We Are the Brennans

by Tracey Lange

  She headed behind the bar and asked if he’d like some coffee. When she sat across from him and placed two mugs on the table, he reached for the sugar caddy.

  “I already put two sugars in,” she said.

  The way his hand froze midair made her feel like she’d done something wrong by remembering how he preferred his coffee.

  He pulled his hand back. “Thanks.”

  She slid a page of accounts payable from her bag and laid it on the table. “I’m hoping you can identify some of these vendor codes or charges so I know how to classify them.”

  Before studying the page he reached into his own bag and slipped on a pair of eyeglasses.

  “When did you get the glasses?” she asked.

  He gave her a sheepish smile. “Two years ago. But I only need them for fine print.”

  “Right.” She allowed a teasing grin to seep through.

  “Shut up.”

  “No, they look good.” And they did. The narrow black frames accentuated his eyes, lent an intensity to his open face, which had rounded out a bit over the years but still lived in a constant state of low-grade scruff. “Seriously, not at all nerdy.”

  They both laughed then, and their eyes met and held. The rush that started in her chest and rippled through her body was unexpected. And intoxicating. For just a second the whole of the last five years fell away. He must have felt something too because his smile faded and she saw a spark of alarm in his expression before he straightened up and focused on the paper. She played with her pen, reaching for something to say. But anything that came to mind seemed either too forced or too familiar. She wasn’t sure how to find the middle ground with Kale now.

  He trailed a hand through his hair. “Look, I think I’ll just take this home and go through it, let you know what I figure out.” He closed his laptop and started to gather his things, like he couldn’t get away fast enough.

  “Well, that’s just part of it. There’s more.”

  “How much more?”

  This was not going according to plan. She’d hoped to ease into it because she was pretty sure he had no idea how bad Denny had let things get. “Never mind. Why don’t you just start with those and I’ll take it from there.”

  “Do you want my help or not?” His tone and overall mood had decidedly changed.

  She pulled out several more pages.

  He flipped through them. “Jesus.”

  “Let’s just go one line at a time. And we don’t have to figure it all out today.”

  He got right down to business, starting with the first line item. Half an hour later they’d made their way through two pages. He used his memory and old order forms to help her translate codes and match payments. It was much easier than doing it on her own.

  “Is there more I should know?” he asked, scanning the pages they hadn’t got to yet.

  “What do you mean?”

  Kale looked at her and narrowed his eyes. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  How the hell could he still read her so well? But all she had were unsubstantiated suspicions at this point. And she didn’t want to create trouble between him and Denny. “I’m just trying to clean up the ledger,” she said.

  “Why didn’t he tell me how bad it was?”

  She shrugged. “Because he’s Denny.”

  “Well, he’s had a lot on his plate the last few years.” The accusatory note was unmistakable.

  “Then maybe you should have asked him if he needed help.”

  He pulled back in surprise at her sharp tone.

  “When’s the last time you even looked at your own books, Kale?”

  “Denny said he had it under control.”

  She shook her head and started gathering her notes. Typical Kale. Would rather bury his head in the sand than rock the boat.

  They both looked over at the sound of Denny coming through the front door. He walked over and pulled a chair up to the end of the booth to join them.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this was such a mess?” Kale asked him, holding up the pages in his hand. “You said you were behind, but this is ridiculous.”

  “It’s not that bad.”

  “It goes back months. What the hell happened?”

  Denny held up his hands. “Look, I’ve been paying the bills, I just didn’t track the details. It’s not a big fucking deal, okay? I’m sorry I didn’t say anything, but I know how you worry about this stuff. Sunday’s getting a handle on everything now—it’ll be fine. Right, Sun?”

  She could feel both of them looking at her, waiting for an answer. Kale wanted the truth and Denny wanted her to cover for him. “I think I’m making good progress,” she said.

  “See?” Denny said.

  Kale just stared at her. He knew she was hedging.

  “And listen,” Denny said. “I have good news. Michael officially filed the new business license with the city.”

  “Great.” Kale’s tone was flat.

  “Christ, don’t get so excited.”

  Kale just shook his head and packed his bag.

  “That reminds me,” Denny said, turning to Sunday. “You have any interest in going out with Michael?”

  It was so out of the blue she looked to see if she’d heard him correctly. “What? No.”

  “He’s a good guy. And he’s interested.” He jerked his eyebrows up and down.

  Kale concentrated on his bag.

  Her cheeks started to burn. “I said no, Denny.”

  “I’m gonna give him your number—”

  “Don’t do that!”

  Kale’s head came up. “Guys…”

  “Why not?” Denny asked. “You got a guy back in Cali?”

  What a dick. He was just doing this to deflect attention. “You know, Denny, instead of worrying about my personal life, why don’t you work on yours?” she asked. “I saw Theresa over the weekend. She said you won’t talk to her.”

  “She knew how much I had on my plate and she still left.” He shook his head. “That’s something I just can’t understand. But I guess maybe you can, huh?”

