by Charish Reid
Something in his windswept face reminded her of someone. The wrinkles around the corners of his eyes, his square jaw set as he inhaled the smoke. Even the bridge of his bent boxer’s nose, seemed familiar. He was handsome for a man his age, he stood solid with broad shoulders and a straight back. As he faced the window, protecting his cigarette from the bay winds, Antonia studied him for a moment. And then she looked to Aiden who was lounging in his chair, his eyes cast down at his book. She frowned as her eyes darted from him to the man outside. The older man was blond, the wind blew his thin hair every which way. Light hair, but then his brother, Sean, is a blonde as well...
Back to Aiden’s face: his lips were pursed, the bottom one was full and stuck out. As it usually did when he was in deep concentration. The older man’s lip did the same while he assembled his cigarette. Surely she was making silly connections. The man outside smoked half the cigarette before stomping it out on the sidewalk. He wiped his hands on his worn black pea coat and walked to the cafe door. When he stepped inside, Antonia held her breath and continued to discreetly spy on him. The man wiped his boots on the mat just inside the door and took his place in line behind the American family that was still ordering coffee. The children whined about being bored, while the parents demanded customized drinks that mimicked a suburban Starbucks order. The man muttered something under his breath as he waited.
The way he stood, the way he ran his meaty hand through his hair in frustration, even his expressions... Antonia’s eyes cut back to Aiden who’d sat up in his seat, no doubt from another dramatic turn in his own story. When Aiden ran his hand through his own black hair and sighed at Claudette’s misadventures, her heart sped up. Jesus Christ, Toni, you’re being an idiot. What are the odds? What are the damn odds that an estranged father would show up in a coffee shop after twenty years? After years of being steeped in fiction, Antonia wondered if she was finally losing her mind.
“There’s other people in line, boyo,” said the older man. He cocked his head to the side as he addressed the father of the American family. “I ain’t got all day.”
He wasn’t loud about it, but his tone was edged with steel and it betrayed his disarmingly thick Irish accent. The father quietly acknowledged him and tried to hurry his family along. When they were out of the way, the man stepped to the counter and towered over the barista.
“What can I get for you?” she asked.
“Aye, since it’s too early in the marnin’ fer Poitín, I’ll a coffee, love. None of that rawny ponce shite, I’ll just take it black.”
“Of course, sir. Could I have your name?”
“Whatdya need me name for?” he asked, resting his hip against the counter. He crossed his arms and peered down at her.
The young barista appeared flustered as she quickly pulled a cup from the stand. “Helps us keep track of the orders, sir.”
His heavy brow raised. “D’ye need me birth certificate as well?” he asked in an imperious tone.
“Just a name,” the girl’s marker poised at his paper cup.
“Me name’s Liam Byrnes, love. That alright fer ya?”
Antonia gasped. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”
She hadn’t realized how loud she was. The man’s face whipped around and locked eyes on her. “You said it, dearie. Y’need a feckin’ form to fill outta form these days.”
Antonia couldn’t speak. She could only look from one man to the next. Aiden stared daggers at the man whom Antonia assumed he’d called da when he was a boy. Liam, unfazed by them, finished his transaction and joined the American family to wait on his drink.
For a fleeting moment, Aiden’s face blanched before it quickly turned to stone. “Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph...”
“Aiden.”
His chair scraped against the hardwood floor as he stood. “You eejit son of a bitch.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Twenty-three years blew through him like a freight train, taking him back to the angry little boy he used to be. With blood pounding in his ears, Aiden stared into a face that could have been a mirror. In twenty more years, his father’s face would be his own. The unfounded fear his mother had told him to ignore finally found him and grabbed his shirt collar. Aside from the receding hairline and a red face battered from years of salt air and drink, this was indeed the father he remembered.
“Yer gawkin’ mighty hard, boyo,” Liam said in a familiar grumble hardened by years of tobacco. “Got something on yer mind?”
