We Are the Brennans

by Tracey Lange

  So they were quiet while they worked. But conversation wasn’t necessary anyway, it was all second nature. Wednesday was hump day, a busy one for them from opening till close. Everything needed to be fully prepped, in the back and up front, or they chanced slowing service down later in the evening by having to scramble to the cellar for supplies or wait for clean glassware or send one of the waitstaff to cut fruit for drinks.

  Kale was stocking shelves behind the bar when Sunday walked in. She stood in the doorway for a moment, backlit by the morning sun while she gave him a small wave. Something was different. Her posture was a tad straighter, head up, no hat. And she wore a fitted long-sleeve T-shirt.

  “Where’s your cast?” he asked.

  “I had Dad cut it off this morning.”

  “You sure you should have done that?”

  “It was driving me crazy. They were going to take it off next week anyway.” She made her way over to Denny, who was sitting in a booth with paperwork. “Listen, I’m glad you’re both here.”

  “Wait,” Denny said. “I need to ask you something first, and I want the whole truth.”

  She slid in across from him and sat back against the booth with a wary look, like she was wondering how much more truth she could possibly offer at this point. “O-kay.”

  “You told Mom what happened to you?”

  She hesitated for only a second. “Yes.”

  “And she told you to keep it from all of us?”

  When she glanced at Kale he offered an encouraging nod.

  “Yes.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “She was afraid of the same things I was. That you guys would go after him, maybe get in trouble or get hurt. Or that Dad might have another heart attack.” Sunday paused. “She said what happened was my own fault, and word would get out … That everything would be different.” Her eyes briefly drifted Kale’s way. “But she sent me money after I left. Every month until she died.” Like maybe that made her mother’s actions less repulsive.

  Denny shook his head. “She had no right.”

  “Yeah, well, I think maybe I knew exactly what she was going to say, and that’s why I went to her. It was like she gave me permission to keep my secret and run away.” She gave Denny a moment and then said something that made Kale stand at attention. “I just came from Michael’s office.”

  “Eaton?” Denny asked. “How’d you get there?”

  “I drove Dad’s truck.”

  “Jesus, Sunday, you don’t have a license anymore—”

  “I know, I know. I won’t do it again. But look, we came up with a plan.”

  We? Kale moved down the bar, closer to them.

  “Michael’s going to talk to Billy Walsh’s lawyer about making a deal.”

  “What kind of deal?” Kale asked.

  “He’s going to tell them to back off. That we’ll get him his money by the end of the year, with interest. But he has to stop any kind of action against you.”

  “Why the hell would he do that?” Denny asked.

  But Kale already knew. They were holding only one card when it came to this deal.

  “If he doesn’t,” Sunday said, “I’ll report him. And he’ll be charged with assault and battery.”

  Denny furrowed his brow. “Michael knows everything?”

  That created a troubling visual: Sunday baring her soul to tall, blond Michael with the easygoing smile. Kale picked up one of the glasses from the sink drainer and started drying it with a towel even though it was already dry.

  “Yes,” she said. “And we think this is our best chance to stop Billy from taking the pub. Michael found out he has a record—a domestic violence charge and some petty theft. He’s not going to want to be arrested and questioned, or have police investigating him.”

  Denny nodded. “Okay. I trust Michael, and he can be forceful when he wants to be.”

  Somehow Michael got to be the fucking hero in all this. Kale dropped his hands in frustration and the glass hit the counter and fell to the floor, shattering on impact. Shards flew everywhere. Denny and Sunday looked over.

  “Sorry. Dropped a glass.”

  “You’re sure about all this?” Denny asked her.

  Kale surveyed the damage. He’d have to take up the clean mat he’d just put down and empty out the ice bin.

  “Michael seemed to think it could work.” She sounded so optimistic.

  Kale started scooping ice out of the bin, tossing it into the sink with force.

  “Well,” Denny said, “if it’s to help you, I guarantee he’ll go the extra mile.”

