Mending Michael Read online

  "You're fucking him, aren't you?"

  "Oh my God, Mickey. Why? Why would you ask that?"

  "Oh. I don't know. Maybe the fact that you fucked my best friend repeatedly the whole time we were engaged." I turn to check on Kenna, who is sleeping on the couch, to make sure my screaming didn't wake her up from her nap.

  "Are we gonna do this again? Really? I've apologized. Over and over. I ended things with Matthew. I begged you to give us another chance. You said no. You left me."

  "No. You don't get to do that. It was your fault, not mine. You cheated. You made a mockery of our engagement. You do not get to tell me I left you. No."

  "Stop. Just. Stop. I gotta go. I should be good to watch Kenna Monday, but I'll let you know for sure."

  We end the call, and I'm more pissed off than I was before Lara called me.

  This arrangement I have with her is not going to work. Not if her boss keeps calling her into meetings at five o'clock. And what's with that anyway? I had never been the jealous type, which is probably why I hadn't picked up on her messing with my best friend for two whole years. But now, I can't seem to help myself. I don't trust anyone. I especially don't trust Lara, not when it comes to guys anyway. With Kenna, yes, I trust she is gentle and attentive with her. And I guess that's what counts the most right now.

  But what am I going to do about a babysitter?

  That child services lady is going to be back. I know it, and I don't know what I'm going to do.

  Since Kenna has only been sleeping for half an hour, I figure I got at least another hour before she wakes up. Grabbing the baby monitor, I make a quick run downstairs to see Donny.

  Donny's is swarming with lunch-goers and liquid-lunchers when I open the barroom door.

  "Hey, Mick," Donny greets me when I sit down at the bar. "Drinking?"

  "No. No. Got Kenna napping upstairs."

  Donny nods while taking orders from his new day-time waitress.

  "Oh, Tina, this is Mick. Mick, this is Tina, who I was telling you about."

  "Hey."

  "Nice to meet you, Mick."

  "Tina's gonna work days with me, but she'll be working some nights with you."

  "Not Holly?" I wonder.

  "Holly doesn't want to work every night. Tina wants the hours."

  "Oh." I'm not quite sure what I think about that, but I'll have to worry later, right now, I'm here for one reason only. "Don? Got a sec?"

  "Yeah, guy, what's up?"

  "Is there any way you can do a double shift tonight? Lara's gotta work?"

  "All night?" he asks.

  "Well, it's probably more of a fuck session, but... yeah, all night. I'm sorry."

  Donny's groan makes me cringe.

  "Don, I don't know what to do. She's just a baby. Except for me and Charity, she has no one. And...she's not safe with T. Not until she gets serious help."

  "And your parents?"

  "My parents are useless. You know that."

  "They still in Florida?"

  "Yup. Listen, Don, I gotta get up..."

  "'Scuse me, Mr. Ross."

  Chills crawl up my spine when I hear my name. This is not the voice of a friendly or accommodating woman, but it is a familiar one. My name escapes her lips a second time before I turn around.

  "I've caught up with you," she says, her words penetrating like icicles through my ears.

  I've only spoken with this woman once, the day after I took Kenna from Charity. The day I filed for a five-day emergency temporary custody request, five days ago.

  "I've come here to interview and inspect your living arrangements, Mr. Ross. You were sneaky running away from me yesterday. Thought I wouldn't catch up?"

  Clutching the baby monitor as if it's my lifeline, I nod, but I don't answer. Instead, I walk out the side entrance of the barroom and sprint up my side steps to my apartment. I burst in to check on Kenna but forget to close the door behind me.

  Kenna is still fast asleep on the couch, so I crouch down and run my hand alongside her head.

  But then I hear footsteps on my hardwood floor.

  "You left your door open, Mr. Ross, so I took that as invitation to come in."

  "Fuck." I let the word slip from my mouth unintentionally. With my hand still sliding over the side of Kenna's head, I begin my pleading. "Ma'am. I'm sorry. I don't remember your name. But what do I need to do here?"