Aiden couldn’t find his voice. To his left, Antonia made a strangled noise and moved to stand. The cashier, a young woman with oversized hipster glasses looked between the two men, wondering what to do.
Liam squinted. “Do I know ya, boyo?”
Anger boiled over and spilled before he could contain it or his mouth. “I don’t know why you feckin’ wouldn’t, boyo. You’re still legally married to my mam, Clare Hannigan. My brothers Liam, Sean, and Ryan still belong to you as well.”
Only the sound of a coffee grinder punctuated the heavy silence of the cafe. The American family had quit their chatter and the kids looked up from their mobile devices with renewed interest. Liam eyes widened in recognition as he stared at Aiden a little closer. “Aiden Donagh Byrnes,” the old man muttered. “For all me sins, it’s you.”
Hearing his father say his name was a jarring experience, but he held on to the rage he’d cultivated. Aiden kept the rage safely stored away in a small box in his heart, nursing it for such an occasion. He promised himself that if he ever crossed paths with the man who fathered him so cavalierly, he’d open the box and salt the earth with his anger. “For all your sins, I’m he.”
“Aiden,” Antonia said. She stood at his side and touched his arm.
He barely heard or felt her. “Outside.”
Liam didn’t have to be told twice, the old man forgot about his coffee and exited the cafe without a word. Aiden pulled away from Antonia and followed him.
“Aiden, don’t go out there,” she said.
He looked over his shoulder, meeting her round and panicky eyes as she watched him move away.
It didn’t slow his pace.
Outside in the cold, gray air, Liam waited on him with hands stuffed in his coat pockets. “Listen, son. I know yer probably sore about—”
Aiden didn’t let the man finish his sentence before punching him square in the jaw. His mind blank as his fist connected with bone. The follow-through on his jab knocked him off-balance and he stumbled over his feet, falling into Liam.
“—Fer fuck’s sake!”
Aiden straightened up and smoothed his sweater down. “I’ve been wantin’ to do that for twenty-three years, you miserable gobshite of an arsehole.”
His father held his face and stared at him in awe. “Who taught ya to belt like that?”
“You did,” Aiden said, rubbing sore knuckles. “You taught us all how to fight and then you left. I kept fighting.”
“Could have been a boxer with a reach like that. Nearly took me head off, y’did.”
Aiden was surprised how little attention they attracted on the street. From inside, people had crowded around the window, watching for the next blow. Antonia was there too, wearing an expression of pity and horror. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“You ain’t gonna belt me again?” Liam asked with a wary gaze.
Aiden felt strangely empty after the first punch and couldn’t muster the energy for another. The adrenaline left his body as quickly as it had guided his reckless actions. It had been ages since he’d gotten into a fistfight and it sickened him to stoop that low. He wasn’t a student who could jump in as a barroom brawler anymore. He shook his head and slumped against the cafe’s wall. “No.”
“Fair play, the first is free fer old times.”
“Fuck the old times,” Aiden panted. “Where the hell have you been and why the h
ell do I have to see you now?”
“Here fer the festival with a boatload of oysters. I still fish, y’know.”
Aiden looked up. The casual tone his father used, as if his whereabouts for two decades were common knowledge, angered him all over again. “You’re trying to wind me up, aren’t you?”
“I’m doin’ no such thing, boyo,” Liam said, holding his hands up. “God’s honest truth.”
“What do you know about god’s honest anything, Liam? You’re a feckin’ coward if I’ve ever known one.”
“Aye, that I am.” His father’s pale blue eyes lowered to his feet. “I left yer mam and brothers in tatters.”
He hadn’t expected honesty from his father. The thousands of times he played this fantasy out, he had pictured an elderly man who had a convincing excuse. He’d also pictured himself dragging the truth out of a faceless man. He never saw this playing out as pitiful and short as it was. Aiden sighed and sank to the sidewalk in exhaustion. The door beside him jangled and Antonia was by his side once again.
“Are you okay?” she asked in a low voice.
