We’d all got dressed up (kind of, the girls did, the boys wore nice shirts and jeans) and the photographer had taken our picture in front of the house. Mickey and me in the middle pressed close, his arm around my shoulders, mine around his waist. His other arm was around Pippa. My other one was wrapped around Cillian’s chest. He was standing slightly in front of me (something he couldn’t do now since he’d had a growth spurt in the time that had past and was now taller than me). Ash was beside me. She’d been caught laughing, her eyes to the camera, her cheek to my shoulder, her arms around my middle. Auden was standing close on the other side of his sister, holding her hand.
Outside Ash, who was laughing, we were all smiling.
Happy.
Now, printed huge, beautifully framed with two lovely sconces arching over it to make it an even bigger feature than it already was, that picture hung by the dining room table, pictorial evidence I had everything a woman could need.
Me and my family floating on a cloud of blue, blinded by a flash of happy.
Mickey ended the silence.
“You saw it.”
“I love you,” I whispered.
“Same here.”
I smiled and fought back the tears.
It took some time, Mickey gave me that time, and when I succeeded, I asked, “Have a taste for anything for dinner?”
“I’ll get Tink’s, bring it home,” he answered.
“Then we’ll eat Tink’s at the dining room table.”
His voice was soft when he replied, “Works for me.”
It worked for me too. He had his kids. I had mine.
So it worked perfectly.
“See you later, honey,” I said.
“Yeah, baby. See you.”
We hung up.
I walked to the picture and flicked the new light switch that now had five dimmer controls. One for the chandelier over the dining table. One for the kitchen lights. One for the kitchen pendants. One for the living room lights.
And one for my picture.
It was daytime. I didn’t need that light.
But from that day forward, whenever I was home, that picture was lit.
Every day.
Reminding me, even though I knew it down to my soul, that I had all I needed.
* * * * *
I wandered down the hall to the den, and once I hit it, I went right to the desk and dumped the bags and my purse on top. I slid the envelope out of one then dug in the other and pulled out the tissue wrapped parcel. I unwrapped it unveiling the pretty frame I’d bought at the reopened shop on the jetty.
I was about to put the picture I’d had printed at Walgreens in it when my phone in my purse rang.
I set aside the frame and picture, dug my phone out, looked at the display and took the call.
“Hey,” I greeted.
“Hey back,” Mickey replied. “Listen, babe, you do payroll?”
I looked to the computer on the desk.
The den was the den.
It was also another guest bedroom now that the other side of the room was taken up with a massive, slouchy sectional with a pullout.
Further, it was a family room where Auden and Cillian played Xbox when they were at my place since the girls (and Mickey and I) weren’t big fans of them hogging the TV in the great room.
It also now had shelves on every wall not taken up with windows or the TV, beautiful walnut ones Mickey had put up with the help of Jake (and Cillian and Auden).
And last, it was the office for Donovan Roofing and Contracting.
I was Mickey’s office girl. I did payroll, returned calls (or picked them up when I was at the desk), scheduled Mickey to meet with clients, typed up quotes, ordered materials, sent invoices, dealt with receivables and played bookkeeper (with tutoring from Robin).
Mickey’s business had taken off.
Ralph beat him on some bids but those who paid attention to referrals and online reviews went with Mickey. Not to mention, he’d gotten the roofing contract for the build around the golf course at the Magdalene Club. A huge job. A real coup. Thirty houses and not little ones. Mini-mansions.
In fact, there was so much work Mickey had twenty-eight employees. And his business wasn’t even a year old yet.
I didn’t get a salary. This was because Mickey’s house was on the market and we were getting married in a small, harvest-themed wedding (reception to be held at Lavender House) the day before Halloween, so what was his was going to be mine very soon anyway (as per me, we’d had words but Mickey gave in eventually).
And I loved doing it. I loved helping. I loved watching Mickey’s business flourish. I loved seeing him happy in his job. I loved knowing when he started his work day he was doing something he enjoyed, something that was his.
Since Mickey’s house was on the market, even though our wedding wasn’t for three months, when it sold, even if we weren’t yet married, they were moving in.
Then again, they were there most of the time already.
If they weren’t, I, and if I had my kids, all three of us were over at Mickey’s.
Total Brady Bunch.
It was fantastic.
“Yeah, honey, I run it every Thursday morning before Dove House,” I told him something he knew. “Direct deposits will be in accounts tomorrow.”
“Shit,” he muttered.
“Why?” I asked.
“Jerry fucked up his timesheet. Forgot some overtime I asked him to do.”
“Tell him he can just submit it with the next one and we’ll make the alteration then.”
“Says he needs the money, baby. The divorce.”
One of Mickey’s crew, Jerry, was in the throes of an ugly divorce that included an ugly custody battle. His attorney’s fees were out the roof.
“Right,” I said, snatching up a pen and sliding a pad of Post-its my way. “Give me the hours. I’ll run another payroll and he’ll have two deposits, the second one is the overtime. But he needs to give you the timesheet to bring home tonight so I can have it on file.”
“Will do,” he replied and gave me the hours. I wrote them down while he asked, “Your day been good?”
I looked to the frame and the picture sitting beside it, ready to be inserted.
Then I looked to the shelves.
There were DVDs, CDs, books, picture frames and knickknacks in them. There were a lot of shelves and they were new so they were far from filled. But I figured when Mickey and his kids moved in, that would happen easily.
All of them had something in them, though.
But one of them had only one thing.
A broken, black, folded up umbrella.
My heart squeezed.
“No,” I answered Mickey’s question.