We Are the Brennans

by Tracey Lange

  She’d also emailed her editor at the magazine because she’d made progress with her next story. It was about a guy who denied his own instincts and refused to violate his sister’s trust, no matter how much guilt and pain it cost him. She was finally in a place where she could see an ending to it.

  The other project she had under way was The Little Fireman, the children’s book she was working on with Jackie and Shane. The night before, she had consulted them, taking notes while they recalled the details of the story. There were debates about finer points: Did the little fireman drive the truck or ride in the back? Did he live alone? Was the big fire at a house or building? All of which Shane won. He shot down any contrary opinions with the utmost confidence—You guys just don’t remember—shaking his head and laughing his whole-body laugh.

  Kale walked in while she was going over the story notes with Jackie at the bar. She had purposely avoided him since his meltdown, especially after Vivienne’s visit. But today she planned to talk with him, find a way for them to put it all in the rearview, as he’d suggested. Which sounded really good until he walked in. As soon as she looked at him her resolve wavered. She’d seen him hurling glasses to the floor, telling her he never should have let her go.

  She wasn’t sure what to expect given how their last conversation ended—or didn’t, more to the point. But he dropped his jacket and bag in the office, and came out next to her behind the bar to see what they were doing. “No way. The little fireman story.”

  “You remember it?”

  “Yeah. The one you used to tell Shane all the time. And the rest of us would pretend we weren’t listening.” He gave Jackie a knowing smile.

  “Okay, then,” she said. “Maybe you can settle an argument. Did the little fireman drive the truck or ride in the back?”

  “He rode in the back.”

  Sitting across the bar, Jackie flipped a hand up. “Dude, he drove the truck.”

  “Dude, he rode in the back. That’s why he was able to jump out and grab the ladder so fast when they got to the fire.”

  Jackie’s face pinched in consideration. “Fine. I give up.” He hopped off his stool and headed for the back. “I’ll get the mats.”

  Michael walked in the front door then, and right off Sunday lost a bit of hope because he didn’t look good. His normally at-ease face seemed closed in concentration. He glanced around, loosening his tie, and headed for the bar.

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “I have some news. Is Denny here?”

  “No, but I’ll fill him in.”

  Michael glanced at Kale. “Is there somewhere we can talk?” he asked her.

  “It’s okay. Kale knows everything.”

  Michael hesitated but nodded. “I just met with Walsh’s lawyer in Katonah.” His mouth curled down. “What a piece of work. The good news is his client will go for the deal. With his record Walsh doesn’t want to be arrested. Of course, he denies any wrongdoing on his client’s part.” He paused. “Can I get a beer?”

  Kale made a show of checking his watch.

  “I know what time it is,” Michael said. “But I’d like to wash some of this away, know what I mean?”

  Without a word Kale poured a draft and slid it in front of him.

  “I’m sorry, Michael,” Sunday said. She’d dragged him into a fairly ugly negotiation.

  “It’s okay. There’s other good news. Walsh wants to leave the area. His lawyer doesn’t think he’ll go back to Ireland, sounds like maybe there are some bad guys after him over there.” He shrugged. “I didn’t get details. But he wants out of New York. The problem is all his money is tied up in the loan to Denny, so we’ll need to come up with some cash now to help him relocate.”

  “How much?” she asked.

  He took a healthy pull off his beer. “We went back and forth, he talked about circumstantial evidence, how much time has passed—he’s a lowlife, but he’s not stupid. I talked about what else police might find if they start investigating. I got him down to twenty thousand. We give him the cash and you agree not to report, he leaves the state and gives you until the end of the year to repay him the rest of the loan, with interest.” He leaned toward her. “It’ll all go through his lawyer and me. You will never have to talk to him.”

  Something loosened in her chest. “That’s great, Michael. Really.”

  “When do we need to get him the money?” Kale asked.

  Michael looked at him out of the corner of his eye, like he was still unsure why Kale was in the middle of all this. “I told him I’d have it to him by the weekend.”

  Three days to come up with twenty thousand in cash.

  “I should have talked to you first,” Michael said. “But I just wanted to get him gone. And listen, I don’t mind fronting the money so we can—”

  “I can get the money,” Kale said. “I’ll have it to you by Saturday morning.”

  Michael didn’t even turn Kale’s way, just waited for her direction.

  She glanced at Kale’s firm expression. He wanted to do this. And truthfully, she preferred to keep it in the family. “Thanks, Michael,” she said, “but I think we can figure it out.”

  “Okay.” He finished his beer and went for his wallet.

  “On the house,” Kale said.

  Sunday walked Michael out to his car. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “I’m just happy I could help.” He glanced back toward the pub. “I remember you two in high school. You and Collins. I kept waiting for you to break up, but it never happened.” He gave her a sheepish grin and slid his hands in his pockets. “He’s married with a kid now, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Does he know that?”

  She looked away.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Seems like he’s still holding on.”

  Her response was a vague shake of the head. She didn’t want to talk to Michael about Kale.

  She reached up to give him a hug. “Thanks for everything.”

