by Tracey Lange
“Why? Did he make a move?”
“No. I just wanted to scare him,” she said. “And I did.”
Denny threw his hands in the air, but when she met Kale’s eye the corner of his mouth pulled up just a touch.
“What if he comes back?” Denny asked.
She stood. “He’s leaving on Monday.”
“And you trust that?” Denny turned to Kale. “Help me out here. Tell her it’s time to go to the cops.”
Kale rested his hands on his hips. “Sorry. This is her call.”
Denny shook his head in frustration. “Get her home safely,” he said to Kale, before he marched to the door and headed out into the night.
* * *
She and Kale walked to her house in a complicated silence. To Sunday it felt loaded with things they shouldn’t talk about. Like how she’d been pregnant with their baby for a short time. Or his unanswered question—Why didn’t you tell me?—which she couldn’t fully explain to herself, let alone him. Or the fact that his wife had visited her the other day. No good would come from mentioning that to him.
So they focused on their feet and didn’t speak. Not even about which way to walk. They were automatically following their old route, down the alley between Cedar and Poplar Streets. Maybe that’s what finally made the quiet too painful.
“Thanks for having my back with Denny,” she said. “About involving the police.”
“I meant what I said. It should be your decision.” He slid his hands into his jacket pockets. “But do you really think he won’t come back?”
Billy’s face materialized in her mind, the surprise that had appeared when he realized he was dealing with a different woman from five years ago. “I do. Especially after the line I laid on him at the end.” She told him about threatening Billy with the retaliation of six Brennans.
Kale stopped walking. “You did not say that.”
“I did.”
His mouth fell open.
“I know.” She put a hand over her face. “So cheesy.”
He let out a stunned laugh. “No, really. Very badass.”
“Shut up.”
“Dirty Harriet.”
“Okay.” She turned and started walking.
They were silent until they got to the house. It had felt exhilarating to laugh with him, make that connection. But it was followed by such a heavy sadness that if she tried to speak she was afraid she’d cry. Her speech about moving on would have to wait for another time.
Jackie’s truck wasn’t in the driveway and it appeared no one was home.
“Dad and Shane had dinner at Clare’s,” she said. “I bet Jackie went to pick them up.”
“Okay. I’ll come in and take a quick look around.”
She unlocked the front door and flipped on lights while he walked through the downstairs, checking the back door and windows before coming back to the foyer where she was waiting.
“Everything’s locked up down here.” He glanced at the staircase and ran a hand through his hair, which curled around his fingers as they trailed through. “But maybe I should take a look up there too. That old trellis is still attached to the house, right?”
That’s why he was looking at the floor and not her. He meant the old trellis he used to climb to sneak into her room. “Yes,” she said. “It’s still there.”
He nodded with a solemn expression and walked up the stairs.
She stayed by the front door and texted Jackie for his ETA. There was no way she could follow Kale to her room, where they had spent so much time together. It would have been too much.
When he came back downstairs a few minutes later he looked distracted. “It’s all clear up there. I tightened the lock on that window above your desk.”
“Thanks.”
He nodded but didn’t move.
“You can go,” she said. “I texted Jackie. They’re on their way back.” She didn’t want Kale to feel obligated to stay, but she also sensed that he was debating saying something else. And that terrified her more than being alone. She already felt shaky, like she was just keeping the emotion at bay. If they got into any of this now, she would lose it.
“I know it’s been a long night,” he said. “And maybe I don’t have the right to bring this up now.”
“Kale, I don’t think we should—”
“But I need to know why—”
They both stopped when the headlights from Jackie’s pickup splashed through the window and slid across the room. Then they stood facing each other, without speaking, while they listened. Car doors opened and closed, Shane’s loud voice rumbled across the lawn, footsteps walked the path and climbed the porch steps. Still neither of them said anything. Kale didn’t finish his question and Sunday didn’t tell him she already knew what he was going to ask.
The front door opened and they all piled in, their eyebrows lifting a bit to see her and Kale standing there together. Shane gave Kale an enthusiastic hello and her dad asked him about preparations for opening night, just two days away. Sunday observed a subtle caution in Kale’s demeanor while he answered her dad’s questions. Like her, Kale was probably viewing her dad through a new set of eyes, unsure what to think since hearing Billy’s accusation.
After catching up for a couple minutes, Kale said he needed to get home. She watched from the living room window as he walked down the street, toward his house, where his wife and son waited for him.
* * *
She filled Jackie in on Billy’s visit after her dad and Shane went to bed, shooting down his self-blame about not staying with her at the pub. He reacted to the idea of her dad cheating on their mom the way she and Denny had: immediate rejection followed by the unwelcome notion that it made some sense.
Exhaustion caught up with her and she headed upstairs, though she still hoped to talk to Denny before going to sleep. She wasn’t going to change her mind about the police, but she understood his frustration. He probably felt like a total chump at this point.
