Dee grinned and kissed him on his bald spot. “You’d be the death of me, Eddie, and we both know it.” Everyone laughed, just the way she’d meant for them to do. She’d done the right thing, not asking Sam Weitz to join them. The crowd at the table would have read more into the gesture than was actually there, and poor Sam would have faced a level of good-natured teasing that could make a grown man weep. But she missed him. That had to be a good sign.
She reclaimed her seat at the head of the table, feeling more pleased with herself than she had in ages. Every now and then she managed to get it right, and this was one of those wonderful times. The table was set with her best linen and china. Her mother’s silverware gleamed in the candlelight. The house was filled will the wonderful aromas of roasted turkey and tangy cranberries and the sounds of friendship and laughter.
“More creamed onions?” Alex Curry asked. She even managed to sound sophisticated as she passed vegetables around the table.
Dee sighed. “My stomach says yes, my hips say no.”
“Listen to your stomach. You can’t be more than a size eight.”
“God bless your failing eyesight,” Dee said. “I’m into double digits.”
Alex lowered her voice, “Your secret will die with me.”
I like you, Dee thought as she sipped her wine. Who would have figured it? She was glad she’d forced the issue and ordered Alex to stay for dinner. When Ale had walked into the diner the other day, Dee had been ready to write her off as a rich bitch, the kind she wouldn’t give two cents for. Her mother used to say that Dee had been born with a sixth sense about people, and when she took a dislike to someone, there was a good reason.
She supposed jealousy was a pretty good reason. Alex was younger and prettier, and half the men at the dinner table were already more than a little bit in love with her, the other half were head over heels. She smiled her thanks as John refilled her wineglass. Even you, old friend. Oh, he thought he was being discreet, but anyone with eyes could see he was smitten with the new kid in school.
New kid in school. When was the last time she’d heard that expression? If only things could be as simple as they had been in the old days. Back then all you needed was the right outfit and a working knowledge of teen slang, and romantic happiness was guaranteed. Nobody told you that happy endings happened only in books or that Prince Charming didn’t always live up to his press.
Of course, she probably wouldn’t have believed them if they had.
And she wouldn’t have Mark.
Her son was seated between Sally and Theresa Ippolito, Rich and Jen’s daughter. He was slumped in his chair, shoulders rounded, head bowed, the poster boy for teen angst. She actually felt sorry for the poor kid, but not sorry enough to grant him a reprieve. It was Thanksgiving, and part of the Thanksgiving ritual was making those near and dear to you totally miserable.
Besides, how many more Thanksgivings would they have together? In two years Mark would go off to college, and once he got a taste of freedom, who knew how often he’d come back home.
“Are you okay?” Alex leaned close so only Dee could hear the question.
“Just feeling old,” Dee said with a sigh. “He’s growing up, and I can’t seem to figure out a way to stop him.”
Alex looked down the table at Mark, and an odd expression drifted across her face.
“Do you have any kids?” Dee asked.
Alex shook her head. “No kids.”
Dee wanted to ask if she’d ever been married, but woman’s intuition told her not to go there. Besides, all she had to do was glance at the ring finger of Alex’s left hand to know the story. That white band of skin was a dead giveaway. She’d had one of those herself thirteen years ago. “Nobody ever tells you how hard it’s going to be,” she said as much to herself as to Alex.
“Would you have believed them if they had?”
She chuckled softly. “Probably not. Back then thought I knew all the answers.” She took a sip of wine and forced a wide smile. “Maybe I didn’t know all the answers, but at least I knew what was important.”
Which was more than she could say for Mark’s father.
* * *
“Another beer?”
Brian Gallagher looked up at the bartender. “No,” he said, tossing down a ten-dollar bill. “I’m fine.” Two Coors were enough. Beer was one of those things he’d left behind when he moved to Manhattan years ago. Beer and flashy clothes and bad haircuts that marked you as Jersey Shore before you opened your mouth.
