Mending Michael

by J. P. Grider

  So, averting my eyes, I finish up behind the bar while she drinks her Bay Breeze.

  "Malibu," she comments. "I love this drink."

  "I know," I whisper, avoiding her eyes.

  "You know?"

  "It's what you ordered on your twenty-first birthday," I say, embarrassed about telling her what I'd never forgotten.

  Her eyebrows raise in question.

  "If I'm not mistaken, you just had your twenty-second."

  She stopped drinking mid-sip. Not the first time I've stopped her in her tracks tonight.

  "I did just turn twenty-two. How'd you..."

  "I'm good with dates," I lie, hiding the fact that, though she's intolerable most times, I've been drawn to her from the beginning.

  Her smile right now is infectious, and even though I see sadness in her sparkling brown eyes, I smile back. "So...about going home for the summer, why don't you want to?"

  "He has an internship lined up for me at his office, but I don't want it." She shakes her head and fingers the condensation on her glass. "I'm failing my investment analysis class and my corporate risk management class, how the hell does he expect me to do well on Wall Street? Even if it is just an internship, I'll just embarrass myself and him... and I hate the finance world..." Holly trails off and sips her Malibu.

  "You can't just tell your father you don't want to?" I ask, but I know all too well the difficulties in dealing with a headstrong father.

  "Have you ever said no to a dictator?"

  "That bad, huh?"

  She nods and continues sipping.

  "You're twenty-two though, Holly. Can't you make your own decisions?"

  The sparkles in her eyes dim and begin to bubble, but she pushes her half-empty glass towards me and gets up. "We better finish up here," she says, pushing in the stool. "Don't you have a toddler to retrieve?"

  Before I can respond, Holly's disappeared into the utility room, conveniently avoiding whatever it is that has her so upset. While she mops the floor, and I shine the stainless steel behind the bar, the tension is back. But this time, I realize, the friction doesn't lie between us—it's whatever is going on in her life.

  14

  HOLLY

  Donny's Bar and Grill at three o'clock in the afternoon is empty, except for Donny, who acts as both chef and bartender at this time of day, which is why I take back my order of a cheeseburger deluxe that I'd been craving.

  "Holly. It's no problem," Donny tells me. "It's not hard to flip a burger. I'll be right back."

  I help myself to a seltzer and walk over to the keyboard, brushing the tips of my fingers silently over the keys. It's not a piano, but it's close, and I really miss sitting behind one. The call to play is overpowering, so I set my seltzer on the table next to it, and sit at the keyboard. The first song that falls from my fingers is Van Morrison's Moondance, one of my favorites. When I'm losing myself to my music, it's very rare that I hear anything going on around me, so it's no surprise to me that I don't hear Donny return from the kitchen. What is a surprise to me are the tiny fingers that enter my line of sight when they reach for the keys.

  But before she even touches one, I hear his voice call, "Kenna," from the bar's side entrance. "Don't touch, please."

  "Mick," I say, spinning off the bench and tripping over its leg.

  "Mick?" Donny asks cautiously. "Why do you have Kenna here?" But as soon as he asks, Donny's chunky arms lift the little girl into a loving embrace. "How's my sweetheart doing?" he asks her, kissing her on the top of her head.

  Kenna giggles and jumps out of his arms.

  "Whoa, kid, be careful," Donny says, then looks to Mick.

  "Lara couldn't get out early, she has a meeting at five. I know you have to leave at four today. She should be here by seven though." Mick's apologetic and exhausted at the same time.

  "I can watch her," I offer, crouching down to her level. "Hey, Kenna, I'm Holly, the new waitress here. You wanna see a cool app?" I ask her, noting the mini tablet in her hand.

  "I can't have her walking around here while you work," Donny tells Mick. "You and I can both get in trouble."

  Mick draws out a long sigh and says to Donny, "I know. That's the last thing I need."

  ***

  By the time I set Kenna up with a cup of milk and her snacks at a table in the back, the piano app has finished loading. "Watch this," I tell her, excited to show her the colorful piano keys. "They light up when you press them."

