by Tracey Lange
Her eyes filled but she didn’t say anything.
Maybe she had been right. He had his answer, but it was so disappointing. She hadn’t trusted him enough to be in her corner above all else. He rested his hands on his hips and dropped his head. “God, Sunday, I was the one person you should have trusted. We would have been in it together.”
She paused long enough for him to give up on a response. “I know that now,” she finally said. “But I was so ashamed, Kale.”
He had to lean in a little. Her voice was timid, like even now she was afraid to lay bare the words.
“It was all my fault. I should have known I was pregnant.” She blinked and the drops streamed down. “I was feeling sorry for myself when I went there that night. I drank way too much, was too friendly with him. And then I provoked him—I was so fucking stupid.”
He watched her gulp for air and use her sleeves to swipe at tears that just kept coming.
“I lost our baby and I thought it would always be there. Every time you looked at me.” Her face fell into her hands.
Kale pulled his head back as he absorbed the meaning of her words. She hadn’t assumed he would violate her trust or side with her family. She left because she hated herself for what happened and she was afraid he would too.
He stepped close and wrapped his arms tight around her shaking body. Her hands slid up his back and she sobbed against him. He shed a few tears of his own, but it felt so good to hold her again after so long. They stayed that way, clinging to each other, until her weeping calmed and he felt her speak against his shoulder.
“I’m so sorry, Kale.” Her voice had that nasally quality that set in after a hard cry.
He leaned back far enough to take her face in his hands, gently skim his thumbs across her wet cheeks. “Me too.” In the back of his mind those shoulds were still there, but they’d grown very faint. He let his eyes roam over the features he still knew so well. Green eyes with brown flecks sprinkled in, the soft hollows in her cheeks where her dimples lived, scattered freckles that were a little more distinct now.
She looked up at him through moist eyelashes. When she twitched with an involuntary hiccup the shoulds faded to black and he pulled her face to his.
Their lips met and moved like they were getting reacquainted at first, tentative and light, and he could taste salt from her tears. But then her hands gripped his face and the back of his neck, and he pressed her body tight against his so they were touching head to toe. Sunday wrapped her arms around him and he was lost.
He could not hold her close enough while his hands tried to be everywhere at once. In her hair, along the hips of her jeans, on the warm skin of her back. It was like memory recall kicked in and their bodies knew exactly how to move together. They made their way onto her bed, not caring when the box spring groaned its old grievance. It felt to Kale like something in the universe was correcting, a terrible wrong was being made right.
But on the heels of that very thought, Luke’s face appeared in his mind. Kale was able to push it aside at first, but a sensation had moved in along with the thought of Luke, a heaviness in his chest, and it lingered. As much as he wanted this with Sunday, if they did this now it would be another secret, something shameful and ugly between them. That thought, the idea that this might drive her from his life once and for all, made his decision.
He pulled away from her, sitting up, instantly regretting the space between them. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”
After a stunned second she sat up as well, scooted back a bit, pulling her arms and legs together, closing in on herself. “I know.”
He moved to the edge of the bed and dragged his hands down his face. “There’s nothing I want more right now—”
“No. No, it’s okay.” She smoothed tangled hair back from her flushed face. “I’m sorry.”
That’s all she needed, more to feel bad about. “You really need to stop apologizing.”
She folded her arms around her knees. “Right.”
“Look at me, Sunday.”
She did, with glassy, red-rimmed eyes.
Every instinct wrenched at him to close the gap again. But he wouldn’t be able to break away a second time. “This isn’t your fault. You are not responsible for my marriage.”
Her answer was a weary nod.
If he was leaving, he had to go now. He stood and moved to the door. “Everything’s going to be okay,” he said.
Her smile was painfully sad. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
He turned and left before his resolve ceased to exist.
* * *
He made his way down the dark hallway, avoiding the creaky floorboards he’d long been familiar with. When he neared the top of the stairs, though, he heard movement down in the kitchen—fridge opening and closing, jars on the counter. Denny.
This wouldn’t look good. Kale could duck back into Sunday’s room to wait, or head down the other stairs and out the front door.
The decision about what to do was made for him when Denny’s cell rang. Kale had just heard him take a seat at the kitchen table when the phone started to vibrate. Next thing he heard was Denny picking it up and grunting to himself. “Shit.” A moment later: “Vivienne?”
Vivienne was looking for him and Denny wouldn’t know what to say. Far as he knew Kale had disappeared over an hour ago.
Denny again: “Really?”
Kale had to show himself. He started down the stairs.
Denny looked up from his seat at the table, hunched over a sandwich with the phone to his ear, and his face morphed from confusion to understanding. “No, it’s fine you called,” he told Vivienne. “His phone’s probably on Do Not Disturb because he’s driving.”
Kale nodded at him to go with that. He’d left his phone in his car.
“You know, Viv, we had a couple guys hanging around the bar who were pretty blitzed. Kale offered to drop them home.” Denny stared at him while he listened to her response, a recriminating flatness to his expression. “You know your husband. He’s a Boy Scout.” He chuckled at something she said. “He wasn’t far behind me. He should be home soon.”
