Starting Over (Treading Water Trilogy)

by Force, Marie

He’d been pleasantly surprised to find the third-floor apartment to be warm and inviting, in definite contrast to his first impression of the woman who lived here. The furniture wasn’t expensive, but it was cozy. Lampshades with beaded fringe, colorful throw pillows, and bright yellow paint gave the living room a cheerful atmosphere. Candles sat on every surface along with a dozen framed photographs, but since he felt like an intruder, he hadn’t stopped to study them. Toys were piled in one corner and an art easel occupied another. Clearly, the child who lived here was the center of his or her mother’s life.

  “Mike!” Daphne said. “Put those wet sneakers on the mat. You’re making puddles on the floor.”

  Lighten up, Mom, Brandon thought. Boys will be boys. After the sneakers landed again—hopefully this time where they belonged—he heard little feet running in his direction, saw denim-clad legs come into the kitchen, and laughed when they came to a dead stop.

  “MOM!” the child shrieked. “A man lost his legs in our kitchen!”

  Daphne came running in. “Come out of there,” she said in the same firm tone she’d used to handle the dripping sneakers. “Right now.”

  Brandon slid out from under the sink and sat up to find two furious, gorgeous, blonde females—one all grown up and the other just getting started—standing with their hands on their hips and their identical golden brown eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  “What’re you doing in my apartment?” they asked in stereo.

  Brandon looked up at them from where he sat on the floor. “You said you wanted your sink fixed. Well, it’s fixed.”

  “I didn’t say you could come in here when I wasn’t home,” Daphne said.

  “Actually, you did when you signed the lease.” He got up, turned on the water, and tested his handiwork by washing his hands. “See? There you go. Good as new.”

  “Who are you?” miniature Daphne asked. She wore denim overalls, a long-sleeved red shirt that matched her rosy cheeks, and her blonde ringlets were contained in pigtails.

  “Who are you?” Brandon retorted as he dried his hands on his jeans.

  “I asked first.”

  He smiled. The kid had spunk like her mother. “Brandon O’Malley,” he said, extending a hand to her.

  She grinned with pleasure at being treated like a grown-up and shook his hand. “I’m Mike Van Der Meer, and I’m five years old.”

  He sized her up. “I would’ve guessed six, and I hate to tell you, short stuff, but Mike ain’t a girl’s name.”

  She crossed her arms over the bib of her overalls and narrowed her eyes again. “I’ll be six in May, Mike is a girl’s name, and ain’t ain’t a word.”

  Brandon laughed. “Well, I guess you told me.”

  “Mike, don’t be fresh,” Daphne admonished.

  “Is that your artwork all over the fridge?” Brandon asked.

  The girl nodded. “I’m a painter.”

  “So I see.”

  “I can do one for you if you want.”

  “My apartment downstairs could definitely use some color.”

  “I’ll try to get one done for you.”

  Brandon smothered a chuckle at the serious pucker of her lips as she contemplated her busy schedule.

  “Go on and play, Mike. I need to talk to Mr. O’Malley.” Daphne scooted the girl to the living room and returned her attention to Brandon. “I really don’t like you being in here when I’m not home. There’s something very big brother about it.”

  “You said you were going to report us, and I had no way to know when you’d be back.” He bent over to put his tools away in the red toolbox he’d picked up at home after lunch. “I found the source of the leak in the attic and plugged it. I’ll try to get up here to fix the damage to your ceiling in the next week or so. I also set some mouse traps, and I’ll come back tomorrow to check them.”

  Daphne’s eyes darted around the room in search of the traps. “Where are they?”

  “Nowhere that little hands can find them, don’t worry. You said you had a kid, and I saw the toys. I’m not a total idiot.”

  “Just a partial?” she asked with the barest hint of a smile.

  “A joke?” he asked, feigning shock. “Are you making a joke?”

  “I’m not a total bitch.”

  “Just a partial?”

  She laughed, and the sound of it shot through Brandon the way whiskey used to—hot and smooth.

  “Touché,” she said. “Thank you for doing the repairs so fast.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She leaned back against the counter and tilted her head as she studied him. “You’re a lot more responsive than the other Mr. O’Malley.”

  “He’s my father.” Brandon’s pointed look let her know that cracking on the other Mr. O’Malley wouldn’t fly with him. “He’s had a lot going on lately.”

  “Well, he should return his tenants’ phone calls.”

  “I’ll be around for the next couple of months doing some renovations on the place. I’ll be living in the apartment downstairs, so if you need anything, let me know.”

  “The tenants are talking about the renovations. You should let them know what you have planned. The rest of them are elderly, and stuff like this makes them anxious.” She followed him when he picked up the toolbox and walked into the living room.

  “I’ll talk to them. We’re going to paint and do all the kitchens and bathrooms. We’ll make my apartment available while we’re working on your places. If any of you don’t want it done, you don’t have to.”