  * * *

  Later that night she had Jackie drop her back at the pub because Kale was closing. It would be a good time to catch him and clear the air. Paul was there, wiping down the bar, and he told her Kale had run home for a bit but he’d be back to finish up the till.

  After Paul left she had quiet time to consider her agenda for this discussion. Kale had a family, she needed to figure out her life. Talking about what happened that awful night, or what followed, would do no good. She believed he would be on the same page. In the past they had talked about the mother he barely remembered. Sunday used to ask him if he had any desire to find her, maybe confront her. But he always said no, he just didn’t want to know a woman who would do what she did. “What could she possibly say to make it okay?” he’d ask. Kale loved his son and it wasn’t in his makeup to hurt him that way.

  She was in the office when she heard him come through the front door. After steadying her nerves with a deep breath, she took her rehearsed speech and headed out behind the bar. But when she looked up toward the door, it wasn’t Kale standing there.

  It was Billy Walsh.

  For a second she wondered if this was a nightmare, but when she placed her hands on the steel counter under the bar, the cold, hard surface denied it.

  He stayed close to the door. One side of his mouth curled up. “Hiya, Sunday.”

  The back door had already been chained up; the small silver key sat on the desk in the office. He was blocking the only exit from the building.

  “You’re looking good,” he said.

  She didn’t speak, didn’t trust her voice, in case she sounded half as panicked as she felt.

  Billy held his hands up in a no-harm gesture. “Now I only need a minute, yeah? And I won’t move from this spot.” He had the same untamed ginger-blond hair, the piercing eyes. But he looked older, weathered, like he’d been through some things the last five years.

  “I’m not looking to hurt you,” he said.

  No one would hear if s
he screamed. The neighboring businesses had been closed for hours. Under the bar her hands grasped for something, anything to use as a weapon. All she had ready access to was a shelf of glasses behind her and the cooler full of mugs in front of her.

  The cooler. That’s when she remembered.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  Moving very carefully, making it look like she was just shifting her weight, she took a small step closer to the cooler. Mounted behind it, hidden from view, was a holster that contained the revolver her dad had bought. He’d insisted Denny and Kale keep it there in case of a robbery. At least, she hoped it was still there.

  Billy slid his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket. “I took the deal, and I’m leaving this bloody town for good.”

  She slid her hand down and, with tremendous relief, laid two fingers against the butt of the gun. It was there, and, if needed, all she had to do was flick off the safety strap, grab it, and pull up.

  “But before I go,” he said, “there’s things I need to say.”

  Despite the surreal nature of this encounter, or maybe because of it, she wondered what the hell he could have to say to her. Maybe, after hearing about the miscarriage, he was going to take some kind of responsibility for what happened?

  “You see,” he said, “I know something about your father that you don’t.”

  She pressed the pads of her fingers against the textured grip of the gun. She wouldn’t go any further unless she had to, but knowing it was there provided a measure of courage. Otherwise there’s no way she could have said what she did next. “Is this when you blame my dad for your shitty life because he fired your father?”

  His eyes grew and his whole body jerked. She flicked the strap with her thumb and wrapped her hand around the butt of the gun. But he didn’t move otherwise, so she didn’t pull it out. They stayed like that for a moment, considering each other. Long enough for her to take note of how quiet it was, how steady her breathing was. She felt calm with her hand on that gun, her senses heightened.

  “No,” he said. And there was the cruel smile she remembered. “Now’s when I tell you that your father was fucking my mother when we were in high school.”

  It was like he’d spoken a foreign language and she needed time to translate.

  “That’s right,” he said. “Wasn’t enough Mickey Brennan had the big house and all that money. He couldn’t take your nagging bitch of a mother anymore and came looking for comfort on Welfare Row.”

  Her whole body went cold except where her hand clutched the gun. What he was saying was impossible.

  “They would meet at his office,” he said. “Or his job sites. Even took overnight trips. She was with him for three years and then he flat dumped her.”

  Was this supposed to be a justification for what he did to her? She stretched her fingers, then closed them around the butt again. Her dad had taken her, Denny, Jackie, and Kale to a shooting range for a lesson when he first bought the gun for the pub—Don’t be arguing with me. It’s going to be there so you all need to know how to use it safely. One of the many rules he covered: Grip the pistol tight, but not so tight your hand shakes.

  Billy glanced around the pub. “Not so high ’n mighty now, are yous? Having to take a loan off a lowly Walsh. Make sure you tell Denny it was me caused those problems out there in Mamaroneck.” He laughed at her expression. “Sure all it took was a sledgehammer and a good hose.”

  More of her dad’s rules came back: Always keep the safety on and don’t put your finger on the trigger until you aim at the target. She didn’t know if the gun would even work correctly after so many years. Denny used to clean it once in a while, but who knew if he still did.

  Billy pointed at her. “I left my mother thanks to you. If you hadn’t come to the bar that night, I wouldn’t have had to go back to Belfast. But I knew your men was going to come after me. So I left, and she’s gone now.” He shook his head. “You fuckin’ Brennans always win. I’ll get my money and leave on Monday, stop you from telling your lies about that night.” He sucked his teeth. “We both know what really happened, don’t we? You came looking for comfort on Welfare Row too. Just like your dad.”

