We Are the Brennans

by Tracey Lange

  She filled her lungs with air and stepped across the point of no return. “You remember when you all took that trip to Ireland…”

  They both nodded.

  “And when you got home I was sick in bed for days with the flu.”

  More nodding.

  The pub was impossibly silent. She sat back against her chair, rested her cast in her lap, and settled her breathing. When she started, she made sure her voice was calm and steady.

  “I didn’t have the flu.”

  * * *

  Kale, Denny, and Theresa had been gone for a week. She had exchanged several emails with Kale, and talked with them all a few times, often catching them in the middle of some noisy celebration that involved drunk Irishmen standing on chairs and belting out ballads. Which was hard to listen to considering she should have been on that trip. Instead she’d spent the last seven days shuttling her mother to various clinics for X-rays, lab work, and doctor’s appointments, and listening to a litany of complaints—even though all the tests had come back negative. Half the family was gone, Jackie had his own place, and Shane had taken a second job on a snow removal crew. With Clare away as well there was no buffer. And it was taking a toll. Sunday had been tense and exhausted lately. When Grail asked her to come out for a drink she was quick to say yes.

  She had half-heartedly protested the proposed location, the Penny Whistle Pub. It was in Ossining, and a lower-end bar. With its cheap drinks and no-frills ambience it was kind of the antithesis of Brennan’s. But Grail insisted. It was quiet, and she wouldn’t run into fellow cops. Kale wouldn’t have been thrilled about her going there, but he was living it up in Ireland without her for ten days. So she and Grail headed out in a taxi so they wouldn’t have to worry about driving home.

  The Penny Whistle was fairly empty, a few people scattered around the small, dimly lit room. They grabbed two stools up at the bar and looked over a drink menu.

  “Wow,” Grail said, keeping her voice low. “Check out the bartender.”

  When Sunday followed her gaze to a tall guy carrying a couple cases of beer from a back room, it only took her a moment to recognize him. Billy Walsh had been a year ahead of her in school. She hadn’t known him, but she’d known of him. Most girls did. The unruly strawberry-blond hair, long lashes, and penetrating eyes had been hard to overlook.

  “Damn,” Grail said, her stare glued to his biceps while he lifted the cases onto the bar.

  Sunday covered her mouth with a hand. “Wait until you hear his accent.”

  She didn’t have to wait long. After unloading the boxes he spotted them and strolled over.

  “Ladies.” He spread his arms wide, leaned on the bar, and offered a boyish smile that hinted at mischief. “Howyas doing tonight?”

  “Good,” Grail said, nudging Sunday’s leg under the bar to acknowledge the soft but potent brogue. “How about you?”

  “I’m grand, thanks. Girls’ night out, is it?”

  “That’s right,” Grail said. “Can we get two gin and tonics?”

  “Sure thing.” His eyes lingered on Sunday for a moment before he moved away. Maybe he was recognizing her too, but she doubted it. It’s not like their paths had crossed much. He’d been older, and his extracurricular activities had seemed to be all about girls and partying.

  Grail set her chin in her hand and watched him while he made their drinks. She had no shame; her eyes boldly slid up the slim jeans that sat low on his hips.

  “Jesus, Grail. You remember you have a boyfriend at the moment, right?”

  “I can still look.”

  Her cousin had never been shy. Or very monogamous. She often lamented the fact that Sunday hadn’t lived a little more before settling down with Kale.

  He came back with the sparkling drinks, slices of lime floating on top, and set them down. “Cheers.” He watched while they both took generous sips. “You’re Sunday Brennan, yeah?” he asked.

  “I am.”

  He folded his arms across his fitted black T-shirt. “Don’t suppose you remember me?”

  “Of course I do. Billy Walsh.” She felt Grail’s eyes on her and wondered if she’d answered a little too quickly. “Everyone called you Belfast Billy.” She introduced him to Grail. “Billy was a year ahead of me, in Denny’s grade.”

