For the Sake of His Heir

by Joanne Rock

  Which left Gabe and Brianne alone for this next leg of the journey. Their first trip as an engaged couple.

  The drive into Brooklyn’s Bushwick neighborhood was a far cry from how he’d celebrated his first wedding proposal. He’d taken Theresa to Paris to propose over dinner—a romantic night he’d wanted for a woman who adored being romanced. In the long run, what had it meant to her? While he regretted that he hadn’t even given Brianne a ring with his proposal, he still felt relieved that this marriage agreement was nothing like the first one. They both knew what they were getting into. There would be a prenuptial agreement. Clear terms for the future. He’d messaged his attorney’s office from the plane after Brianne agreed to his plan and she’d seemed content to let him make the arrangements.

  No one needed to be disappointed. On the contrary, they could both enjoy the peace of mind that came with knowing their interests were well protected. That they were helping one another.

  So why did Brianne’s dark expression make her look like she’d just made a deal with the devil?

  “Are you okay?” he asked, laying a hand on her arm hidden inside the cashmere wrap she’d worn in place of a jacket.

  The clothes were plenty warm for Martinique in February. Not so much for New York. He’d have to see about having a winter wardrobe delivered for her. He wished he could put her at ease, but maybe she was just keyed up about her grandmother. No doubt she was worried.

  “I didn’t realize how strange it would feel to come home.” She stared out the limousine window into a dark and silent park as they sped deeper into Brooklyn. “I was so sure I didn’t miss this place, and yet now...” She shook her head. “I have so many memories here. Not all of them bad, though.”

  “You’ve never really said why your grandmother sent you away.” He hoped maybe talking would help her relax. Or at least distract her from worrying about her grandmother. He’d called a private health-care service to meet them at the Brooklyn address in case Brianne needed help moving her grandmother. She hadn’t protested when he made the call now that they’d agreed to the marriage deal.

  For his part, Gabe was glad to focus on helping her. Maybe that would alleviate the twinge of guilt over how he hadn’t mentioned that a marriage might help him with custody if Theresa decided to revisit the terms they’d agreed to previously.

  “My family life was complicated even before my father remarried.” She turned to stare at an all-night diner lit up in bright pink lights. “Then, once he brought Wendy home, I was the odd one out.”

  Something her father should have never allowed to happen. Gabe wouldn’t let anyone near his son who didn’t care about the boy. Jason had already been abandoned by his mother.

  “You two didn’t get along?” Gabe asked, trying to envision her life as a kid.

  Brianne had told him once that her mother had a long-term problem with prescription painkillers and had run off with her dealer when Brianne was only eight, leaving her in the care of a disinterested father. Even then, the grandmother had been Brianne’s role model, the woman who kept her family together.

  “Something like that.” She glanced up at the high, neon vacancy sign flashing on a nearby hotel. “My stepmother had a jealous streak. She didn’t see me as a threat when I was nine, and gladly ignored me. But once I hit puberty, she turned vicious if anyone noticed me.”

  Defensiveness for the girl she’d been had him straightening in his seat. He was angry on her behalf.

  “Vicious how?” he asked, keeping his voice even. “Did she hit you?”

  “No. Not quite.” She pivoted her shoulders toward him, dragging her attention from the window. “Some shoving once or twice. Mostly, she raged at me to keep my, um, breasts to myself while trying to wrench my too-small clothes around me to cover more.” She shook her head, dragging weary fingers through her thick waves. “A real class act.”

  And Brianne had been just a kid. Damn.

  His hand found her wrist, and he squeezed gently.

  “No wonder your grandmother wanted you out of there.” He hated to think about an adult manhandling her like that when she was a child. “I’m so sorry you went through that.”

  “I’ve heard Wendy is on medication now for some of her issues.” She crossed her legs, her foot swinging with the motion of the limousine as it made a sudden stop for a red light. “She was taking reasonable care of Nana and helping out with the rent up until a couple of months ago.”

  He sincerely hoped he didn’t run into the woman who’d treated Brianne that way.

  “Where’s your father these days? He doesn’t participate in caring for his family?” Gabe would trade almost anything to have his mom back. Losing her to cancer while he was a teen had devastated him far more than when his father quit showing up.

  He couldn’t imagine a son not stepping up to take care of a mother. Although, now that he thought about it, how would Jason feel about Theresa one day if he ever discovered how easily she’d walked away from them both? Resentment simmered.

  “One of his sons with Wendy has had some success as a singer on YouTube, believe it or not.” She lifted an eyebrow, showing some skepticism. “My dad followed their oldest, Tyler, to Los Angeles to help ‘manage’ him.”

  “You have some half siblings, too, then,” he observed as the limo rolled to a stop in front of a string of old brownstones on Bushwick Avenue.

  “A few.” She nodded distractedly, her attention focused on the brownstone. “Tyler was born while my mother was still in the picture, so he’s only a few years younger than me. This is it.” She pointed to the building with no lights on, sandwiched between two others that were still lit and humming with activity—a loud television blaring from the first floor of one, a couple kissing feverishly on the front step of the other.

