Three
Powerful they might have been. Stamina they might have had beyond ‘normal’. But the sheer amount of luggage overwhelmed even them. When it was finally inside, Mike sprawled on the floor. “That’s it. Call the funeral home. I’m dead.”
“My arms,” Micky moaned, his head on Mike’s shoulder. “I can’t move my arms.”
“I can’t move your arms either,” Mike mumbled, too tired even to laugh at his own joke. Peter, sprawled by Mike’s side, managed a small chuckle. Davy was just plain asleep. Mike looked up at the door, which was still open. “I’ll race you to the door. Ready? Go.” He managed to lift his left arm only a few inches before it dropped back to the floor. “See, man . . . you won.”
“Whoop-ee,” Micky sighed.
A man appeared in the doorway, clad in the light gray coveralls of the moving company. His participation in the moving had rested solely on the moving of the bags from the truck to the ground—he’d allowed the Monkees the honor of doing the rest. “That’s it, miss Millie.”
She smiled at him. “Thank you, Larry. Here, have some of my cheesecake as a thank you.” She began to cut him a piece.
“I really can’t . . . ”
“I insist.” She pushed the plate into his hands. Larry smiled and left, munching. “I’ll return the plate.” She beamed after him, then turned and looked at the four. “You boys look tuckered out.”
“That’s an understatement worthy of you, Mike,” Micky said.
She walked over and smoothed Mike’s bangs away from his forehead, cupping his cheek maternally. “You’re good boys. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” She reached down and smoothed Peter’s hair off his neck, and her smile faltered briefly as she saw the tattoo. It returned with a fond chuckle. “Kids today.” Micky gave Mike a concerned look.
Millie got Davy to his feet and asked, “Which bedroom’s his?”
“Downstairs,” Mike said. “That’s his and Peter’s room, and Micky and I sleep upstairs . . . ” He trailed off, realizing that Millie would need a place to sleep. “We’ll move downstairs.”
“I can’t ask you to do that. It’s not the first time I’ve slept on a couch.” She smiled and guided Davy into the room.
Mike struggled to his feet, swaying a little as his equilibrium fought to recover. “No, really. It’s okay. We’ll manage, Bess—” He clamped his mouth shut to keep the rest of the Big Man’s name from emerging.
She paused in the doorway. “Bessie?”
“S-Sorry,” Mike said quickly. “You . . . look like someone we knew. It slipped out.”
“Wouldn’t be Bessie Kowalski, would it?”
“How . . . how did you know?” Mike said.
She chuckled. “You’ve met my sister.”
“Y-Your sister?” Mike shouted, startling the other two out of their sluggishness.
She nodded. “My baby sister. By about, oh—” she thought a second. “Fifteen, twenty minutes.”
“So that’s why you look so much alike,” Peter said, sitting up. “To be honest, Millie—we noticed right away, but we didn’t want to mention anything to you about it.”
“How is Bessie doing?” she asked, genuine fondness in her voice. “I haven’t heard from her since her singing act tanked and she hooked up with that gangster from Jersey.”
Mike squirmed a little as he related what had happened with Bessie—their kidnapping, the robbery, the shootout, and Bessie’s arrest. Her eyes closed, and she sighed. “I’ll have to go visit her. It was the weirdest thing, it was like I knew she was . . . ” She sighed, smiling. “Look at me. You boys are exhausted and I’m standing here rambling on.”
“It’s all right,” Mike said. “I’m getting my second wind.”
“Still. It’s late and tomorrow’s another day!” She chirped brightly. Peter started humming “Tomorrow’s Gonna Be Another Day.” She smiled at him and yawned. “I’ll make up the couch and—”
“No, we’ll move downstairs,” Micky said. “C’mon, Mike.”
Mike followed Micky upstairs. “She’s Bessie’s sister!” He shook his head. “Can our lives get any weirder?”
Micky clamped his hand over Mike’s mouth. “Don’t say that!” he hissed.
Mike stood for a moment, giving Micky a poisonous, “boy you’d better get your hand off my mouth now” look. Micky smiled sweetly and removed his hand. “You’d give me rabies,” he chuckled.
