Not So New in Town

by Michele Summers

  Don managed to bend his knees enough to sit. He fiddled with a worn nautical bracelet around his shriveled wrist, similar to the one Brogan wore. Brogan instinctively fingered his as he cleared his dry throat. Refusing to start the conversation with a bunch of inane prattle, he remained silent. He hadn’t called this meeting.

  “Uh, Son…it’s good to see you. What’s it been? Five years?”

  “Yeah, five years times three, but who’s counting?” The hurt he’d kept bottled up leaked from his voice.

  “Fifteen years? That long, huh? I had no idea. You’ve got a real nice store here. Quality product. I can tell. Kind of ironic we both landed in the small-town retail business.” His dad gave a rusty laugh.

  Shit. That sobering thought made Brogan itch to post a For Sale sign, don a three-piece suit, and hit Wall Street…yesterday. Reigning in his shaking fury, he said, “So, here we are. What can I do for you? You need money?” His old man’s head snapped back, and his watery eyes sparked. Must’ve hit a nerve. Too bad.

  “Keep your money. I came here to talk to you about your family.”

  “What family? I don’t have any family.” Except for Uncle Ray, who now went by Raylene, but he’d be damned if he would bring his mother’s brother into this.

  “Your stepmother, my precious Louise, died a few years back…” Stepmother. Precious? That bitch who never let him speak to his dad? Oh no, he didn’t. Brogan was not about to acknowledge that woman as his stepmother when he’d never even had a dad.

  “…sold the hardware store because I got a little sick and couldn’t keep it running,” Don kept talking. “Doc says I’m doing fine, just need to take it easy, and I’ll live for another fifty years.” A wracking cough overtook him, shaking his frail frame as he pulled a red bandana from his pocket and covered his mouth. Bullshit. Death had come a’knocking. The sickly-sweet smell, mixed with nasty drugs, hung in the air. Brogan recognized the death smell from sitting by his mother’s bedside. His heart constricted painfully over an absentee father who never cared about him, because now it was too late. The opportunity to know his dad had already slipped through his fingers.

  “Why now? What made you come see me after all these years, Don?”

  Don’s eyes flickered over the use of his given name. But Brogan had stopped thinking of him as Dad years ago.

  “I need to tell you about your family.”

  “Jesus! I told you I don’t have any—”

  “Yes…yes, you do. You have a half brother and sister.”

  The bomb that went off inside Brogan’s head caused temporary hearing loss. A brother and sister he’d never met and didn’t even know existed. Not possible. Brogan growled low. “What are you saying, old man?”

  Don leveled his watery gaze at him without flinching. “Your sister, Ashley, is thirty-five and your brother, Neal, is now…er, he’s thirty-one or thirty-two. Can’t keep it all straight in my head.”

  Thirty-five? Brogan had a sister one year older than him? How? Don hadn’t left his mother until Brogan was two years old.

  That sick panic feeling swelled and morphed as Brogan realized this nightmare wasn’t close to being over. “I don’t understand. You were having an affair before you met and married my mom?”

  Don shifted in his seat; color seeped over his pasty, gray face. “Not exactly. I was married to Louise before I met your mother.”

  “Excuse me?” He was clearly confused. “Okay, you divorced Louise and then married my mom?”

  The color seeped from his drawn complexion, turning it even grayer, and his eyes filled with tears. “No, Son. I was still married to Louise when I married your mom.”

  It took a moment to register, but as the news hit him, Brogan gripped the edge of his desk to keep from reeling back. “You were married to both women…at the same time?” His chest heaved. “You were a bigamist?”

  Don slowly nodded, and his thin lips drooped in a frown. Brogan’s blood boiled as it all became crystal clear. The secrets, the lies, his mom never speaking about his dad. His dad and Louise never wanting anything to do with him. He was the living proof of his dad’s crime. If they never acknowledged him, no one would be the wiser. The dirty little secret everyone wanted to keep hidden.

  Brogan gave his chair a violent push as he stood. “You committed a felony, and that’s why you never wanted anything to do with me. You lying, cheating sack of shit!” He barely tamped down the urge to wrap his hands around his father’s scrawny neck. “Did my mother know?”

