Now Conor stands and eyes me.
I laugh. “I know, hard to picture, right? Me? Danny fucking Boy, the one with control? Well, I had no fucking choice in the matter. I had to be the one to handle things. I was the only one capable of that.”
“You took care of Shay,” he says simply.
“I did what I could—”
“You took care of Shay. And thank God you did.”
I’m speechless at that. Not only do I not deserve thanks for taking care of my brother, but I never would have thought Conor would be the one to say anything of the kind.
“Your brother,” he continues, “is a good man. All of us would do anything for him. And you did everything you could, too.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I took off as soon as I could. I started to hate the ways I had to control things. It flipped somewhere along the way so that I connected control with that unbearable pressure I was under. I wanted to be rid of it. To get, not just freedom from the kind of control I felt tied to, but to have the exact opposite of control. I wanted complete fucking chaos.”
“And a fine job you did of that,” he says with a cocksure grin.
I want to smack the smile off his face. Everything is always so effortless for him. He’s never had to struggle a day in his life. Instead of hitting him, though, I say, “Fuck off.”
He’s not at all ruffled by that.
“I’m just saying, you go all out with things” he tells me. “It’s either you being the one responsible enough to raise your brother when you were just a kid yourself, or it’s you completely getting lost in drugs.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble and turn away.
“At least that’s how it was. I don’t know that I’d bet on this, but it does look like you’ve found some kind of balance lately. More than I’ve ever seen, that’s for sure.”
That stops me. I hate the way his approval makes me feel. Why should I care what he thinks?
He starts toward me, then pauses to clap me on the shoulder, giving me a squeeze for good measure. “Keep it up.” Continuing on, he retrieves a pebble and throws it into the lake. It skips four times.
And then I realize why I care what he thinks. Because he’s Mr. Fucking Perfect. And if someone who has everything so well sorted and knows how to navigate life the way he does, has some confidence in me, then I should take it. But, for as long as I can remember, taking any kind of pat on the back or acknowledgement has been a hard thing to do. I always treat it with suspicion. Ms. Patterson says that’s because I had no support from my parents from the very start, that I don’t trust good things, even ones as small as compliments, because they’re foreign to me. But she also always told me I need to accept the good people are willing to give, so I try.
“Em,” I say, “thanks for that. And, em, I’m sorry for taking your guitar that time, you know?” I wince, feeling awkward with this whole thing.
Conor seems to read me because he looks back at me and simply nods. “How about a beer before we head home?”
I smile. “I know just the place.” Thinking of the look on the barman’s face at Murphy’s Pub when I bring him Conor Quinn, guitarist for Rogue, turns the smile into a laugh. That’ll give him something to sing about.
50
The final piece to this new puzzle of odd happenings in my life is Sophie inviting me over for supper on a Sunday night. I assumed I’d be just one of many, but turned out I was the only guest to dine with the McManus family.
Daisy greets me like we’re old pals, which is nice. I spend some time with her on the floor in the living room, letting her get to know Roscoe. Luckily, the old boy is tolerant of her pulling on his ears. Any kind of attention, even that with the tinge of abuse, is welcome to him. I know the feeling.
When we sit down for dinner, Daisy insists I sit next to her.
“You two really bonded that night we were in Italy,” Sophie says with a smile.
She’s glowing. Her belly is pronounced now, their second child developing quickly in this latter part of the pregnancy. But she carries it well. I get the sense this type of scene, a quiet dinner at home with her husband and kid is exactly where she most wants to be.
“She taught me a thing or two that night,” I say. “Didn’t you, Daze? I know your language now.”
Daisy smiles so big that it crinkles her nose. “Doggy!”
We all look around for Roscoe and find that he’s leaning against the chair she’s perched on with the aid of a booster seat.
“Traitor,” I tell him and rub him about the ears.
“So, I think we’ll plan on getting into the studio sometime in January,” Gavin says. “You still interested in being around?”
