We Are the Brennans

by Tracey Lange

  But Kale was not looking forward to going home. With Luke asleep, Vivienne would likely broach the next round of discussions about moving. He expected a two-front battle: a slow and steady badgering combined with more indirect hits, like selling Luke hard on the idea. Part of Kale was afraid that if he did go home he’d find himself agreeing to it out of guilt. What had happened the night before with Sunday—and what had almost happened—had been foremost on his mind all day.

  So when he pulled into town, he didn’t even hesitate. He drove straight past his house to the pub. It was almost closing time, it would be near empty, and he could sit in the quiet and have a drink. Or more than one.

  When he walked in Jackie was working on cleanup, his hair pulled back in a band. “Hey, dude. Come to check on me?”

  “Nope.” Kale tossed his jacket in the office and poured a beer and a shot, took them both to the far end of the bar, and planted himself on a stool. As a policy, he no longer drank at his own bar during business hours. Tonight he was making an exception.

  A few minutes later Jackie wandered down his way. His eyes traveled up from Kale’s drinks to his face. “Sunday?” he asked.

  Kale didn’t answer.

  “Figured.” Jackie turned and strolled away, leaving him to round-and-round thoughts about problems that had no good solutions.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Jackie

  “Figured.”

  Of course it was Sunday. Why the hell else would Kale be such a downer. Jackie went back to closing prep and left him to stare into his beer. Denny had mentioned Kale was at the house last night. Whatever had or had not happened between Kale and Sunday at this point, they obviously still had a hold on each other. And an emotional mess might send her away again. Just when they were past the worst of it.

  He could not have been more relieved when she came clean with Denny and Kale, like digging into the root of a cavity that had festered for years. And he hadn’t realized how much he wanted the chance to explain himself to them, make them understand that he hadn’t sat back and done nothing after he found Sunday in that seedy bar, balled up on the floor. He was scared shitless by the blood, and she wouldn’t say a word on the way to the hospital. But Jackie got some info when she answered the ER doc’s questions: She’d been struggling with a man and fallen down the stairs. No, she didn’t want to file a police report. No, she didn’t realize she was almost two months pregnant. Yes, she understood she’d suffered a miscarriage. Her answers had come in fits and starts because tears flowed the whole time.

  Once he got her home that morning, he gave her pills the doctor had prescribed and got her in bed, where she assumed the fetal position and pulled her quilt up to her neck. Then he sat in her desk chair and waited, watched as the drugs took effect, her body uncurling a bit, her grip on the edge of the blanket loosening. When he was sure she was half-asleep, he knelt down next to the bed and asked the question that was screaming in his brain and drowning everything else out.

  “Sunday, who did this to you?”

  Her eyes shot open and he felt like shit because she needed to sleep. But he had to know, and if he didn’t get the answer now he probably never would.

  “I won’t do anything,” he said. “I swear.” An empty promise if he’d ever made one, but he didn’t care. Someone had been with her when she fell, maybe even caused it. And whoever it was left her there alone. Passed out and bleeding.

  She shook her head against the pillow. “Jackie … please…” Tears started to fall.

  “Tell me who it was so I can make sure he doesn’t come back.”

  Her eyes darted to his, bald fear in them. Jesus, how low he would sink to get this name.

  She spoke so softly he had to lean close. “It was the bartender. Billy Walsh.”

  Walsh. Vaguely familiar. Irish guy, thick accent, couple years ahead of Jackie in school.

  “He…” She was a mess, the pillowcase wet, her body coiled back up tight, hanging on to consciousness. “He said he had an old picture of Dad so I went upstairs with him…”

  Jackie’s entire body started to shake with rage and he clenched his fists to bring it under control.

  Her forehead creased. “When I tried to leave he got so angry. He hates us.” Her lids drifted shut.