“If the Shore’s good enough for that Bruce Springsteen guy, it’s good enough for you.” His old man was New Jersey—born-and-bred and proud of it. Which was great if you were a rocker with an attitude and a truck-load of black leather, but it wouldn’t wash in the world Brian was part of, the homogenized world of old money and WASP connections where kids were enrolled at tony preschools in utero. Over the years he’d managed to air-brush away the crucifixes and rosary beads dangling from the rearview mirror, the stink of fish and beer and salt air, but his past was always there in the background waiting to trip him up.
So what the hell was he doing here, not five miles from his father’s house? There was nothing for him here. His mother was dead. His brother was a loser. He was the only one in the fucking family who’d managed to make something of his life. So what if it was Thanksgiving and his wife and kids had fled to Aspen? All he had to do was get back in the Porsche and point it north, and two hours later he could be nursing a single malt Scotch while the city lights twinkled beyond his window.
But the minutes passed, and he continued to sit there in South Jersey, thinking of all the reasons why he shouldn’t bother and the one reason why he had no choice.
* * *
One of the things Alex had learned during her marriage to Griffin was that you could learn a great deal about people simply by listening. She chatted a little with Dee and John but mostly she sipped her wine and listened to the conversations as they ebbed and flowed around her. She quickly learned which of the marriages were thriving, which were on hiatus, which were nothing more than a forty-year-old habit. She also learned that Eddie was a widower, Sally had never married, and Dee had been divorced since 1984.
The one person she’d learned absolutely nothing about was John Gallagher, which was quite a feat considering the fact that he was part of every conversation at the table. She found herself studying his face and then Mark’s, trying to determine if the resemblance was only in her mind. When she first saw Mark she’d been certain that the name “Gallagher” was stamped across his forehead. Now she wasn’t so sure. Mark’s actions certainly didn’t give her anything to go on. He ignored John the same way he ignored everyone else at the table. No, she had to look elsewhere for clues.
The unmistakable affection between John and Dee might be a good place to start.
The two of them were laughing about something Eddie had said, some remark about Vince’s boat, The Lady Gee. Laughing together in a way that was foreign to her. She’d been married to Griffin for almost eleven years, and they’d never once laughed like that. They’d had their private jokes, same as most married couples, but they’d never been able to go any deeper. Looking back, she wasn’t sure they’d wanted to.
Maybe it had something to do with the fact that John and Dee had grown up together. They’d shared the same experiences, had the same frame of reference. They spoke to each other in a verbal shorthand that seemed more intimate to Alex than a kiss or caress. The moment of understanding she’d shared with John this afternoon paled by comparison. A vivid image of Dee Murray in John Gallagher’s arms exploded behind her eyes, and she tried to blink it away. Dee’s fiery red hair... John’s brooding good looks—
If she didn’t know better, she’d think she was jealous. To her surprise, that notion held some appeal. She’d spent so much of her life swallowing her emotions in favor of maintaining the status quo that white-hot jealousy might feel good. At least then she’d know she was finally plugged
into the real world.
A car roared down the quiet street, all engine and radio.
“Where’s the fire?” Eddie grumbled. “Don’t those damn kids know this is a residential neighborhood? You don’t go driving around like a bat out of hell.”
“How do you know it’s kids?” John asked, a half-smile on his face. “You had your share of speeding tickets before they took your license away.”
“Looks like he’s making a U-turn out there,” Rich said as a flash of headlights danced past the windows. The faintest hint of exhaust fumes tickled Alex’s nostrils.
“Will you listen to that engine?” Vince asked. “That ain’t your average V-6.”
Dee and John exchanged looks, and Alex watched as a deep red flush rose up the woman’s throat and stained her cheeks. A moment later the doorbell rang.
“Someone’s at the door, Dee,” Sally called from the other end of the table.
Dee frowned and caught her son’s eye. “You’re not going out with Todd Franklin, are you?”
“No way,” he said through a mouthful of candied sweet potatoes. “Todd’s a loser.”
The doorbell sounded again.
