We Are the Brennans

by Tracey Lange

  He hadn’t been there for his children for many years, but he was determined to lift some of their burden now. First and foremost, he didn’t want Sunday to leave New York again. There was a new toughness to her since she’d left for California, he could see it. The way she took no guff from Denny, how she was making plans and bringing order to the house. He would do everything he could to make it possible for her to stay.

  He put his notebook away, laid it on top of Lynn’s Kelly-green scarf—his only keepsake of her—making sure to wedge the floorboard snug in its place. That hidden compartment was his memory vault.

  Before getting back in bed he set an alarm clock, something he hadn’t done in many years, so he could catch his daughter before everyone else woke up in the morning. There were things she needed to hear.

  Then he did something else he hadn’t done in a very long time, since he was a lad. He prayed to God for His understanding, and asked to be forgiven his grievous trespasses.

  * * *

  He’d forgotten the peace that came with being up so early, the preternatural quiet. Clean-slate moments when he was alone with fresh thoughts and the promise of the day ahead. Previous sins weren’t erased by any means, but there was the hope of redemption.

  As expected, Sunday was downstairs, making strong coffee. Pale sunlight streamed in through the windows and washed her in soft rays while she moved about the kitchen.

  When she noticed him, she poured a cup and set it on the table. “What’re you doing up so early?”

  He took his seat. “Thought I’d catch you before the day got away. Would you sit for a minute?” He was wasting no time, wanted to say things to her before anyone else appeared.

  She stiffened momentarily, uncertainty in her eyes. Then she grabbed her coffee and sat across from him. “What’s up?”

  “I have a couple things I want to tell you.”

  If he squinted, blurred his vision the tiniest bit, he could see her twelve-year-old self sitting there. T-shirt and jeans. Face clear, hair pulled up high. She leaned forward and sat with one leg folded beneath her, a position she’d favored since she was a little girl. He always figured it was about raising herself up and being counted in a house full of boys.

  He took a deep breath against the swell of emotion so his words would be strong and clear. Whatever she might be thinking of him right then, he needed her to believe what he was saying.

  “I know you’ve been through a lot, Sunday. And I’m sorry for it.”

  Her eyes became moist and he heard her swallow.

  He forged ahead because if she started to cry he wouldn’t get through this. “I know there are things you’re worrying about. But I want you to trust me when I say that everything is going to work out.”

  “All right. I’ll go with that.”

  “Good. Now there’s something else you need to hear.” He smiled at her. “You deserve to be happy, Sunday.”

  She dropped her gaze.

  “I know you want to do the right thing by everybody. You’ve always been that way. But no good comes of it when your only motivation is shame and guilt.” He shook his head and chuckled. “Shame and guilt are like plagues. And we Irish wield them like weapons and wear them like medals.”

  He could see confusion in her pinched brow, as she tried to ferret out his message.

  “What I’m saying is, if you can be happy, do it. If you know what you want in life, don’t wait for someone else to give it to you. Go after it, and don’t let anything stand in the way.”

  There was movement behind her on the porch. Kale stood at the back door, waving, with Grail beside him. “Well,” Mickey said, “speak of the devil and he shall appear.”

  Sunday rose to open the door. “What’re you guys doing here?”

  “I would love a cup of coffee,” Grail said, gusting in and bending down to give Mickey a hug from behind. She was dressed for work. “Hiya, Uncle Mick.”

  He patted her arms and watched Kale move near Sunday at the counter.

  “Sorry,” Kale said to her. “She woke me up and said I needed to come with her right now.”

  Sunday handed him a coffee. “That’s okay.”

  “Is Shane here?” Grail asked.

  “No,” Sunday said. “He’s working morning shift at the market today.”

  Grail yelled down the hall and up the stairs. “Denny! Jackie!”

  “Christ on a bike,” Mickey said. “You’re like your mother, screaming like that.”

  “Sorry. But speaking of, she’s got breakfast waiting for you over at her house. She said you promised to mow her lawn this morning.”

  Had he? Or maybe they were just trying to get rid of him. Either way it seemed the young people had things to discuss.

  “What do you want?” Denny asked Grail, entering the kitchen and heading straight to the coffeepot. He’d thrown on dungarees and nothing else.

  “Morning, sunshine.”

  Jackie wasn’t far behind him, coming down the stairs in an undershirt and sweats.

  Mickey stood to make his seat available. He took a couple steps back, crossed his arms, and watched for a moment. He watched Denny bring Jackie a coffee and drop into the chair next to him, still grumbling about being woken up in such a manner. He watched Grail reach over to ruffle Jackie’s mussed hair before he swatted her away. And Kale and Sunday, side by side in their old seats, as they avoided eye contact but kept snatching looks at each other.

  “I’ll be heading to Clare’s now,” he said to no one in particular.

  “See you later, Dad.” Sunday gave him a small smile.

  He winked at her and hoped with all his heart she’d remember his words.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Sunday

  “See you later, Dad.”