  While she slipped into a sedative-induced coma, he stayed close, half baking a plan. It started as a “What if” game. Sticking to hypotheticals freed him up to think through the details. What if I grabbed the gun from the bar and found this guy, waited to get him alone somewhere? What if I started to hurt him and couldn’t stop? What would Denny do if he were here? None of the potential consequences weighed much in his mind, and doing nothing wasn’t an option.

  So after she passed out he went to Brennan’s, slid the gun out of its holster behind the cooler, and tucked it into his jacket pocket. Then he drove to the Penny Whistle. A disgusted old-timer behind the bar told him Walsh had cleaned out the register and disappeared during the night. “According to the mother,” he’d said, “the bastard’s already on a plane back to Ireland.”

  When Jackie promised Sunday he wouldn’t tell anyone what happened, it never occurred to him she wouldn’t change her mind. He assumed once she got a little distance from that place and felt safe, she’d tell their family. But when he tried to talk to her about it she was a stubborn wall of resistance.

  Then Denny, Theresa, Kale, and Dad had come home full of cheer, bearing stories and gifts from relatives. An onslaught of activity took over their days as they prepared for Denny and Theresa’s big church wedding and no-expense-spared reception at Brennan’s, bringing new color and animation to even his mother’s face. Claiming the flu had been the perfect excuse. It explained away Sunday’s confinement to her bedroom, dark bags under her eyes, weight she dropped overnight. The way she dragged and spaced out over the next few weeks.

  When she agreed to talk to their mother, he was certain she would help Sunday get honest with everyone and, in the process, lift this burden from his shoulders. He’d been a breath away from spilling it to Denny a couple times. It would have been easy to let him take it on, figure out what the hell to do. But Jackie had promised Sunday, she had trusted him with her secret. As much as he believed she was hurting herself by hiding it, he didn’t think he had the right to make that choice for her. Maybe he was also afraid of setting off a chain of events that could get out of hand, impact his whole family in unknown ways. And Sunday had sounded so rational when she told him she just needed a little space so she could focus on recovering. When she said things were working out for her in LA, he told himself it was all for the best.

  He’d never talked to his mother about it, never told her he knew what she did. It was there every time she came down on him for being lazy or wasting time on painting, and every time Sunday’s name was mentioned. He’d blamed her for so long. Now it seemed his dad deserved just as much blame, if not more. Whatever. He was tired of blaming people, including himself. He’d forever question how he handled things back then, but it felt good to step up lately, be an active part of the family. For the first time in a long time he was looking forward.

  When Kale went for his second round—beer and shot—no one else was in the place and Jackie was pulling up the floor mats, the last task of the night.

  “You don’t have to stay,” Kale said. “I’ll lock up.”

  “Why don’t you head home, dude?” Jackie said. “It’s getting late.”

  “No, I’m good. You go ahead.”

  He was saved from deciding when Denny came in, flicking a cigarette over his shoulder into the darkness before the door closed. He was apparently getting his last smokes in before Theresa came home Monday. “Saw lights on. What’re you guys still doing here?”

  When Jackie rolled his head toward Kale, Denny walked behind the bar. “We had another big night in Mamaroneck,” he said.

  “Great.” Kale downed the last of his shot.

  Jackie held up two fingers when his brother gave
him a questioning brow.

  “That’s not gonna help, Kale,” Denny said. “Is this about last night?” He leaned his hands on the bar and shook his head. “What the hell were you doing in her room, man?”

  “We were talking,” Kale said. “I just wanted to understand.”

  That, Jackie could believe. The person most deserving of a thorough explanation from Sunday had definitely been Kale.

  “Did you get the answers you needed?” Denny asked.

  Kale nodded. Jackie couldn’t have felt much worse for him. Whatever had gone down five years ago, any resentment on Kale’s part about what Sunday did seemed to have been put to rest. And with that out of the way, it was clear as day that he still very much loved her.

  “Vivienne wants us to move to Manor Hills,” he said in a toneless voice. “She got a job over there. Said I’ll be closer to the new place.”

  “That sucks,” Jackie said. Manor Hills was full of transplant douches who lived in cookie-cutter houses and wanted to bring in big-box stores.