He’s positioned that question to be read two ways. I meet his eyes for a long moment and understand completely what he’s asking. Will I be around at all? Or will I disappear like I’ve done so many times before.
“Definitely,” I say, still meeting his eyes. “I want to be here. I want to be in studio with you guys, too. If it’s cool with you.”
Gavin nods and I know I’ve satisfied his intent in asking the question to begin with. It was his way of trying to protect Shay. He was the one to fill my shoes when I skipped out on Shay. The one to make sure Shay got through the rest of his growing-up years.
Sophie’s prepared an obscenely healthy meal of grilled chicken breasts, roasted asparagus, and fingerling potatoes. Everything is seasoned so well, though, that I don’t mind. Besides, I saw her prepping some sort of chocolate goodie for dessert.
“Conor tells me you two are thick as thieves with motorbiking,” Gavin says and takes a drink from his glass of red wine.
Sophie cringes. “Oh, I wish you guys wouldn’t ride motorcycles. It’s so dangerous.”
“Believe me, Conor has given me enough lectures about safety precautions that it’s actually sunk in,” I say with a laugh.
“I hope so. We want everyone to be safe,” she says. She and Gavin share a lingering look. It’s similar to the one I witnessed when I came around before, but not quite the same. There’s something about it this time that expresses worry rather than just love and intimacy. It still shows their connection, though.
I wonder about all they’ve been through, with managing to overcome Gavin’s bad behavior and Sophie’s straying.
“What do you suppose it is that kept making you give each other a chance?” I ask. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to control my gob.
They both laugh and glance at each other again.
“Maybe you should take that one, baby?” Sophie says and busies herself with cutting a piece of chicken to feed to Daisy.
“Eh, sure,” he says with a smile. “I’ll tell you what it is, it’s this simple and complex thing called love.”
“Cop out!” I declare, grinning.
“No, not really. I mean it. Love is beautiful and powerful, but it has to be given oxygen to breathe. It has to be given a chance in order to really work its magic. Sophie and I kept giving each other a chance because we had to give the love we have for us a real chance.”
“I know!” I say with mock excitement. “I bet you could write a whole song about that very thing.”
“Don’t ask a serious question if you don’t want a serious answer, DB,” he says.
I laugh. He’s right. I shouldn’t dismiss his explanation so quickly, but it made me think of Ms. Patterson and how we never had a chance, even though I know there could have been something good with us. Maybe even something called love.
Instead of addressing that, I pivot and say, “Aye, mightn’t you try calling me Daniel?”
Gavin laughs. “I wouldn’t know who you are as Daniel.”
He said it reflexively, but it stings. I know Gavin and the other lads, Shay included, can’t help but think of all I’ve done wrong and who I used to be. But, at least to me, it does feel like I’ve moved on—for the better.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Sophie says. “I think Daniel suits him. Sounds
distinguished. Like he’s seen a thing or two and . . . learned some along the way.”
Jesus, I love her.
After a second, Gavin smiles. “I’ll gladly call you Daniel,” he says. “Christ knows we’re all entitled to our second acts.”
“Cheers to that.” I raise my glass and Gavin and Sophie do the same. Daisy joins in with her sippy cup and we all laugh.
Dinner moves along without any more heavy talk, just easy banter. Daisy and I get on like a house on fire, and I offer to babysit if Sophie and Gavin want to go out. They say they’ll keep me as their backup in case the nanny gets sick again.
Over the next few weeks, I see both Conor and Martin again, and am repeatedly invited to Gavin and Sophie’s for Sunday dinner. All this means my quiet days have become occupied with being a part of these guys’ lives and it feels good. Not complete, but good.
51
By the time New Year’s Eve is upon us, I’ve mostly pushed Ms. Patterson out of my mind. I go on my own to Sophie’s annual party at her house since Shay’s still in San Francisco. He’ll be coming back soon so he and the guys can work on the next Rogue album. In the meantime, I enjoy the party and the good craic with the guys. There’s top-tier champagne flowing, delicious food, and non-stop good-natured conversations all around. Sophie and Felicity are near to bursting in their pregnancies. It’s a relief that some joy has returned to this group of people after Christian’s passing.