  She tucked away the things he’d said to her, knowing she would pull them out later for further examination. She was in a weird place with him, not sure how to feel about what he did. It wasn’t black-and-white to her, unlike Denny, who told her he’d confronted Dad about Billy Walsh and his family. She didn’t excuse her father for checking out of their family all those years. But maybe more than most she knew how impossible it had been to please her mother, how the suppressed anger and shame about not having a perfect family wound its way into her biting words, actions, even her eyes, filling her up until there was room for nothing else. Could she really fault her dad for finding some kind of love where he could?

  There were times lately when he prattled on with no real direction, but this morning he had seemed purposeful, as if he’d thought about what he wanted to say to her and how he wanted to say it.

  Kale leaned sideways toward her. “Are you doing okay?”

  She looked into eyes that were full of concern and nodded.

  “So listen up,” Grail said, straightening in her seat. “I have to get back to work soon—I’m supposed to be on a coffee run. We got some more info this morning.”

  It felt like the whole table collectively held their breath.

  “The official autopsy report won’t be released for weeks, but based on body temp the medical examiner said the time of death was most likely between nine P.M. and midnight, which is supported by the aunt’s account of his activities. If that’s the case, you all have alibis.”

  They let out their breath. Sunday exchanged quick looks with her brothers. This was good news, but it didn’t solve the mystery of the missing gun.

  “And another development came in overnight,” Grail said. “We got a call from a Belfast police detective. Seems Billy pissed off some very bad men. He skimmed a lot of money while peddling their drugs. They’ve been looking for him since he left. The police on the ground over there heard it might have been a hit.” Grail’s face and hands were animated. Her excitement seemed ghoulish, but West Manor didn’t often see Irish mob murders. “I guess they have some serious drug cartels over there.”

  “Holy shit,” Denny said.

  “I know. And if that’s what happened, they sa
id whoever did it would have been on the first plane back to Belfast or Dublin. They’ll still question you, because Billy had so few contacts here—he was really laying low—but they have a working theory now.”

  It might be a bad idea to ask, but they had to know. “Did they find the gun that was used to kill him?” Sunday asked.

  “Not yet. We should have a ballistics report in the next couple days, maybe we’ll get the caliber of the bullet. But that’s not helpful without the gun.” She turned to Denny. “They might question your lawyer too, to verify the details of the loan he gave you. Which also makes sense, by the way. If he had people after him he had to get inventive about where he put his cash.”

  Michael. He probably didn’t even know Walsh was dead yet.

  Grail watched them all with an expectant look on her face. She was waiting—hoping—for some kind of compensation. Not gratitude. Sunday knew that’s not what she wanted. She wanted to know what they were keeping from her.

  “Thanks, Grail,” Sunday said. “We know you went out on a limb here.”

  Grail frowned at her. “Maybe someday you guys’ll fill me in.” She stood and gave Kale a hangdog tilt of the head. “I’m sorry about last night. I guess I shouldn’t have texted Viv. I was just trying to circle the wagons, you know?”

  “It’s okay.”

  Grail looked at Denny. “You should put a shirt on, dude. You’re not eighteen anymore.” She dropped her coffee cup in the sink before heading out the back door.

  Sunday looked around the table after Grail left. No one seemed to know what to say. There was relief floating in the air, but also lingering questions.

  “Did you do something with the gun?” Denny asked Kale.

  “What?”

  “The gun at the bar. It’s missing.”

  Kale held up his hands. “It wasn’t me.”

  “Did you ever tell anyone else it was there?” Jackie asked him.

  “No. No way.”

  Denny tossed his hands up. “Well, somebody did something with it. Maybe it was Walsh … Or one of the staff found it?”

  There were doubtful shrugs and “maybes.”

  “I’ll look around the pub some more,” Jackie said. “Keep my eyes peeled for anything unusual.”

  “I’ll talk to Michael today, fill him in,” Sunday said. “In case they do question him.” Kale turned to her, maybe thinking about all that money he’d just given Michael the day before.

  Denny nodded. “That’s a good idea. I’m going to head out to Mamaroneck in a little while, see what the after-church crowd is like. You can stay local today if you want,” he told Kale. “Shouldn’t get too crazy out there.”

  “Thanks,” Kale said. He focused on his coffee mug. “I have some stuff to take care of at home.”

  God only knew what was going on there after what Vivienne had heard the night before. Sunday wanted to tell him she was sorry he had a mess to clean up. She wanted to thank him for not even hesitating before speaking up to Grail. She badly wanted to tell him how much it meant to her that he’d wanted to understand what happened five years ago, that he’d given her the chance to try to explain. But that would make everything harder for him.

  They all stood and pushed their chairs in, drifted off in various directions without further conversation.

  * * *

  She offered to get a ride to Michael’s office late that afternoon, but he told her to pick a coffee shop in the neighborhood because he didn’t trust her not to drive again. He was dressed down for the weekend, khakis and a polo, probably about as casual as he got.

  “I’m sorry to bug you on the weekend,” she said.

  “Not at all. I was glad you called.” He smiled wide, and once again she regretted having to darken his day. Felt like she did that a lot with Michael.

