to look out the window and mess with the blinds. Finally, she picks up a brand new coloring book by Jamal’s dad’s seat and they play. Once again, I try to blend. Never have I been a wallflower, but this is kind of insane.

  Bridgette says “good one” or “you almost had him, let’s go again” as she shifts, constantly moving, bouncing a foot or gesturing with her head at the actions her hands are trying to make the soldiers on the screen make. Then it happens.

  “So, what’s your deal? You don’t look sick.” All heads swivel to the six-year-old on the bed. Even Hannah stops coloring.

  “I’m gonna die,” Jamal says nonchalantly, like he’s been talking the whole time.

  Bridgette shrugs, still watching the TV. “Why do you think so?”

  “‘Cause I got cancer.”

  “So? My mom had cancer for a long time.”

  “Did she die?”

  “Everybody’s gonna die, but you’re not dead today. Neither is your momma or daddy, or Aunt Sa— Robin. We don’t live forever or come back like video games.”

  “Maybe I want to,” Jamal says, the challenge clear in his voice. Bridgette shrugs again, not fazed.

  “Maybe you will. Hey! Maybe you’ll come back as a doctor that cures cancer. Wouldn’t that be cool? You can fight for other people like in Castle Crashers.”

  “They fight to break down the walls of other castles.”

  “So what? If you go to school and learn, you can be a doctor one day and fight to break down cancer’s castle. That would be cool, huh?”

  Jamal is quiet for a long time, his fingers never stopping on the controller. “Yeah, maybe.”

  Hannah puts down her crayon and leans toward the dad. “Do you want to brush my hair?” she whispers. He smiles and shakes his head.

  “No, sweetie. Thank you, though.”

  ~

  “It was fucking exhausting is what it was.”

  “But they did okay? I can’t believe Alyse let you in.”

  “She likes me.”

  “Oh, trust me, she likes me more.” I roll my eyes and push the phone closer to my ear.

  “Nice. Have you hit that?” I ask casually. He isn’t fooled.

  “No, not for lack of trying, though. On her part.” Asshole.

  “Nice.”

  “Well, you asked.” He laughs.

  “Funny. Real funny. I liked her, but you’ve ruined it.” I sniff in irritation, which makes him laugh harder.

  “Baby,” he croons. I’m not having
it.

  “Shut up. I’m mad at you.”

  “You’re in my house, in my bed. Now tell me what you’re wearing.”

  “I’m not in the mood.”

  “Bullshit, sex should be your middle name, Sadie Dinah.”

  “Well I don’t have a middle name, Finnigan Brennick and neither do you.”

  “Maybe mine should be—”

  “Asshole?” I interrupt.

  “I was going to say ‘Mouth of a God,’ actually.”

  “Hardly.”

  “Really? ‘Cause that’s what you say when I’m making out with your pussy. ‘God, Oh my God.’ ”

  “I don’t recall. Goodnight.” I hang up the phone, but his laughter echoes in the room. Goddamn, I miss his mouth.

  Chapter 8

  TUESDAY

  How the hell are you supposed to find anything? I riffle through more papers, on top of others for cattle, hay, wool, and who the hell knows what a combine is? Phones are ringing in the background and people talk in the busy office.

  “Can I help you find anything, ma’am?” An Irish voice says behind me. I turn, intrigued by the accent.

  “Did you really just call me ma’am?” My hands fly to my face. I know I remembered mascara this morning. “I can’t possibly be older than you.” His face loses the smile. “No, no! I just meant I’m twenty-two, not that you look old. I’ve never been a ma’am before.”

  “No offense taken, then. I didn’t see your face to begin with, anyway, just saw you pushing through the advertisements on the board.” I look back to the offensive corkboard and shake my head.

  “How are you supposed to find what you want with everything on top of everything else?” I ask rhetorically and flick a hanging sheet of paper.

  “The name is Sean. If you’re interested in anything in Los Rancheros, I can be of some help.” I shake his hand.

  “Sadie.”

  “So you are looking in the neighborhood, then?” he prompts.

  “Yes, do you live here?”

  “Yes, of course. We are in the Welcome Center, after all.” I raise my brows.

  “Well, I didn’t know if you needed a pass to get in. These people are hell to visitors.” He laughs.

  “That’s the truth. What is it you’re looking for, then?” I hesitate.

  “Well . . . I thought I would look for horseback riding lessons, if there was anyone giving any. I don’t see anything on the board, though.”

  “For yourself?” I balk.

  “Oh, hell no. For six-year-old girls. One for sure loves horses, I don’t know about the other, but she would die if I got her on one.” He puffs out his chest and I can’t help but smile.

  “Well, are you a resident, then?”

  “I am.” I lie. “Do you give lessons?”

  “I haven’t before, no.” I lose the smile. “But in this case I might be inclined for a horse enthusiast.”

  “Do you have well behaved horses? Their guardian isn’t fond of them, and might have my head if something happened to them.”

  “We have only the best, Ms. Sadie. I assure you. They’re actually my employer’s horses, but I help run the stables and would love a chance to exercise them some.”

  “Who is your employer?” His eyes go flat, so I hold up my hands. “Just wondering if they would take offense to you leasing out their pets.”

  “Who did you say you were again? And whose children are you to be bringing on the premises?” he asks more cautiously. I debate the question, wondering if I should give out Batty’s name to just anyone. Fuck it.