Martin shows up late in the evening and Sophie’s plan goes perfectly. She had invited his girl, the American actress Lainey Keeler, to be here to surprise him. Seems their reunion works like a dream because they end up making a show of it with passionate kissing right out in the open.
Their happiness triggers missing Ms. Patterson all over again and I steal away into Daisy’s room. She’s asleep, having worn herself out being the hit of the party earlier. The girl is a charmer, that’s for sure.
Being as quiet as I can, I straddle the rocking horse in the corner of the room. My knees rest on the floor as I find Ms. Patterson in the contacts on my phone. I hesitate only for a second before calling her.
The ringing goes unanswered. She’s either out celebrating the holiday and didn’t hear the call, or she saw it and ignored it. I choose to believe she saw it and debated answering it so long that it clicked over just as she was about to take my call.
“My dear Ms. Patterson,” I purr.
I might be a little drunk.
“I have done very well, I think you’ll agree, in letting this much time pass before ringing you.”
I’m not sure exactly what my aim was in finally reaching out to her.
“It’s just that I miss you.”
Ah, I said that part out loud, didn’t I? Oh well, there it is.
“I do, it’s true,” I continue. “I miss seeing you twice a week. I miss your smile and your humor. And the way you humor me. I miss those lovely legs and wondering what color skirt you’ll wear on the day.”
I sigh.
“I’m sure you’ll take me calling and saying all this as confirmation that the decision you made to cut all ties was the right one. I know you needed to do that for your own sake. I understand. But, I do miss you. I want to tell you what’s been going on with me. And I want to know what’s going on with you. How’s your cat, Dante? And what about Max, your nephew? Have you recovered your equilibrium in your work now that I’ve gone?”
Pausing at that painful reality, I look up and see that Daisy is awake. She’s lying on her back and watching me. To keep her from causing a fuss, I go to her crib and sit on the floor next to it. She pokes her hand through the railing and I hold her little fingers.
“Daisy’s woken up,” I murmur into the phone. “Yeah, I’m here at Gavin’s for the holiday. Sophie holds a party every year, apparently. Makes everyone dress up. You should see me in this monkey suit I got on. Look pretty good, actually,” I tell her with a laugh. “Anyway, I came in here to call you. Probably should have found some other room. The house is big enough. You’d ask me why I chose this one. Well, I’m looking at the answer. This little girl is a spot of sunshine. I don’t know. Just something about her makes me happy.”
I take a deep breath. “And I have been happy. Relatively, anyway. I’ve been doing good post-anniversary of the one-year sobriety thing. You were right. I’ve got these friendships now and it’s . . . something good. It’s just that there’s something missing without you in my life. And not because I need you as a therapist. I just need you.”
I laugh at my declaration. What a way to try to woo a woman. Drunk, with an endless voicemail.
“I do understand that I’m not doing myself any favors with this call. But it’s almost the new year and you’re on my mind, so I just couldn’t stop from ringing you. So, there it is. I’ll wish you well and hope you don’t change your number after this. Maybe . . . maybe I could phone you again, just to leave a rambling message if nothing else?” I ask with a laugh. “Anyway, happy New Year, my dear Ms. Patterson.”
Ending the call, I close my eyes and savor the thought that I might have said something to reach her. Then again, I might have just as easily ruined any chance I have of ever seeing her again. Daisy squeezes my fingers and I look at her.
“Well, Daze,” I say to my little friend, “the damage is done either way with that call, yeah?”
She blinks at me before closing her eyes for good, drifting back to sleep. I’m nearly with her when my phone buzzes.
It’s a text from Ms. Patterson.
I’m pleased that it’s a simple emoji and not a notice to cease and desist. The graphic is a little party hat in honor of the New Year. That’s all I need to keep believing our connection continues.
52
It’s all babies and studio time over the next few months as both Sophie and Felicity welcome their little ones, and Rogue works in earnest on the new album.