  She recapped everything they’d learned from Grail the night before. Michael stayed quiet, but she could see the growing disbelief, and then concern, while he listened.

  “Did the police question you? Or Denny?”

  “Not yet.”

  “If they question you, call me. Right away.”

  “I think we’ll be all right. We have an alibi for when it happened.”

  “What kind of alibi?”

  “Kale. He was at the house with us that night.”

  Michael sat back, his lips pressed together like he was holding fast all the questions he wanted to ask but knew he shouldn’t. When she explained the police might question him too, he said it wouldn’t be a problem, that it helped they made such a big payment just the day before. Why would anyone fork over twenty thousand in cash to a dead guy.

  She lowered her voice. “No one outside my family knows what happened to me that night…” It was difficult to meet his eye. She might be asking him to do something unethical, or even illegal.

  “Hey, all of that’s privileged. You don’t have to worry about it. And his lawyer’s not going to offer up those details.”

  She felt her whole body relax. “Thank you.”

  He nodded, looking a little bewildered. “Wow. Well, at least it’s all over.”

  “Yeah.” As over as it could be.

  “So, what are you going to do now?” he asked.

  “I’m hiring another bookkeeper for the pub so I can get a job and find my own place. Jackie, Shane, and I are working on a children’s book. And I’m applying to master’s programs.”

  “That all sounds good.”

  It sounded good to her as well, building a new life here. But she just didn’t know if it was possible. After everything that happened lately Vivienne would—rightly—put as much distance as she could between Kale and the whole family, especially Sunday. And the thought of a life here without Kale in it made her heart hurt.

  Michael leaned forward on the table, one hand twirling his cardboard coffee cup. “I’m sure you need some time, Sunday. But when you’re ready, maybe we could … hang out.”

  Her face began to burn and she didn’t know what to say. She was so bad at this.

  “And not as lawyer and client.” He laughed and it took some pressure off. His smile stretched to his eyes, which were honest and kind.

  * * *

  She said goodbye to him shortly after because it was hard to know where to go from there. On the walk home she thought about him though. Michael was a nice guy with a quick mind, successful. The thing was, she didn’t really know him. And other than a dark, painful secret, he didn’t really know her.

  There was a logical argument to be made for that very thing, a new beginning with someone outside all the history. But she’d already spent years trying the “fresh start” option, and she’d failed miserably. All she wanted, that entire time, was to get back to the people who knew her best. Bailing on them was the most chickenshit thing she’d ever done in her life.

  “You can go, dear.” An older lady gently elbowed her on a corner because she was still waiting for a crosswalk light that had already turned green. After crossing the street she took a turn into Hollis Park and found the bench by the pond. She dropped down beside her bag and forced herself to sink into those memories.

  When Kale had first returned from Ireland, she was so relieved to see him she convinced herself she could just treat that night like an awful nightmare that would diminish until it had no power over her. She bought some time with the “flu,” and then it was easy to hide among the chaos of wedding prep. But it didn’t fade; quite the opposite. What happened that night flooded her thoughts and made it nearly impossible to deal with the mundane activities of everyday life. And with Denny moving out, everyone was leaning on her more and more. She couldn’t eat or sleep, felt out of step with everything happening around her, she became jumpy and abrasive. Kale tried everything, but she would tell him to give her space and get off her back, using words and a tone he’d never heard from her before. She didn’t know how else to regulate her emotions. It was either that or tell him the truth, that she’d gotten wasted, gone to another man’s room,
and then lost their baby. So she pushed him away, and the longer it went on the more she hated herself.

  When Jackie all but threatened to expose the truth, Sunday chose to tell the most difficult person in her life because she was more afraid of everyone else’s reaction. So she sat her mother down at the kitchen table one morning when no one else was home and told her what happened.

  “How could you not know you were pregnant?” was her mother’s first question.

  “I just thought I was late. It’s happened before…” But it sounded so irresponsible, even to her own ears.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” Her mom had kept her stiff brown hair cut close to her head after her chemo and she had an anxious habit of pulling at it on the side of her neck. “What were you thinkin’, going up to a strange man’s room?”

  “I told you. I thought he had—”

  “Oh yes.” A withering eye roll. “To look at a photo.”

  “As soon as I realized, I left.”

  Her mother narrowed her eyes in question. Or doubt.

  “That’s when he tried to stop me, Mom. That’s when I fell and lost the baby. The doctor said—”

  “The doctor? You went to the hospital?”

  “Yes.” Sunday was leaving Jackie out of this.

  Her mom started tugging at her hair again. “Did you report this to the police?”

  “No. I don’t want to. Besides, I found out he left town right after.”

  “Who? Who was it?”

  What Sunday wanted to do was rewind to five minutes ago and stop this interrogation before it started. “It was a bartender at the Penny Whistle. His name was Billy Walsh.”

  Sunday would never forget her mother’s reaction in that moment, the way her face had gone beyond white—almost gray. Like she recognized that name.

  “His father worked for Dad for a long time, but I guess Dad fired him—”

  Her mother shot out of her seat, one fist on a hip. “You’ve told no one else?”