“You want me to answer it?” Sally asked. “I’m closest.”
Dee shook her head. “Probably Jehovah’s Witnesses,” she said. “They’ll go away.”
It rang a third time.
“You’ve got to answer it,” John said. “There are ten cars in the driveway, Dee. It’s pretty obvious someone’s home.”
Dee didn’t say anything. She also didn’t get up from her chair. She’s afraid of something, Alex thought. Or someone.
“I’ve got my hunting rifle in the car,” Vince said sotto voce.
His wife socked him in the arm. “You idiot. What good’s that going to do when—”
“Greetings, everyone.” A handsome dark-haired man strode confidently into the dining room like the baronial master in a historical romance novel. The phrase “droit du seigneur” sprang to mind. “Glad I didn’t miss dinner.”
“Brian!” Eddie leaped to his feet and embraced the newcomer. “You’re a sight for these sore eyes.”
John’s brother?
“Good to see you, Pop.” Brian Gallagher said the right thing, but Alex noticed that he didn’t return his father’s hug. He broke away from Eddie and aimed his klieg-light smile at the table. He worked the room as if he were at a Shriners convention, kissing the women, shaking hands with the men. He had something special to say to every one of them. “Look at you,” he said to Mark. “You must be pushing six-one by now.”
The boy grunted something, but Alex couldn’t make out the words. His mother, however, had no trouble.
“Mark.” Dee’s voice held a warning.
“He’s a teenager, Dee Dee,” Brian said with a false laugh. “He doesn’t want to waste time talking to us old folks.”
Dee turned toward Brian Gallagher. “You take care of your kids,” she snapped, “and I’ll take care of mine.”
Mark pushed back his chair. “I’m outta here,” he said, then took off for the front door.
“You want me to get him?” John asked. His voice was low, pitched for Dee’s ears only, but Alex’s hearing was almost as acute as her curiosity.
Dee shook her head. “Let him go. I don’t blame him. If I weren’t the adult, I’d run, too.”
Brian was either oblivious to the undercurrents at the table, or he just didn’t give a damn. He flattered Sally outrageously on her bright red hair and matching blouse, then kissed her hand. In many ways his studied charm reminded Alex of Griffin, and she found herself shrinking down into her chair, praying he’d overlook her.
“We know each other, don’t we?” He towered over her and knew how to press the advantage.
She settled her expression into studied lines of composure. “I don’t believe so,” She offered him her hand. “I’m Alex Curry.”
His grip was just shy of familiarity. “Brian Gallagher.”
“John’s brother?”
His smile widened. “Eddie’s son.”
She slid a quick glance in John’s direction. The anger in his eyes was unmistakable.
“Are you sure we haven’t met?”
“Positive,” she said.
John stood up and faced his brother. “What are you doing here?”
“No ‘Happy Thanksgiving,’ little brother?”
He ignored the gibe. “Where are Margo and the kids?”
Brian met Alex’s eyes, and she could see the wheels turning inside his head. “Aspen,” he said, his attentions clearly divided. “With her parents.”
“And you weren’t invited?”
They’re hanging on every word, she thought as she glanced around the table. From Eddie to Vince’s wife, they were all paying close attention to the byplay between John and his brother.
“It’s a holiday, Johnny.” Brian made to pat his brother on the shoulder, but John took a large step back. “Why the third degree?”
Next to Alex, Dee stood up. “Are you hungry?” she asked Brian. There were no words of welcome or greeting. “If you are, I’ll fix you a plate.”
Brian met Dee’s eyes, and Alex’s breath caught. So that’s the way it is, she thought. Dee Murray and Brian Gallagher. The teenage marriage that didn’t work out.
“I’d like that, Dee Dee.”
Dee’s expression softened, and Alex’s heart ached for her. Don’t look at him that way, Dee. Don’t give him that power over you. She seemed so young and vulnerable, not nearly old enough to be the mother of a sixteen-year-old boy.
“You can sit there.” Dee motioned toward Mark’s empty seat. “I think it’s safe to say we won’t be seeing him any time soon.” She headed for the kitchen.
