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When I got to the front door, I opened it like I meant business. My gaze was angled downward, fully expecting to find a girl scout decked out in a brown or green vest or whatever they wore nowadays, but I found nothing of the sort. Instead, there was a man standing at my door and not just any man, but one that I recognized with a start.
It was the blue-eyed stranger that had stared at me like he knew me at my own father’s funeral. Up close, the blue depths of his irises were even more captivating than they had been from afar. He was probably in his mid-forties, at least twice my age. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what.
“Can I help you?” I asked pointedly, doing nothing to hide my annoyance at being disturbed before noon on a Saturday morning.
“Honestly, I was hoping to help you,” he said softly, his gaze passing over my features with a kind of familiarity that I didn’t bother returning.
He was wearing a suit that was most certainly as expensive as the one he’d worn yesterday. His black overcoat was even richer up close like this. Was it designer too? I glanced at his wrists, noticing that he was wearing a pair of brilliant gold and diamond cufflinks that were probably worth several thousand dollars apiece. On his hand were several bulky gold rings. The edge of his tattoo peeked out from his right sleeve. I still couldn’t tell what it was. Behind him was a really nice black Mercedes. The windows were fully tinted. I couldn’t tell if he’d come alone or if there was anyone else with him.
“What do you want?” I scowled.
Who was he? Was he some rich member of the church that heard my sob story? I couldn’t figure it out. I didn’t get the feeling that he was some sort of do-gooder like that. In fact, I was left with the distinct expression that this was the kind of man who got whatever he wanted when he wanted it just because he had the money to pay for it.
“You probably don’t remember me,” he continued, and my annoyance deepened.
My stomach growled like it agreed with me and I thought back to my bowl of cereal, knowing full well it was going to be pretty soggy when I finally got back to it.
“No. I don’t,” I said, my voice flat.
“I’m Cormac Murphy,” he replied, and he held his hand out, striking me with an unexpectedly warm smile.
I glanced at his fingers, noticing that they weren’t smooth like I expected them to be up close. They were rough like a man who knew how to put in a hard day’s work. I knew he expected me to shake his hand in return, but I wasn’t going to do that. Instead, I leveled my aggravated stare with his.
“I’m not going to ask again. What do you want?”
“Back in Ireland, your father was like a brother to me. He called me before he passed away and asked if I would look in on you, so here I am,” he answered.
So, what was I? Some sort of charity? Did he think he was going to be some knight in shining armor coming to my door to save the day?
Fat fucking chance.
“Thanks. I’m good. You can go now,” I muttered, slowly closing the door.
In a quick maneuver, he kicked his foot forward, lodging it between the door and the frame to keep it open. His large palm pressed against the door, preventing me from slamming it in his face exactly like I had planned on doing. The glimmer in his eyes told me he knew it too.
Whatever.
“He told me about your legal troubles. I can help you take care of them if you would come with me to Boston. You’d be welcome in my home as long as you stayed out of trouble. You could have a chance to turn your life around,” he explained.
My gaze narrowed in on his. Was he serious? Did he really think I was just going to jump up and down at the salvation he offered, like he was some sort of divine humanitarian for offering to take in a stray orphan like me? Did he get off on that sort of thing?
“I don’t need your help,” I blurted out.
“Yes, I really think you do,” he countered. His brow furrowed with frustration.
“I don’t want it,” I scoffed.
With a sigh, he removed his hand from my front door and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a thick business card and held it out. It was printed on stationery paper, the expensive kind that cost all sorts of extra to have printed and felt like it was made from velvet. Maybe if I just took it, he would leave, and I could finally get back to my cereal and go about my day. I sighed, making sure he knew just how much he was interrupting my morning, and snatched the stupid card out of his hand.
“Just do me a favor and think about it. My personal number is on there. You call that and I’ll pick up. I don’t care what time of day it is,” he coaxed.
I stared down at the card for a second before I hazarded a glance up at him. I hated that I saw pity and regret staring back at me from those ocean blue depths. There was also something incredibly familiar and it struck me to the core.
Disappointment.
“Yeah. Whatever,” I replied.
It was all too much for me. I’d seen the same look in my father’s eyes time and time again and I couldn’t stand it, especially now from a perfect stranger. Without the slightest care in the world, I slammed the door in his face. As the sound of the loud bang faded, I glanced out the peephole to see him still standing there. He reached up to wipe off his face and lifted his head and I felt like he was staring straight into my soul. Unnerved, I crept away from the door to the window, watching as he stood there for one minute after the next. Eventually, he turned around and walked out to the sleek black Mercedes waiting for him out front.