  If he had slapped her across the face the sting could not have been worse. Her entire body recoiled.

  Kale shifted in his seat. “Come on, Denny.”

  But Denny jabbed the table with a finger. “Maybe I wouldn’t be in this situation if you’d been here helping the last few years, Sunday, instead of”—fling of the arm—“finding yourself in California.”

  That produced an image in her mind. A picture of her apartment. Like the apartment, her life in LA had been small and quiet, but it had been hers. No tiptoeing around old fiancés or resentful brothers.

  Then she thought about her dad, Jackie, and Shane. And Theresa and Molly. How she was finally becoming part of their lives again.

  “You want an award for taking care of things the last five years, Denny? Because I did it for a lot longer than that.” She leaned toward him. “I was always the one who had to take care of everything, and you let me do it. If it wasn’t for you, I would have been on that trip to Ireland.”

  His face twisted in confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Kale was also looking at her like he couldn’t understand the turn this conversation had taken.

  She started stuffing papers in her bag. “Nothing. Never mind.”

  “Fine,” Denny said. He stood, shoved his chair under the neighboring table. Then he pulled a hand down his face. “You know what I really don’t get, Sunday? If I was so awful to you back then, why was I your emergency contact?” He didn’t wait for an answer, just stalked back to the office.

  She stared after him, feeling shaky with emotion, and swallowed a threatening lump in her throat.

  Kale sat a few feet away, eyes nailed to the table. She could sense his debate about what to do next. It was in his nature to throw her a bone, offer some sort of support—He’s just stressed. Don’t let him get to you. Pathetic how hungry she was for it.

  But in the end all he said w
as, “I better get going,” right before he grabbed his bag and left, heading for the front door.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Kale

  “I better get going.”

  That’s all he said because he was afraid to say more. He couldn’t afford any more shared moments with Sunday. When she remembered how he took his coffee, he remembered how she took hers—splash of cream. When she teased him about his glasses and they laughed together, he’d been transported back in time. He had to keep his guard up around her.

  He jumped in his car and headed toward Luke’s school, where Vivienne worked part-time as an administrative assistant. They were having an early lunch. He’d been making an effort to see her a little more the last few weeks. And, if he was being honest with himself, to keep her away from the pub. Introducing Sunday to his family had been disturbing. Watching her talk with Vivienne was unnerving, but when she interacted with Luke there’d been some deeper emotional component he didn’t care to explore.

  Viv had been on high alert since that day. He thought she might be encouraged, seeing Sunday’s bruises and her cast, the offhand wardrobe. Appearance was a measuring stick for his wife, how she sized up other women. But seeing Sunday back in her natural element, with Denny in the pub, a place Vivienne never felt at home, only seemed to amp up her anxiety. She was more watchful, asked lots of questions about work. But the dead giveaway was how often she came on to him. Not that he was complaining exactly. It’s just that sex meant different things to Viv. There were times it felt less about connecting than a way for her to get some kind of reassurance, like she could check it off the list of things to do to keep a happy marriage.

  The drive calmed him only so much. Sunday was appropriating too much real estate in his brain. She’d always been there, but he’d managed to relegate her to a quiet back corner for a long time. Kind of like the Magens Bay postcard. He could never bring himself to throw it away, but he’d slipped it into the bottom of a drawer long ago. Now he saw her almost every day. And as her bruises faded and she looked more like her old self, it was getting difficult to ignore the things that had always stopped him short. Her smile. Soft shirts and jeans that molded to her shape but still left a little to the imagination. The way she talked with her hands and often sat with one leg folded under her.

  Yet he’d noticed changes too. He saw a wariness in her eyes, even in the way she carried herself—head down a lot, one hand gripping the bag strap across her chest while the other was still encased in that dark cast. There was an edge to her now that made him curious about her time in LA. He saw it in how she dodged his questions, in her veiled answer about the books, her willingness to call Denny out so directly. It was as if the gentle side of her personality had been sharpened against the reality of life the last five years.

  And, Kale had to admit, he’d enjoyed watching her put her brother back in his place.

  * * *

  While he was manning the pub the next day, Sunday brought Mickey in for a midday shift. Denny was in Mamaroneck doing a final walk-through before the inspection. Sunday went straight to work in the office and he didn’t see her until he stopped in there to grab his jacket before he left for the afternoon lull.

  “Do you have a minute before you go?” she asked. “I have a few follow-up questions from yesterday.” She stood and gestured to her laptop on the desk.

  He glanced at the screen. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll help with that if you tell me what’s going on with Denny.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He tilted his head.

  “I’m just trying to clean up your ledger, Kale.”

  “I know he’s keeping something from me.”

  “I guess you should ask him about that.”

  “I’m asking you.”

  She shook her head. “You know what, I’ll figure it out myself.” She pulled her hat off and tossed it on the desk, ran a hand through her hair. “I’m having a hard time keeping up with your mood swings anyway.”