  Though I see a flicker of a smile, Kenna seems afraid to respond.

  "It's okay, Kenni," I reassure her, keeping my tone soft. "It's your tablet. Touch the keys." I press them each individually, going up the scale.

  Still afraid to respond, Kenna keeps her hands on her lap, though I see her little fingers moving as I press each key, now heading back down the keys.

  "How 'bout this?" My fingers light up the keys to the tone of a well-known nursery rhyme.

  Kenna's eyes light up right along with them.

  "Do you know this song?" I ask, feigning surprise as her little head nods. "Really? What is it? Because I just can't remember the name of it," I say slowly, pretending to recall the name but failing.

  In the slightest voice, Kenna whispers, "Mary Had a Little Lamb."

  Slapping my fingers to my forehead, I say, "That's right. Now I remember."

  "How bout this one?" I ask, playing Old MacDonald Had a Farm.

  Then suddenly, we're both engaging in our rendition of EIEIO, and Kenna is giggling.

  "Night, Kenna girl." Donny comes over and kisses her goodnight, then reminds me that it's four o'clock and my shift has begun.

  "Right. Thanks for the burger."

  "Any time."

  When I turn toward the bar, Mick is staring at me, unblinking and chewing his cheek.

  "Take a picture, it lasts longer."

  When he finally blinks, he keeps his eyelids closed a second and shakes his head, letting me know my quip is cliché.

  "Kenni, you play with the piano, and I'm just gonna take care of some customers. 'Kay?"

  Instead of answering me, Kenna taps the keys on the tablet, smiling along with her musical notes.

  Two hours into my shift, Rose, Braden, and Hurley take a seat at the bar table off to the side.

  "Hey, Lee." I greet Hurley first, since he's barely ever around. "How's law school?"

  "Busy. How's finance?"

  "Shitty."

  He laughs.

  "We're going to the movies later. Wanna come?"

  Rose pushes at Braden's arm. "Brad." She gives him the eye, and I laugh.

  "It's okay, Rose. Thanks, Braden, but I'm a working girl now."

  "Man, we miss you," he laments.

  "I miss hanging with you guys too, but... wait right here," I say when I remember Kenna is sitting all alone, and Mick is mixing drinks behind the bar.

  "Kenna, sweetie, bring your tablet. I have some friends you can meet." Friends she can meet? She's three. I shake my head free of the nonsense. "You mind if I pick you up?"

  Tiny arms reluctantly reach up for me.

  "These are my friends, Kenni. Friends, this is Kenna, Mick's niece."

  "Hey there," the guys say.

  "Hi, Kenna. You have a beautiful name," Rose remarks. "It matches your beautiful face." My ever-sweet best friend's words cause Kenna to duck her head into my neck.

  "'Scuse me," the man at the next table barks. "But don't you work here?"

  I look down at my red golf-shirt, my black slacks, and the black apron with the name Donny's emblazoned in red across the chest. "Oh yeah, I do. Wow. Thanks for reminding me," I say with a saccharine-sweet smile.

  "Holly," Mick scolds from the bar.

  Grabbing an order pad and a pencil, I ask Kenna if she'd like to play waitress.

  In lieu of an okay, she nods. I hand her the pad and pencil, stand her on her feet, and say, "Just pretend to write down whatever that grumpy man and lady order.”

  After "waiting" on a few tables
, Kenna loosens up enough to talk, and I am beginning to really enjoy her company.

  "Oooh, Kenni, another order," I say when a prickly-looking woman with a big black handbag sits down at a side table for two. Kenna follows me to the table.

  The lady looks at Kenna, then around the bar, stopping when she sees Mick walk out from the kitchen. There's something terribly wrong, because Mick's face is devoid of any color, and he looks like he's just seen a ghost.

  "Ma'am?" I ask, attempting to pretend nothing's wrong, but my knotting gut is telling me otherwise.

  "Kenna," Mick calls in a tone that mimics calmness, but is anything but. "Come by Uncle Michael, baby." He rushes toward her, yanks her up, and exits the bar.

