by C. M. Lally
“I’m sorry for not being here sooner, Mom. How’s he doing?” I ask. She’s a little more composed now that I’ve arrived. I’m sure this is her ‘brave face for the child’ coming forth. She sniffles and holds her wadded up tissue to her nose before speaking.
“He’s gone for a CT scan, and should be back shortly,” she responds numbly. I think she’s in shock.
“Can you tell me what happened?” I hate asking her this, but I need to know before she falls apart. My mother is a happy-go-lucky woman. My dad has her spoiled beyond belief. Being strong in a crisis is not one of her stronger characteristics.
“He went out to dinner with Louis, but came home early with a headache. He thought it was the storms rolling in,” she sniffles again, looking up and swiping at the tears falling on her cheeks with her fingertips. “You know how he gets those barometric pressure migraines. He told me he’d be fine and went to bed.”
“I know Mom. He’s been dealing with them for years,” I say as I wrap my arms around her and she lays her head on my shoulder.
“He woke up really early throwing up. Then he swore he’d gotten food poisoning from dinner. He’s been lying down all day. I went to check on him for dinner, and he couldn’t even sit up. Said his arms were numb. That’s when I called 9-1-1,” she whimpers and a fresh cascade of tears fall down her cheeks again. I reach over and pull a few new tissues out of the box for her and take her now shredded one away from her.
“He’s gonna be alright, Mom. He’s tough...” I trail off as a nurse comes through the thin privacy curtain to speak to her.
“Mrs. Childer. They are taking your husband for emergency surgery. He has a ruptured aneurysm in his brain. They are going to try to stop the bleeding and minimize any further damage,” she explains. “Do you need anything right now?”
A childlike cry erupts from my mother as she falls back into my arms. Her body shakes violently while her hands tremble in winding the tissues around her fingers. “I’ll take care of her, and make sure she gets whatever she needs. Thank you,” I reply absently.
After a short while, I offer to walk her down to the chapel. We stop by the nurse’s station to advise them of where we’ll be in case of an emergency. How funny that sounds. We’re already in an emergency—I can’t imagine adding anything else on top of it. My mother pulls her rosary from her purse and kneels to begin her prayers. I sit beside her quietly praying and watching the flames flicker on the lit candles. Her tears seem to have stopped as she sits back in the pew leaning against me. Before long, the priest enters and approaches us, his head bowed in reverence.
“Mrs. Childer. I am Father Doyle, the head priest here at St. Alexis. How are you doing, ma’am?” he asks in the gentlest voice I think I’ve ever heard.
“I’m okay, Father. Thank you for asking,” my mother responds. She’s always been the warmest soul in remembering her manners.
“I’m so sorry to have to inform you that your husband, and father— with a nod to me— has passed during surgery. The doctor is waiting for you back in the emergency room,” he says calmly, with his hand on my mother’s shoulder. Her small-framed body shakes and goes completely limp in my arms, as an unrecognizable shriek escapes my own lips. “As a man in good practice with his Catholic faith, I was able to administer the Last Rites with him before he went in to surgery. I hope this helps to ease your worry over him.”
“Thank you, Father,” I offer in response, huffing those words through the catch in my breathing. He sits with us in personal prayer and then silence for a few moments before allowing us privacy again. After an unknown amount of time, my mother stands on her own accord and simply says to me, “Let’s go. I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to be with your father. Let’s go find him.” She leads me out and we return to the chaos of the emergency room.
* * * *
Mom and I both somehow make it through the next few days, depending on each other again, as it was before I left for Europe. She’s gotten stronger and more resilient with each passing kindness shown to her from family, friends and business acquaintances. I’ve had to tell her several times not to worry over the business—I will handle it. She only needs to take care of the things I cannot, such as the attorneys, the will, the banking and insurance policies...those things that don’t have my name associated with them. Dying is a messy and complicated process for those left behind, but I’m somewhat thankful that it’s kept her mind busy.