Aiden rested his arms on his knees, as he hung his head, and spoke to the ground. “I’ll live.”
“Are you okay?” Antonia asked Liam.
“He’ll live too,” Aiden said in a harsh voice. “He said the first one was free for old times.”
“I’ll make out okay,” Liam said. “Are you me son’s lass?”
“Um... Sure? Listen, they’re about to call the police in there.”
“I’m sure sorry you had to see that.” Liam’s tone was contrite, pissing off Aiden even more.
“So long as you’re tossing around apologies,” he snapped. “You could start with your own son, you know?”
“Aww, you know I’m sorry,” Liam said in a tired voice. “Hell, I’ve been a sorry sod fer donkey’s ears.”
“Should we go back inside?” Antonia asked Aiden.
“Let me take you fer a jawful, boyo.”
Aiden looked between Antonia and his father. Her worried eyes searched his face for any signs of injury, nervous hands fluttering around his arms. Instead of worrying about his own frayed nerves, he needed to see after her. His father would have to wait. “It’s noon, Liam. Drinking isn’t going to repair the fact that you’re a sorry sod.”
“Aye, but I could take the lump out m’jaw with a stiff drink,” his father said.
“I would advise you against that,” Antonia whispered as she knelt close to him. She touched his sweater sleeve, imploring him with her eyes. “You need space to think about this.”
Aiden’s muscles slowly relaxed under her touch. There weren’t many things he could hold on to at his age. His career he currently struggled with, and the stress that accompanied it, gave him an identity and purpose. The absence of Liam Byrnes made him the man he is today. Without the hole in his heart, Aiden wouldn’t have the grit to overcome being a poor kid from Limerick. He held on to the hate for a reason: it drove him. Had he never seen his father, he could have easily kept it hidden from Antonia. And now that the box was opened, he went and behaved like a feral animal in front of her.
“Aw, come on then.” Liam asked, rubbing his face. “Let me buy you a drink and we’ll call it even.”
His father’s flippant tone made the beast in his heart reemerge. Even? The man was out of his whiskey addled mind if he thought one midday drink was going to set right all the wrong he’d saddled him with. Liam shifted his feet like he’d rather be anywhere but there. That part was natural enough. The shifting in his father’s feet hasn’t stopped since his first son was born. But right now, it was Aiden’s turn to leave. He took Antonia’s hand and hauled himself from the sidewalk. “Let’s get our things and get home,” he said as he stared Liam down.
She squeezed his arm and gave a quick nod. “Okay.”
“So that’s that?” Liam asked, crossing his arms over his barrel chest.
“Can you undo all the damage you did to your family over the last twenty years?” Aiden shot back.
Liam gave a tired shrug. “Y’know it ain’t in the cards.”
Aiden sighed and turned away. “Then that’s that.” He and Antonia were about to return to the nosy patrons of the coffee shop when his father said something that gave him pause.
“I’ll be holed up here fer a couple days... Stayin’ over at the Arch Guesthouse.”
With his back to Liam, his hand hovered above the door handle. It was an invitation. To what, Aiden couldn’t be certain. A chance to talk to the man? Antonia laid a hand on his back and pressed. “You do whatever you want to do,” she said in a low voice. “I’ll still be here if you need me.”
That was all he needed to hear.
Aiden opened the door and ushered her inside. Shutting Liam out.
Chapter Twenty-Six
While she drove them back to Tully Cross, Antonia struggled to keep her eyes on the road while checking on Aiden. He sat quietly in the passenger’s seat, staring out the window, tapping his fingers against his knee. Midway through their drive, Antonia glanced at him again. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Aiden sighed. “I wouldn’t even know what to say.”
Eyes back on the road, she nodded. When she slowed for a sharp curve, Antonia didn’t change gears fast enough and rode the clutch. It made an awful grinding sound that added to her anxiety. “Shit, I’m sorry,” she said.
“I can drive if you like,” Aiden said in a tired voice.