  "Well I need to prove you're responsible enough to take care of a three-year-old little girl, Mr. Ross. But from what I have witnessed yesterday and today, you are not."

  I clutch my chest, as I continue my contact with Kenna. "Please. Please. I am. I'm fully capable of taking care of Kenna. I..."

  "Mr. Ross," she sneers, "you bring your niece to work with you... in a bar. You live in a studio apartment. I mean, I see your whole apartment from where I'm standing. And the best—you leave your niece alone, sleeping, while you socialize at said bar."

  I feel the sigh escape from my stomach. Lifting myself from my crouched position, I gently pick up Kenna and hold her in my arms, feeling her stir against my chest. I pull my cell phone out and call Luke, all the while watching my worst nightmare scanning my small apartment and writing notes on her clipboard.

  "Get here. Now." I tell Luke when he answers. "She's here." I hang up, confident that Luke is on his way. Hopefully...with reinforcements.

  "Mr. Ross." She brings her attention back to me. "I'm going to have to take your niece."

  "No." I clutch Kenna tighter, wrapping her sleeping body inside my arms, and run down my back steps, escaping the lady whose name I don't even recall, and run to God knows where.

  When I get to the parking lot, I pace. I have no idea where to go or what to do. Tears are threatening to pour out of my eyes, and the contents of my stomach are stuck somewhere in my esophagus.

  "Mr. Ross." I'm beginning to hate my name, the sound of it coming out of that woman's voice makes me wince. "I have authority to take her."

  Rather than pacing, or looking at her, I head up Belmont Ave, walking so briskly that I actually break into a jog. The only thing running through my mind is the chant, She's not taking my baby. She's not taking my baby. Every other part of my brain has shut down. It's the fight or flight response, and I just don't have the tools to fight. I know that. I'm a bartender who drinks too much, a bachelor who lives in a one-room apartment, the son of two alcoholics, and the brother of a heroin addict. I know I'll lose this fight, but I can't let her take the one girl I'd give my life for.

  So I run.

  With nowhere to go.

  18

  HOLLY

  "I'm sorry, Ms. Buchanan, but there is no way to bring up your grade. At this point, I suggest you withdraw from the class to save yourself another F."

  The professor stares at my non-responding form. He's right—I should just withdraw.

  "May I ask you something?"

  He doesn't wait for my permission.

  "Why are you studying finance? I've checked your grades. You barely pass your finance classes."

  Shrugging, I tell him the truth. "It's what my father wants."

  His head snaps back in just the slightest of movement. "You had no say in the matter?"

  "Not if I wanted him to fund my education."

  Professor Rugby sits down in his chair behind his desk. "Did you tell your father you don't like finance?"

  "I did." I nod.

  "Hmmm."

  "I mean, originally, though I hated it with all my heart, I did enjoy the money my father made on Wall Street, and I really like money. I never really had direction." I think about this for a moment. "I do like playing music, but I don't know what to do with that. I'm not really into performing, so..."

  "So you let your father choose your future for you?"

  Boy he sounds like Rose. "Yup."

  "Ms. Buchanan, I don't want to get in the middle of a family decision, but there are plenty of other ways of making money besides finance. Even in music.”

&nbs
p; I sit down in one of the desks in the front row. "How?" I ask, surprised at how eager I am to listen.

  "I'm not a music counselor, Ms. Buchanan, I'm strictly business and finance. However, seeing that you're already four years into your education, and you do have some average to above average grades in some of your business classes, you can always switch to Music Business and Management. Or... you could figure out what you're really passionate about and see if there's a way to make a living doing it."

  I just nod, not really sure what to say anymore.

  "Think about it." He looks at me thoughtfully. "Talk to your father. Maybe he'll listen to reason if you have a plan."

  "Thank you, Professor Rugby," I say, standing up and shaking his hand.

  "Good luck."

  ***

  Three hours later, Donny's looks like a funeral home. Not one person is smiling, and all that can be heard are whispers. I grab my apron behind the bar, tie it on, and stand behind Donny while he's scrubbing some glasses in the sink.