  The five brownstones looked just alike—same wrought-iron fire escapes, same sets of garbage cans at even intervals. A bright Laundromat sat on the corner of the block, machines still spinning and door open to the street even though it was almost midnight.

  He wanted to ask her more, find out why none of the half siblings were checking on their grandmother, but Brianne was already launching herself toward the limo door. Gabe opened it for her before the driver had gotten around the car. He didn’t blame her for the hurry.

  “Do you have a key?” He helped her from the vehicle, sliding an arm around her waist as she stepped onto the curb under a blinking fluorescent streetlamp.

  “I do—unless the locks have been changed.” She held up a cloth change purse embroidered with roses. “Nana gave me this as a going-away present.” She opened the metal fastening and showed him the interior lined with pink satin. Inside, there were two keys and a coin. “A quarter so I could always call home and keys for the doors.”

  Her voice wobbled with emotion.

  Noticing the limo was drawing attention, Gabe reached to take the keys, then guided her up the stairs of the brownstone. The kissing couple had quit breathing down each other’s throats to stare. Normal curiosity, maybe. But he’d feel better when he got Brianne safely inside.

  “Good.” He worked the bigger key in the outdoor lock, feeling the mechanism give way. “The home health-care workers should be here any minute. I told our driver to circle the block until we text him so there’s room for the transport vehicle.”

  “I hope we don’t need it.” He could sense the tension tightening her shoulders and he didn’t even try to resist the urge to rub away the knots as they stepped into the darkened hallway. A night-light from a floor above shined dully on the warped staircase.

  Brianne turned to the left, her feet gravitating toward what must be her grandmother’s first-floor apartment. A withered clump of evergreen boughs tied with a red ribbon still hung on the door—a holiday leftover too long neglected.

  “She’s going to be in good hands,” Gabe assured her, checking his phone when he
felt it vibrate, his hand falling away from her shoulder. “That’ll be the health-care workers now.”

  Headlights flashed on the road outside, where a bigger vehicle double-parked while Brianne knocked on the apartment door.

  Waited.

  Rang the bell.

  He glanced over at her, trying to gauge what she was feeling. How he could help. He remembered those brief awful months of his mother’s illness and how it had devastated him. Sure, he’d been a kid. But he knew even now dealing with that—seeing a loved one deteriorate in front of your eyes—would level him.

  “Okay.” Brianne drew in a deep breath. “I just need a minute with her first. Just to see her with my own eyes.”

  “I’d like to go in with you.” He didn’t trust the rest of her family from the little bit he’d learned about them. What if the stepmother was helping herself to the apartment while the grandmother recovered? Or someone else?

  Just because no one answered the door didn’t mean no one else was inside. A surge of protectiveness had him itching to tuck her under his arm again.

  “That’s fine.” She nodded, withdrawing the second key from her purse. “Just not anyone else. Not yet.”

  “Of course.” He planned to make this reunion as easy as possible for Brianne. That had been his part of the wedding bargain—the main reason she’d agreed to his terms. “I’ll tell them to wait until you’re ready.”

  Nodding, she turned the key in the door of apartment 1A and stepped inside.

  * * *

  “Nana?” Brianne’s legs were shaking even more than her voice. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Nana, it’s me. Brianne.”

  She didn’t want to frighten her grandmother, but then again, she wanted to lay eyes on her fast. What if she was more hurt than her letter had suggested? Heading toward the apartment’s only bedroom, she felt for a light switch on the wall near the tiny stove in the galley kitchen. A weak bulb over the table buzzed to life in the cold apartment. It couldn’t be more than sixty degrees. The kitchen was clean enough, though. No smells of spoiled food. One clean cup and plate sat in the sink drainer.

  With her hand on the bedroom doorknob, she leaped back at a sudden, rough voice shouting on the other side.

  “I’ve got a gun this time, you son of a—”

  Gabe was between Brianne and the door instantly, shoving her behind him.

  “Nana?” Brianne’s heart beat triple-time. She recognized that scary voice meant to put the fear of God into misbehaving children. “It’s Brianne,” she blurted, relief making her legs weak. She clutched Gabe without thought, gripping his upper arm and taking strength from his shoulder as she tipped her head to it for just a moment. “I flew home when I got your letter.”

  The bedroom door swung wide.

  Gabe scuttled sideways with Brianne, still keeping himself between her and her grandmother. Around his shoulder, Brianne could see Rose Hanson, dressed in a pink floral nightgown and matching housecoat, her matted gray braid threaded with a bedraggled ribbon.

  “Do you have a weapon, ma’am?” Gabe asked, even as Brianne stepped out from behind him and rushed toward Nana Rose.

  “Just this.” She held up an old smartphone that had seen better days, the case cracked away on one side. “My son showed me an app that sounds like an automatic rifle, but I’ll be damned if I could find it.” Her hazel eyes turned toward Brianne then, her expression softening as she lifted a stiff hand to skim over Brianne’s cheek. “You scared the pants off me, girlie.”

  “I was so worried you were hurt and I didn’t know how to reach you.” She closed her eyes and two tears leaked free as she hugged her grandmother carefully. She didn’t think anyone would notice she was crying in the dim shadows from the lamp over the kitchen table. “Are you okay?” Leaning back, she tried to see Nana’s face while surreptitiously scrubbing away the tears. “It’s so cold in here.”