  Kale didn’t hear Sunday’s response because blood roared in his ears and he threw a scoop of ice so hard it clattered all over the counter behind the bar, then slid off and sprayed against his jeans.

  He’d been keeping everything under control since she came back. He’d clamped it all down, tried to stay focused on Vivienne and Luke.

  Chucking the ice had felt good and he wanted to cause more damage. He swept an arm along the counter, knocking four pint glasses to the floor, aware of Denny and Sunday calling to him and jumping up from their seats.

  Kale hadn’t been able to talk to her last night, hold her while she cried over losing their baby, tell her he was sorry for not being there. He was in no-man’s-land. He wasn’t a brother or a lawyer, just an ex-fiancé who’d let her go and married someone else. He had no place here.

  When he felt Denny’s hands on him, he whipped around and pushed him away.

  “Hey!” Denny said. “You can have a breakdown if you want, man. But we gotta pay for this shit.”

  No one said anything while he collected himself. His breathing and heart rate slowed, the adrenaline ebbed. He checked the mirror above the register to see Sunday several feet behind him, evaluating his handiwork. Then he met Denny’s eye and held it, asking a silent question.

  Denny’s eyes flicked to Sunday before he lowered his hands and walked into the office, shutting the door behind him.

  Kale turned to Sunday, who was sliding debris to one side with her shoe, clearing a path.

  He tried to infuse his words with every ounce of regret he felt. “I’m so sorry I let you go.”

  She raised her eyes from the floor. “I didn’t give you any choice.”

  “I never should have let you leave. I didn’t push hard enough—I didn’t make you talk to me.” He was stumbling over his words. “I knew something was so wrong.” He put his hand to his chest. “But I thought it was me.”

  Her face crumbled and she started to cry.

  “I just … I thought you were tired of all of it. Your mom, your family. Me. When you said you wanted to try it out there, that it was a chance at something, I believed you.” Breaking glasses had felt good, but this was what he needed. “I shouldn’t have gone on that trip…” He shook his head at the what-ifs, made even more painful because they were a betrayal of his wife and son.

  She sniffed. “It wasn’t your fault.” Then she did that thing where she pulled her sleeves over her hands and wiped her face.

  “But, Sunday…” He took a small step toward her and softened his voice. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She inhaled sharply and her eyes went wide, as if she hadn’t expected the question, or had been dreading it, and wasn’t prepared to respond. But his need to know the answer to that question was fierce.

  “Did you think I would leave you?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Or that I would blame you?”

  She swallowed. “I don’t think so.”

  “Then, please. Tell me—”

  “Kale.” Denny’s voice was loud and firm behind him. “Vivienne just parked in back. I’m sorry, but she’s gonna walk through that door in ten seconds.”

  Everything in Kale plummeted.

  Sunday spun to the mirror behind the bar, started putting herself back together.

  There was no way he could pull it off, hide all this from Vivienne. “No,” he said.
>
  Sunday turned to him. “Pull it together, Kale.” Then she was moving away from him, stepping over glass and waving at Denny to join her up front.

  When Vivienne stepped inside, Denny and Sunday were standing by a table near the door, partially blocking him from view.

  “Hey, Viv,” Denny said. “How’s it going?”

  “Good. Hey, hon.”

  Kale waved from the bar, not yet trusting himself to speak.

  Denny smiled and threw a thumb over his shoulder. “He’s just upset because he broke a few glasses and we’re going to have to dock his pay.”

  When Kale glanced at his reflection in the mirror, behind him he saw the three of them standing in an uneasy circle. Denny rubbed his neck. Sunday kept her face averted. Vivienne stood very erect, her hands hanging on to her purse.

  “Do you want some help cleaning up?” she asked.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Denny said. “We’ll get it.”

  Kale came around the bar. “What’s up, Viv?”

  “I just stopped by to remind you to pick up Luke today. I’m heading to my mom’s.”

  “Yeah, I remember,” he said, regretting the edge that had crept into his voice. But she knew damn well he wouldn’t forget about Luke.

