I didn’t dare look at him or Veronica as he said this.
But Veronica really must have been surprised about being called out, because it took her a few sputtering starts before she returned with “I’m not the one that needs to get some sense.”
“Are you ready to go?” he asked me, like she hadn’t said anything.
“Um . . . sure,” I managed. My voice was squeakier than I would have liked, but at that point and with my history, I was just happy that I was able to get any words out at all.
I let him pull me out of there. And when I looked back over my shoulder, everyone at the table was sitting there with their mouths open as they watched James storm out of his own house.
Apparently this was a Farrell Family First.
. . .
Paul followed us outside, but James waved him off. “We’re going to take a little drive.”
Something in the way he said “little drive” let me know that we were about to get into another fight. And walking to the garage where he kept all six of his classic eighties luxury cars felt like a death march. The silence was so heavy that I couldn’t take it anymore by the time we got into his Jake Ryan Porsche. I stopped him with a hand on his wrist when he tried to put the key in the ignition.
“My mother did—maybe still does—have a big problem with alcohol and men,” I said. “Obviously, it’s not something I’m proud of. And she was the one who used to hit me. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. And I’m sorry that I embarrassed you in front of your family.”
James lowered his keys, but didn’t say anything. He let the silence fill up the car again.
I had just decided to get out and ask Paul for my keys so that I could go when he spoke.
“You know,” he said, “I’m aware that I am blessed and privileged. I mean, I know that I didn’t scrape together my own career or put myself through college, and I know my job is basically bullshit.” His voice was quiet, almost weak. Not like James at all.
It took me a moment to process that he was actually giving me a list of his negatives. And another few seconds to realize that all his negatives were actually my positives. It had never occurred to me that James, in all his worldliness, could feel that he lacked some quality that I had in spades. Before I could respond, though, he turned to me and asked, “But damn, are there any other secrets that you’re keeping from me?”
I blinked. “Yes, of course there are.” It was maybe the most truthful thing I had ever voluntarily said to James.
And then we both laughed.
. . .
I wouldn’t say that Nicky came to like James after I told him the dinner party story, but the tension between them did seem to disappear. Nicky now shook hands with him when he came into the club, and on occasion, he would give James his first drink free—which for Nicky was damn near saying, “You and me is brothers from another mother.”
Nicky liked that James was willing to stand up for me and he also respected the innate qualities it must have taken to grow up your own man with a sister like Veronica. Not that James ever brought up Veronica. He talked about his parents and Tammy, but Veronica, no. I felt bad, because it was almost like she was dead to him, and all because of something that happened so many years ago between our parents, something that James wasn’t even aware of.
Plus I knew that it wasn’t over for me and Veronica. She hadn’t tried to contact me again since coming into Nicky’s with the check, but I knew she was plotting something. And though Real Davie was happier than she’d ever been, High School Davie was definitely scared shitless of whatever Veronica was planning.
TWENTY-ONE
The second weekend of September, I woke to the digital version of J. Holiday’s “Bed,” which was the ringtone that I had chosen especially for James’s calls.
I looked at the clock on my nightstand. It was eight, much earlier than either of us usually called each other on a Saturday morning.