  “Shit,” Denny said, his eyebrows pulling up. “But I guess I can’t blame her. Maybe it would be best, for everyone.”

  There might be truth in what Denny said, but they all knew it had the ring of a death sentence. Kale would only be a few minutes away but his life would drastically change.

  Denny pulled his cell phone from his back pocket. “Did you guys get this text from Grail? She sent it like fifteen minutes ago.”

  “My phone’s in the office,” Jackie said.

  “So’s mine,” Kale said.

  “She wants to meet us all here now, including Sunday.” Denny looked up at Kale. “Vivienne’s on here too.”

  “What?”

  Jackie set a glass of water in front of Kale, who was about to sober up real quick. “Drink that.”

  They didn’t even have time to speculate about what Grail wanted before Vivienne walked in seconds later. Even at midnight her appearance was just so. Smooth hair, tight rippy jeans, one of those no-shoulder gypsy shirts.

  “Where’s Luke?” Kale asked as she approached the bar.

  “He’s asleep. I asked Mrs. Nalty next door to stay with him. Do you know what this is about?” she asked.

  They all shook their heads.

  As if they’d been waiting for a cue, Sunday and Grail came through the door.

  “Good,” Grail said, turning to lock it behind them. “You’re all here.”

  * * *

  Jackie could tell right away his cousin was all business. It was the arm-pumping fast-walk she used to make her way across the room. And she was wearing one of her lady-detective suits with the comfortable shoes.

  She stopped near the bar and planted her fists on her hips. “We need to talk. I’m here off duty and off the record because we all have to get ahead of something.” She sat down at the nearest four-top, thumped her elbows on the table, and brought her hands together. “We’ve been investigating a crime today and there’s evidence to indicate people in this room might know something about it.”

  Jackie walked around the bar and took a seat next to Grail, across from Sunday.

  Denny, Kale, and Vivienne stayed on stools by the bar.

  When Grail spoke again, it was with deliberation, like she was measuring each word. “At least a couple of you will be questioned in the next few days.” She shook her head, visibly uncomfortable with this cop-versus-cousin conflict of interest.

  Jackie had no clue what she was talking about, and it didn’t appear anyone else did either.

  “A man was shot in the head and killed outside Katonah last night,” she said. Her eyes started skipping from face to face, like the detective in her was already gauging reactions. “His name was William Walsh.”

  The room spun for a moment. William Walsh. Shot and killed. When Jackie checked around to see if he’d heard correctly everyone was staring at Grail in plain shock. Except for Vivienne. She looked more bewildered. “You mean Billy Walsh?” she asked. “Who lived here years ago?” But no one answered.

  Grail leaned toward Sunday. “We met this guy once, a long time ago. He was a bartender at the old Penny Whistle. You knew him from school.”

  Jesus, she was talking about that very night. Jackie fought the urge to reach across to Sunday, whose eyes were frozen to the table, her mouth a tight line.

  “I know you remember this dude,” Grail said. “Irish guy, strong accent. He was chatting you up all night.”

  Sunday shrugged a shoulder. “Vaguely.”

  “Vaguely?” Grail asked, her voice overflowing with doubt. Then, to Denny, “How about you? Did you know him?”

  He crossed his arms. “Don’t ask me a question if you already know the answer.”

  The only sound Jackie heard while Grail considered her next move was the low hum of the cooler behind the bar. The cooler.

  She flipped her hands up in frustration. “You guys know I’m trying to help, right? Is it true you borrowed money from this guy, Denny? And before you answer, we talked to his lawyer.”

  “We signed a contract. He gave me a loan. That was it.”

  “So you didn’t default on this loan?”

  “I got behind a couple of payments, but we worked it out through our lawyers.” He shrugged, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  Grail’s eyes jumped to Kale. “You knew about the loan? That Denny put this place up as collateral?”

  Vivienne’s eyes jumped to Kale.

  “Yes,” he said. “I knew.”