  With unsteady limbs, Don stood, grasping the front of the metal desk for support. “No, no. Your mother found out once the divorce was final. I felt I owed her at least that.” Don’s thin shoulders straightened, and he skewered Brogan with a hard stare. “Everything you know about me is right. I was a liar, cheater, and spineless bigamist. Sorry ain’t gonna fix anything at this stage of the game. But for what it’s worth, I am sorry. Your mama was a good woman, and she raised you real good. Don’t hold no grudges against your mama. You keep all that blame on me, where it belongs.”

  Damn straight. Brogan not only blamed him—he felt nothing but rage. Not an ounce of pity for his dying sperm donor. It was almost a relief having everything Brogan resented about his father confirmed by his own pathetic story. At least he finally knew the truth. If Don expected absolution for showing up today to confess and ease his conscience, he was going to be sadly disappointed. Brogan had no intention of absolving him. He’d leave that up to his Maker.

  Don wheezed as his thin shoulders shook, overcome by his rattling cough. A tap at the door snapped Brogan out of his trance. He opened it, and Margo thrust water at him. Brogan thanked her with a nod and handed the water to his dad.

  “Here.”

  “Thank you, Son. You’re a fine man.” He drank unsteadily, dribbling some water down the front of his shirt.

  After Don had taken a few sips, Brogan, unable to stop himself, asked around a lump in his throat, “W-why did you abandon me? Why did you leave and never look back? Were Mom and I that bad?”

  Don shook his wobbly head. “I thought I could handle both. Back then I was in sales and traveled a lot, which is why your mama never knew the truth. Your mama was a fine woman and wouldn’t continue to see me unless I married her.” He hung his head. “I’m not proud of abandoning you, but I knew Louise would never accept you, nor would polite Southern society. It ain’t like it is today. Louise would’ve been shunned, and her children shunned. So, I cut bait, thinking it was best for everyone.” He met Brogan’s injured gaze. “If it makes you feel any better…I wasn’t much of a father to your half sister and brother either.”

  Oh yeah, he felt marvelous now. His dad had treated all his kids like shit.

  “I continued to travel until about twenty years ago. Louise made me settle down, and that’s when I bought the hardware store.”

  “That’s quite a story. Anymore illegal marriages and abandoned children roaming around?” Despite his sarcasm, Brogan shook in fear of the answer.

  “N-no. Not that I’m aware of.”

  Jesus. His dad was a regular gigolo. Love-’em-and-leave-’em Donny Reese. And to think he carried the man’s DNA. No wonder Brogan was always on the move. Perfect example of the apple not falling far from the tree…they both wandered, afraid of commitment. Afraid of settling down. Brogan felt sick to his stomach.

  “Well, I need to be shoving off. I’ve taken up enough of your time.” His dad extended a trembling hand. Brogan hesitated but finally slipped his hand around his dad’s, giving it a gentle shake, feeling nothing but flesh and bones.

  “You have a way home?” Another lump clogged his throat.

  “Oh, sure. Your sister, Ashley, is waiting out front. She drove me here.”

  Half sister. Brogan tried clearing any sympathetic feelings muddying up his head as he escorted his dad to the front door. He stopped by a barrel
of Granny Smith apples and shoved two in a bag. “Here, D-Dad. For the road.”

  “Thank you, Son.” His dad reached for the bag and gave Brogan a sad smile. “Ashley will appreciate it.”

  Brogan gripped the door handle and nodded. He didn’t want to think about his sister, sitting out in a car on Main Street, or his brother…who knew where. He held the door open and watched as his dad shuffled over the threshold into the August heat.

  “See you around,” Brogan said in a hoarse voice.

  His dad stopped as if he’d forgotten something, but then gave a wobbly nod and said, “Have a good life, Son.”

  Brogan watched as his dad dragged himself down the sidewalk. Complete numbness settled over him, freezing him in the heat. He released the door, and it slid closed. He should have been feeling release…liberation, freedom from all his pent-up anger and resentment. The truth shall set you free, and all that bullshit. So now he knew. His dad was a runner, going from woman to woman, not taking responsibility for his actions. A bigamist, deserting Brogan and avoiding the law. More afraid of being shunned by polite Southern society than doing the right thing and accepting his son in his life.