  “That’s right,” Billy said. “And my dad worked for yours for a long time.”

  “I didn’t realize that,” Sunday said.

  “No? Well, I suppose loads of men around here worked for Mickey Brennan.”

  Sunday wasn’t sure how to respond to that so she just shrugged a shoulder.

  “Saw an announcement in the paper that Denny’s getting married soon,” he said. “How’s that pub a’his doing?”

  “Okay,” Sunday said. “But, you know, the pub business is unpredictable.”

  “He still partners with your man? What’s his name?”

  “You mean her boyfriend, Kale,” Grail said, leaning sideways like she wanted in on the conversation. “Yeah, they’re still partners. Let’s get two shots of tequila.”

  “Wait,” Sunday said, turning to her cousin.

  “Come on. You deserve it after the week you’ve had.” Grail nodded at Billy. “One for you too.”

  He grinned and said he’d be right back.

  Sunday would have been happy enough to just sip her drink. She could already feel the gin going to work, loosening her muscles, softening the angst she’d been feeling the past couple weeks.

  But Billy returned with three shot glasses, the rims partially dipped in salt and adorned with a lime wedge. “That there is top-shelf tequila—or as top-shelf as I’ve got here.” He winked at Grail. “But I’ll only charge you for the well.”

  She smiled wide and picked up her shot, and Billy followed suit. They both turned to Sunday.

  Kale’s frowning face materialized in her mind, and she heard his voice—You’re going to regret that. But Billy and Grail cheered her on, so they all licked their salt and downed the shots.

  As she sucked on the lime wedge she felt the heat from the tequila light up her throat and esophagus as it descended to her stomach, which she just realized was empty. “We should get some food.”

  “Sorry,” Billy said, collecting the shot glasses. “Kitchen closes early mid-week. Not many people come in here for the food, like.” He left to check on a group of guys at a table in the back corner.

  “How well did you know him growing up?” Grail asked, tilting her head Billy’s way. He was chatting with his customers, arms raised above him so his hands rested on a low ceiling beam that ran across the room.

  “I didn’t,” Sunday said. “I was surprised he knew who I was.”

  Her cousin snorted. “Everybody knew who you guys were, Sunday.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  Grail loved to do that, talk to Sunday like she was naïve or in denial or something. But Sunday knew that as tough-girl as Grail played it, she’d always wished she’d had a father and siblings of her own, other voices to warm up the small, lonely house she’d grown up in. So Sunday let it go and updated Grail on their extended family in Ireland, then got her complaining about her workload for a while.

  Billy checked on them a few times, brought them another round, hopped into their conversation when he was in the vicinity.

  They’d been there about forty-five minutes when Grail asked him for another round of shots.

  Sunday held up a hand. “No, thanks.”

  “Don’t be such an old married woman,” Grail said.

  “You’re just right, Sunday,” Billy said, leaning his folded arms on the bar. “Don’t give in to peer pressure. Sure isn’t that what I remember most about you? You were always a good girl.” There was a teasing twinkle in his eye as he lifted a beer from behind the counter and took a pull.

  Grail chuckled. “She’s just in a bad mood because her family and boyfriend went to Ireland without her.”

  Sunday’s
face began to burn so she finished off her drink to provide coverage.

  “Is that right?” Billy asked. “They’re all back in my neck of the woods then. My father didn’t grow up far from yours.”

  She didn’t want to admit that she didn’t know that; he seemed to know so much about her family. So she asked when he’d last been back to Ireland.

  “Four years ago,” he said. “When we took my dad home to bury him.”

  Sunday hadn’t known that either. “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  He lifted his lightly freckled face to hers and pressed his lips together. “Thanks.”

  “That’s it,” Grail said, slapping the bar. “Now we definitely need another round of drinks and shots.”

  Billy pulled his eyes from Sunday’s and grinned at Grail. “Good idea.” He pushed up from the bar and went to get it.

