The Saint by Kathleen O`Brien

rushing to climb out and announce their presence. She didn’t want to hear Kieran’s answer. She might hear something that would make it even more difficult to do the one thing she knew she absolutely must do: provide a name for her unborn child.
    Don’t say anything, Kieran, she prayed silently. I don’t want to know.
    It was enough to know that he had hesitated, that he had not been willing—or able—to rush in with a denial.
    She began to press on the door.
    Erica lay her hand on Claire’s arm. “Hey, if we wait,” she whispered, excited, “we might hear some more cool stuff.”
    â€œThat,” Claire whispered back, somehow managing to soften it with a smile, “is exactly what I’m afraid of.”
    Â 
    O N S UNDAY AFTERNOON , Eddie went to Morrison’s Fine Jewelers and checked out the price tag on Binky’s lariat earrings.
    Two hundred dollars.
    He was too surprised even to blink. While he stood there like a stooge, with his mouth hanging open, Mr. Morrison put the earrings back in the case, returned to his desk and screwed his spooky jeweler’s monocle back into his eye.
    The dang monocle probably gave him some kind of X-ray vision. Mr. Morrison had probably known from the minute Eddie walked in the shop that he had exactly $27.50 in his pocket.
    But damn it. Who paid two hundred dollars for earrings?
    Eddie thought of all the things he could buy with two hundred dollars. A used guitar. An Xbox. A stereo for his car. Tickets to the next great concert in Richmond.
    Hamburgers at The Big Top for the rest of the year.
    But then he thought of Binky.
    He hadn’t seen a single frame of the movie last night. While the U.S. Air Force blasted the incoming aliens with great big exploding guns, Binky had fed Eddie popcorn, piece by piece, from her fingertips to his lips.
    Then, when he was pretty much ready to explode himself, she had begun to put the pieces on the tip of her tongue, and let him come and get them.
    By the time the last alien went up in smoke, Eddie was a wreck. He’d probably never be able to smell butter again without getting turned on and stuttering like a moron.
    â€œAnything else I can show you, son?”
    Eddie flushed at Mr. Morrison’s tone. The question wasn’t serious. Mr. Morrison hadn’t moved a muscle. He didn’t intend to show dead-broke Eddie Mackey anything at all, except where the door was.
    But at that moment the bell over the glass entrance jangled, and in walked Mrs. Tremel, dressed in a tight blue summer dress that just barely covered the important spots.
    Eddie wondered if the fates had sent her to him. She had said something the other day about needing a guy to mow her lawn. At the time, he had told her he was completely booked up. He didn’t see how he could fit another customer into his weekends.
    How stupid had that been? Shoot, he didn’t need to sleep late on Saturdays. He could always get up a couple of hours earlier.
    If only she hadn’t already hired someone else…
    â€œHi, Mrs. Tremel,” Eddie said, smiling politely. “I’m really glad you came in. I was just about to call you.”
    â€œYou were? That’s nice.” She smiled at him, her slick red lipstick revealing very large, very straight white teeth. She had a dimple, too, just like Binky, but Mrs. Tremel’s hair was big around her face, kind of messed up in a super-expensive way.
    She was an awesome-looking woman, considering she had to be at least, what, almost thirty? And she’d already been married and divorced.
    Man, what kind of guy divorced a hot woman like that? Her breasts stuck out as round and firm as beach balls, and her ass was exactly the right shape to get the palms of your hand around.
    Damn it, Mackey. Chill! He mentally shook theimage out of his mind and forced his gaze to focus just over her left shoulder. She’d never hire him if she thought he was a little