  “Great,” she grumbled.

  “We’re trying to fix the place up some. What’s the problem?”

  “How long will it take you to jack up the rent to cover the cost?” She nibbled on her thumbnail nervously as she appeared to be doing the math in her head.

  “We won’t jack up the rent.”

  “Sure.”

  Since he knew he couldn’t convince her, he didn’t bother. “See you around, Mike.”

  “Bye, Mr. O’Malley,” Mike said from the sofa where she was engrossed in an episode of Dora the Explorer.

  “Is that really her name?” Brandon whispered.

  “Michaela,” Daphne said. “Call her that some time. See what happens.”

  “I’ll bet you’d enjoy that.”

  “You have no idea,” she said, again with a hint of smile that said there might be a softer side buried miles beneath her hard-as-a-rock exterior.

  “Pleasure to meet you,” he said with a phony smile as he crossed the threshold into the hallway.

  “Oh, the pleasure was all mine. Stay out of my apartment.”

  Brandon laughed when she slammed the door behind him. What a piece of work!

  He was still thinking about Daphne and Mike when he drove home to shower and change for dinner at Erin’s house. The family was having a welcome-home party for him, but it had been billed as “just dinner.” He planned to humor them for an hour or two before he came home to pack what he would take to the apartment the next day. Why his father was insisting he live there was anyone’s guess, but Brandon wasn’t going to fight it. He knew he needed to shake things up to keep from sliding into old habits.

  The phone was ringing when he came in through the garage, and he lunged for the kitchen extension. “I’m coming!”

  “Brandon? Hey, it’s Alan.”

  “Oh, sorry, Alan. I figured this had to be either my mother or my sister confirming again that I’m coming to dinner.”

  Alan chuckled. “How’s it going?”

  “Today was a good day. I went to a meeting, found a sponsor, had lunch with my dad, got yelled at by a total babe, met a cute kid, and got some work done. Now I’m heading to dinner at my sister’s.”

  “I’m impressed. Not a bad first day on the outside.”

  “Yeah, it was busy, but I think staying busy will help me.”

  “As long as you’re not busy doing what you used to do. So you got a sponsor, huh?”

  “Yeah, it was the we
irdest thing. I walked into an AA meeting and ran into my high school swim coach. He’s been in AA for twenty-five years. I never had a clue. Anyway, he agreed to be my sponsor.”

  “That’s a really important step. Good for you. Well, I won’t keep you. I just wanted to check on you.”

  “I’m glad you did. Let’s, uh, have dinner or something. Christ, I was going to say grab a beer.”

  “Old habits die hard,” Alan said. “But they do die. Why don’t you come out to the house for dinner some night? I’d love for you to meet my wife and daughters.”

  “That’d be great, Alan. I’ll give you a call next week.”

  As Brandon set down the phone, he tried to remember the last time he made a new friend who wasn’t a drinking buddy. It felt good to know there were people out there who were wishing him well and who’d be there for him if he stumbled. Maybe that’s what all this higher power stuff was about, he thought, as he sat on his bed to take off his work boots. He lay back on the bed and looked up at the ceiling.

  “God, give me the strength to get through this night with my family,” he whispered, expecting the earth to move or a bolt of lightning to come slashing through the window. But when half a minute passed without any sign of divine displeasure at his pathetic attempt at prayer, he got up to take a shower.

  Every light was on in Erin’s large Victorian home, which was located less than a mile from Brandon’s parents’ house on Shore Road. Erin and Tommy used a big chunk of the inheritance from Sarah that Aidan shared with his family for the down payment on a house and a neighborhood they otherwise could not have afforded. Tommy had done a ton of work to the place, and the result was a comfortable, chaotic environment.

  The driveway looked like a used car lot, and Brandon groaned when he realized he was the last to arrive. His parents’ silver Cadillac, Colin’s company truck, and Declan’s Mustang were in the driveway behind Tommy’s company truck and Erin’s minivan. Brandon parked his truck in front of the house, took a deep breath, and made his way up the walk.

  Erin came bursting out of the door, ran down the stairs, and leaped into his arms.

  “Jesus, you almost knocked the wind out of me, woman.” Brandon planted a noisy kiss on the top of her strawberry blonde head as she clung to him.

  “Good to see you,” she whispered into his neck.

  He held her for a long moment before he put her back down. “Tell me you’re not crying.”

  She wiped her face. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Despite the eight years between them, Brandon had shared a special bond with his baby sister until his drinking and her growing family took them in opposite directions.

  Erin hooked her arm through his to lead him up the stairs. The family was gathered in the living room, and the first thing Brandon noticed was how stiff they all seemed as one by one they got up to greet him. He hugged and kissed his mother, who was also weepy. Dec enveloped him in a warm hug.

  When Declan finally let him go, Brandon turned to Colin. “Hey, Col.”