  "Who's the girl?"

  "Tina. The new waitress."

  "The one that's sharing daytime hours with the other one?"

  "Brandy? Yes. She'll also be sharing some nighttime hours with you too," he says with a frown.

  "What's with the long face?" I sit down on the bartender's stool behind the bar, since my shift doesn't officially start for another eight minutes.

  Donny sighs and looks at me, not just turning his head toward me but his whole body. "They took Kenna."

  This takes a moment to register. "What? Who?"

  Donny closes his eyes and shakes his head. When he opens them, he says, "Child services."

  I hop down off the stool. "Oh my gosh, why?"

  "How much of the story do you know?"

  "Practically nothing. Just that Kenna's his niece, and her mother came in here drunk demanding her child back."

  Donny looks around, making sure no one needs a drink. Tina is serving two tables of regulars who look as distraught as Donny. His mouth still curved down in a frown, Donny explains, "Mick filed for emergency temporary custody last Monday after his sister lost Kenna for almost three hours the day before. She was too strung-out on heroin to even know she was gone.

  "They came to check on Mick's living conditions. Found them not suitable." Donny shrugs, effectively heartbroken. "She told Mick he can't bring Kenna to the bar, he can't be picking her up at the babysitter's after midnight, and he can't live in a one-room apartment if he intends on filing for custody."

  I feel my whole body slump. "So where is she?"

  "With some foster family. Mick's trying to find out where, but he can't get through to anyone."

  "So that's it?" I ask angrily. "They're just allowed to take your child and not tell you where they're taking them? Did he call the cops?"

  "He did. He had his friend Luke here, and his chief, and the Haledon P.D..... She was allowed. She proved she saw Kenna here at the bar while Mick was working. She had pictures." Donny's fists are clenched, and his face is turning all sorts of red with anger. "She had official papers. Cops couldn't do anything."

  "So now what?"

  "He can't do anything until Monday. He was trying to get in to see a lawyer today, but...I don't know. It's a Friday afternoon. Who knows who'll see him this late in the day?"

  "My gosh. It's like a nightmare."

  "It is a nightmare. Don't know how Mick's gonna make it through the weekend."

  "You don't think he'd do something foolish, do you? Like get a gun and, maybe, shoot someone?"

  Donny gives me these crazy eyes. "What kind of person do you think he is? Holy shit. No. He wouldn't shoot anyone. Oh my God." Donny chuckles at my expense. Whatever. "He'll probably drink himself half to death tonight, though."

  "Well what good is that gonna do his little niece? He needs to be thinking of a game plan."

  "A game plan? You are fucking crazy. What kinda plan can he possibly think of?"

  I guess I am sounding like my father, but it makes sense. "I don't know. A new place to live. A new job. Daycare. Something."

  "You do live with your head in the clouds, don't you? Rich girls don't know how hard it is to find a new job or a new place to live."

  "Now that's not very fair. My father works very hard to give us what we need." And yes, it's a shocker to me that I'm actually defending the man. "I understand how hard it is, I just think a child is important enough to try and make sure those things happen."

  "Do me a favor," Donny says, conveniently displacing his anger onto me, "don't give Mick any of your advice...unless you want to be the first one he actually kills."

  "Nice." Donny walks away before I can, but I shrug it off, realizing that Mick and Kenna are his family too.

  ***

  Through the jukebox, Usher insists the DJ's got us falling in love, but there is no romance, nor are there smiles, as one by one, Donny's customers learn about Mick's misfortune. Donny stays behind the bar for the rest of the night, and Tina helps me serve our whispering patrons. By the end of the night though, business had continued to steady and at two a.m., when the last customer opens the door to leave the bar, I hear the sound of a grumbling motorcycle.

  Mick is back.

  Donny stills, and Tina and I look at each other. We hear the slam of the building's side door and footsteps slowly making their way up the side stairwell.

  "You gonna go check on him?" I ask Donny. "I'll finish up behind the bar."

  "Nah. He's best when left alone. If he had good news, he'd have been in here."

