Chapter 22

Twenty-Two

Q ueenie

After a few days of practice, I decided that this was the morning I would attempt the beloved Irish breakfast. I had a habit of cooking the bacon too crispy because that was the way everyone growing up around me liked it, but órfhlaith stressed with lessons that it was meant to be softer to complement the rest of the meal. Today, I was confident that I finally gotten it right and it dawned on me that for the first time since mastering it, that this was a lot of food. How did anyone eat all this? Stumbling in wiping away sleep from his eyes, he greeted me with a gentle hug and kiss, his voice low and raspy as he wished me good morning.

"Mmm…you're up so early. Today's late inventory and I didn't have to be at the pub until twelve. I thought we were going to sleep in together… something smells good," he said, being a pest trying to lift up one of the lids on the stove as I slapped his hand away.

"No, sit down. I wanted to surprise you with something different today. I hope you like it," I said, easing him on an empty seat at the table.

"We've gone over this a hundred times. If you cook it, I'll love it. But I have to say that I was a wee bit disappointed to wake up alone. Don't know how to explain it but it's like my body senses when you're not there. I'll just keep tossing and turning."

"Close your eyes," I asked, as his face contorted into a frown.

"What for?"

"Because I don't want to ruin my surprise." He sighed deeply.

"I don't know why you're going through all this trouble for. Unless you're gonna pop a tit in my mouth or something," he jested, but most times he was being serious. I arranged the contents in the best way I could remember, placing a cloche over it to delay the reveal. Placing it in front of him, I instructed him to open his eyes and he repaid me with a confused look.

"Queenie, what are you going through all this trouble for? Fancy plate coverings for something we eat every morning?" He challenged, but when he lifted the lid, his argument went silent.

" Is this what I think it is?"

"I don't know. What do you think it is?" I asked, as he reached for a fork and knife with a sudden quickness. He took a bite of the sausage, his eyes shutting in pleasure at its warmth and familiarity.

"These are like proper sausage. Proper Irish sausage. Nothing against American stuff, but it's like you guys use a different part of the swine or something. It's not better or worse. It just takes time getting used to. Mmm …this is proper good. You're such a sweet heart. I want to do something nice for you, baby." I rolled my eyes, biting into a piece of the bacon. He was right, Irish cuts of meat did taste different. But it was a good different, not a bad one.

"You do do nice things for me, "I admitted, recalling not just the major things, but the little things he did to make me feel appreciated. Like straightening up after dinner. Helping me wash and style my hair. Giving me massages after a long day. Those were things I couldn't put a price on.

"Yeah, but proper," he said, excusing himself and returning with his wallet. "Why don't you spend the day getting some more dresses. Get your hair done in a shop. Maybe get your nails done, too. I'd like to take you out when I get home, and I know just the thing."

"And what's that?" I wondered. He stuffed a piece of black pudding in his mouth, licking his fingers like he had never eaten before.

"I can't tell you that. It's a surprise." I smiled as he pulled out a few tens and placed them on the table. He rolled his eyes, pulling out his wallet again to add a few more bills to the pile.

"If that's not enough, I'll get Seamus to run you over to the bank when he takes you."

"Cillian, that should be more than enough. Thank you, but you know you don't always have to spend so much money on me. The thing I love most is when you're here with me." He cradled my hand bringing my fingers to his lips.

"I know, and I wish I could spend the whole day with you, but I've got to work, darling. Upside is I know you're gonna love my surprise," he said, as he finished up his entire serving whereas I was packing mine up for later. He spent the rest of the morning getting dressed for work, while I got ready to spend the day running errands. He walked out the bedroom, a bout of disappointment washing over me that he had failed to say goodbye. As I stepped out of my slip, strong arms embraced me, my scream of surprise filling the walk-in closet.

"Only codding you. I would never leave without getting my kiss," he said, with a kiss to my neck and cheek along with a slap to my ass. "I better see you in something new tonight. Something that makes you feel like a princess. Otherwise when I see you, I'm gonna bring you across my lap and spank you…but I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you?" he flirted, his Irish brogue devilish and low, as his hands traveled down my limbs.

"I like it when you do it when you're behind me," I giggled, as his rapid kisses tickled the back of my neck.

"Shit! Now you've got me all worked up before work," he said with another slap to my ass that was interrupted with a loud banging on a door inside the apartment.

"Oi, Cilly. We haven't got all day, lad. You had all morning to fulfill your marital duties before work." Paddy and Bellamy right on time.

