Page 33 of Dirty Legacy

“Wait a second. At least put out the⁠—“

I hear the chain pull back and the bolt snap. “Well, hello there, and who would you be?” Mom sounds delighted, which means that’s not Dennis here to answer her challenge.

“Hello, you must be Dawn, Angelina’s mother. My name is Connor Maguire⁠—“

Holy shit.

I drop the knife I was using to cut a sandwich in half. It clatters to the floor. How long has it been since I left the coffee place? An hour? Maybe two? I took my time getting home, but he’s already here. What the hell is happening right now?

“—if you’re her boss, she’s got a better job than I realized,” Mom purrs as I wheel around the corner, wiping my hands on a towel.

I stop short. Connor’s in the hallway looking as incredible as he did when I left him. Mom’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest, doing her pouty/flirty thing, which is gross and I’m not thinking about that. Connor’s eyes latch onto mine, and I feel like a fox in a trap as I try to think of some way out of this.

But there’s no escape.

Connor’s going to kill me.

“Do you mind if we come in? I have something very important to do with your daughter.”

“Not at all. Does he work with you as well?” Mom squints past Connor. “I didn’t know Catholic priests needed day jobs, but it’s no shock in this economy.”

Mom saunters past me, winking, mischief all over her face. She slumps onto the couch and relights her joint.

Connor follows her in, looking like sin, sex, and hell. Behind him is an older man, heavier, wrinkled, gray hair parted to the left. He’s wearing a gray jacket, black slacks, and a typical white priest collar. He peers at me nervously from behind his glasses. A Bible’s clutched against his chest.

“What’s going on right now?” I back away into my living room.

Connor takes in the space with distaste. His eyes drift to my mother and his expression hardens. “Put that out, please.”

“Put out what?” Mom exhales a plume of smoke. It hits the fan and drifts away.

“You can’t smoke around your daughter. You can’t smoke around my⁠—“

“Okay! That’s enough! Mr. Maguire, I appreciate you making an unexpected house call, but maybe we can go talk in private?”

Connor ignores me. “Put it out, Dawn.”

“Okay, now you’re starting to annoy me. This is my house. This here is legal.” She waves the joint in the air. “Didn’t we just go over this, Angie? What’s with this guy?”

Connor stalks over to my mother, ignoring my protests, stoops down, and rips the joint from her hand. He jabs it out in an ashtray. Mom cringes back in terror and shock, her hands held up like claws in a defensive posture.

“You don’t smoke around your daughter anymore. Do you understand me?”

“I don’t… what the fuck…” She starts to stand. “You mother⁠—“

“Mom, I’m pregnant.”

I have to shout it so everyone hears. Mom’s anger fades as surprise takes over. Her face pales.

“You’re… what? Are you being serious?”

“She’s pregnant with my child,” Connor clarifies menacingly. “And you will no longer smoke around her. Do you understand?”

“God damn it, Mom, I’m sorry. This isn’t how I wanted to tell you.” I scrub my hands through my hair. “Connor, can we please talk in private?”

“Angie, is this real? You’re pregnant?”

“It’s okay, Mom, we’ll talk later. Connor?”