I suspect she falls apart at night in her room, when she’s all alone. I’ve offered to stay over, but she scolds me and sends me away every night. So, I do my nightly trek home and mourn my father in my own apartment, ignoring all calls and leaving my phone on silent or off. Thiago hasn’t called. I missed our Monday appointment completely with arranging the funeral. I’m not sure if he knows about my dad, but I thought he’d at least call to reprimand me again for leaving so quickly after our evening together. I’m sure I’m just another romp to him, but I can’t think about that now.
I’ve yet to call my other client’s to apologize for missing those appointments either. I’ll put that on tomorrow’s agenda. Tonight, I just need some wine and my bed. It’s been a very long day.
Chapter 13 - Thiago
I never thought in a million years she’d be the kind of women to slink out after sex, but she’s done it twice now. The first time wasn’t even sex. It was an alcohol-induced event that I simply thought she was embarrassed about, so I teased her. This time, especially this time because there was sex, makes twice and I’m pissed. I’m not calling her. She can come back and ask for forgiveness if she wants it. Of course, I’ll make her squirm and beg for it a little, no—a lot, before granting it.
She’s a level-headed business woman. I’m sure common sense finally sunk in and she understands why I keep her at a distance. I figured having her once would take away the wonder of wanting her. Where was my common sense when that thought crossed my mind? Now I need her.
Why exactly do I keep her at a distance? The more I’m around her, the more I second guess my own rules on business and pleasure. My whole life, all I’ve ever heard about love is that it doesn’t play by the rules, so why am I trying to make it do exactly that? And be so arrogant as to make it play by my rules at that. Fucking stupid arrogance.
Is this love? Or lust? That question keeps rolling around my mind, and I don’t know why. I’m pretty sure I love her, because I’m fucking pissed at her. If I didn’t love her, I simply wouldn’t care. She blind-sided me with leaving, and I don’t know how to handle it. I’ve driven my brothers’ crazy this past week with being short-tempered. Aww, hell. I’ve been down-right unbearable to them and the staff. Everyone keeps tip-toeing around me, taking their problems to everyone else. She’s consumed my thoughts, and I can’t function. My brothers accuse me of being in love. I know I am, because right now, her not calling actually fucking hurts my heart and mind. She’s invaded my soul, and I’ll do anything just to hear from her. Anything except call her first.
It’s late in the evening, and I’ve not been through the club in a few days. Maybe I should do a walk through, and at least show myself to the VIPs. The music is pumping loud and it’s elbow to elbow for ladies night. I love it. Maybe being in the club will bring back my good mood. Several people greet me, and I smile and glad-hand a few of the regulars with a big smile in place. I spot Vinny through the crowd and make my way towards him.
“Hey, Vinny, Harlowe. How’ve you been?” I ask, patting his shoulder and giving a side hug and kiss to Harlowe.
“Great. We’ve been great. We’ve got our two-month wedding anniversary coming up. I’m thinking about taking her on another honeymoon,” he says as he swats her ass with a loud smack. I watch her slide down his body and kiss his face everywhere.
“Oh Vinny. I love ya, and I’m staying. You don’t need to impress me with your money. I’d rather stay home and play in the hot tub,” she says, burying his face in her ample cleavage and throwing a wink in my direction.
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“You know, Thiago. You need to settle down with a woman. Fall in love with someone like I fell for Harlowe. Playing the sex God around here looks like it’s wearing on you,” he points out.
“Nah. I don’t need love. I need a solid future,” I reply, but my words lack passion and credibility. They fall flat out of my mouth and sound stale in the air hanging between us.
“No. I’ve done that. It’s lonely and full of regrets,” he hugs Harlowe closer to him and simply smiles like a man content with his life. “Life is meant to be enjoyed. That’s why God gave us the mechanisms to laugh and smile...and feel a tight pussy around our dicks, if I’m being truly honest. Go find someone you can be happy with. Someone who makes you feel like you’re enough and everything all at once. That’s why life’s worth living, my friend.”