Crisis averted. Guilty relief.
“Talk to you later.” Denny pulled the phone from his ear and ended the call.
“It’s not what you think,” Kale said.
Denny shoved his plate away and stood, face stiff, hands curled up. “You have the money for Michael?”
“Yeah. I’ll get it to him first thing tomorrow.”
Then Denny headed down the hall to his bedroom. “Go home to your family, Kale.”
* * *
“How did we do last night?” Vivienne asked. She was working at the stove the next morning.
“Pretty good, I guess,” Kale said. “Early in the night we were ahead of target.”
“That’s great.” She dished up eggs and toast on three plates.
“Yeah. Bodes well.”
“What are your plans today?”
He had to be at Michael’s office in an hour with the cash. Cash he had borrowed against their house without her knowledge, sending him further down the slippery slope of lying to his wife. He hadn’t even needed her signature. The house had always been in his name. “I’m supposed to be out in Mamaroneck first thing,” he said.
“Hi, Daddy.” Luke came down the stairs in spaceship pajamas, hair askew, and climbed his little warm body up onto Kale’s lap.
Vivienne put the food on the table and joined them. “I like the new restaurant. It’s so much bigger than the other one. And it’s more modern, you know?”
He nodded and eyed his eggs. He wasn’t hungry.
“There’s so much potential,” she said. “Mamaroneck is a much bigger, younger crowd on the whole.” Her eyes were on him, waiting for some kind of response.
“Yeah. Could be big for us.” It better be big, considering the hole Denny had dug. He pulled crusts off Luke’s toast. “But it’ll be a ton of work too. A lot more employees to worry ab
out, new vendors to deal with. And the maintenance on that place is going to be a killer.”
“God, Kale, these are good problems to have. It’s an amazing opportunity.”
He perked up. “For sure. You want some ketchup on these eggs, Luke?”
“Ew! No, Daddy.”
Kale smiled and held the ketchup upside down, out of Luke’s reach, while the sauce moved toward the mouth of the bottle. “Uh-oh, here it comes.”
“No, Daddy!” He giggled and reached for the bottle.
Vivienne cleared her throat. “There’s something I was hoping to talk to you about.”
The ketchup was close to dripping out. “You sure you don’t want ketchup?”
“Kale.”
He started switching hands now, laughing with Luke as they fought over the bottle.
Vivienne stood from her chair, reached over and grabbed the ketchup, set it on the table. “Eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”
Startled by her response, Kale and Luke gave each other wide eyes and Luke moved to his own seat.
She took a breath. “I wanted to let you know that I was offered a promotion.”
“You were?” Kale asked. “That’s great.”
“What’s a pro’tion?” Luke asked.
“A pro-mo-tion,” Vivienne said. “It means they offered me a better job for next year, an important one.” She turned to Kale and smiled with pride. “Lead administrative assistant in the main district office.”
“Congrats!” This was a big deal for her, going after a sizable promotion and getting it. “I’m proud of you.” He meant it but everything he said that morning felt false, like he was an imposter husband and father.
“Thanks.” She sipped her coffee. “So, I think we should talk about moving to the other side of town.”
He stopped his forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth. “What?”
“It would just make sense. I’ll be working full-time and Luke will go to school right next door. Right, Luke?”
“Uh-huh.” Luke pushed eggs onto his spoon.
“Besides, with the extra income we can afford a house in Manor Hills.” She put her hand on Kale’s arm. “It’s a gated community, with its own movie theater, health club, and pool.”
Kale knew all about Manor Hills. It was the trendiest place to live in town right now. Transplants and telecommuters from the city loved it. Everything was brand-new, state-of-the-art, uber-contemporary. Right up Vivienne’s alley.
“A pool?” Luke asked. “Are we moving?”
“No,” Kale said.
“Maybe,” Vivienne said.
She’d planned this out well, sprung it on him, and he was ill prepared to respond. Low-level panic flared up. He’d known she wanted a different house, but he had no desire to live in some Stepford Families subdivision where everyone focused on keeping up with the neighbors.
“We’re in a good position to sell this house,” Vivienne said, firing the next shot. “You would be closer to Mamaroneck. Denny would probably love that.”
“Are we getting a new house?” Luke asked.
“We should talk about this later.” Kale nodded toward Luke.
“We never planned on being in this house forever,” Vivienne said. “I don’t know what there is to talk about.”
“Vivienne—”
“Can you think of one downside?” Her gaze was unflinching.
This was a pop quiz and he was failing. “It’s a ways out of town, and more expensive. There’s a lot to consider.” But it sounded feeble.
“Luke, honey,” she said, “why don’t you go start brushing your teeth and I’ll be up to help you in a minute.”
With increasing desperation, Kale watched Luke head up the stairs.
She folded her hands on the table. “Look, I think this is important for our family. For you, me, and Luke. It’s not like I’m asking you to leave town, for God’s sake. You’ll only be fifteen minutes away from them. But I really believe this would be best for everyone. Including Sunday.”
