We Are the Brennans

by Tracey Lange

  Vivienne saw it herself many times, saw Mr. Brennan’s big pickup truck drive down the street with the lights off and park in front of the Walsh place before the mom jumped out. So it was no surprise Billy Walsh knew about the affair. She’d come across him one night, very drunk on the stoop of his house, not long before he graduated from West Manor High. He’d waved a beer can around while he ranted about the Brennans.

  “Not enough they have the money and the big house, that fucker Mickey Brennan is ruining my family.”

  The affair went on for over three years, and it was a mystery whether Maura Brennan ever found out. Certainly no one on the Row ever considered telling her. For one thing, Mickey was a boss, and generally respected. There was also a sort of Row Code. Who among them didn’t have secrets? If Lynn Walsh was finding a little comfort from that failure husband of hers, so be it.

  Vivienne never talked to Kale about it. She didn’t want to appear petty, drudging up old gossip about his adopted family. Besides, he’d probably find some way to defend Mickey and end up resenting her for bringing it up.

  A squat utilitarian building housed the school district offices. She parked in the lot, turned the car off, and waited. The interview was still over ten minutes away and she didn’t want to appear overeager. She took inventory of the people who entered and exited the building. Most of the women wore slacks with flats or shapeless dresses with saggy cardigans. They had wash-and-go hairstyles and no idea how to apply makeup. She looked at her fitted button-down and knee-length skirt. The heels were sensible, not too high but still flattering.

  She wanted this job. She’d be full time and Luke would start at the preschool next door. Relocating to Manor Hills would mean a shorter commute for her and Luke, and Kale would be closer to the new restaurant in Mamaroneck. Kale just had to go for it, which, she knew, was a tall order.

  Vivienne had vaguely known of Kale Collins growing up, but they hadn’t met until she moved back to West Manor after living in the city for a few years. The plan had been to start a modeling career—her mother sprang for headshots and breast augmentation surgery for her high school graduation—and meet a successful businessman, fall in love, get started on the life she wanted.

  That plan, however, had failed. She landed a few onetime modeling contracts, but spent most of her days schlepping to castings and collecting rejections. She accepted a couple of “private” modeling sessions, which amounted to posing in lingerie for a very handsy photographer. It paid decent money, but during the third session he insisted she pose nude. When she resisted, he told her she had to return the money he’d paid her because she didn’t complete the job. She didn’t have the money, and she didn’t like the menacing look in his eye, so she took off her clothes and let him take the shots, but that was the end of her modeling career. She didn’t ask, and never found out, where the pictures ended up, just prayed it wasn’t the internet. After that she resigned herself to retail work and living on credit cards.

  There were lots of dates and some boyfriends; she’d even spent a few weekends out in the Hamptons with a Wall Street guy. She was good at catching men’s eyes, getting them interested. It wasn’t rocket science. The right makeup and clothes, lots of laughing and listening, moving her body in certain ways. But after some initial excitement and physical fun, when talking and finding common interests became a bigger part of the picture, it always fizzled. She was out of her depth, couldn’t compete with the self-confident, college-educated women who filled the city. Women who wore power suits, climbed career ladders, and challenged the men around them. The city had made her feel more white trash than she ever had on the Row. So at twenty-two, after years of sharing tiny apartments with faceless roommates, she went home. She fell back in with old friends, landed a job as a receptionist. Then she spotted Kale working at Brennan’s one night.

  It took several visits to the pub before she had the chance to talk with him, and she had to take the lead. She was casual at first, just light conversation. Her real opening came late one night when he sat at his own bar and got hammered. He was still getting over being dumped by his fiancée, which was a real turnoff at times. But he owned half of the best pub in town. He was easy on the eyes, with his soft curls and lopsided smile. There was a solidity to him; he was a reliable guy who took his responsibilities seriously. The type that would always take care of his family. So she kept coming back, offered a supportive shoulder. They commiserated about having a parent who preferred not to be in the picture. Eventually he became more comfortable around her, appreciated how she laughed at his jokes.

  She waited a little while before they had sex, wanted to make sure he was somewhat invested, but once they did she found him hungry for it, a salve for his loneliness. It all went according to plan—not that she manipulated him. She just worked hard to help him get over Sunday. And when she became a little careless about her birth control pill, she figured if she was meant to get pregnant, she would.

  Things weren’t perfect. Kale had little ambition. He put no thought into his appearance, wouldn’t consider contacts instead of those schoolteacher glasses. He’d put on a few pounds the last couple of years and shaved randomly. And he was such a homebody, something she’d never had any luck changing. But they’d set down roots the last four years. When Sunday came back it had thrown Vivienne, but there was no way Kale could love her again. Forgive her, maybe, be friendly at some point. God knew Kale liked everyone to get along. But Vivienne had believed she was safe. Now, not two months later, she sensed a threat. Sunday was back in the fold of her family, which was also Kale’s family. And now he knew Sunday had kept that damn postcard all these years. It had been a mistake to call her on it that night in the office. But she’d been so angry, coming across such a blatant reminder of their shared past—the Kale and Sunday stick figures holding hands on the beach. Her mother was right, Kale needed distance from the whole Brennan crew.

