by Tracey Lange
Billy blinked in surprise. “He said that?” He thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Dunno. I was there when we dug it all up. Can’t say I saw any sign of foul play.”
Denny had heard that several times now. Maybe his dad was just wrong.
“You need more time, I take it?” Billy asked.
“One more month would do it. New pub opens, some capital starts rolling in.” He waved toward Billy. “I start paying interest again. Within two months I’ll be working on the principal. Worst-case scenario, you walk away with your sixty grand, plus at least twenty-five percent by the end of the year.”
Billy seemed to study Denny for a moment. Then he smiled wide. “Sounds good to me.”
Now would be the time to specifically mention the three-month default clause, the one that gave Billy the option to put a lien on the pub in West Manor. Denny would have liked reassurance that Billy had no intention of invoking it.
But then Billy reached across and clapped Denny on the shoulder. “No worries, mate. Just make sure to invite me to opening night, yeah?”
This guy had no intention of taking legal action, there was no reason to even bring it up. He probably hadn’t even read the damn contract. All he wanted was to make some money and be part of the action, get some free beers for a while. “Of course, man,” Denny said. “You’re at the top of the guest list.”
Billy laughed and pounded the table with his hand, the fingernails chewed to painful-looking nubs.
“So you’re good with all this?” Denny asked.
“Sure if I can’t help out a fellow Irishman with my money, what good is it? Besides”—he hoisted his shoulders up—“amn’t I making a pile of money on this venture?”
They talked for a few more minutes, and when they finished up and Denny saw Billy out, it was with the reassurance he needed.
* * *
When Denny walked into the pub a few mornings later to find Kale’s family there, his first thought was to text Sunday. She wasn’t far behind him, and he could give her a heads-up. But he decided against it. They’d all managed to avoid this uncomfortable meeting for the last week, but the Band-Aid had to be ripped off at some point.
Vivienne was sitting in a booth flipping through a magazine, and Luke was up at the bar spinning slowly on a stool. Denny could hear Kale talking on the phone in the office.
He gave Luke a quick tickle. “What’s this? A minor up at the bar?”
“Uncle Denny,” Luke said, “is Molly wiff you?”
“With,” Vivienne called over.
“Sorry, small fry,” Denny said. “She’s at school.” He lifted a tray of clean mugs onto the bar. “Okay, buddy. You slide the mugs down to me and I’ll load them in the cooler.”
Vivienne watched them for a moment before going back to the magazine, her bracelets bangling against the table as she turned pages.
When Kale first started seeing Vivienne, it had been a relief. Six months after Sunday left Kale was still steeped in depression and looking for relief at the bottom of a bottle. When he began hanging out with someone, Denny thought it was a step toward recovery, not the fast track to marriage and a kid. He had always harbored a strong suspicion that the unplanned pregnancy may not have been so unplanned.
He and the family had accepted Vivienne the best they could, but there was no way around it: Kale had married outside the tribe. No doubt she was hot. Long blond hair and pouty lips, great body—Kale wouldn’t confirm she’d had a boob job, though he wouldn’t deny it either. But there was a touch of cheap that her uptight posture and knockoff designer clothing couldn’t hide. And when she was around, the atmosphere was slightly disturbed. His dad and Jackie never went beyond polite conversation with her. Theresa tried, but they had little in common. Vivienne never got their jokes and hers fell flat. It was a lost cause really, because none of them ever forgave her for being so uncomfortable around Shane from day one.
As soon as Sunday walked in the front door Denny doubted his decision not to forewarn her. She was still looking pretty ragtag, her face a dark patchwork of magenta and yellow. She wore a black laptop bag strapped across her body, and a baseball cap. Tired of gawkers, she’d taken to wearing one of Shane’s Yankees hats in public. Initially she headed toward the office, but then she glanced about and stopped in her tracks. Denny understood why. She had spotted the spitting image of Kale sitting up at the bar.
She stared at Luke for a long moment before turning to the booth where Vivienne sat, and Denny kicked himself once more. His sister stood frozen in the middle of the room, looking like she wanted nothing more than to turn and run back out the door.
He walked around the bar to make introductions. “Sunday, this is Kale’s wife, Vivienne.”
A cloud of distress passed over her face before she regained some composure and walked over to the booth with an uncertain smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Vivienne slid out to shake hands, her eyes touching on Sunday’s injuries. “You too. Welcome back.”
“Thank you.” Even in the shadow of her hat, Denny could see a subtle startled expression on his sister’s face as she really looked at Vivienne.
Kale came out from the office and stopped next to Denny to watch with wide eyes.
“Sorry to hear about your accident,” Vivienne said. She winced and tilted her head. “Looks like it was pretty bad.”
“Yeah.” Sunday touched the brim of her cap. “I’m afraid this isn’t very effective.”
Vivienne shrugged. “Some quality makeup would help cover it up.”
Sunday pressed her lips together and nodded. “I should look into that.”
The contrasts were striking. Vivienne’s silky hair and clear skin to Sunday’s cap and beat-up face, the clingy dress and tall boots to the baggy T-shirt—that fit over the cast—and slip-on sneakers. Denny had the sudden urge to move his sister away from Vivienne. “This is Luke,” he said, waving an arm toward the bar.