He hadn’t expected that.
“She needs to move on with her life, Kale. That’s not going to happen while you’re four blocks away and she sees you every day.”
That might be true, but she was using it to stack her case for a new house. “I didn’t realize you were so concerned about her.”
“She’s the least of my concerns. But it doesn’t mean I’m wrong.” She sat back in her chair, shoulders squared, ready with more comebacks if he asked for them.
He should be clear with her that he was not on board with this decision. But how could he explain that the very thing she wanted distance from—the Brennans—was the very thing he needed to make it through this marriage at times? They reminded Kale of the importance of family and being a good father when he lost heart because she just didn’t seem to get him.
“Will you at least think about it?” Her eyes went back and forth between his.
“Yeah, I will.” He didn’t know if he meant it or not.
* * *
Michael Eaton’s office was in a contemporary two-story structure a few miles southeast of downtown that housed a dozen various professionals. The building was lots of glass, cement, and clean lines, with a large treed parking area. Kale pulled his old Honda in next to Michael’s newer BMW, the only car in the lot on a Saturday. The interior of the building was airy but warm, with plush carpet, earth tones, and intentional decorating. He made his way up the wide floating staircase to Michael’s second-story office.
It was no surprise Eaton was successful. They’d been quasi friends in high school and Kale had kept loose tabs on Michael’s career. Dartmouth undergrad, Yale Law School, worked at some big firm in Boston for a few years. But, according to Denny, Michael had quit the rat race to move back close to home and hang a shingle. He checked several boxes where Kale fell short—highly educated, self-assured, making his mark on the world. Kale used to worry about losing Sunday to a guy like Michael, someone that promoted confidence and would not have needed a loan from her dad to start a business. The guy who would have known exactly how to handle her mother and could offer up twenty grand in cash without borrowing against his house.
The guy that would have made damn sure she was on that trip to Ireland.
When Sunday left New York, Kale had been convinced that was part of what she was looking for out there in California. Someone that could take care of her while making her world a bigger place.
There was a small reception area outside Michael’s corner office. His door was ajar and he sat at his desk, working on a laptop. No suit, but even on weekends he wore chinos and a polo shirt. When Kale knocked Michael stood and waved him inside. Neither of them sat.
“Here it is.” Kale tossed a thick envelope on the desk between them.
“Great. I’m supposed to meet his lawyer this afternoon so we can get that piece of shit gone by Monday morning. He’s planning to head to Seattle. Has a distant cousin or something out there.”
“You need to get some kind of reassurance. He paid Sunday a visit the other night.”
“What?”
“Caught her at the pub. He wanted to say some nasty things before he left town.”
“She shouldn’t have been there alone.”
Kale ignored the accusatory tone. “She pulled a gun on him.”
Michael’s face fell forward. Then he half smiled in disbelief. “She did?”
“Yep. Scared him pretty good, I think.”
“Good for her.”
The day Michael had come to the bar, he’d been visibly shaken after having to dicker over money in such a deal. But he’d done it. For her. “Thank you for doing this,” Kale said.
Michael’s forehead pulled up in surprise. “Sure. It’ll be good to wrap this up.” He bounced on his toes and looked down at the envelope. “You think she’ll be able to get past all this now?”
“‘Get past all this’? Like it never happened?” He sounded snide but Michael didn’t seem to get it.
What happened to Sunday wasn’t an illness she could get over. It was part of her, part of who she’d become.
Michael shrugged. “It’s hard to let go of the past, but she deserves to move on, you know?” Without a doubt he wasn’t just talking about Billy Walsh any longer. “Seems like this is a chance for her to start over.”
Kale stood up a little straighter. “I suppose you’d like to help her do that.”
“I wouldn’t mind. I think I have a lot to offer…” He waved a hand around, indicating his office, his car outside, or maybe just his general person. “… including the fact that I’m single. But really, I just want what’s best for her.”
Kale gestured to the cash. “Just let us know when it’s done.” He walked out, hurried back through the pristine building and out to his car, angry with Michael. Not just because he wanted to go after Sunday. What really pissed him off was the truth in what he said.
While he drove to Mamaroneck he thought about the idea of a fresh start for her, the chance to get on with a new life. Kale wanted those things for her too. Maybe she would choose someone like Michael, someone who wasn’t sullied with complications or inextricably tied to the pain of the past. Michael and his untroubled vibe could be a clean slate for her.
But Kale didn’t think so. He still believed he knew Sunday, knew her in his bones. And a cocky country-club type with a fancy office and expensive car was never going to win her heart.
* * *
The crowd was strong for the second night in a row and Kale stayed in Mamaroneck well past dinner. He, Denny, and Sunday had received a text from Michael earlier in the evening, letting them know he’d handed off the money, so there was that. Presumably Billy Walsh would be gone in less than thirty-six hours, to the other side of the country.
Denny came in the late afternoon and planned to close, which allowed Kale to leave before ten. It was a relief; disapproval radiated from Denny whenever they were in close proximity.