  Brogan reached for one of the green apples, rolling it around in his hand, noticing a few bruises, just like his heart… He was always the kid who never got over being abandoned by his father. Always waiting…hoping his dad would show up and embrace the son he never knew. And then he became the man who never sustained a relationship with a woman. He’d been dogged by his dad’s stigma his whole life, living with the phobia of becoming just like him. That constant anxiety destroyed his marriage, because Brogan couldn’t overcome that drowning sensation. And the same would happen with Lucy, his good friend. He didn’t want to hurt Lucy. Pain stabbed the inside of his forehead, and Brogan squeezed the bridge of his nose. Everything centered on the compulsion not to repeat tainted Reese history. Better not to get involved than to destroy lives along the way. He could think of only one solution. Always the same one: cut his ties and move on.

  A low growl set fire to his throat. Hurling the apple across the store, he nailed a display of stacked bottles of flavored vinegars before storming out.

  Chapter 26

  Lucy climbed the porch steps to Brogan’s house and pushed her way through the front door, carrying two shoppers loaded with her homemade beef stir-fry, fresh bread from BetterBites, crisp spinach salad, and a nice bottle of champagne. And for dessert: yummy flourless brownies that Margo had taught her how to make. She glanced at her silver watch…right on time.

  “Hey, Brogan? I’m here with your surprise,” she called as she dumped the bags on the newly installed soapstone countertops that gave his kitchen a warm, old-world glow. Lucy stopped to adjust her scanty panties from creeping up into uncomfortable land. She unloaded the food and pulled out plates, glasses, and utensils. She lit a kitchen candle that smelled of rosemary she’d discovered in one of the upper cabinets.

  “I hope you’re hungry. And this time I’m talking about food,” she called out with a chuckle.

  Satisfied with her bounteous display, she smoothed the front of her black dress, unzipping the top enough to give Brogan a tantalizing view of her lacy red bra. Wanda had insisted Lucy take a page from her book on how to lure men. Feeling ridiculous because Brogan was a sure thing, she acknowledged that it still never hurt to spice things up a bit. Reaching for the champagne, she popped it open. Time to start this anniversary party. She filled two flutes and sauntered down the dark hallway, wearing what she hoped was a sexy, come-and-get-it smile.

  “You ready for your surprise?” she said, entering his room. Lucy halted as her smile slowly faded. Something was wrong, starting with no sign of Brogan and the empty bedroom that looked as if it had been swept clean. Her gaze traveled around the room. The bed linens had been stripped, and the top of Brogan’s dresser no longer held his multiple sport watches and loose change he kept on a small tray. Lucy inched toward the cracked closet door, peering inside. No shoes, no shirts…nothing except empty hangers and some old shoeboxes. Lucy gripped the stems of the flutes to stop them from shaking.

  “What the…?”

  Silence filled the room, heavy and ominous. Lucy took a fortifying gulp of champagne, allowing the bubbly liquid to burn the back of her throat, as her mind raced through the numerous scenarios. None of them good. What happened? Where was he?

  “Brogan?” She tried to keep the alarm from her voice as she checked the adjoining bathroom. Spotless. No shaving cream or toothbrushes. The countertop had been wiped clean. Lucy worked her way back down the hall, peeking her head in the other two bedrooms and baths. No sign of life. From the great room, she could see he wasn’t out on the screened porch. And when she opened the door to the garage, his car was gone. Okay. There must have been an emergency. Lucy sent up a silent prayer, hoping no one was sick or injured. With unsteady hands, she placed both flutes on the kitchen island and reached for her handbag to retrieve her cell, when she stopped. There, propped next to the blender Brogan used to make his morning smoothies, was an envelope with Lucy’s name scrawled on the front. Somehow she’d missed it while preparing their meal.

  “Good. This is all good. He left me a note that will explain the emergency.” Tamping down the panic that threatened to ricochet through her now alarmingly cold body, she reached for the envelope.