"Ugh! I've got to go, but be ready around six, alright? I'll ring you around three to check in. Give me a kiss," he said leaning in one last time before he joined his brothers and the front door of the penthouse slammed shut.

***

This time I decided to hit up the Black side of town. Without Cillian, I'd never feel comfortable in other places anyways, plus it was nice knowing I could breathe without looking over my shoulder. The first place I had Seamus take me to was the hair salon. While I preferred doing my own hair, for our night out I just wanted something more glamorous. Maybe an up do or a roller set with soft waves. One place I often frequented had a stylist that specialized in non-permed hair, so she was my go to since her methods preserved my curls without damage.

Darlene's.

We pulled up to the corner it stood, as I gathered my purse and advised Seamus to drop me off here.

"Here is fine. Between shopping, getting my hair and nails done, and then having a quick walk around, I'd say give me about four hours. There's no need for you to be sitting out here waiting for me when you might have other things to do."

"Are you sure, lass? I don't mind waiting. It's literally my job to wait on you."

"Yeah, but I feel safe here. It's no big deal. I won't tell if you won't," I added with a wink as he promised he wouldn't be far. I took a deep breath spinning on my toes to face my old stomping grounds. In a way, places like this had felt smaller now. Or maybe my world had just gotten bigger, so some things of the past had lost that certain it factor. But the second I walked through those doors, one thing would never change, was that nothing topped the gossip in a Black hair salon. Everything from confirming someone's drinking habit, to a whisper about your neighbor's cheating. If it was juicy and worth hearing about, it was going to be shared at a Colored beauty parlor.

"Well, if it isn't a familiar face back from the dead," a woman said, approaching me. Her name was Miss Mary. She went to my parent's church and hosted potlucks every Thursday's. She was around my mama's age and didn't do anything but cook, worship and gossip.

"How's your mama and daddy doing? Last thing they told me was that you went up and got married. And they invite nobody to the wedding." Ha! It wasn't like that was my fault. I hope my parents told them that , too. I hadn't made the time to check up on them since I became Cillian's.

I was in my own little bliss being outside of my parents' house. And it was just nice not having to deal with the invisible labor they expected out of their oldest daughter. Cillian was showing me how I loved being loved on, something I had yet to experience from maternal or paternal affection.

"Ain't nobody seen or heard from you until a few weeks ago. Tilly Armstrong said you went up and married one of those Irish boys. What you having done today, baby?" A stylist asked, easing me down on one of the chairs.

"Actually, I was wondering if Sandra was in today. She's always the one I get to do my hair because I stay away from perms and presses."

"Yeah, she's out back tossing out some trash. She'll be back in a minute. You look good. Not sure what I was expecting with you marrying a white boy."

"That's what I said. You ain't had your eyes set on no Colored boys?" Another woman jumped in. These were the conversations I expected, but had been skilled at avoiding until now.

What my parents didn't share was why and how we got together, something I was actually grateful for. It wasn't anyone's business, but I hated how the first thing that popped into people's minds is that you didn't care for your own people just because you were with someone white.

The moment Sandra came from out back, she washed her hands and we debated what we were going to do with my hair. We finally settled on Hollywood waves, since it could be achieved with rollers and not as much heat as a hot comb.

"Oh, you're better than me. I couldn't be with no white man. Think the man loves you, and the first argument you have he can't wait to call you a nigger. Plus, I don't doubt they be having some slave master fantasies. Why else would they pursue us? They miss the days when we weren't free." That was where I had to stop of them from talking, because people spewing lies didn't help with how most people were going to think when they saw us.

"Well, my husband's people never owned anybody. He's not even from America. He's from Ireland, a country with their own problems and history with oppression. He's not like those confederate flag carrying white folks down south," I argued, only to be interrupted by someone who just had to get their opinion in.

"But I bet he ain't no God-fearing man, either. What's his family do for a living? Because if his last name is Sullivan, he sure as hell ain't no servant for the lord. I'm gonna tell you, like I told your mother when she first met your father. Be careful with those dangerous men. You do one thing to piss them off and you'll never be seen from again."

Back and forth the misinformation spread, as I decided to just stay silent because at some point you had to accept that you weren't changing anyone's mind. To spew all that falsity when you didn't even know someone, was why I hated confiding in people now.