When she stepped into her room she pictured Kale in there earlier. Walking around, testing the window, checking her closet. She dropped onto her bed. Everywhere her gaze touched, he was present in some way. The award above her desk for the story she’d written about him. Books on the shelves they’d read together for school. The bottom drawers of her dresser, where he used to keep clothes.
She had stayed at his apartment a lot, but it never felt like living together. Not when she could be called home at any moment—I need your help getting the house ready for the holiday dinner, Sunday. Mom’s taken a bad turn and is asking for you, Sun. Shane will be alone at the house with your mother this weekend. Could you stay with them? Denny was immersed in Theresa and getting the pub off the ground, and Jackie was attending Pace University. Rarely did she say no, lest her mother remind her once again they were paying her college tuition and had made it possible for Kale to become a business owner. It just wasn’t worth it. Besides, Kale often just snuck over and stayed the night. They didn’t mind the twin bed. Moving to the floor because the box spring made so much noise was a hassle. But even that wasn’t so bad.
The first time they had sex had been in her room; there was nowhere else to go. His house wasn’t an option, with his sick father down the hall and some relative or church member often around to take their turn watching over him.
After eight months Sunday almost didn’t care where it happened. They were both nervous, having grown up in the shadow of the Catholic culture of purity, but she, at least, was ready. Kale had been the one to drag his feet. It was all about her family. Her dad loomed large in his mind. The last thing Kale wanted was to disappoint the man that had always treated him like a son. Denny’s teasing didn’t help—You two better not rush it. And I’ll know when it happens. I got a sixth sense about that kind of thing. Neither did her mother’s reaction to them as a couple. Maura Brennan’s disapproval was evident from the start. That’s what we get for opening our home to him. And him your brother’s best friend. I would hav
e thought he’d be more honorable. It was as if Kale had set out to defile her daughter, and her shoulder was quite a bit colder toward him after that.
So Sunday had understood Kale’s desire to take it slow, but she was also frustrated. Grail had taken her to Planned Parenthood and she’d started on the pill. Kale knew that but nothing had changed. Everyone around them seemed to be doing it, and she began to wonder what was wrong with her.
It all reached a crisis point one night when they were in her room, and even though they somehow found themselves alone in the house, Kale seemed only interested in studying. She sat beside him on the floor with a textbook turned to some meaningless page and a dark suspicion bloomed. Kale was a senior, he was going to college next year, and this—him and Sunday—was just for now. He didn’t want to risk his closest friendship over a high school girlfriend, didn’t want to create drama with his second family, so he was riding it out until he left next fall.
By the time he stood to go home, she’d convinced herself of it. She kept it together when he kissed her goodnight, but after he left she sat on the edge of her bed and cried. He later told her he was at the bottom of the stairs when he decided to go back up, that he knew something was wrong.
He reappeared to find her in tears. Then he shut the door and knelt down before her. “What is it?”
She thought about telling him she just didn’t feel well. If there was anything that would drive him away it would be a clingy emotional mess. But she decided to just tell him the truth. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”
“What?”
Too embarrassed to say anything more, she simply looked at him.
It took a moment but then his face flushed. “Wait. You think I don’t want to?”
She shrugged and shook her head.
“Sunday, it’s all I think about. I just worry about everything. I don’t want to upset anyone—your parents, or Denny.”
“Then maybe you should date them.” It came out with a sting, and his eyes widened in confusion. He thought he was doing the right thing, being considerate. Even at that age she understood the effects of his mother leaving him. He was afraid of losing people.
He took her hands. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
He raised himself on his knees so they were eye level, and moved his hands to her face. “I love you, Sunday.”
“I love you too.”
There was no self-consciousness, no feeling like she was trying out the words, wondering what meaning should be attached to them. She knew. And when they kissed, it was different. No more hesitation from him, even when they fell back on her bed and started pulling at each other’s clothes.
Sitting on that same bed thirteen years later it occurred to Sunday that she had no chance of building a new life here if she stayed in this room. It suction-cupped her to the past. She needed to leave this house, find her own place. Maybe a small apartment in Purchase, close to Manhattanville College, where she was thinking about applying to graduate school.
Denny still hadn’t come home, but her pillow was calling to her. The adrenaline boost that came with the confrontation at the pub had drained. She thought about jotting a note, apologizing for their argument, providing some kind of reassurance for him.
When another idea floated into her consciousness she knew it was the right one. She dug in her desk for a copy of the LA Arts Council magazine, slipped into his room downstairs, and left it on his bed.
* * *
“No, no, no,” Shane said. “That’s not how they go.” He took the LEGOs from her hands.
“I’m pretty sure that was right…” Sunday said.
But he had already pulled the tiny pieces apart, exchanged one for another from the bin of a billion pieces, and put them together. He held it up to her. “See?”