“That’s great advice, Vinny. I appreciate it. Enjoy your night you two,” I shake his hand again and kiss Harlowe on the cheek.
“And Thiago, tell your girl I said thanks again for the cognac. She did good,” he says, surprising the hell out of me.
“Oh, great,” I reply. “Glad she was able to help you out. Have you had your drink with your buddy yet?”
“Not yet. She just got me the bottle today, but I’ve already sampled it,” he laughs under his breath and winks. “It’s pretty fucking amazing for close to a million dollars. She got me a great price though. I’m impressed with her. You know, she’d be a great girl to ask out. You should think about it. And please give her my condolences again. Poor girl. She’s too damn young to lose a parent.”
I turn back towards him and take a seat in his booth, completely gutted at his last words. Suddenly, I don’t feel good. The thought of her going through that alone makes me sick. “What, Vinny?” I ask. “Did you say she lost one of her parents? I hadn’t heard that. Do you know which one? I need to send flowers or something.”
“Yeah, her dad passed away suddenly. Last weekend, I think. The funeral was yesterday, she said,” he answers.
“Thanks, Vinny. I’ll tell her,” getting up to go, I stumble to stand up but recover quickly and go to call her immediately. I practically race back to my apartment for some peace and quiet. My thoughts are scattered and for the first time in my life, I’m ashamed of myself. What the fuck. I want this girl. I want her in ways I’ve never wanted anyone before, and I’ve done every fucking thing possible to push her away. I need time to think about how I’m gonna win her back, but first, I need to relay my condolences along with Vinny’s.
Jesus Christ. I’ve been mentally bashing her for skipping out on me, and she’s been suffering from grief this whole time. Alone. She’s fucking been alone. I’m a shithead. Had I not been so arrogant, I’d have called her by now and would have known. I could have been with her this whole time helping in whatever way she’d let me.
I take a seat with my cell phone in hand, tossing it back and forth thinking about what I should say. Water. I need water first, and jump up to get some, while grabbing the box of tissues from the kitchen. I’m not good with death. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna cry, but just in case, the tissues should be near. Nothing comes to mind for what I should say. Am I that much of a fucking idiot that I can’t think of a few words of sorrow and regret to ease her pain? Fuck.
I dial her number, and after a few rings, it goes to her voicemail. Shit. I’ve got nothing planned and I’m not much of an off-the-cuff speaker...(beep)...
“Hey, Brooke. It’s Thiago. I ran into Vinny tonight here at the club and he told me about your dad passing away. He sends his condolences again, and I wanted to let you know that I’m so sorry sweetheart. I know we’ve had a rough start, and don’t know each other that well. My experience with your father has been less than congenial, and now I regret that. I regret a lot of things...like letting you walk out that door on Saturday night. I should have gone with you...been with you...done anything to make this hurt less. I’m not good with expressing my feelings and saying the right things, but I’d do anything for you, especially to take this pain away. Please call me. I need to hear your voice and know you’re okay.” Damn. Pressing that end button is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
As stupid as they sound, I hope the words are enough to at least get her to call me. I fiddle with the volume button to make sure it’s on full blast so I don’t miss her, and head back out to the club. Sitting here waiting will only lead me to calling her fifty fucking times, and I don’t want to annoy her.
My walk through the club was brief and more circumspect this time. I throw a few nods towards the VIP areas on each floor, and check in with each manager to make sure they don’t need me before heading to Dante’s office. I knock, but don’t wait for him to answer. My little tap tap was more of a warning than a request. He looks up from his computer, as I flop down in his visitor’s chair.
“What’s up bro? You look like you just got kicked in the balls,” he laughs quietly, gauging my mood. I must admit it’s been a little iffy this week.
“I just found out that Brooke’s dad passed away suddenly last weekend. That’s why she left so suddenly,” I explain. “I never fucking called to check on her after she blew off our meeting. I’m a prick.”