Alex stood up. “I’ll see if Dee needs some help.”
“Stay here,” Brian said. “She likes to work alone.”
“No,” she said firmly, “I’m going to give her a hand.” She wasn’t about to sit there while he tried to figure out where he knew her from.
Dee was standing by the back door, smoking a cigarette.
“I thought you could use an extra pair of hands,” Alex said as she approached.
Dee exhaled. Smoke wreathed her head like fog. “Only if the extra hands are willing to strangle him.”
Be careful, Alex warned herself. You don’t know anything about the situation. The only thing she did know was that—right or wrong—she’d disliked Brian Gallagher on sight.
“I’m not up for attempted murder,” she said, “but I’d be happy to nuke the gravy for you.”
Dee took a drag on her cigarette. “Some friend you are.”
“I take it he wasn’t invited.”
“He was invited, all right,” Dee said with a laugh. “It just took him almost twenty years to show up.”
Alex couldn’t think of a single thing to say that would be of any value. Any advice she might offer would be based solely on conjecture, as Dee hadn’t offered any clues about her relationship with Brian Gallagher. “Why don’t I fix the plate for him?” she offered.
Dee took a drag on her cigarette, then tossed it out into the rain-soaked backyard. “I’d appreciate that,” she said. “I might add a side of hemlock just for the hell of it.”
Alex took a microwavable plate from the cupboard and set about arranging turkey and all the accoutrements in the pinwheel fashion she’d learned in one of her cooking classes. She left a spot for the cranberry sauce. “What do you think?” she asked Dee. “A thirty-second nuking should cover it.”
“You’re really good at this,” Dee said, admiring Alex’s handiwork.
Alex grinned and popped the plate into the microwave. “You have to be good at something.”
* * *
Brian excused himself to get something from his car. John followed him out to the driveway.
“So what the hell are you doing here?” he asked as Brian unlocked the car door.
“It’s Thanksgiving,” Brian sa
id. “We’re family. Families spend Thanksgiving together.”
What a crock of shit. Brian had an angle, and John was going to find out what it was. “Then why are your wife and kids in Aspen?”
Brian leaned across the front seat and grabbed a large bottle. “A magnum of Dom,” he said, locking the door again. “Think Dee Dee will like it?”
“She might have liked a phone call before you showed up at her door.” Or something she could actually use. Brian was still more into impressing people than making them happy.
“Sounding a little possessive there, Johnny. Have you and Dee Dee finally—”
John’s fist met his brother’s chin in mid-sentence. Brian staggered back against the Porsche, and John caught the champagne bottle just before it crashed to the driveway.
“Say something like that again,” John warned, “and you’ll be picking your teeth out of the asphalt.”
Brian rubbed his chin gingerly. “I’d sue your fucking ass, but the paperwork would cost more than the settlement I could get out of you.”
“Did Margo finally have enough of your shit and move out?” His sister-in-law was too upwardly mobile for his tastes, but she’d always been pleasant enough to him. Sometimes more pleasant than he deserved.
“Her parents opened the ski lodge a week early. She took the kids out to celebrate the holiday with them.”
John couldn’t contain the smirk. “And they didn’t roll out the red carpet for the aging Boy Wonder of Bailey, Banning, and Horowitz?”
“Go to hell.” Brian tried to push past John, but John wouldn’t move. “I’m taking a depo tomorrow in White Plains. If I went to Aspen, I’d never get back in time.”
“Leave Dee alone,” John said through clenched teeth.
“Fuck off.”
Work before family. Brian’s priorities had been set in the cradle, and nothing would ever change them. A long time ago he’d said he would be a full partner by his fortieth birthday and so far he was on track to his goal. Most of the fight seeped out of John, and he turned away.
“You’re not going back to the house?” Brian asked.
“What’s it to you?”
“I wouldn’t mind having a chance to talk to the new face without you shooting me dirty looks.”
Sleeping Alone Page 9