“So you’re Luke,” Sunday said, stepping away from Vivienne. “Molly told me all about you. I’m her aunt Sunday.”
Luke stared at her face and arm. “What happened to you?”
“Luke!” Vivienne said.
“That’s okay.” Sunday stood next to him and her eyes roamed over Luke’s face like she was trying to soak up every inch. “I was in a pretty bad car accident, but I’ll be all better soon.”
“Did Molly draw that?” he asked, pointing to a glowing orange flower on her cast.
“Yep. She used her uncle Jackie’s paint.” She laid her arm on the bar in front of him. “This is her ladybug too, and that caterpillar.”
Luke started tracing them with a finger, his head leaning toward Sunday’s.
Something was just wrong with this picture. Denny looked away, which is when he noticed Vivienne staring hard at Kale.
Kale was wholly absorbed by Sunday and Luke.
“Does it hurt?” Luke asked her.
She grinned. “Only when I look in the mirror.”
He put a finger in his mouth and giggled.
Vivienne pulled her bag from the booth and walked past Sunday to pick Luke up from the stool. She placed him on the floor and took his hand. “We should get going. Ready, Kale?”
He nodded.
“It was nice to meet you, Sunday,” Vivienne said.
“You too. Bye, Luke.”
His little splayed hand waved as Vivienne led him to the door. Kale followed them out without looking back.
Denny rested his hands on his hips. “Well, that wasn’t awkward or anything.”
Sunday slumped on the stool Luke had occupied and put her hand on the edge of the bar like she needed to hang on to something. She’d made her own bed, but his heart went out to her. He walked behind the bar.
“The little boy,” she said. “He looks…” She stopped and swallowed.
“Yep.” He reached down for the bottle of Jameson and a couple short glasses.
“She’s gorgeous.”
“Yep.” He poured
two small whiskies.
She looked over her shoulder, out the front window, to the little family loading up in the Honda. “She seems nice.”
“She’s okay.” He stood the bottle on the bar. “But she doesn’t hold a candle.”
She blinked against watery eyes and gave him a sad smile.
He picked up one of the glasses and held it up to her.
After a brief hesitation she picked up the other one, tapped it against his, and allowed herself the first taste of alcohol since her accident.
* * *
“Daddy?”
“Yeah, Molls?”
“When are you gonna pull your head out?”
He stalled at the stop sign and looked at her in the rearview mirror. “What?”
She was staring out her window. “I asked Aunt Angie when Mommy and me are going back home, and she said when your daddy pulls his head out.”
Nice. His sister-in-law had always been a real ballbuster.
“What does she mean, Daddy?”
He drove on. “Nothing, baby. Don’t listen to Angie.” He would have to talk to Theresa about that.
“Don’t forget to pick me up after school because Mommy works late.”
“Are you kidding? I would never forget that.”
“I told Sunday I would play dollhouse, and Shane said I could help with his LEGOs. But you have to take me back before bed so Mommy’s not alone. I don’t want her to be sad.”
Denny pulled into a parking space in front of the school and turned to face Molly.
Her little brow was wrinkled and the corners of her mouth drooped. She looked way too concerned for a four-year-old.
“Hey, it’s all going to be okay.” He reached back and squeezed her knee. “I promise. Things are just a little crazy now. But Mom and I are figuring it out.”
Though they weren’t really. And it had been almost a month.
He walked Molly up to the front door, reassuring her he would be there to pick her up after school. Then he headed to the pub, where he was scheduled to meet with his lawyer to finalize the business license application for the new location. But maybe asking some questions about his domestic situation would be a good idea too.
Things had been tense with Theresa for a long time. There were the usual pressures—demanding jobs, raising a kid, trying to manage the house and everyone in it. Stuff they complained about at times … just part of the full life they’d built together. But there’d been a new kind of stress in the last year, one that didn’t ebb and flow like the others, only seemed to solidify. While Denny was busting his ass to keep control of the financial mess, Theresa wanted to have another kid and she was tired of waiting.
That had always been the plan, at least two kids. But they had enough going on right now. It was terrible timing. And for some reason she decided to draw the line in the sand one morning last month. He’d come home from dropping Molly at school to find her packing a suitcase.
“I can’t do this anymore,” she’d said, pulling clothes from a dresser. “I’ve talked to you until I’m blue in the face and it doesn’t help.”
This was so not what he needed right now. “I told you we can talk about the baby after the opening.”
“That’s only part of it. I don’t even know if we should have another baby now.” She stopped packing then, straightened up to look at him, and he could tell she’d been crying that morning. Her face was puffy, pale against her dark hair. And when he walked around the bed to put his hands on her arms, she stiffened. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the smart-aleck spark in those brown eyes, or the teasing grin she liked to lay on him.
She told him things he’d already heard—he’d been distant for a long time, she didn’t know why, he wasn’t talking to her. There was too much chaos in the house and he was checked out. They were two people who lived together but had different lives.