  “What?”

  “I just never know what I’m going to get from you day to day.” The look in her eye, the flash of green. She was pissed off.

  “Are you mad at me for some reason?” He regretted asking the question before he finished asking it. He was stepping down a risky road.

  “I just wish I knew when you’ll be done punishing me.” She blinked and her eyes grew bigger, as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just said.

  Neither could he.

  “Look, just forget it.” She turned to the file cabinet, started searching for something.

  He stared at the back of her head. The safe, smart bet was to leave right now.

  Instead he reached over and swung the door shut. “I’m not punishing you.”

  “It feels that way sometimes.”

  A determined swell started to rise in his chest. A lid was lifting off the jar of anger he had stored up in there for years. “I would think you could understand this has been difficult for me and my family—”

  “Oh, I know.” She gave up her search and slammed the drawer shut. “It must be so hard for you and your wife that I’m here.”

  The nerve. The absolute gall. “What the hell did you expect? To come strolling back after all this time, and what?” He jerked his shoulders up. “We’d all be besties?”

  Her eyes drifted to the floor. “No, of course not.”

  The fight had left her, but he was just getting started. “You walked away five years ago.” He was having trouble controlling the emotion now that it had leaked out. “You have no idea what I went through after you left.”

  “Really? You seemed to get over it awfully quickly.”

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so angry. It took real effort to keep his voice down. “Do you know how long I waited for you to come back?”

  “Probably as long as I waited for you to come after me.”

  The middle of his body contracted, like she’d punched him in the stomach.

  “That thought never even crossed your mind, did it?” she asked.

  “Don’t give me that bullshit. You. Left. Me.”

  Her expression softened. “You’re right. I did.”

  He waited because he thought she might say more. It was the way she was looking at him, with such sadness. Or regret.

  But when she spoke the edge was back. “So you just hold on to that righteous anger, Kale. You seem pretty comfortable with it at this point.” Then she walked past him, yanked open the door, and left.

  * * *

  His afternoon breaks were typically dedicated to running errands, but instead he drove to a quiet bar in Ossining, about fifteen minutes away. It was much easier to remain anonymous among the town of 25,000 where the largest employer was the Sing Sing Correctional Facility located right along the Hudson. He didn’t want to talk to anyone, nothing would distract him. He sat on a stool and ordered a tall beer. Then he let it all hit him, the black hole of memories he’d been playing hide-and-seek with since the night he found her in the office.

  Kale couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t love Sunday Brennan, though for many years he thought it was much the same way he loved Jackie and Shane, as a quasi–big brother. He’d been unofficially adopted by the Brennans, blending seamlessly into the mix from the beginning. Though it wasn’t by accident. He’d chosen them, and, in hindsight, it had a lot to do with Shane. Even at a young age he sensed something special about a family that would rally around the most vulnerable of the bunch so strenuously.

  He’d always appreciated Sunday’s good nature. She was smart, a good sport, unafraid to scold her brothers. A welcoming presence, cheering at his and Denny’s games, encouraging her brothers, helping her mother through various illnesses. When Shane had rough days at school, it was Sunday—not Maura—the teachers called to come help him calm down. The first time Kale’s father went into the hospital due to the wheezing and crackling in his lungs, the beginnings of the emphysema that would take his life when
Kale was in college, it was Sunday who brought comfort food to the house. There was a maturity and selflessness about her that was a little intimidating.

  As she moved into high school he noticed the changes. The leaner face that needed none of the makeup other girls wore, the longer legs in her cross-country shorts, how she began to fill out T-shirts—he would have had to be blind not to notice. But it was so fleeting he didn’t even experience much guilt. She was Denny’s little sister, so that’s where that ended. It wasn’t until he was a junior and she was a sophomore that his feelings betrayed him. If he’d realized what was happening, he might have had a chance to get ahead of it. But it had snuck up on him literally overnight. She took him by surprise and he’d never been the same since.

  One morning midway through that year, as he sat in homeroom ignoring announcements like everybody else, a familiar name over the loudspeaker grabbed his attention: “… our own sophomore Sunday Brennan took first place in the short story contest hosted by the State University of New York literary magazine! This is quite an honor, so make sure to offer Sunday congrats when you see her in the halls.” Kale was used to hearing Denny’s name during announcements—heroic soccer performance, nominated for homecoming court, parked in a restricted spot again—but he’d never heard Sunday’s before.

  He was halfway through dinner at the Brennans’ that evening, post-practice, sitting in his usual seat at the table—between Jackie and Denny, across from Sunday and Shane—before he thought of it again. As usual Denny and his mother were dominating the dinner conversation with the topic of Denny.

  “This spring is critical.” Denny was speaking around a large quantity of food in his mouth. “Coach said college recruiters start coming to the Olympic Development practices and take video.” Bent over his plate with elbows on the table, he dug into his chicken and pasta, using his fork to stab and shovel his food.