  “Finnigan Brennick. He’s a—”

  “Oh, you don’t say.” He laughs in relief. “Everyone knows Finnigan Brennick, a good Irishman on the cover of TIME, and all.” My hackles rise in alarm. Sean holds up a hand.

  “I take care of Deklan Thomas’s horses, of Rolling Bridges.” Of course I know who Deklan Thomas is, he’s only the lead singer for Fandy’s band. I laugh at the irony.

  “I’m Sadie Dinah. We’re doing a talent show with Fandy, Triple Threat.”

  “OH!” he says loudly, getting several people’s attention. His voice is lower when he leans in. “I’ve heard him talk about it while at the house. That’s fantastic. Of course, have the wee ones come over. I’ll have to clear it with the couple, of course, but it shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Hmm.” I still think Deklan has a problem with me in general, much less at his house, since the last time he saw me I was beating my band member with a bottle of water. I do remember his wife, though. Very tattooed and pretty. “Let me give you my number. If they’re okay with it, let me know. They have a lot of activities after school, so it would have to be Fridays after school.”

  “That would work perfectly.” He pulls out a phone. “We’ll swap information and be in touch, how’s that?”

  “Sure.” In for a penny, I guess.

  I get in the car and drive to pick up the girls from school. Even though I picked up clothes from my house, I’m still wearing the clothes I got a few weeks ago. The lightweight jersey, maxi dress I’m wearing today is one of my favorites. I love wearing flip-flops, too. If anyone I know sees me, they will probably fall over in straight shock.

  When I pull up in the Charger, I yawn and reach for my phone, already anticipating the line. I go through multiple emails from my assistant Jacque about my parents, and several from record label executives. I hear the bell ring, letting the kids out of school, and try to send off a reply to the producers about the at home visits we want to take to some of the contestants hometowns when I hear yelling. Not kids excited to get out of school yelling, but angry yelling. I look up and check the mirrors first, thinking it has to be an angry parent—they’re always impatient and honking—but don’t see anything. When I look to the right of the school, several people are corralling kids and looking farther up the line.

  Seeing kids being protected from something has me immediately popping the door handle and stepping out of the car to search for Bridgette and Hannah. Four cars down, on the other side of the main entrance, there is a group of people, several adults and two very small, brown, curly heads.

  “HEY!” I explode. My heart, my head, every part of me goes fucking ballistic. I know those little brunettes trying to hide behind a teacher. I hit the latch for the trunk without taking my eyes from the group and slam my door, running to the trunk for the baseball bat I always keep in whatever car I’m driving.

  Rounding the other side of the car, I have tunnel vision. I don’t see moms running for their kids or teachers slipping children back into the building. I see my girls cowering, when I dropped them off all smiles and giggling.

  I rotate my wrist, making the bat circle at my side. The movement catches the eye of one of the aggressors, and when I see his face, I see red.

  “Bridgette, Hannah, get in the car now,” I order in my best, no nonsense voice.

  “Aunt Sadie!” they cry in unison and run to me. I touch each of their shaking shoulders and push them behind me.

  “Get in the car and lock the doors. I’ll be there in two minutes. Go now.” They leave me, reluctantly, and the teacher that was holding off the two people I hate most in the world backs away as well. “What the fuck are you doing here?” I growl.

  Brian nods to the bat clutched tightly in my fist. “You gonna use that on us in front of all of these witnesses, bitch?”

  “If I have to, you bet your ass. Now answer my question.” Patricia straightens her shoulders and sticks her nose in the air so that she can try and look down at me. I still have half a foot on her, even barefoot.

  “We just want to talk to you.”

  “If you have anything to say, you contact my lawyers. You don’t come to a school full of little kids, you stupid bitch, and you sure as fuck don’t talk to my kids.” Brian’s eyebrows go up.

  “Oh, are they yours now? Shacking up with the owner of the record label, I have to admit that was a ballsey move, even for you, Popper.” I step up to him an
d immediately smell the cloying cologne mixed with sweat, but don’t step away.

  “If you have a problem with me, you deal with me. All of these kids and people have nothing to do with it, and if you ever so much as look at those girls again, I will take you down. Do you understand me, little man?” Brian’s face goes red, but Patricia puts a hand on his arm. “I don’t know how you found me, or this school, but you best forget this address. Now, if you’re not gone by the time I get back to my car, I’m pressing charges. Attempted kidnapping, for starters.”

  I lock eyes with both of them before taking a step back, then another. Patricia pulls Brian off the sidewalk and between cars, but he shrugs her off and takes aggressive steps toward me. I raise the bat without thought, prepared to knock his head all over these parents’ vans if I have to.

  He chickens out, smirks, and turns toward the parking lot. I watch his shiny bald head, having lost Patricia when they separated, and jog back to the car, count the kids in the back and scan the vicinity for Patricia, just in case.

  I don’t see her. What I do see are parents stepping out of their cars. At first, I’m thinking lynch mob, they’re definitely coming to put me down for endangering their kids, but then they start to clap. I blink, stunned. I can hear the sirens over the crowd now.

  Opening the passenger door, I toss the bat in there then look to the back. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you at all?”

  “No,” they say together. Hannah leans forward.

  “You’re like, for real Robin. So cool, Aunt Sadie.” I have to take a seat as my knees give out. Bridgette has always called me Aunt Sadie, but never Hannah. Go figure something like this would make her like me.

  “Ma’am, these officers would like to take your statement. If you could grab your ID and step out of the car, please?” a man in a suit says. I eye him and guess he must be the principal. Where the fuck was he when shit was going down?