Fortune, page 15
“Feel free to disturb me whenever you need to,” I continue.
She smiles. “You looked like a Greek god sleeping. Okay, more like an Irish god, if there’s such a thing.”
I smile. She’s so adorable, my Ava.
“I’ll see what I can do about tonight.” I lean forward and brush my lips across hers. “I’ll check in with you later and let you know.”
“Okay. Thanks, Brendan.”
“Anything for you. Anytime.”
I leave the bakery, walk the back way, and head to the bar.
Anytime, I said.
Those words weren’t truthful. Anytime would mean giving her an hour tonight like she asked. I need to find a way to make that happen.
I get to the bar, take the stairs to my apartment, where I change into a clean pair of jeans and a green-and-white striped button-down. I towel the dampness out of my hair, and then comb through it and tie it behind my neck in a low ponytail.
The copies of the Steel documents are still sitting out on my table from when Ava found them in my copy of Tom Sawyer.
Grandmother.
Wendy Madigan. Wendy Madigan, who had a child with Bradford Steel.
Jeremy Madigan, who my father bought this bar from so many years ago.
Ryan and Ruby Steel.
I don’t know what Ryan told his daughter yesterday, though I have a hunch. I believe Ryan Steel may be the child Bradford Steel had with Wendy. Perhaps she forced him to sign over all his property to Ryan, her son. Makes sense. But Ava hasn’t spoken to me about it, and I have to accept the fact that she may never speak to me about it. We said no more secrets, but this is big. This is the tower.
And if she chooses to keep it to herself, I have to be okay with that.
But still, I wonder…
What exactly is my family’s involvement in this? Why did my father and I get the same messages?
And why did Pat Lamone, as well?
I go downstairs to the bar and check the schedule. Laney and Johnny are both on tonight, which would be enough for a normal Monday night. Not a Monday night during football season, though.
But I need to be there for Ava. I made that promise to her.
I call my dad quickly.
“Hi, Brendan,” he says into my ear.
“Hey, Dad. You feel like getting out of the house tonight?”
“It’s football night, son.”
“Yeah, but the Broncos aren’t playing.”
“True enough.”
“I need to see Ava for about an hour when she shuts down the bakery at six. Could you cover me at the bar?”
“Your mother will be pissed. You know she likes to have dinner at six o’clock on the dot.”
“All right, Dad. Thanks, anyway.”
“This is important to you, isn’t it, Brendan?”
“It is, but I’ll deal.”
Dad chuckles. “If I tell your mother that her precious son needs a favor, she won’t give me too much crap.”
“So you’ll do it, then?”
“Yeah, Brendan. I’ll be there.”
“Thanks, Dad. You’re a lifesaver.”
“Depending on how busy it is, I may stay a little longer after you get back from seeing Ava.”
“Why is that?”
“Because,” he says, “we need to talk. You and I.”
My heart drops to my stomach. “We do? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” he says. “At least I don’t think anything is wrong. But I found something. Something that may be relevant to all these things that we’re investigating.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. I found an address for Lauren Wingdam.”
I wrinkle my forehead, thinking. Who is Lauren Wingdam again? “Right. Pat Lamone’s mother. Biological mother, that is.”
“Yes. The one he hasn’t been able to find.”
“How were you able to find her?” I ask.
“I called in a favor,” my father says.
I recognize his tone. Though I’m itching to know who helped him, my father has said all he’s going to say on that subject. I know him too well.
“All right. I should be back at the bar around seven. If it’s not too busy and Laney and Johnny are handling things, you and I can take some time to chat.”
“Good enough. I’ll be there about five forty-five.”
“Thanks again, Dad.”
I end the call and take a look at the bar.
Everything is clean and in its place.
If only life were like that.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ava
Luke approaches me at one thirty. “Aren’t you taking lunch, Ava?”
Normally I go earlier, but today? I need to keep busy. I don’t want to think.
I need to keep busy until tonight, when I spill everything to Brendan and ask for his help.
“No, not today.”
“You want me to fix you a sandwich that you can eat while you’re working?” he asks.
“Not hungry.”
“Okay. Is it okay if I take my normal one-thirty lunch?”
“Absolutely. Enjoy yourself.”
Maya and Luke only take half-hour lunches, although I give them an hour. They usually make themselves a sandwich and eat in the back.
“Take your whole hour today,” I say. “I’ll be here.”
“I don’t have anywhere else to go.” Luke smiles. “But I will take my lunch. A corned beef sandwich is calling my name. Don’t think I’m strange or anything, but I think I’m going to try it on that cranberry walnut bread you make.”
“Should be delicious,” I say.
Cranberry walnut is one of my favorite holiday breads, but it doesn’t sound good to me today.