No one's opinion or business was sacred. I knew I was naive to think that people who looked like me wouldn't feel any kind of way about me being with an Irishman. All it was was fear mongering, and there was a select breed of people who were just never going to live beyond the twenty percent of the world that they knew, out of the fear of discovering the unknown.

There was really no safe space for either of us. Cillian and I truly were each other's havens. Once Sandra finished up my hair, I made my way over to the nail station, the only stylist available being the main one having the most to say. Wanting to hurry up and get out of here, I opted for a simple half-moon design and made sure to leave a tip that left her mouth gaping, courtesy of my dangerous husband. I knew the moment I left, they'd likely called me all types of names like snobby or bougie, but it felt good shoving it in their faces that money was just something that no longer gave me worry.

Making my way down Main street, I nearly walked by the watch shop I'd called a few days prior. My heart broke thinking back to a conversation about the prison losing the watch his father gave him. Perhaps it wouldn't replace the one he lost, but I thought it might be nice to surprise him with a new one.

One personalized and engraved, and one that would make him think of me when he wore it. The clerk in charge of the shop must have been the man I spoke with over the phone because he was really helpful. Helped me decide what kind of detail a man like Cillian would like, down to the color and chain style.

It was a simple pickup at this point, as it would have taken hours, but I'd been able to pay for it in cash and leave with it. The box it came in wasn't fancy, so I wanted to walk around to see if I could find a gift-wrapping place nearby.

Seamus would make his rounds soon and I still had some dresses to buy. If my memory served me correctly, there was a dress shop four blocks away, so my hope was that I'd see both on my way there. It wouldn't have department store variety, but it was bound to have something I'd leave with. Something Cillian would like.

Taking in the city sites, the Boston air, especially around these parts felt safe. Secure. Free to just be without any stares. An elderly black couple waved, asked me how I was doing in passing and I returned the gesture exchanging a respectful greeting.

Nothing seemed extraordinary about today until it took my good sense to notice the cars that had been following me. I could have ignored it, had it been a block or two coincidence, but I took a chance and detoured from my original destination, turning a corner off the main road, only to have the same two cars not far behind.

The smartest thing I thought to do was make sure I surrounded myself with other people, but everyone seemed to be inside today. One of the cars tried to flag me down to get my attention, but I pretended not to notice and keep walking until I found an area more populated.

Immediately sensing I wouldn't stop, a back door of one of the cars flew open, the other car blocking my chance to cross the street. The man who came out was white, foreign, but there was no possible way I'd met everyone Cillian worked with. Something about this situation though? Everything in my gut was screaming that it didn't feel right.

"Elizabeth Sullivan." An Irish accent called out to me, as he held his hand up in silent surrender.

"I'm sorry, I don't know you. I don't talk to strange men I don't know."

"It's alright, Elizabeth. I work with Cillian and his family. Seamus got a little tied up, so he sent me in his place instead to escort you home." Perhaps I hadn't been a Sullivan long, but any acquaintance of Cillian knew that I didn't go by Elizabeth, the first of many red flags. My husband hadn't taught me as much as he should have, but one thing was certain. If he hadn't introduced me to said person, he wouldn't send just anyone to fetch me. And if it wasn't our regular driver, it'd only ever be his brothers he trusted.

"I think I'm just going to wait in the diner nearby—" I managed to maneuver around the car blocking me, moving faster than before. An antique shop, a dry cleaner, even backtracking to the watch shop seemed smarter than being alone. At least there, the owner could have a gun to scare them off with.

"You're not going anywhere." The click of a barrel from a loaded gun caressed the back of my neck, my fear crippling me as tears streamed down my face. "Get in the fucking car, or I'll just blow your goddamn brains out. Wouldn't want a pretty head like yours missing half a face," the man threatened and I had no choice but to throw up my hands and beg for mercy. I looked to the car and clocked three other men.

One driver, two passengers, all white, watching and waiting for my next move. I didn't know these people. For all I knew they planned to rape, torture or murder me, and my husband would never even know what happened to me. Cillian was a good man in the ways that counted, but I hoped that if I screamed that it would bring enough eyes in my direction and would somehow get back to Cillian so he could make them pay.

However, my attempt at bringing attention to myself had been short lived, as my cries hardly reached anyone nearby before they were gagging my mouth and forcing me in a car. I had no way of knowing what their plans were for me, but if they'd gone through all this, it couldn't have been anything good. Luck would be if I was fortunate to walk away with my life, but in Cillian's world, there was no guarantee.