Mike threw a pillow at him. “Whatever. Let’s get our blankets and stuff downstairs. We’ll move your bed downstairs tomorrow.”
“Sounds good to me. You sleep with Peter this time. He kicks.” Micky stopped, then laughed. “That came out way wrong.”
Mike clenched his teeth, trying not to laugh, but the howls were already surging through his chest and up his throat. Grabbing the edge of his bed, he sat down, flopping backwards as the roars emerged. Micky chuckled all the way down the stairs. “I love doing that to him,” he chuckled.
Peter looked up as Micky appeared. “Oh, good . . . I thought you two were fighting or something.”
“Nope, I just made sourpuss laugh.”
“Oh.” Peter grinned as Mike descended, wiping tears from his eyes. Mike looked at Peter and sniggered again. Peter tilted his head. “Apparently the joke was at my expense.”
“Sort of,” Micky said. “Comment of mine that came out wrong.”
“And how!” Mike added.
Peter shook his head. “I do not want to know. G’night.” He laid down and was nearly instantly asleep. Mike watched as Micky formed a thick nest of blankets and burrowed into them; once they were asleep he went back out into the living room, crossing to the windows and gazing out at the night sky.
Ten minutes later there was the scrape of a footstep behind him—he whipped around, his hands already curling into position.
Millie gasped, whirling to face him, her hand flying to her heart. “Mickey! What are you still doing up!”
Mike immediately lowered his hands, taking a few breaths to still his rapidly beating heart. “I could ask the same thing about you.”
“I’m just being a silly old woman,” she smiled sadly. “Missing my husband.”
“That’s not silly,” Mike said.
The smile grew. “You’re a sweet boy, Mickey. What are you doing up?”
“It’s Mike,” he gently corrected. “And I couldn’t sleep.”
“What’s on your mind, Mike?” she asked, going to the fridge and cutting two pieces of cheesecake. She set them and two glasses of milk on the table.
Mike sat down. “It’s . . . nothing. Just some stuff that happened . . . a couple months ago.”
“I’m a good listener, when I can keep my mouth shut,” she said, smiling.
Mike gnawed on his lower lip. He didn’t want to drag Millie into their problems, but the urge to tell her about everything had welled up, threatening to burst forth.
“It’s a girl, isn’t it?” she asked softly.
Mike blinked. “A . . . a girl?”
“That’s what’s got you up nights?”
“N-No . . . it’s not a girl.”
“Then what is it?”
Mike looked down at the table. “Nothin’. It’s just stupid.”
“Try the cheesecake.”
Mike took the fork, unconsciously twirling it between his fingers before stabbing it into the cake, slicing off a piece and taking a bite. “Wow . . . that’s good.”
“Thank you. I made it. I’ve found nothing banishes your troubles like a piece of cheesecake.”
Only if it could erase tattoos and martial arts abilities, Mike thought wryly.
“Drink up, you’re too thin.”
“Why does everyone keep sayin’ that?” Mike said with a chuckle as he quickly downed the milk.
“Because you are.”
Mike looked down at the lanky body that had often been the butt of many jokes by his friends. If only she knew, he thought with a snort. Thin he might have been, but the knowledge he had made ‘looks can be deceiving’ a reality for him.
Millie’s eyes were steadily closing. She dozed off mid-word. With a smile Mike carefully lifted her into his arms and slowly ascended the stairs—backwards. He tucked Millie into his bed and closed the door behind him, resuming his unconscious sentry duty by the bay windows.
Three hours later, Peter’s voice startled him. “Go to bed.”
Mike turned, his lips quirked into a wry smile. “You’re not my real mother.”
“No, but I am here to relieve you.” He smiled. “Go on. I’ve got your back.”
Mike walked over to where Peter stood in the doorway. “Don’t know why I’m standin’ guard.” He shook his head.
“Because we have someone to protect now.” Peter began to walk toward the bay windows, his matter-of-fact statement hanging in the air between them.
Mike watched him a few moments before retreating, flopping onto Peter’s bed without even taking off his shoes.
On to Four
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