I won’t claim to have mastered any special skills by sitting in with the sound engineers, but I have learned a lot. On the rare occasion when my suggestion for an adjustment is taken and accepted, I’m over the moon. The entire crew is hugely tolerant of me and my new obsession with this stuff, and I start to have aspirations of a full-time gig with the band: lighting while on tour and sound engineering for recordings.
After a steady routine of months in the studio, the final day comes and the thought of closing up shop is hard to take. Shay must read that in my face, because he takes a minute to pull me aside in the back alleyway.
“This has been a fantastic experience, having you here day-in and day-out,” he tells me.
“Yeah, it’s been good. Thanks for letting me tag along,” I reply with a laugh.
“You’re part of this thing now, Danny Boy.”
Even though I’ve successfully gotten Gavin and Sophie to call me Daniel, no one else does. It’s fine, especially with Shay. That’s who I am for him. Calling me Daniel would be just as odd as me calling him Seamus. You can’t change your childhood impression of someone, which is why we can’t change our names. By the same token, neither can we change the loyalty we’ve always felt for each other. It’s in our blood.
“Well, that’s all thanks to you.” I glance away, toward the end of the alleyway where there is a barricade setup to stop the groupies from helping themselves to the back entrance of the studio. These guys still get starry-eyed girls—and some guys—shadowing their every move. The strangeness of it has worn away, but I don’t think I’ll ever get used it like they have. It’s just a part of their lives now, the fact that millions of people want to follow their every move.
“Listen, you know I’m headed back to San Francisco tomorrow. I want you and Roscoe to come stay with us for a while.”
I’ve seen Jessica a dozen times or more since that incident where I scared her to death, and she’s outwardly accepting of me, but I still hesitate. I still feel like I’m a weight that would drag Shay down from the good thing he found with his girl.
“Come o
n,” Shay says. “It’ll be a couple of months during the summertime in one of the most beautiful cities on earth. We’ll do some sailing and figure out the rest.”
“I don’t want to interfere—”
“I got this pre-approved, okay?” he says with a smile. “Jessica is good with you being there. I think it would actually be an opportunity for you two to get to know each other a bit better. ‘Cause, let’s face it, neither of you is going anywhere.”
I laugh and my smile lingers. “You’re really sure?”
“Yes, ya thick bastard. Now, come on—the wrap party awaits.”
Sophie has arranged a dinner party for all of those involved in the recording of the album, including me. I’m looking forward to relaxing with this crew. My crew, I guess I should say.
I nod. “Onward, then.”
* * *
I’ve kept up semi-regular phone calls to Ms. Patterson during the past few months. I give her updates on these new friendships I have with the lads and how the studio time is going. I ask her questions about her life that I know she won’t answer. Because she never answers, not even with an emoji. I don’t mind that she’s kept up this distance. I understand that she’s not able to respond for her own reasons. I content myself with this being a one-sided thing that I’m carrying on.
That is, until it comes time for me to make the trip to the States. Now, I want desperately to hear her voice. We may not actually be in real contact, but just knowing she was in the same city as me was of some comfort. Soon, I’ll be thousands of miles away and I can’t bear the thought that we won’t be able to talk about it.
But just like all the other times I’ve phoned, she doesn’t answer.
“My dear Ms. Patterson,” I tell her. “I’d love for this call to be a proper conversation. I miss those with you. Anyway, I have news. Roscoe and I are going to San Francisco for a few months. Finally taking Shay up on his offer of having us out that way. So, anyway, I’m thinking I’ll put an end to these calls. It’s getting a bit pathetic, isn’t it? Me blathering on in a recording to you.” I take a deep breath. “You know what I’d love, though? I’d love for you to make your own visit to San Francisco. Make a trip out and we can be tourists together. Wouldn’t that be something? I hear they’re big on Irish coffee there. I could take you for a real drink.”
Looking For Trouble (Rogue Series Book 5) Page 20
