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“I’m good,” I replied. “Thanks, Case. I mean it. You’re always there for me.”
“I am. You better appreciate me.”
I laughed but I was serious. “I do.”
“Goodnight, Beckett. Get some sleep. Everything looks better when the sun’s shining.”
“Goodnight.”
I finished the bottle of bourbon that remained from a party I’d had a few weeks earlier – before Graham died.
Before my life started to go to shit.
Finally, when the room spun from too much alcohol, I was able to fall asleep, passing out sometime after three.
The next day, I was pretty hung over and feeling incredibly sorry for myself, but I had to go into work and try to get caught up on more pressing matters than my hangover, such as how I was going to fund the next project while I waited for the brownstone to sell. While I was stirring a raw egg into a post-drunk concoction Casey swore got rid of hangovers, my cell buzzed, indicating I had an incoming text. I checked my messages and saw that my uncle had texted me, inviting me over to the pub for dinner. The youngest brother of three, he liked to have me over so we could catch up on family matters.
After a long day at work, I went to my fitness club for a workout and then after a quick shower, I made my way to Colm’s restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen, the home of the local Irish-American community. Colm was my kind of man – he’d fought with the Irish Defense Force back in the day but got out of Ireland as soon as he could, bringing his wife and kids with him and enough money to start a restaurant. He was perhaps the only man in my family with whom I could identify. He and my father were very close when they were kids.
My grandfather was an engineer back in Northern Ireland. My father carried on with the family’s interest in engineering, but wanted to become a rich entrepreneur, with his eye on starting a company that would be passed down from generation to generation. Like Brandon, he wanted to create a business empire. Growing up in the mean streets of Northern Ireland, even if your father was one of the more fortunate ones due to his career and IDF membership, was still one of deprivation and feeling like you were hamstrung from following your dreams.
My father followed his dreams in the USA, but unfortunately, his dream of founding a business empire that he could pass on to his son didn’t pan out. I didn’t get his business when he died. His older brother Donny did. Donny, the thug. The lowlife in the local Irish Mafia. How I hated him…
Colm was sympathetic, but shrugged his shoulders. There was nothing he, as the youngest brother, could do. Donny was the head of the family now. He was also involved with very scary men. I wasn’t afraid of them. I’d looked death in the eye many times when I’d been in the Marines and deployed in Iraq and Afghanistan. They were scum compared to the heroes I fought beside and the religious zealots who tried to blow us up.
Colm was someone I could respect. He in turn respected my desire to join the Marines, and we spent some quality family time talking about Afghanistan whenever we got together. Fighting was something we had in common despite being separated for all those years after my mother and father divorced and I moved down to New Orleans and then California with her and her new husband.
I drove my car over to the restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen. Despite the fact Colm wasn’t involved in the mafia, and tried to run a clean ship, he still had to face its reality so there was a security guy standing outside the back entrance, smoking a cigarette.
The man saw me and nodded, familiar enough with my face that he let me in without stopping to check my ID.
I went in through the kitchen, where the line cooks were busy with the night’s menu. My stomach rumbled as I smelled the food being cooked. The first seating for dinner was already under way, and the scents wafting from the kitchen as I passed by made my mouth water. I popped into the office and saw Colm’s daughter Dana sitting at the computer, staring at a spreadsheet.
“Hey, cousin,” I said and pecked her on the cheek.
She smiled when she saw me. “Daniel! It’s been so long. How are you? You missed the last family supper.”
I stood in the doorway and glanced around, noting the Irish calendar on the wall, and a very ornate cross over the desk. Colm was a staunch Catholic. Jesus, Mary and Joseph was his favorite curse.
“How am I?” I said and ran a hand through my hair. “Well, my business partner died a few weeks ago. I’ve been trying to deal with it. I’ll be at the next family supper.”
“Sorry to hear that,” she said and nodded her head. “You need your family. My dad misses you. You’re like a son to him.”
“He’s been a great uncle,” I said.
She smiled and then I left, going to the bar, which was pretty empty, with only a few guests seated at small tables. I went up to the bar and said hello to Dana’s husband, who was bartending.
“Hey, Mike,” I said and we shook. “How are things?”
“Great to see you,” Mike said. “What can I get for you? Colm’s out picking up something. He’ll be back soon.”
I sat at the bar and watched the news, sipping my glass of bourbon in wait for Colm to return. While I waited, I assessed my life.
All in all, it was pretty good, despite my recent loss of Graham, and the financial insecurity that resulted. Sure, I’d had my own degree of tragedy – my parents’ divorce, the loss of my father, Sue’s death, my injury, Graham’s death… In fact, I’d had a lot of tragedy if you sat down and thought about it – which I tried hard not to do if possible.
Then there was the fuckup that was my relationship with Miranda – the one woman I’d met since Sue’s death that I would even consider being with long term. So many times I could have just laid it all out and told her the truth, and so many times, I’d hesitated, found an excuse.
Deep down, I knew I was afraid that she’d blame me. She’d hate me. If she did, I couldn’t blame her. If anyone should have died, it should have been me.