He reminded her the grand opening was so close now, but she told him he’d been saying that for half a year. He guilt-tripped her about the family needing her, and she reminded him that this was his family, not hers, and she’d been helping him take care of them every day for years. He said it wouldn’t be good for Molly and she told him it would be better than her worrying about two very stressed-out parents all the time. When Theresa closed the lid on her suitcase and zipped it shut, when it was clear she was serious about leaving, he asked her what the hell she wanted.
“I love you, Denny. But I am not another family member you have to manage. I’m your wife.” She waited for a response, her eyes digging into his.
But what was he supposed to do—tell her he’d brought them to the brink of financial ruin? She thought she was pissed off and disappointed in him now, that would really do it.
So he said nothing, and she had taken her and Molly’s cases and left.
Four weeks later he didn’t know what to think. It was possible she was considering divorce, especially with Angie whispering in her ear. And if she was thinking about going for custody of Molly what recourse would he have?
By the time he arrived at the pub he’d decided to talk to his lawyer, get some information about what he might be facing.
Sunday walked in a few minutes later, while he was doing paperwork up at the bar. She stayed by the front door and glanced around the pub.
“He’s not here,” Denny said.
“I wasn’t looking for anybody.”
“Mm-hmm.”
She walked over beside him. “I want to check the inventory in the cellar. There are a lot of blank vendors on the accounts payable. You’ve been paying some of the bills, I just can’t tell which ones. Maybe I can match up order numbers from delivery slips.”
“Just ask Kale. He knows most of those codes by heart.”
She puckered her lips to the side. “I think I’ll try this first.”
The front door opened again and Sunday did a double take when the tall blond guy walked in. Michael Eaton was Denny’s lawyer, but he’d also been a friend in high school.
Denny waved him over and made reintroductions, though they were probably unnecessary. At least for Michael. He’d had a thing for Sunday back then. He used to ask Denny regularly if she and Kale had split yet, no matter how many times Denny told him he was barking up the wrong tree.
“Don’t mind her face,” Denny said.
Sunday’s eyebrows went up. “Thanks, Denny.”
“What?” He flicked a thumb at Michael. “He knows about your accident. He’s the one who recommended your DUI lawyer.”
“Oh.” She adjusted her hat. “Thanks for that.”
“Sure,” Michael said. “It’s the least I could do. You used to come to all our soccer games, rain or shine.”
“I did. And you used to brighten my day when you scored more goals than Denny. He was much more tolerable after those games.”
“Good thing it didn’t happen often,” Denny said, gathering his paperwork.
“You still hang around with him?” she asked Michael.
“He pays me to.”
“He’s my lawyer,” Denny said.
Michael clapped his hands together. “Ready to finally file the new business license?”
“Yep. I also want to talk to you about what’s going on with Theresa.”
“Why?” Sunday asked.
“It’s been a month and I don’t know what she’s planning. I just want to be ready.”
She lowered her voice. “For what?”
Michael ducked his head and stepped back.
“In case she’s thinking of … next steps.”
She put her hand on his arm. “Denny, you have to fix this.”
He didn’t want to tell her he had no idea how to do that, so he ended the conversation by heading back to the office.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sunday
“Denny, you have to fix this.”
Talking to a lawyer? He had to be overreacting.
But he didn’t answer her, just headed for the back
.
Michael stepped in front of her. “Don’t worry. I won’t let him do anything stupid.” He had smiling eyes and dark blond hair that was just the right degree of messy. The suit was quality and he wore it well, but the whole GQ look was softened by a long nose that was slightly off-center. Maybe an old soccer injury. And he rocked from heel to toe while standing there, like he had nervous energy. He threw his chin after Denny. “He just has a lot on his plate right now.”
She nodded. Maybe Michael knew more about what was going on with Denny than she did.
He slid his hands in his pockets. “But I heard you’d gone out to LA to do some writing. How did it go?”
“It didn’t” came to mind, but she couldn’t quite say it. She knew what he must be thinking about her. Sad woman with failed Hollywood dreams forced to come home after getting trashed and totaling her car. Scraping for some dignity, she surprised herself by admitting something to him that she hadn’t told anyone else. “I published a couple short stories.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Good for you.”
“Well”—she waved a hand—“it was in a very low-budget LA Arts Council magazine that no one’s heard of.”
“Still, that’s great.”
She tugged her hat down a bit on her head, wanting to end the subject. It had been a mistake to say anything. Hopefully he wouldn’t mention it to Denny.
“I better get in there.” Michael gestured toward the office with an elbow. “It was good to see you again.”
After he followed Denny she dropped into the nearest chair. When she first heard about her sister-in-law leaving, she assumed it was temporary, that Theresa just needed a little break. There were still signs of her everywhere—clothes in the laundry, shoes in the mudroom, corkscrew hairs attached to bands left on random surfaces. And Theresa and Denny had been rock solid from the get-go.
She pulled out her phone and flipped back through years of photos, swiping fast enough to keep most of them blurry, until she found what she was looking for. The picture of Denny and Theresa taken the night he proposed to her. He had scooped her up high in his arms while she pushed the back of her left hand toward the camera, a bright shiny solitaire on her third finger. Sunday had taken that photo, captured them both in a moment of unblemished happiness.