I haven’t eaten anything since half the sandwich Brendan brought me last night. My stomach is again a void, and I know I need to fill it. But it’s so difficult when my throat feels like nothing will go down.
I’ve been sipping water all day, which is keeping me going, but eventually I’m going to require sustenance.
I hope Brendan will be able to come by at six. I need him so much, but I can’t expect him to drop everything and come to me.
This relationship is a two-way street, and we both have businesses that we love. Unfortunately, the hours of said businesses conflict big time.
So I work.
Until I hear the ding of my text.
Good news. I can come by at six for an hour. I got my dad to fill in.
Thank God.
I text Brendan back quickly.
Thank you so much. I know this is difficult for you, and I appreciate you making time for me.
I’ll always make time for you, baby.
My heart warms, and then I go back to work.
At six o’clock, when the bakery closes, I leave Maya and Luke on cleanup duty and head straight out to the alley. Brendan is arriving. I grab him, pull him to me, and kiss him deeply.
His tongue meets mine, and the kiss turns me into jelly all the way to my toes.
But I can’t be jelly. Not right now.
So I break the kiss. “Thanks for coming. Let’s go to my place.”
“Whatever you need, baby.”
I throw my dirty apron in the hamper and then lead Brendan up to my apartment. I wash my hands quickly in the sink, and then I take Brendan into my living area and sit on the couch, beckoning him to take the spot next to me.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Do you need anything to drink?”
“I’m fine. I’m more concerned about what you need right now, Ava.”
He’s such a strong, sweet, loving man. And he’s totally focused on me.
“I promise you, Brendan, when all of this shit with my family blows over”—if it ever blows over, I add to myself—“I’m going to focus on you like you’ve never been focused on before.”
“You do a fine job of focusing on me, Ava.” He grabs my hand. “You’re all I want. All I need.”
“But I’m going to show you that I’m not just a bunch of Steel problems wrapped up in a pink-haired woman. I’m actually pretty good at relationships. Or at least I think I could be. I haven’t really had one.”
He smiles. “I know you’re going to be great at this. It’s okay that we need to focus on you right now. Perhaps one day you’ll need to focus on me. And when that day comes, I know you will.”
I can’t help but smile, despite the fact that I’ve felt perpetually sick since my father laid our twisted family history on me—with the exception of making love with Brendan.
“I’m not sure I’m ready to tell you what my father told me. Are you okay with that?”
He takes my hand. “I won’t deny that I’m curious, but Ava, this isn’t about me. This is about you and what you need. If you’re not ready to talk about it, that’s okay.”
“The thing is… I want to talk about it. I want to get it off my chest. But I’m just…” I sigh. “I think I want to draw a card.”
“You want me to get your deck for you?”
I rise. “I’ll get it.” I grab the scarf-covered tarot deck out of the mahogany box and bring it back to the couch. “I normally read at the table, but the coffee table will do for now.”
I unwrap the deck, shuffle it three times, and hold it to my heart.
I don’t think in words, simply infuse the deck with love and energy. Then I cut the deck, draw a card, and place it faceup on top of the old steamer trunk I use as a coffee table.
And I can’t help myself. I burst into laughter.
Brendan lifts his eyebrows at me. “Ava?”
The card on the table is the five of cups. A lonely figure in a black cape stands, saddened by the five cups on the ground. Every time I’ve drawn this card, the first feeling that comes to mind is negativity.
Nega-fucking-tivity.
As if I needed a reminder.
“You’re starting to freak me out here,” Brendan says.
“Sorry. It’s just…” I shake my head. “This is the five of cups.”
“You’re going to have to go into a little more detail for me. Tarot novice here.”
“Right. This card is just pulsing negativity, Brendan. Anger. Loss. Instability. You name it. I was hoping for some enlightenment, but I got more darkness. Serves me right, I guess.”
“I don’t want to push…but does this card make sense to you given what your father told you?”
I scoff without meaning to. “This card is the personification of what my father told me.”
Brendan trails his finger over my forearm. “Let’s attack this from a different angle.”
“What other angle is there?”
“I don’t know. Tarot novice, remember? What I mean is, you’ve always said that you try to put a positive spin on each reading, but that you weren’t able to when you drew the tower card.”
“Yeah. And I’m thinking my positivity has gone on hiatus because I sure can’t see anything good in this damned card.”
He grabs my hand and squeezes. “Try, Ava. It’s just a card. It’s not your fortune. It’s just a card.”
I open my mouth to contradict him, but then I stop myself.
He’s right, after all.
It’s just a freaking card. It’s an image printed on cardstock. Most people in the world would give it no meaning whatsoever.
Maybe it’s time to take a break from the tarot. God knows I’ve got enough going on. In the past, the tarot has been a source of comfort and guidance for me. If it’s no longer a positive influence in my life, why give it any influence at all?