  The lady, clutching her handbag, stands from the table and follows Mick and Kenna out the door.

  15

  MICK

  "Jesus Christ, Luke, I don't know what to do," I shout, probably louder than I need to, but I want to make sure Luke can hear me through the speaker phone. Talking to Luke, attempting to lose that woman, and holding Kenna back with my right hand while I drive with my left is proving to be difficult. There was no time to snap her into her car seat, so I slid her into the front seat, no safety belt, and rounded the car to get in and take off.

  "Well, running from her wasn't the smartest thing you could've done," Luke scolds.

  "No shit. But what? Tell me," I demand, still shouting, Kenna beginning to cry next to me.

  "Come here. To the station. If she's following you, you'll have us to back you up, but Mick... did you file the proper paper work, because if you didn't..."

  "I only filed for immediate temporary custody. That's only five days."

  "Then tomorrow, what happens?"

  "Fuck."

  "Just get your ass here, I'll see what I can drum up."

  I hang up with Mick, and then call Lara, leaving a message to tell her not to bother picking up Kenna from Donny's.

  With Kenna on my hip, I rush into the empty police station, fully reliant on Luke's help. Fully ready to break down. Pounding on the bullet-proof glass, I call out Luke's name.

  "Shit, Mick. Lower your voice." He unlocks the heavy door and lets me in.

  Chief Paul greets me in his office. Standing to shake my hand, he nods and tells me to sit. I put Kenna in a chair, give her her tablet to play with, and sit down next to her. Luke stands against the wall behind me. "If she follows you here," Chief starts, foregoing the usual niceties, "we got your back."

  I only nod, knowing from experience he has more to say.

  "But I gotta tell you, Mick, it's not gonna be an easy sell." While Chief Paul steeples his fingers and shakes his head, I run a hand over Kenna's little forearm. "Your history is not going to work in your favor, I'll tell you that." I close my eyes and try not to let his words hurt too much. "Your lifestyle is not much better than your sister's. And with your parents..." he pauses, leaning back and crossing his arms behind his head. "I'm just telling you... you need to prepare yourself."

  There is no way I can respond to him. The harrowing thought of losing Kenna, and the truth that masks itself as a lump in my throat, won't allow me to do so.

  "I'll try to talk child services into giving you time with Kenna, but I can't guarantee how long. Clean up your life, Mick. Get a new place to live, hell, move into your parents’ old house, but kick Charity the hell out. She needs to go to rehab. And for the love of God, get a new job." He leans forward, elbows on his desk, fingertips touching fingertips, and says, "You can't be a nighttime bartender and raise a kid. Not without help. You got a degree. Use it. Work nine to five, get the girl in daycare, and give her a normal life." He sits back and crosses his arms, letting me know it's up to me to make this work.

  I just hope I don't mess it up.

  16

  HOLLY

  Mick never returned to work last night. Fortunately, Donny lives right upstairs from the bar, and he'd come home from whatever appointment he'd had, so we had the bartender situation taken care of. But what happened? Who was that woman? And why did she have Mick so frightened that he had to run? Donny said it was probably child services, but he wouldn't elaborate. He said if Mick wants me to know, he will tell me.

  "What's on your mind?" Cali asks, leaning back and sipping on her latte.

  "Yeah, you look upset," Griffin adds.

  Playing with my coffee lid, I sigh.

  "Does this have something to do with Mick running out last night?" Rose asks.

  "Yes." I don't even know how to let on that I even care. The last thing I need is for my friends to think I have it bad for my boss.

  "Well what do you think? Do you have any idea why he would run like that and take his niece?" Rose asks me.

  "I have no idea." Still clicking the plastic rim of the coffee lid, I think out loud, "It has to have something to do with..." then I abruptly stop. Maybe Mick doesn't want me to share what I witnessed that night his sister came into the bar. Maybe he has Kenna illegally, and I should probably keep my mouth shut for a change.

  "Has to have something to do with what?" they all ask.

  "Nothing. Never mind." I finally take a sip of my coffee and then change the subject. "My dad's making me come home this summer."