  She kept her voice low but firm. “That’s not true.”

  “Come off it. You were looking for attention because your boyfriend left you home alone. Making eyes at me all night, coming up to my room.” His mouth twisted in disgust. “Drinking like a fish even though you were pregnant.”

  The gun was pointed at him before she knew what she’d done.

  He froze momentarily before regaining some of his composure. “Truth hurts, doesn’t it. You gonna shoot me with that gun?”

  “Get out.” She pressed her shoulders lower and raised the gun higher. Aim with your dominant eye, her dad had instructed, and align the back and front sights. The gun felt heavy, substantial.

  “I’m an unarmed man, about to walk out that there door.” He pointed behind him. “You can’t shoot me now.” He was going for a light tone but she heard the uncertainty.

  She took several steps around the bar, surprised at how steady her hands and arms were.

  His smile slipped a bit and he swallowed. “I’ll go. And you can keep telling yourself what happened was all my fault. But I’ll always know better.” He gave her a pointed look. “I didn’t trip you that night. You were wasted and you fell. All on your own.”

  Another of her dad’s rules: Don’t pull a gun on someone unless you’re willing to use it. She took two more steps forward, still well out of his reach. “Get out and don’t ever come back. You fuck with one Brennan, you fuck with six Brennans.” She’d included Kale without even thinking about it. When she raised the gun and lined up the sights with his forehead, she saw the sweat there.

  He stared at her, his eyes pulsing with hate.

  In that moment, if he made one wrong move, she believed she could shoot him.

  But seconds later he spun on his black boots, threw open the door, and walked out of the pub.

  * * *

  After he left she stood very still, gun pointed at the door for several moments, even after she heard a car start down the street and drive off. But Kale could walk in at any time, so she lowered her arms and aimed it at the floor, adhering to yet another Dad Rule: Always keep the muzzle pointed in a safe direction. She waited another minute, her shoulders and arms stiff with tension, but Billy wasn’t coming back. Not that night. She had scared him.

  She knew she should lock the door but didn’t want to go anywhere near it. So she sat at a small table by the bar, placed the gun on top after engaging the safety. Then she put her hands in her lap and waited.

  Billy’s words surfaced again in her mind. Your father was fucking my mother when we were in high school … she was with him for three years. Her initial reaction was flat denial, but she couldn’t ignore the persistent ring of underlying truth. Her dad had been absent a lot during her high school years, claiming job demands, spending nights on building sites. Sunday had always assumed part of it was needing time away from the miserable woman her mother had become, but did that justification extend to adultery?

  When she heard footsteps outside, she laid a hand next to the gun. But Denny came in the door, followed by Kale, so she lowered her hand to her lap again and took the first genuine breath she’d taken since Billy had appeared.

  “Hey,” Denny said. “What’re you doing—What the fuck?” He stopped walking so abruptly Kale bumped into him. They both stared at the gun on the table.

  She stayed very still. “He was here.”

  Denny ran to the door, shoved it open, and searched the street outside with his hands gripping the sides of the doorframe.

  “He’s gone,” she said. “And he won’t be back.”

  Kale moved closer to the table, looking her over. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She nodded to the revolver. “The safety’s on. Could you please put it back behind the bar?” She felt an intense need to distanc
e herself from it, from what could have happened.

  He lifted the gun, kept it pointed at the floor while he took it back to the holster behind the cooler.

  Denny locked the front door. “What the hell were you doing here alone?”

  “Paul went home and I didn’t lock the door. Kale was coming right back. I didn’t think about it.”

  “How could you be so careless?”

  “Don’t yell at me, Denny.”

  Kale came back around the bar. “Just tell us what happened.”

  “He didn’t come here to hurt me,” she said. “He just wanted to say some shitty things before he left town.”

  They both sat down and listened as she told them what happened. Denny had difficulty containing himself when she got to the part about their father, mumbling “ridiculous” and “fucking liar.” But the doubt in his eyes betrayed him. He was weighing it all.

  Next she told them Billy had claimed responsibility for everything that had gone wrong in Mamaroneck, and she watched as her larger-than-life brother seemed to shrink in his chair, overwhelmed by the realization that he’d been thoroughly played by such a person. Kale didn’t make it any harder on Denny by reacting. He just kept his head down while he listened.

  “Christ,” Denny said. “He set me up? From the get-go?” He shot up out of his seat and chopped one hand with the other. “That’s it. We’re calling the cops. You gotta report this. All of it.”

  “No,” Sunday said.

  “Yes! He pushed you down a set of stairs, he tried to steal this place from us—he needs to go to jail.”

  But it wasn’t that simple. She kept her voice low and steady, tried to balance out Denny’s emotional state. “We have no proof he caused that damage, or that he caused me to fall down the stairs. It would just be my word against his. Besides, I pulled the gun on him.”