  She checked her makeup in the mirror, smoothed her hair with a flat hand, and climbed out of the car. As she walked into the building, head high, back straight, she mentally firmed up her plan. Step one: get this job. Step two: talk to Sunday.

  * * *

  Three days later she found the opportunity she was waiting for. She had discreetly gathered intel: Denny and his father were out in Mamaroneck with Kale, all hands on deck getting the new pub ready for the grand opening next weekend. Jackie was covering Brennan’s, so Sunday was likely home alone. Hopefully Shane wouldn’t be there. Vivienne never knew how to respond to his gushing greetings and conversation. She took the morning off work and knocked on the red front door at eleven o’clock.

  When Sunday answered, her eyes widened in surprise. They exchanged hellos and Vivienne asked if she had a few minutes.

  “Sure.” She stepped back and pulled the door open further. “You want to come in?”

  “Thanks.” Vivienne walked into the living room. There was a laptop and piles of paper on the coffee table.

  “Excuse the mess. I was just getting some work done.”

  If Vivienne had accounting skills, maybe none of this would be happening. “Any luck hiring a bookkeeper?” she asked.

  “Not yet. But I’ve been researching your list.” Sunday waved toward the kitchen. “Can I get you something? Coffee or water?”

  “Coffee would be great.”

  They went into the kitchen and Sunday gestured for her to have a seat at the rectangular wood table that was planted in the middle of the room. While Sunday poured coffee Vivienne looked around the large kitchen she’d only been in a handful of times. The worn white cabinets with glass doors displayed a mishmash of multicolored dishware. Worn pots and pans hung from hooks above the stove. Molly’s drawings, family photos, and chaotic calendars cluttered the fridge doors. Kale had apparently always felt at home in this disorganized hodgepodge.

  Sunday placed two mugs on the table and settled in across from Vivienne. No chitchat. She just laid her hands in her lap and waited.

  “Y
ou look all healed up,” Vivienne said.

  “Just about.”

  Vivienne added cream to her coffee and studied Sunday on the sly. A tank top under a plaid button-down that looked like it belonged to one of her brothers. No makeup, hair pulled back in a random pile. “You know, you could get that scar on the side of your head lasered. Would be like it was never there.”

  “I’ll have to remember that.”

  Vivienne sipped her coffee. “I haven’t spent much time here, in this house. Kale brings me by once in a while, but your family never really took to me.”

  “I don’t know about that.” Sunday shrugged. “They’re just a tough crew sometimes.”

  “It’s okay. I mean, no one was going to replace you.”

  Sunday’s eyebrows ticked up.

  Vivienne took another sip. “Must be nice to be back here, with everyone.”

  “It’s great.”

  “I wonder, though, if any of them ever told you what it was like for Kale after you left.”

  Other than pulling her head back a bit, Sunday offered no reaction. But that was enough.

  Vivienne folded her hands on the table. “Of course they’d want to protect you from that. But I think maybe you should know.”

  “Vivienne—”

  “He was really lost when I met him, and that was a while after you were gone. Just so sad and checked out, drinking way too much. He would talk about you, wonder what he did wrong. Blame himself.”

  Sunday swallowed hard, but she stayed quiet and never dropped her eyes. Maybe she knew she had this coming, that she deserved to hear about the damage she’d caused. Maybe it would stop her from causing any more.

  “But eventually I got him to laugh a little, get out and do stuff, have some fun. I found ways to make him happy.”

  It was subtle, but Sunday flinched.

  “Denny even told me once how good I was for Kale. I helped him get over you. We got married and had Luke, and he’s the best father I can imagine. But things have been different since you came home.” She was tipping her hand by admitting that, but it was by design. Sunday wouldn’t respond to games. Shaming would be the most effective strategy with her.

  “Is there something you want to ask me, Vivienne?”

  “Are you planning to stay here? In West Manor?”

  “Yes.” Her expression was neutral, to an infuriating degree.

  “You know what Kale’s mother did to him,” Vivienne said, leaning forward and poking the table with a finger. “You know that he would never forgive himself if he hurt Luke that way.”

  “I know that.”

  Vivienne sat back again. “I interviewed the other day for a job on the other side of town. If I get it, I think it would make sense for us to move there. Luke would be at the school near where I work. Kale would be closer to Mamaroneck. He could focus on the new place. What do you think?” Vivienne despised this, asking for help this way. But if Sunday was on board it would only help her cause.

  “I think that makes a lot of sense.”

  “Me too.” She stood and brought her half-full cup to the sink. “Thanks for your time. I’ll see myself out.” She pulled her bag off a chair and started toward the living room.

  “Vivienne?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m glad you were there for him.”

  It was Vivienne’s turn to be surprised, but she didn’t let it show. She nodded and left, wondering if love could really be that unselfish.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Sunday

  “I’m glad you were there for him.”

  She meant it. Kind of.