  "You can't stick around here?" Rose wonders.

  "No. He's making me do that internship."

  "Even though you..."

  "Even though," I interrupt, not needing her to remind me that I'm failing my finance classes.

  "Does he know you got a job?"

  "No."

  "Maybe he'll change his mind if..."

  "No. He won't." Again I cut off Rose, and this time, she scowls. "I'm sorry, Roe. I just...I'm mad. If only I could afford my own place, then I could just stay. You know...just say, 'go to hell, Dad, I'm not coming home’."

  Rose tsks, Cali and Griffin give me a sympathetic head-tilt.

  "You're welcome to stay at my house," Griffin says of the college house his mother bought him. "There's just no extra rooms right now, but you can use the back room if you want."

  "The billiard room?" I ask incredulously. "Would I sleep on the pool table or beneath it?" I joke.

  "No, smart-ass, you'd sleep on the pull-out couch next to it.."

  "Really?" I ask more seriously now. "How much?"

  "Nothing, Holl. You won't even have much privacy, but the couch is yours if you want it."

  "You're the best, Griff."

  I feel a little bit lighter than I did thirty seconds ago. At least I know I'll have a place to stay if I decide to.

  The last time I contravened one of my father's direct orders was my junior year in high school. Instead of attending the usual Wall Street for Kids Camp like Dad usually signed me up for, he got me into a finance boot camp for college undergraduates. There was no way I would spend another summer with a bunch of math geniuses, even though it would be swarming with smart college guys.

  My father had put me on a plane headed to North Carolina where the camp was to be held, but when I landed, the finance camp was not where I went. Instead, I'd previously enrolled for a music camp that was situated a few miles away. I'm resourceful like that—I'd done my research and found what I'd needed was not too far away from where I was headed. I'd had my mom's credit card number in my wallet and signed up online. It was win-win...for me anyway.

  I had the best time of my life. I'd spent a week learning traditional as well as classical guitar, then moved on to piano, then trumpet, my three favorite instruments. I not only learned how to play better, I learned advanced music theory and composition as well. It was the best summer ever, being lost in music like that. And even though for my whole senior year my father took away all of my electronics, my entire social life, and my allowance, it was totally one-hundred percent worth it. I had learned so much that summer regarding music that I didn't regret my lonely, prom-less, senior year of high school.

  The question is, will skipping out on my internship be worth losing my paid college educa
tion?

  I'm near certain that if I don't show up on Wall Street on the second of June, the price is going to be not only my education but the safety of calling home my own. And I don't think Griffin expects me to stay in his billiard room forever.

  "It's yours when you're ready," Griffin says, standing from the table and tucking his wallet away.

  "Thanks, Griff. I'll let you know."

  I say goodbye to him and Cali and walk to my next class with Rose.

  "What do you think I should do, Rose?"

  "I think you know what I think."

  "How do you do it? You're so sweet, yet you want me to disobey my father. Do you disobey yours?"

  "Well I don't disobey my father, because he lets me make my own choices."

  "Lucky you," I say sarcastically, shaking my head just slightly as I say it.

  "I didn't mean it like that," Rose says apologetically, even though I know she meant no harm. "I just meant...that I think your parents hold the reigns too tight. You're twenty-two years old, Holly. You should be able to choose what you want to do with your life."

  "That's easy to say, but my dad won't fund my education if it's not finance."

  "That's what I mean. It's so narrow-minded. It shouldn't be up to him." Rose squeezes my hand when we reach my building. "There are ways of getting an education without your father's help."

  “Oh, Rose,” I lament and squeeze her hand back, loving that she is so wonderful. She's right about my father and getting an education without his help. I know she's right. But it's damn scary for me to break this hold my dad has on me. If it were easy, I'd have done it already.

  17

  MICK

  "Lara. You can't do this to me again. You...you...you just can't." I clutch my cell at my ear, struggling not to toss it across the room.

  "I'm sorry, Mickey. Really. My boss needs me to stay again. I can't just say no."