  Lucy paused, trying to slow her breathing as she fumbled with the envelope flap. Pulling out the note, she unfolded the paper. Her eyes widened as she read:

  Lucy:

  Can’t put off NYC any longer. Been hanging around Harmony too long, and NYC is my priority now. You’ve been a great friend and big help to BetterBites. But we both knew from the beginning that this thing between us was a fling. No strings attached, right? And it was never my intention to come home permanently. Hope we can go back to the way things were and remain friends. You still have a job with BetterBites as long as you want it. It was nice reconnecting with you. Take care.

  Brogan

  PS: If you’re pregnant, please let me know, as I’d like to help with child support.

  Lucy read and reread the short, impersonal note before it slipped through her stiff fingers and fluttered to the floor. She blinked uncontrollably, trying to see past the red burning her eyes. Friends? Fling? Was she missing something? They’d been more than just friends these past two weeks. Lucy knew it, and Brogan knew it. And now Brogan was denying it. But why? What? Lucy picked up her champagne glass and knocked it back in one huge gulp. Then she did the same with Brogan’s before dropping onto a barstool with her head in her hands. He’d cut and run without saying good-bye and without telling Lucy the real reason. Something or someone had gotten to him. Because only a few hours ago he’d been looking forward to this date. Lucy’s mind raced, trying to piece the mystery together. She moved to pick the note up off the floor and read his postscript again as the acid in her stomach churned. Let him know if she was pregnant because he’d like to contribute to the cause, as if she were some freaking charity. He was running scared from her and the possibility of a baby. As if she would trap him like that. Okay…yeah, she wanted him. And if she was pregnant, she wanted him in her and her baby’s life permanently. But she’d never trap him or force his hand. Would she?

  She scrambled for her cell phone, hoping beyond hope he’d left a message or a text. There had to be another explanation that made sense and didn’t crack and crumble her heart into a million pieces. With sweaty fingers she tapped the screen of her phone, only to see she had no missed calls or texts. Without thinking, she called Brogan’s cell. After three rings, it went straight to voice mail. Lucy asked him to call her in what she hoped was a calm voice. Then she texted him the same message.

  Numb, Lucy sat for the next hour, holding her silent phone. With dry eyes, she watched the sun go down over the lake…along with her hopes of hearing from Brogan go down with it.

  * * *


  It was Monday morning, two days after Brogan had dumped her via impersonal note, and Lucy had already dropped off a very sullen Parker for his first day at school. He wasn’t taking the news well that Brogan had skipped town. Neither was she. And for once, she didn’t have a pithy explanation to ease Parker’s pain. Lucy feared he’d revert back to his old pranks and old friends, and she didn’t know if she had the strength to deal with it. Everything was barreling straight to hell in a handbasket on high-speed Rollerblades.

  Lucy sat in Wanda’s sunny kitchen, drinking another cup of weak tea to calm her raging stomach. Wanda kept repeating the same thing over and over again.

  “Luce, something happened. Something or someone got to him in a big, bad way. Because I know Brogan would never leave like this.”

  “Fried baloney. I showed you the note and his lame texts from yesterday, saying we both need to get back to our real lives. End of fairy tale. Mind you, there’s been no conversation, because he’s too chicken.” Afraid Lucy would break down and beg him to take her back. Which she would…if he’d only give her another chance. Pathetic. Lucy swiped an errant tear from her cheek.

  “Oh, Luce. There has to be a real explanation. This is not like Brogan.” Wanda bent and gave Fiona a distracted pat on the head.

  “You got any more of those Hostess CupCakes?”

  “Sure.” Wanda plopped the Hostess box on the table, along with the bag of half-eaten Cheetos. “Knock yourself out.”

  Lucy reached for a cupcake but then pulled back her hand. “Maybe I shouldn’t. My stomach is still rumbling.”

  “You think? What’d you expect, four cupcakes and a pound of Cheetos later?”

  “I’m upset. I always eat junk in large quantities when I’m upset,” Lucy grumbled, holding her tummy. “I don’t know, Wanda. It’s like he’s beyond my reach. He refuses to speak with me. He has shut down and shut me out. For good. I seriously don’t think he’s ever coming back.”