“Well, yeah. You’re a prick, but that has nothing to do with Brooke,” he smiles at me and throws a wadded up post-it note at my face. That’s Dante. Always the jokester. He’s good at bringing laughter forth in hard times. He always knows what to say and do to put a smile on someone’s face and help them gain perspective. He clears his throat before asking, “How’s she doing?”
“I don’t know. She didn’t answer when I called, but I left her a message and begged her to call as soon as she could.” His eyes dart to mine and for once, he knows I’m serious. I used the word begged. Talking to him about her eases my mind. I loosen my jaw and feel the tension drain from me.
Dante is never judgmental. Most of what we say is riddled with brotherly teasing, so neither one of us ever knows when the other is serious or teasing. We give each other enough space to let life play out and watch from the sidelines, but we know that we will be there for each other when the time is right. It’s an easy relationship that I’m proud to have with him.
Mateo is a different story. I love him the same, but he keeps to himself more. He’s very independent in being the middle-child, but I admire that he’s a self-made man. He’s a leader with great people and negotiation skills. He’s the innovator in our business, constantly thinking of new ideas for marketing. His out-of-the-box thinking is really the drive behind our thrive. I’m constantly impressed and proud of him. The door swings open wide and in comes mister independent himself. His mind must have been burning with my thoughts of him.
“What the fuck? You call a meeting and don’t invite me?” he asks, his heavy New York accent showing. His shoulders are slouched with that dejected look he carries on his face when he feels slighted.
“No, jackass. Stop feeling left out. Thiago just found out that Brooke’s dad passed away and he’s fucking ignored her all week with being an ass himself,” Dante explains. Wow. Hearing that perspective from someone else stings.
“Oh, shit. Well damn. How’s she doing?” he asks. “And why the fuck are you treating her like shit? She hasn’t known you long enough to hate you. Give her time though. She’s smart. She’ll figure it out.” He punches my shoulder as he sits next to me. Fuck head.
“He finally crossed his staunch lines of business and pleasure and slept with her. Then she bailed on him without a word. That’s why he’s been such a dick this past week,” Dante blurts out. “C’mon man. Don’t you hone in on other people’s shit at all? Selfish bastard.” Dante always calls it like he sees it. You gotta love him for that, at least.
“Thanks, for the synopsis of my life. Fuckers. You’re really doing a fan-fucking-tastic job cheering me up,” I snarl at them. “You’re the best cheering section for losing my girl and dealing with a death that a guy could ever ask for.” I stand; ready to leave to re-gain some m
uch needed peace and quiet.
“Aww. Fuck that, Thiago,” Mateo bellows. “Just tell her how you feel. Forget all the shit about how we were raised. Be honest with her. And as for the death of her dad...just console her with the words you wanted to hear when you found out that Dad was going away to prison. ‘Cause that shits the same as forever.” I pat him on the shoulder letting him know I heard him, and leave for my apartment again. I’d rather be alone when she calls.
Chapter 14 - Brooke
His words and the silent pauses in his voice mail message tell me more than I think he wanted to reveal to me. Maybe he’s ready to drop his business owner view of us and work on an actual relationship.
I honestly don’t know where to begin with calling to apologize. The view of my actions from his perspective is shameful. The entire week has been one long craving for his touch. The gentle side he showed me has a low-flame of heat burning inside me for him. His words have replayed over a thousand times in my head. The thought of putting one on for you, never even crossed my mind though. That’s how much you consume me with need. One touch and I disintegrate into a weak man starving for you.
After settling my mom in for the night, I drive home and begin to piece together the words I want to say to him when I call. Practice makes perfect, they say, so I practiced the entire drive. For the past week upon arriving home, I sit and let the silence of my apartment meet the depression of my mind in missing my dad. I never got to tell him that I loved him or say good-bye. I’ve resolved to never let those moments pass me by again. So tonight instead, I pour myself some wine and snuggle down into the couch, getting comfortable and boosting my inner confidence to call him. His number is programmed in my speed dial, and I pull it up. Here goes nothing...or something.
He picks up after the first ring, all breathless with what sounds like excitement, when he says my name. “Brooke.”