  “He’s known for less than two weeks,” Denny said. “He had no part in it.”

  Grail studied them for a moment, then turned her attention back to Sunday. “So you don’t remember Billy Walsh? Because his aunt reports that he met with you a few days ago.”

  Sunday finally turned to her.

  Seizing on what amounted to an admission of sorts, Grail asked: “Did he do something to you—”

  “Leave her alone, Grail,” Jackie said.

  She flashed that penetrating gaze to him. “Did you know him?”

  He shook his head.

  She swiped a hand down her face. “Let’s try this. Where were you all late last night?”

  “You know where we were,” Denny said. “It was opening night. Everybody was there.”

  “Until what time?”

  When Denny shot Kale a quick look Jackie knew they were worried about where this questioning would lead. Jackie hadn’t seen anyone last night. He’d gone home around midnight after closing up and went straight to bed. For the first time he wondered if Denny and Kale might have actually done something to Walsh. And he was itching to check the back of the cooler.

  “I was there with Paul till close to eleven,” Denny said.

  Grail turned to Sunday: “What about you?”

  “I left the new place around ten, with Shane.”

  “How’d you guys get home?”

  Sunday tried to silent-message Grail right then, with a glare and slight shake of the head.

  “I drove them home,” Kale said.

  “Did you go back to Mamaroneck after you dropped them off?” Grail asked him.

  Sunday stood abruptly. “Can we talk about this tomorrow? I’m tired.”

  Grail rose as well. “I’m trying to establish if you and Denny have alibis for last night. They don’t know the time of death yet, but they will soon. If someone can corroborate that you two were either in Mamaroneck or back home, they’ll rule you out.”

  “I stayed at the house after I drove Sunday and Shane home,” Kale said, a note of resignation in his voice. “I was there when Denny came in about eleven thirty.”

  It got very quiet. Jackie could sense the implications sinking in around the room. Kale had been alone at the house with Sunday for a while last night, and chances are they weren’t building models with Shane. He couldn’t help but snatch a glance at Vivienne, who seemed to absorb the info with a stoic expression.

  Grail cleared her throat and tugged on th
e hem of her jacket. “Okay. That pretty much covers you all until at least twelve thirty or so because of the drive. You should just make sure you have your timelines straight.” She paused. “I’m sorry if I upset everyone. I just wanted you to be prepared…” She raised her shoulders, asking for forgiveness.

  Jackie stood. “It’s good you told us. Thanks, cuz.”

  She seemed to study him for a moment, looking for answers she would not get, likely never feeling less a part of the family than she did right then. “I’ll let you all know what I hear tomorrow,” she said. Then she turned and walked out.

  Vivienne was the first to speak. “You borrowed money from Billy Walsh?” she asked Kale, her voice bursting with disbelief.

  “I did,” Denny said. “It was all me.”

  She eyed Denny with open contempt, then slid off her stool, shaking her head at him. “You. Idiot. Didn’t you realize how much he hated your father? Your whole family?”

  Every head in the room swiveled her way.

  Her gaze swept across all their faces. “You really didn’t know, did you? None of you knew what your father did.”

  Jackie exchanged glances with Denny and Sunday. They looked as unnerved as he felt.

  Vivienne’s hands flipped up. “How could you not know? Everyone else did—it was the worst-kept secret in town!” She barked an incredulous laugh. “You were all so caught up in the idea of how special your family was that you never realized your father was cheating on your mother for years.”

  “That’s enough, Vivienne,” Kale said.

  It was ugly and humiliating, but her words had the undeniable ring of truth. And Jackie could tell by their downcast eyes that his brother and sister felt the same way.

  Vivienne turned to Kale and jabbed her finger toward Sunday. “She left you high and dry after eight years. He”—finger shifted to Denny—“could have lost this place, he still might. He put you in that position, and lied to you about it.” She thrust her face toward Kale’s. “Do you see it now? Do you see they’re all just a bunch of liars who hurt the people around them?”