  “Who’s he?” Nana asked, stepping more fully into the kitchen. She was favoring her right side. She looked the same, but smaller, as if time had eroded away a few inches from her height and the plumpness that used to animate her features. A Latina beauty—her mother’s family had come to New York from Puerto Rico—Rose Hanson had miles of thick, wavy hair, deep golden skin and an expressive smile. Her hair had gone fully steel-gray, but it was as long as ever judging by the braid. “You never told me you had a beau.”

  “This is Gabriel McNeill, Nana.” Brianne’s eyes went briefly to Gabe’s. He still stood close to her grandmother, looking ready to steady her at a moment’s notice. “I told you about him. He owns the Birdsong, where I work.”

  Nana eyeballed him thoroughly, the same way she’d done to any friends Brianne had brought over to her house to play after school. Brianne had lived with her father two blocks away in a building that she’d heard had been ripped down years ago.

  “You’re a long way from home, Gabriel McNeill,” Nana observed, swaying slightly on her feet as if a wave of tiredness had just hit her. She looked pale, but Brianne couldn’t tell if that was just simply because she’d aged, or if she had hidden injuries and wasn’t feeling well.

  “We’re newly engaged, Mrs. Hanson,” Gabe announced, reaching to pull out a chair from the kitchen table for her. “I wanted to be with Brianne for this trip.” He gestured to the seat. “We’re worried about you.”

  Nana eyed the chair warily. “No need to cosset the old lady.” Her chin lifted. “I’m fine. I just wanted a little help getting some groceries until I get better.”

  Something in the older woman’s expression made Brianne doubt she was telling the truth. Stubborn and proud, Rose Hanson had been a performer in her youth, a torch singer at a New York jazz club with a backup band of her own. There were posters of her around the apartment—or there had been long ago—advertising performance dates. Now the walls looked barren in the living area. The whole apartment looked like someone had come in and stolen most of her things.

  Had she pawned extra furnishings for cash?

  “Get better how?” Brianne gave Gabe a private nod, hoping he’d understand she was ready for the home health-care workers to come inside. “Where are you hurt?”

  “Nowhere.” Rose shook her head while Gabe moved quietly toward the front door, his phone already in hand. “I don’t need the cavalry, honey, just some bread and eggs.” She ambled awkwardly over to a cupboard near the sink and tugged it open. “I’m down to some cracker crumbs.”

  Brianne glanced in the cabinet to find nothing but some cracker packs pilfered from a restaurant—the kind they give you with an order of soup.

  “Ow.” With a wince of pain, her grandmother lowered her right arm slowly, then cradled it.

  Brianne ached for her. She wished she could have arrived sooner.

  “You’re not fine.” Brianne could hear Gabe admitting the health-care aides out in the hallway of the building. “Nana, we brought a nurse to check you out. We want you to come with us tonight and stay with me until you’re fully recovered.”

  The older woman’s gaze darted to the door, where Gabe was entering with two younger men dressed in dark cargo pants and T-shirts, ID badges around their necks. One carried a medical kit and had a stethoscope around his neck. Armed with friendly smiles, the health-care workers introduced themselves to Nana and were able to help her into the kitchen chair.

  One of the guys brought out a small spotlight, flooding the kitchen with a brightness that brought into stark relief how dingy and dilapidated things looked. Another pang of guilt hit Brianne. She should have come to New York sooner.

  “I haven’t had so many people in my kitchen since the nineteen-sixties,” Nana grumbled at the men before launching into tales of her heyday and the wild after-parties she used to host on Bushwick Avenue following her performances.

  “Gabe and I will just be right here,” Brianne called to her, backing away to aff
ord her some privacy while they asked questions and checked over her arm.

  “How does she look to you?” Gabe asked, one shoulder against the pantry door in the cramped space, a look of concern in his blue eyes.

  No matter what else became of this contract marriage in the coming year, Brianne felt intensely grateful to have him there with her. To have the help of professional nursing aides to look after her grandmother.

  “Exhausted, wary and hurt,” she blurted, unable to hold back her worries from him. “She has no food in the cabinets and most of her possessions are gone. I don’t know if she’s been pawning things over the years or—”

  Rapid-fire pounding on the front door interrupted her.

  “Excuse me!” A shrill feminine shout accompanied the knocking. “Open up!”

  Brianne froze, recognizing the caustic tone. For a second, she was eleven years old again, scared speechless.

  Gabe glanced through the peephole, not seeing her distress. “A five-foot-two tornado with red hair and a considerable amount of cosmetics for one in the morning,” he announced before turning around. “Anyone you know?”

  “Better open up before she shrieks down the whole house,” Nana called from her seat on the chair, her head popping up over the shoulders of the two men who were taking her vitals and assessing her bruises.

  “I thought she moved out,” Brianne replied woodenly, reminding herself she wasn’t a kid anymore. She’d known that coming to New York would mean facing family members, not just her grandmother.

  The pounding continued along with the shouting. Expletives peppered the demands to open the door.