  “You look good, Brand.” Colin reached out to shake his brother’s hand. “Really good.”

  “I feel good,” Brandon replied as he shook hands with his brother-in-law Tommy. “Where’re the kids?”

  “Spending the night with Tommy’s mother so we could have some grown-up time tonight,” Erin said.

  “Why’s everyone acting so weird?” Brandon looked around and noticed none of them were drinking. “Oh, come on, you can have a beer or whatever. You’re not going to knock me off the wagon.”

  “That’s all right,” Colleen said. “We don’t need it.”

  “Mum, listen, you guys have to do your thing. I appreciate the consideration, but this isn’t your problem. It’s mine. Now, Erin, get these guys some beers and be normal, will you? Please?”

  All eyes shifted to Colleen.

  “Well, I guess it’s all right, but if you change your mind, Brand, you just say something,” Colleen said. “We don’t want to make it any harder on you than it already is.”

  “I need normal, Mum.” Brandon kissed her cheek. “Erin, get Da a beer before he starts drooling.”

  They all laughed at the scowl Dennis sent his son, and Brandon felt things slide back to normal, or what was passing for normal these days.

  After they dined on barbequed chicken, baked potatoes, and salad, Colleen corralled her sons into the family room off Erin’s kitchen.

  The “boys” exchanged nervous glances. This felt an awful lot like the lineup they endured after they broke the window at Old Man Kuzminski’s place and then lied about it, or the time they blew out all the tires in Jimmy Olsen’s father’s car when thirteen-year-old Jimmy took them on a joy ride that’d actually been Declan’s idea.

  “What’s up, Mum?” Dec asked when Colleen closed the door. “What’d we do?”

  “Don’t be a dope. You didn’t do anything. I talked to Aidan this morning, and he sounded odd. Have any of you talked to him?” Colleen was so dwarfed by her sons that she had to tilt her head at a dramatic angle to see their faces.

  “Not since we got home from Boston on Sunday,” Colin said.

  “Why were you in Boston?” Brandon asked.

  “Clare had us all to the city for Aidan’s fortieth birthday,” Colleen said.

  Brandon felt a stab of remorse over missing what sounded like a fun time—a fun time that centered on Aidan. Interesting that he felt remorse and not anger, Brandon thought. Before he had a chance to chew on that revelation, his mother continued.

  “I didn’t like the way he sounded. Something’s wrong with him, but he wouldn’t tell me what it is.”

  “You don’t know that, Mum,” Colin said. “He could’ve just been tired or not feeling good.”

  “It’s more than that. I could hear it in his voice the same way I’d hear it in yours if it were one of you. I want you boys to go up there this weekend to check on him.”

  “I’ve got plans,” Declan protested.

  “I’ve got a date,” Colin said.

  “He certainly doesn’t want to see me,” Brandon said.

  Colleen held up her hand to shush them. “Something’s wrong with your brother, and the three of you are going to Vermont on Friday to find out what it is.” Her stern green eyes skipped from one of her grown sons to the other and then the third. They were as powerless against that particular look of hers in their late thirties as they’d been in their teens. “Do I make myself clear?”

  They looked down at the floor and mumbled, “Yes, Mum,” in three-part harmony.

  “That’s my boys,” she said as she turned and left the room.

  When she was gone, Colin spoke first. “How old do you think we’re going to be before she can’t pull that shit on us anymore?”

  “Apparently, older than we are now,” Declan said.

  “She’s only sixty,” Brandon reminded them. “She could have thirty or more good years left in her.”

  They groaned.

  “I have to be back by six on Sunday,” Colin said.

  “Jessica’s going to be pissed,” Dec said. “Her parents and sister are coming to town this weekend. I’d better go call her.”

  When they were alone, Colin turned to Brandon. “You look so good. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

  “I’ve lost twenty pounds of bloat. Been running again, too.”

  “Is it hard? Not drinking?”

  “Minute-by-minute struggle, but I’m handling it.”

  “Ah, Brand, about the work stuff—”

  “Are you waiting for me to flip out?”

  “Kind of,” Colin admitted.

  “I won’t lie to you. I’m not thrilled about it, but I’ve learned that anger leads to some really bad shit for me. So I’m choosing not to be angry about it.”

  Colin opened his mouth to say something but closed it again as he studied his brother. “You surprise me.”

  “I surprise myself. Start getting bitchy with me at work, though, and I’ll pou
nd your ass into the ground—but not in anger, of course.”

  Colin cracked up. “Duly noted.”

  Chapter 12, Day 33

  Standing under the slow trickle of the shower in the super’s apartment, Brandon made a mental note to address the piss-poor water pressure first thing on Monday. His muscles ached from two days of hard, physical labor, during which he’d replaced the sagging front stairs and torn out the carpet as well as the kitchen in his apartment. He also met the rest of the tenants, all of them older people who lived alone, and explained the renovation plans to each of them.