She shook her head as she maneuvered the gear shaft. “Absolutely not,” she said. “You just had the biggest shock of your life. Let me do this for you.”
He paused. “I’m fine, darling.”
“I’m sure you think you are,” Antonia said, checking her speed. Cars passed them as she hugged the rocky shoulder. “But you’re in shock right now, Aiden.”
“But you don’t like driving.”
“I’m not about to sit here and argue with you,” Antonia said.
Aiden went silent. He was back to watching the scenery and ignoring the elephant in the Volvo. She glanced at him again and found a defeated man who didn’t resemble the person she’d met in SuperValu several days ago. This Aiden slumped in his seat with a despondent expression. There was no wit or humor in his eyes and it killed her. If he wouldn’t talk about the bomb that had gone off, she’d needle it out of him.
When she and Octavia were girls, Antonia had a terrible time expressing herself. When she was hurting, it felt easier to hold it in. Her sister was there to needle her worries out with a calm voice and probing questions. In this stressful moment, what would Octavia do? was more helpful than what would Augusta do? If she behaved like her protagonist, Aiden would probably get his feelings hurt with a short-tempered “snap out of it!”
A softer approach was needed.
“One time, when I was in fifth grade, I got a terrible cold,” Antonia began. “I was blowing my nose every five minutes on those terrible paper towels from the bathroom and coughing up a storm. I should have stayed home, but I was working on my fifth year of perfect attendance and I didn’t want to ruin it. At some point in the day, maybe during reading groups, I was with some girls and I was talking about how important The Baby-Sitters Club was. I had a coughing fit that must have burst a blood vessel in my head because my nose started bleeding while I was going on and on about the merits of preteen labor. Only I didn’t notice until this girl, Vanessa Michaels, shouted ‘Omigod, ewww! Toni’s bleeding all over the place!’ Sure enough, I was gushing blood out of my nose.”
Antonia peeked at Aiden, whose attention appeared elsewhere.
“Anyway, everyone started screaming like they’d never seen a nosebleed. I mean, Christ, you’d have thought there was a real emergency. The teacher ran over with a huge wad of paper towels and damn near smothered my face as she walked me to the nurse’s off
ice. I had to go home that day, which ruined my perfect attendance because full days counted. When I returned to school, I found out I got a new nickname in my absence.”
“What?” Aiden asked.
Antonia grinned. “Bloody Mary. Not the most creative, but Vanessa was popular enough to get it off the ground. She even attached the lore to me, claiming that if anyone said Bloody Mary three times in a bathroom mirror, I would show up and bleed on them. Again, it’s pretty derivative, but she ruined the rest of school year for me. The only thing that saved me was summer vacation and entering sixth grade where we’d all split up anyway. By the time we all got to the middle school, we had bigger problems to contend with; how to get to classes on time, sorting out our lockers, changing clothes for gym. No one had time to bring up my nickname and I hardly saw Vanessa.”
“And the point?”
“We’re getting there. I hated Vanessa for the eight months of hell she put me through. But I didn’t stop there. Together, we got through seven more years of school and graduated while I quietly hated her. The girl didn’t even acknowledge me, she didn’t apologize to me. I held a grudge against her for a full decade. Do you know when that ended?”
“When?”
“I was working at Wild Hare for three years, copy-editing shit I didn’t care about, and I felt sorry for myself. I got drunk on a cheap bottle of wine, which I’m known to do, and started searching for Vanessa Michaels on social media. She was married with a career in advertising, which made sense. She was basically living her best life in L.A. with some guy who looked like a male model. All of her photos looked professional, her vacations looked expensive, her house had one of those circle driveways...and then it clicked. After all that time, I’d held on to nonsense. Bloody Mary wasn’t my battle to fight anymore, but I kept fighting. Vanessa Michaels did the damage and moved on without another thought. I had to understand that I was the furthest thing from her mind while she was in her Pilates class. I wouldn’t get an apology and if I met her on the street, she wouldn’t even recognize me.”