  Grail arched her eyebrows. “Don’t forget you have a boyfriend at the moment too.”

  “Funny.”

  No question another shot was going to make for a rough morning. But her mother had no appointments the next day, so she could sleep in. And this was the most relaxed she’d felt in a while. Even before Kale left on the trip she’d been on edge, more emotional than usual.

  Grail’s cell phone dinged and she pulled it from her pocket. “It’s Brad.” Her fingers flew around the keyboard. Brad was the latest in a long line of infatuations. Grail’s romantic relationships were like supernovas, they burned bright but died young. The phone sounded again, and whatever Brad sent caused Grail to break out in a provocative smile that was kind of gross. “He’s back from his conference early and hoped he could swing by and pick me up.”

  “Seriously?” Sunday checked her phone. “We’ve only been here like an hour. And you just ordered another round.”

  “I know. That’s shitty.” She brought the palms of her hands together. “But he travels so much. He’s gone again the day after tomorrow.”

  Sunday shook her head even though she wasn’t terribly disappointed. “Fine,” she said.

  “Thank you. Because he’s on his way.”

  Billy was back, setting drinks down before them.

  “To Billy’s dad,” Grail said. After they all threw back the shots she started rooting around in her bag. “We actually need to close out—”

  “Just go,” Sunday said. “I’ll get this one.”

  Her cousin’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about? We’ll drop you home.”

  Sunday was over Grail’s extra-prickly teasing for the night. And the last thing she wanted was to bear witness to Grail and Brad’s reunion. “That’s okay,” Sunday said. “Brad lives close to here. I’ll just call Jackie.”

  Grail slumped on her stool, like she didn’t know what to do.

  “I can make sure she gets home safely,” Billy said, whisking away the empty glasses.

  “I’m not a child,” Sunday said. “I’ll get home just fine.”

  He held his hands up in surrender, backing away. “Have to check on the lads in the corner.”

  “You sure you want to stay?” Grail asked.

  Sunday looked down at the full drink in front of her, which she didn’t need. She should just go with Grail, avoid bothering Jackie or paying for a cab.

  But her mother would still be up watching some crime show on TV, and undoubtedly kill the nice buzz Sunday had going.

  She turned to Grail. “I’m just going to have this last one. Hopefully Mom will be asleep by then.”

  “Okay, I get it.” Grail hopped off her stool. “Call me tomorrow.” Then she fast-walked across the room and out the door to meet Brad.

  Sunday pulled out her phone to check messages. Nothing new from Kale, but it was the middle of the night over there. She read over a few of his previous messages and longing hit hard. Despite the upcharge for international messages she sent him a text: I really miss you.

  “Poor Sunday.” Billy stood across the bar, hands behind his back, bottom lip stuck out in exaggerated sympathy. “Everyone abandoned you.”

  She smiled, put her phone down, and picked up her drink, her third gin and tonic. God, she’d done a shot as well. No. Two shots.

  He placed a small fluted glass in front of her. “On me,” he said. “That’s a lemon fizz. It’s lovely. Go on, try it.”

  She nodded toward the full drink that still sat in front of Grail’s stool. “Only if you drink that. Otherwise it’ll go to waste.”

  He leaned forward on the bar so they were eye level, sliding the glass in front of him.

  She sipped the tart lemony concoction he’d made. “That’s really good,” she said. Reaching for something else to say, she glanced around, feeling her head wobble a bit. Only a couple of tables were occupied. “It’s pretty quiet in here tonight.”

  “Usually is. Not like your place, I’m sure. Probably full to the gills most nights.”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Well, suits me since the owner lets me stay up there.” He rolled his eyes up toward the second story.

  “That’s handy.”

  “Actually, it’s a shithole.” When he laughed, faint wrinkles fanned out from his eyes. “You know, I didn’t think you’d remember me,” he said. “It’s not like we traveled in the same circles in school.”

  “It was hard to miss the accent.” She winced. “And I’m pretty sure you were called to the principal’s office a lot.”