  Her eyes darted to Denny and Sunday like she was weighing whether they had caught his tone. “Just thought I’d make sure. I know you guys have a lot going on with the grand opening coming up.”

  “I’m going to head home,” Sunday said, walking over to grab her bag from the booth. She waved in their general direction.

  “It was good to see you, Sunday,” Vivienne said.

  Sunday stopped and turned. “You too, Vivienne.”

  And then Kale watched her walk out the door, afraid they’d lost a moment they weren’t going to get back.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Vivienne

  “It was good to see you, Sunday.”

  She was determined to be friendly, as she always was with the Brennans, but she also wanted a better look at Sunday’s face before she left. It was blotchy, like she’d been crying. From the moment Vivienne walked in the door, she could tell something was going on. The air in the room was all wrong.

  Denny cleared his throat and moved behind the bar. “Kale, why don’t you walk your wife out and I’ll get started on this mess.”

  “You ready to go?” Kale asked her. No offer of breakfast or coffee together.

  “Yeah. Unless you want to come along?”

  He started for the door. “That’s okay.”

  She’d been joking. Kale was kind to her mother, stopped over to fix appliances and mow the lawn. But she knew her mother’s icy behavior—criticizing how much he worked, hinting that he should take better care of Vivienne—made him squirm.

  Once they were outside, she couldn’t help herself. “Did she find another bookkeeper yet?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  They arrived at the car.

  “She spending a lot of time here?”

  He dragged a hand through his hair. “C’mon, Vivienne. She stops in sometimes when she needs help. She’s doing us a favor, you know.”

  She had to be careful. If she nagged Kale he’d share even less with her. “Okay. I should go. I’m sure I’ll have a to-do list for you after I see Mom.” She gave him a kiss. “I love you.”

  “Me too.”

  She got in her car and drove to the west side of town, the far edge where the few West Manor have-nots lived. Though it was barely West Manor. If she’d grown up one block farther west she would have been zoned for the Ossining schools. While she drove she tried to pinpoint the weird energy she’d walked into at the pub. It had definitely felt like more than just broken glass.

  Vivienne knew Kale cared about her very much, loved Luke as much as a dad could. He was what her mother called a Steady Eddy, in a distinctly ambivalent tone. Sharon Martin had encouraged her daughter to set her sights a little higher.

  “You have the looks, Viv,” she’d said. “Don’t throw them away on any old loser, like I did.”

  Vivienne had never met her father, didn’t even know his name. His “relationship” with her mother had been brief. All she knew was that he lived in Connecticut with his real family, and he’d sent money each month until she was eighteen. Her mother had grown up in West Manor. When she became pregnant her parents gave her and her baby a home, which her mother inherited when they died in a car accident four years later.

  So with no money and no father, and a waitress/cashier mother, Vivienne had been raised in an upper-middle-class town filled with intact families and stay-at-home moms. Embarrassed by her circumstances and jealous of many girls around her.

  Including Sunday Brennan.

  * * *

  “You couldn’t bring Luke with you?” her mother asked.

  “He has school this morning.”

  They were sipping coffee in the living room of the narrow brick row house she’d grown up in. The room was still busy as ever, filled with the infinite baubles and tchotchkes her mother liked to surround herself with. She’d never been much of a housekeeper, preferring to leave clothes lying around, let laundry and dishes pile up. Growing up Vivienne had kept her bedroom trinket-free and spick-and-span, a quiet refuge from the chaos of the rest of the house. She had already listened to the broken-record complaints about the inflamed sciatica, maintenance issues with the house, the snobby neighbors around the corner—That one’s always rushing her kids around in the SUV. She leaves the house every morning without a stitch of makeup on her face.

  Her mother lit another cigarette. “How’s the secretary job going?” She sat in a worn floral armchair, feet up on a stool, puffing away in a pink tracksuit.

  “Administrative assistant. Good. I have an interview today for a promotion, a full-time job with the district. It would start next year.” She stood and started straightening up the small, cluttered living room and kitchen while they talked.