They were sitting on the carpet of his third-floor bedroom, working on one of many turrets for Hogwarts Castle. Shelves lining the walls of his room—shelves Jackie had installed—displayed dozens of finished works, including a Millennium Falcon, a Taj Mahal, and an Empire State Building. Shane’s bed was parked against the far wall so the middle of the room was available for his projects.
He shook his head. “And you have to keep the chambers pieces separate from the tower pieces.”
She watched him re-sort the LEGOs. His attention to detail when it came to this work was extraordinary. “Sorry about that,” she said.
“Jeez, Sunday. You used to be better at this.”
“You’re good to put up with her, Shane.” Denny leaned against the open door, watching them with a grin on his face.
“I know,” Shane said. He stood and pointed at Sunday. “I have to get two Ziploc bags. Don’t touch anything till I come back.”
She watched him leave and looked at Denny. “This is way too hard.”
“Yeah, give it up. No one else even tries to keep up with him.” He held up the magazine. “I read your story. Why didn’t you tell us you got published?”
“I guess I didn’t know if you’d like it.”
“Well, I did,” he said, crossing his arms. “You nailed what it was like for me, when I blew out my knee.” He shook his head. “I had no idea what I was going to do. One day the college offers were rolling in and the next they wouldn’t take my calls.”
“But you never let us see you down,” Sunday said. “You just kept going, no matter what.” That’s what she wanted him to take from the story. It was about a guy who was strong enough to come through for everyone else, even when he was carrying around his own profound pain.
He held up the magazine. “I can keep this?”
“Yeah.”
“Thanks. And”—he pushed off the door—“it’s your decision, about the police. I just want that guy out of our lives.” He started to leave.
“Denny?”
“Yeah?”
“You were my emergency contact because if I ever got into trouble, you’re the one I wanted them to call.”
He nodded. “I’m glad it was me.”
Shane came in behind him then, warning her that she better not have touched anything while he was gone.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Denny
“I’m glad it was me.”
It was true. He was grateful the cops had called him the night of her accident. Asking Sunday to come home was the only thing he’d done right in a long time.
He headed back to his room with the magazine. He’d read her story a couple times now, and he would again. Understanding his sister’s take on that whole time, her view of him as he lived it, was a gift.
It was good timing too. After learning Billy Walsh had played him for a patsy, he couldn’t have felt much lower. Then he made it worse by arguing with Sunday and storming out of the pub. He’d driven straight to Angie’s place, sat across from Theresa at the small kitchen table and updated her, told her about Billy’s visit, including the fact that Sunday refused to go to the police.
Theresa had shaken her head at him. “It’s not up to you. You need to let it go or you’re just making this harder on her.”
“I’m trying to help.”
“Sometimes there’s a thin line between helping and controlling.”
He looked away from those dark eyes that knew him way too well.
“Do you think it’s true?” she asked, her hands cupping a mug of decaf coffee. “That your dad had an affair?”
He finally gave voice to the doubts that had seeped in. “Some of the things Walsh said are hard to ignore. My dad was gone a lot when we were in high school. I mean, the business was growing, I know he was really busy…” But that just didn’t quite explain it all, how often his dad was absent, how not present he was even when he was home. “My mom was depressed and sick all the time. She was tough to be around.” After school or practice, Denny had never been in a rush to get back to a house cloaked in his mother’s misery, which always felt like a rebuke for not doing enough for her.
“Maybe she was
tough to be around because your dad was cheating on her.”
A shudder rippled through him at the thought that his mother might have known about the affair. But he shook his head. “No, she was like that long before then.”
“Did your dad ever get her any help? Take her to see someone? Some therapy or medication would have helped with that.”
Therapy and pills never would have entered his father’s mind. “I remember Sunday asked him a few times to take her to a doctor, or at least a priest. But he said it was up to Mom, and she would never go.”
“Yeah, but did he offer to go with her? Did he ever talk to her about this stuff? She found out her youngest son had a developmental disability, you said she blamed herself for being too old when she had him. What did your dad do to help her through that?”
He stopped himself from saying what came to mind: He helped her through it by being a good provider. Because that’s not what Theresa meant. The truth was his dad hadn’t done much else to help his mother. He spent less and less time with her, always claiming work demands.
“Nothing,” he finally said in answer to Theresa’s question. “Nothing that really mattered.”
He saw it now. His dad had believed his job was to provide financial security, and he’d done that. He’d given his family a nice home, a comfortable existence. When his wife said the house needed fixing up or his kids wanted some walking-around money, he was happy to oblige. But he didn’t know how to respond to a woman who was trying to demand love through psychosomatic illness. So he shut her out.
Denny looked across the table. He’d done the same thing with Theresa. He’d pushed her away because he was so used to being the one who made things happen, the one who instilled confidence. He wasn’t sure who he was without that.
But he didn’t want the kind of marriage his parents had, one where they avoided their pain by avoiding each other, lived separate lives under the same roof. He didn’t want that for him and Theresa, and he didn’t want it for Molly.