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Dinner with my dad was just what I had needed after the day—no, the week—I’d had.
We went to an Italian restaurant in Lenox Hill. While I ate, Dad talked about the selling of our family home in Stonerose, the odds and ends of packing our entire lives.
Stonerose was all I had known growing up—a safe, friendly village on the eastern coast of Connecticut. A town where everyone knew each other’s names. A place where a person could get sucked into a lengthy conversation while out buying milk from the family-owned market.
A smile pulled at the corners of my lips, memories flitting through my head like a roll of film. I saw Ella’s flaxen hair and Nate’s wide grin as we ran through the garden, armed with squirt guns… My mom coated in flour, asking me to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear while she baked Dad’s fortieth birthday cake… Myself sitting cross-legged on my bedroom floor during a thunderstorm, pouring through a book while Nate spun on my desk chair singing along to Franz Ferdinand. With each recollection, my mind went somewhere darker.
In the same town where I had experienced endless amounts of joy, I’d also witnessed horrors beyond the realm of my adolescent comprehension. Four years ago, I’d awoken in the dark, staring into Nate’s cold, dead face. Just this past November, I’d stood in shock while Mark had swallowed the barrel of a shotgun.
My dad regaled me with Ella’s latest rebellious stunt involving blue hair. I took a sip of spiked cider, pondering my recovery. I’d suffered a lot, but I was stronger than people gave me credit for. Sure, I was small and fidgety, but I was tough. I’d seen more death than most. Maria, Nate, Mark, Connor. Morbidity surrounded, but I could and would continue to battle for happiness, for peace. There was no other alternative, not when I was set on Jack. To survive in his world, I had to wear my armor well.
“You okay, Em?” Dad asked, pulling me from my thoughts.
He’d just given me the dates for their relocation—the last week of August. My parents were moving into a regal brownstone in Carnegie Hill. I’d agreed to help my little sister get situated in our apartment. She was going to visit once beforehand to attend NYU’s orientation.
I nodded, clearing my throat. “Just tired.”
Dad wrinkled his chin with a grimace. He reached across the table, giving my hand a squeeze. “You should go home and get some sleep.”
I shook my head, setting a pizza crust to the side. “I need to get back to the hospital.”
“No, you don’t,” he argued. “Shannon has her aunt. You can see her and the baby tomorrow after you’ve rested. You look dead on your feet.”
I didn’t have the energy to fight him. As much as I hated Faye Walsh, she was with her niece now. Shannon had promised to call if she needed anything. And Arthur was standing guard outside Shannon’s room, finding new purpose in protecting what his boss had left behind.
My dad drove us west to my apartment, making sure I got in safely. He kissed my forehead, ordering me to stay in bed until I’d spent a solid eight hours with my eyes closed.
Thirty minutes later, I stood in the shower, letting the water drill into my neck until my skin went numb. As the smell of antiseptic and latex gloves washed away, I allowed myself a small cry, a necessary expulsion of stress.
When I got out of the bathroom, I threw on a pair of sweats and an old T-shirt of Jack’s that I kept hidden at the back of my sock drawer. It was from the first night I’d spent at his apartment, and it still smelled like him. Rain and fire. My personal storm.
I poured myself a glass of chilled wine and sent a quick text to Jack, congratulating him on becoming an uncle. I didn’t expect a reply.
I attempted to make headway on my summer reading, but my mind had other plans. Those warm recollections from lunch caught up with me once more. I would miss our family home in Stonerose, but my memories weren’t confined to the walls of a house—they were embedded into the tissues of my heart. They’d be with me wherever I chose to go.
Giving up on the reading, I scrolled through luxury nursery vendors on my phone, ordering new supplies for Charlotte’s room. I might’ve splurged on a Chanel tutu, but Shannon would love it. I fell asleep with a smile on my face and my phone in my hand.
* * * *
I immersed my energy in the mundane to keep my thoughts from straying to Jack. My stomach plummeted and my chest constricted every time he entered my mind, which was often. I felt like I was missing a vital protein in my blood, but I did my best to combat it.
He never called, and I followed his lead. Even though I ached to hear his voice, I’d remind myself that he needed space. He would take whatever amount of time he needed, then I’d have him back. Despite my effort to banish the insecurities, Shannon’s warning kept ringing through my ears.
“He’ll push you away.”
Mick and I talked twice more. They were short conversations. Apart from repeating “he’s been busy” and “I know he misses you,” I didn’t get any additional information.
Faye stayed by Shannon’s side at the hospital. When she needed a break, she called and I filled in for her. We had an unspoken agreement not to mention our altercation in the hallway. Shannon was stressed enough. She didn’t need us making it worse by bickering over her brother-in-law. Not that there was much to argue about. I’d known since the moment I’d met Jack that he’d been with other women before me. Many, many other women. That I hadn’t run into one of his rendezvous before now was shocking.
Kieran arrived the day after Charlotte was born. Although I wanted to, I didn’t ask him about Jack’s well-being. He’d returned early to meet his niece, not to quell my anxieties.
In the middle of the week, I was summoned to the swanky Midtown offices of Trevor Gallagher, the O’Connells’ finance officer. He was in his seventies but had a youthful vibe. He wore a large suit and rimmed glasses, his gray hair meticulously combed. He was professional but kind, like an overworked grandfather. I imagined overseeing the O’Connell accounts was a full-time job. He mentioned they were his sole clients and had been ever since Connor O’Connell had been gifted Uncle Henry’s fortune upon his passing. Since then, the accumulated wealth was staggering.
He informed me that, with Shannon incapacitated for the foreseeable future, Roisin’s needed a manager. Someone that knew how the men truly made their money. Someone who would be able to handle the capital flowing through the restaurant. I put two and two together. Although Roisin’s was a legitimate business, it was also used for laundering money. The brothers had multiple establishments across the city that processed their illegal cash flow, but Roisin’s was the only one without current management.
Jack had spoken with Mr. Gallagher regarding me, prompting him to enlist my help with the high-end establishment. The next day, Trevor and I convened in Shannon’s modern office at Roisin’s. The media had all but dissipated from the block, frustrated that they couldn’t get a quote from anyone entering or exiting the building. The New Yorkers that lived at the Shannon were of a superior mindset and wouldn’t give press the time of day. And the employees were paid well for their silence regarding the O’Connells.
Mr. Gallagher and I spent hours reviewing the books. He taught me how to use discretion when up-charging a ticket so that the feds wouldn’t flag it, which was paramount now that the FBI was poking around.