  After Vivienne left, she sat at the table in the quiet house. The last thing she’d expected that morning was for Vivienne to knock on the door. Initially Sunday was afraid Kale might have told her the whole story and she’d come to offer moral support. It was a relief to realize she was there instead to guilt-trip Sunday into leaving town, or, at the least, leaving her husband alone. She got it though; part of her even respected Vivienne for it. She didn’t want to lose Kale, and if there was one thing Sunday could understand, it was that.

  Vivienne was right. No one in her family had talked to her about how Kale handled her departure, and she never asked. How was it she had never thought about how much pain she caused him? She answered her own question and it was like slamming into a glass wall she didn’t see coming. She hadn’t thought about it because she’d been wallowing in self-imposed exile for years, feeling betrayed because everyone carried on without her. Had she really expected Kale to somehow guess what she needed and come after her? He married someone else, but she had betrayed him before that.

  One thought crystallized and she slumped back against her seat. She had done the worst possible thing to Kale. She abandoned him.

  The conversation with Vivienne was a blow after the last couple of days. Since coming clean with Denny and Kale, she felt more awake, like she was shaking off a five-year winter of hibernation. For those two hours right after she told them, while Kale was out looking for Denny, she’d assumed something terrible was going to happen. But then Denny came through the door and said what he said, and even while she sobbed into his chest, she believed everything would be okay.

  The next morning she’d woken up with a strong desire to do something, take some kind of action. First, she convinced her dad to cut off the cast and set her arm free. Then she drove his truck fifteen miles south and met with Michael Eaton at his office. He was gracious and chatty and smiled a lot while he removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, and she hated to pull a cloud across his sunny morning. However, eager to start solving this problem, she lost no time in getting to the point after they sat across from each other. She told him she knew about Denny’s loan and they needed a way out of it. Other than coming up with seventy thousand in cash.

  “I’m sorry, Sunday. This is why it was such a bad idea. It’s a straightforward contract, no real wiggle room.”

  “What if Billy Walsh was arrested for a violent crime?”

  “Well, it wouldn’t negate the contract, but it could distract him for a while, tie up his resources. Especially if he was convicted.” He shrugged. “Just depends on so many things. Like what crime, when it happened…”

  “Assault and battery.” Earlier that morning she’d done some research. “It was almost five years ago, but we’re still within the statute of limitations.”

  “Is there any evidence of this crime?”

  She started with the facts. “There’s a hospital report that indicates I fell down a staircase one night at the bar where he was working. And I suffered a miscarriage as a result.”

  He blinked in surprise. “I’m sorry, Sunday.”

  “Thanks.” In her mind this next part was a certainty as well. “I fell because I was struggling with him. I was trying to get away from him. When he wouldn’t let me go, I threatened to tell my family and he pushed me toward the stairs.”

  “Are you saying he caused you to fall?”

  That was when she began to diverge from indisputable fact in her own mind, but only by the slightest degree. In her heart she believed it was true. Something had caught hold of her foot that night. “Yes. He tripped me, and after I fell he took off and left me there alone.”

  He sat back in his chair and studied her, maybe trying to determine where that left them.

  “Look, I know it’s thin,” she said. “But maybe it’s enough to get him to back off the lien. He’ll get his money, but we need time.”

  He pulled a hand down his face, reached for a pad and pen. “Okay. Let’s see what we can figure out.”

  They spent the next half hour talking it through, developing a plan. She sensed no judgment. He attacked the problem and made her feel part of the solution. She could not adequately express her thanks to Michael when she left his office.

  That whole morning had felt liberating, including admitting to Denny that their mother knew what happened. Kale’s little breakdown, however, nearl
y destroyed her. She was wholly unprepared for both his emotional regret and his question. But, Sunday, why didn’t you tell me? Vivienne had walked in at either the best or the worst possible moment.

  She cleared the table and readied to go back to work. Vivienne had disturbed a fragile optimism that had settled in the last couple of days. An optimism that had prompted Sunday to contact her landlord in LA and sublet her apartment, then schedule an interview with a potential bookkeeper for the pub. Even begin to look into master’s programs in the area. The conversation with Vivienne had shown her just how fragile that optimism was, how fast the shame would wriggle back in at the first opportunity.

  She and Kale had to finish their unfinished business. They needed to let each other off the hook. After that, they could each move on with their lives.

  * * *

  A few days later she helped Jackie open the bar on a quiet Tuesday. The countdown until the grand opening was three days, so Denny and Kale were spending most of their time in Mamaroneck.

  The busywork and excitement were good distractions while she waited for some news from Michael. But at any given moment she was aware of where she was in relation to Katonah, even catching herself leaning the opposite way at times, as if the northeasterly direction represented her own personal kryptonite. Billy would know soon, if he didn’t already, that she was back in town, and he would know what she was accusing him of. So it was understood by all that she would not go anywhere alone until the situation was resolved.

  She had spent the last two days calling vendors, haranguing them into working with her on grace periods and payment plans. With each success she gained a little confidence. Most of the vendors, be they beer or liquor distributors, food suppliers, even the laundry service and maintenance crew, liked and respected Denny and Kale. She made promises, there were a lot of balls in the air, but her plan was sound. As long as Billy accepted the deal Michael offered his lawyer. That was the key.