  “Full time?” Her mom shook her head of frayed blond hair. “You shouldn’t have to work full-time.”

  “It’ll be more money and I can get on the school’s health insurance plan, which will be a lot cheaper than the self-employed one we’re on now. We can think about a house in Manor Hills.”

  “Hmmph. That’s practically Pleasantville. You think he’ll agree to go that far out of town, away from that family?”

  “It’ll make sense, for lots of reasons.” But Vivienne sounded more confident than she felt. She pulled her wallet from her purse and started counting out cash.

  “If you remember, I always worked full-time. Had no choice.”

  “I know, Mom. Here you go.” Vivienne handed over a small pile of bills. “I put some extra in there to put toward the property taxes.”

  “Thanks, Viv.” She thumbed through the cash. “Are you leaving already?”

  “I have to get to that interview.”

  “If you interview with a man, I bet you get the job.” Her mother glanced with approving over-plucked eyebrows at Vivienne’s skirt and pumps. “Mickey Brennan was in the store the other day, visiting that dim-witted son of his.”

  Vivienne didn’t point out that the “dim-witted son” and her mother currently had the same job stocking shelves and bagging groceries at a local market. “Yeah?” She tossed her bag on her shoulder.

  “They were all aflutter because Sunday’s home.”

  “I’m sure they are. I’ll take this bag out to the recycling bin.” All the wine bottles clanged together as she picked it up.

  “You’d do well to keep an eye on that situation, Viv. She’s got nothing on you in the looks department, but she had Kale’s heart for a long time. First love and all that.”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  Her mother stood and reached for her arm. “I’m just saying be careful. I always thought you deserved better than him, but I don’t want you to get hurt.” She rubbed Vivienne’s upper arm. “Maybe you should talk to Kale about the
Brennan dad and the Walsh woman. Remind him the sort of people they are.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Mom. Kale and I are good.” Vivienne gave her a peck on the cheek and headed out to her car.

  Her mother leaned against the front door, enveloped in a smoky haze. “Remember what I said. You know those Brennans. Think they’re better than the rest of us, like they have it all coming.”

  * * *

  The school district offices were fifteen minutes east, back through town. She headed in that direction, taking a roundabout route to avoid Kale on the road, just in case. She didn’t want him to know she was interviewing for this job just yet.

  She tried to relax on the drive, get in the right headspace for the interview. Her mother had always been her biggest supporter, but she had a way of creating dark doubts about Kale—He’s a decent provider, but I don’t know that he appreciates you enough, Viv … You deserve someone who sweeps you off your feet once in a while … That family has far too much of a hold on him.

  Vivienne had been aware of “that family” as long as she could remember. Many of the men in her neighborhood worked for Mickey Brennan, and he was rumored to have a direct hand in everything related to construction in the area—contract bidding, union negotiations, inspection approvals. The Brennans had a big house, nice clothes, extra cars in the driveway. They were a clan unto themselves, and throughout her adolescence Vivienne had watched them all from afar, including Sunday. The lone female sibling had good grades, ran cross-country, and worked on the high school newspaper. Everything seemed to come so easy to her.

  Vivienne was in middle school when her mother, who loved sharing salacious secrets, told her Mickey Brennan had taken up with one of their neighbors, Lynn Walsh. Like the Martins, the Walshes lived on the street known in town as Welfare Row. But that family had been a step lower than all the rest. Dirt poor, raging drunk of a father, wild-child son who often managed to smile his way out of trouble—Stay away from that one, Viv, her mother used to say. He’s too charming for his own good. And Lynn Walsh worked at a dry cleaner’s. Initially Vivienne dismissed the idea, believing there was no way the wealthy man who ran construction crews would want anything to do with the likes of Mrs. Walsh. But her mother had said a man like Mickey Brennan had needs, and if his wife wasn’t meeting them Lynn Walsh was welcome to try, get something for herself out of it too.