  He laughed again and nodded. “Fair enough.”

  They sipped their drinks and chatted about old teachers and classmates for a bit before he left again to check on his other customers.

  She pulled Kale’s soft blue hoodie tighter around her—she’d worn it because it smelled so much like him—and took another healthy sip to soften the sting. Four more days and he’d be home. And she meant everything she had promised him. The benefit to spending the week with her mother had been how much it bolstered her resolve. As soon as Denny and Theresa were married they would get to that beach and elope. Charge it to credit cards, whatever. She wanted to make some kind of note on the postcard, like ASAP! or Can’t wait xoxo, leave it on his pillow the day he came home. But he must have found a hell of a hiding place this time because she hadn’t been able to find it since he left.

  When she checked her phone again there was no response from him, not even the promise of three blinking dots.

  “Expecting a call?” Billy asked. He was unloading glasses from a tray into the sink behind the bar.

  “Not really.” She picked up the gin and tonic because at some point she had finished off the lemon drink. Denny would call her an idiot for mixing her alcohols. “I should probably get going.”

  “Right,” he said. “Let me just cash out those guys.”

  She checked the time, 10:35 P.M. She could call an Uber. But if Jackie picked her up she could make him come in the house with her, head off their mother’s questions. Besides, he owed her. She’d covered for him plenty of times over the years.

  “Here’s the damage.” Billy laid the bill in front of her and drained Grail’s drink.

  She fumbled pulling her credit card out of her back pocket and it dropped to the floor. “Whoops.” When she slid off the stool to pick it up her legs felt unsteady. One side of Billy’s mouth curled up when she grabbed the edge of the bar for balance. Great, now he thought she couldn’t handle her liquor. She carefully retrieved the card, laid it on the bill, hoping her movements looked smoother than they felt. She reached for her phone to call Jackie.

  Billy brought the receipt and settled down across from her again. “Hey, did you know our dads played Gaelic football together after coming to the States?”

  “No way.”

  He nodded. “Sure they used to play down in Van Cortlandt Park at the weekends, back before any of us were born.”

  Sunday smiled. “My dad still talks about those games.”

  Billy’s eyebrows shot up. “Have you not seen photos?”

  “No.”

  “My dad saved
pictures from back then. I’ve got them upstairs.” He straightened up and started wiping down the bar nearby. “Dunno if your dad’s in any of them, but there’s a good chance. They were on the same team once or twice.”

  If that was true, if her dad was in any of those photos, he would have been about twenty-five years old. She’d seen precious few pictures of him as a young man, before her parents were married. He always said his own parents were too busy looking after so many kids to worry about taking photos of them.

  Billy collected a few glasses off the bar, brought them to the sink. “You’re welcome to take a look if you like.”

  He meant right now? But he was still working. She looked around the room and realized everyone had gone.

  Wait, she still hadn’t called Jackie. Had she?

  “If we find one, you could take it to get copied.” He shrugged, shaking water from his hands. “Or take pics with your phone…” He walked toward the far end of the bar to grab a towel.

  She’d be a hero to her brothers if she got her hands on such a photo of their dad—not only at that age, but possibly playing football, or, at the least, in uniform. But it would mean going up to Billy’s room with him, which was weird. Maybe. Or maybe it was just that, outside of her brothers, she was never alone with a man other than Kale.

  Kale. Without a doubt he would not want her going up there, spending time alone with a known ladies’ man. But Billy knew she had a serious boyfriend. And God knows he didn’t need to hit on drunk girls with boyfriends.

  “We’d have to get on with it,” Billy said, walking her way. “Otherwise I’ll be at it all night.” He threw his chin around the room, at the cleanup he still had left to do.

  “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “Not at all. It’s nice to have someone interested. I’m the only one who looks at them anymore.” He gave her a sad smile. “Since my dad died.”

  She could see pain in his eyes when he mentioned his dad. They’d probably been close.