  Donny's words rub me the wrong way. First, he's the one that said Mick won't make it through the weekend, that he'd drink himself half to death. Then, he doesn't want to check on him? I may lack emotion, and I may not be too compassionate when it comes to my friends' hurt feelings, but Mick has to make things right. He can't just drink this problem away. That little girl is counting on him.

  19

  MICK

  "Who's there?" I barely have the energy to raise my voice, but I need to get up to pour another glass of vodka, so I ask again through the pounding door. "Who the fuck's there?"

  "It's Holly."

  Holly? "Kinda busy at the moment."

  "I'm not leaving, Mick. I can pound on this door all night, so you might as well let me in."

  "Bitch," I mumble under my breath.

  "Yeah, I heard that, but, whatever, I'm still not going anywhere."

  Sticking the vodka back in the freezer after pouring myself another, I unlock the door and swing it open, not bothering to greet or acknowledge her. I let her stand there in the doorway while I make it back to my couch - the couch my precious niece had been sleeping on only this afternoon.

  While running my hand along the leather fabric where Kenna was sleeping, there appears a set of denim-clad legs in front of me. "Go away," I mumble without looking up.

  Then she's sitting right next to my hand, removing my glass from my other hand and replacing it with a plastic-covered Styrofoam cup. What is it with Holly and coffee that she keeps insisting I drink it? But lacking the desire to speak, I refrain from commenting.

  "So... what are we gonna do?"

  "What are we gonna do?" I ask slowly, setting down the coffee I never asked for. "I asked you to leave. Why are you even here?" I barely give her a second glance.

  "Well I'm not here for you, that's for sure. You're an asshole."

  Incredulous, I ask again, "Then why..."

  "I'm here for that sweet little girl of yours," she interrupts. "She's probably frightened half to death being with people she doesn't even know."

  Now the bitch has my attention. I stand, grabbing her under the arm and pulling her up with me. "Get out of my fucking house."

  She thins out her lips but makes no effort to move. Instead, she sticks her hands in her pockets, leaving her thumbs, with her turquoise-painted nails, hanging out. "I'm not leaving. I'm here to help."

  Frustrated beyond belief, I punch my apartment door,
leaving a nice jagged hole in it and bloodied knuckles on my left hand.

  "Yup. You're an asshole," she says, turning and scanning my whole apartment. She finds whatever she's looking for and walks away, returning five seconds later with my roll of paper towels. Shoving them at me, she says, "You need a plan."

  The paper towel roll drops to the floor, creating a path to the door I just punched, while I start wrapping my offended hand with the towels left in my grasp. "What are you, a lawyer?"

  Holly scoffs and says, "You wish. I just think you can't sit on your ass and sulk all weekend. You need to have a definitive plan... and a lawyer."

  "Yeah, well, no one wants to see a drunk on a Friday afternoon. I checked." I grab the glass of vodka she took out of my hand before and sit back down on the couch.

  "That's another thing." Holly whisks the glass out of my hand again.

  "What the fuck?"

  "You can't have an alcohol level of cajillion when you're fighting for custody of your niece. I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure that's one of the rules."

  "Oh fuck," I pretty much say to myself and lean, defeated, against the back of my couch.

  "It's okay." She's. Still. Talking. "By Monday, when you get to see a lawyer, you'll be clean as a whistle."

  "Who the fuck asked you to be my AA sponsor?"

  "What?"

  "Jesus Christ. Never mind."

  "Drink the coffee. It'll be good for you."

  I don't drink the coffee. I don't even acknowledge that she told me to.

  "So first... we need to find you a new place to live. I don't think living above a bar will be looked upon favorably."

  My eyes remain closed. "Are you still here?"

  "Yes, I'm still here."

  "Why?"

  "'Cause I'm gonna help you get Kenna back."

  Sitting up, I finally look at her.

  And ignore the fact that her eyes sparkle.

  "Don't you have your own problems to deal with? Like your father making you go back home this summer, or whatever other reason you were crying the other day?"