I shove the card back into the deck, wrap it up in Grandma Didi’s scarf, and take it back to the box. Then I return to the couch.
“Aren’t you going to make any notes?” Brendan asks. “You always write in your journal after a reading.”
“No, Brendan, I’m not.”
“How come?”
“Because that’s the last card I’m drawing. At least for now.”
Brendan drops his mouth open.
“Does that surprise you?”
“Uh…yeah. The tarot means a lot to you, Ava. Are you sure now is the time to give that up? With…everything going on and all?”
“You don’t even know what’s going on, Brendan.” I pull away from him.
His lips turn downward. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know.” I sigh. “It’s just all too much right now. I want to tell you, but I don’t want to rehash it all, you know? It’s so…awful.”
He reaches for me but then pulls his hand away.
Jeez. Now he thinks I’m rejecting him. Maybe a part of me is. I don’t want to reject him. I don’t want to reject the tarot. I don’t want to reject my family.
I don’t want to reject anything…but I’m just in a negative, rejecting sort of mood.
“Thanks for taking the time to come over, Brendan,” I say, “but I think I want you to leave now.”
He furrows his brow. “Ava? Come on. What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I just don’t want to talk to anyone. I don’t want to kiss or be cuddled or any of that either. I think… I think I need to get my hands in a ball of really stiff dough.”
“You did that all day.”
“I didn’t. The big Hobart does most of my kneading.” I rise and head to the kitchen. “Thanks again, Brendan. Good night.”
“You’re really doing this?” He stands and follows me to the kitchen. “You’re dismissing me?”
“I am.” I grab my canister of flour. “See you later.”
He shakes his head. “Whatever.”
And then he’s gone.
Loss. Profound loss envelops me. I love Brendan so much, but my mood is fucked up.
Will I ever see him again?
Does it even matter? Negativity is surrounding me, so it’s only a matter of time before he breaks my heart. Not a problem. I’ll put my emotions on hold because in the end, none of this matters anyway.
The tower is falling.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Brendan
“Back so soon?” Dad asks when I head behind the bar.
“Yeah. Ava’s acting weird.”
“Cut her some slack, son. Things are getting real for her.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Do you know something I don’t?”
“Only that the Steels are headed into something. Something that may not be pretty.”
I grab a bar towel. “Why the hell would you say that?”
“The ominous messages.”
I expected Dad to say something about the child born to Brad Steel and Wendy Madigan. When he doesn’t, a chill lands on the back of my neck. “Last time I checked, they’re coming to us as well. Does that mean things are getting real for us too?”
Dad fills up a pilsner glass from the tap and hands it to a customer. “I’m only saying that things were bound to come to a head sooner or later. Something about the Steels has never sat right with me.”
“Because of your uncle.”
“Yeah. Because of my uncle.”
“But you know that the Steel brothers weren’t even alive yet when your uncle died.”
“My uncle didn’t die, Brendan. He was murdered.”
I don’t argue that even Dad himself couldn’t find proof. He’s convinced his uncle was murdered, and nothing I can say will change that fact.
“Sixty years ago,” I say.
“Yes. Over sixty years ago. And I may finally find out what the hell happened.”
“How can you when no one is alive to tell you? When you exhausted all avenues decades ago?”
My father doesn’t answer. I wouldn’t be able to hear him anyway because the entire bar erupts in shouts from people watching the game.
“You call that a pass!” someone yells at the television. “My sister can throw better than that.”
“Fucking pussy.” From another.
I scan the bar. It’s hopping, with most patrons glued to the several television sets, watching the game. A few stragglers are playing pool…including Brock Steel and Dave Simpson.
“Could you excuse me for a minute, Dad? I want to talk to Brock and Dave.”
“About what?”
About the rash on my ass. Damn. My mom was right. Dad is getting all worked up again about his uncle. I hate to tell him that he’s chasing ghosts.
“Ava wanted me to give them a message for her.”
“All right. I’ve got the bar covered. Johnny’s in the back. I’ll get him out here.”
“Great. Thanks.” I head toward the back of the bar to the pool tables.
“I need to start laying some money down,” Dave Simpson says to Brock. “I haven’t lost a game in a week.”
“Your winning streak won’t hold out much longer,” Brock says. “You still suck at pool, cuz.” He looks up at me. “Hey, Brendan. What’s up?”
“Maybe the two of you can tell me.”
Brock sets his cue down and takes a drink of his beer from an adjacent table. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s Ava. Her father told her a bunch of stuff, and now she’s giving up the tarot. And she may be giving up our relationship as well.”
Brock eyes me. “What exactly did Uncle Ryan tell her?”
“I don’t have a clue. I figured the two of you might. You’re the closest to her in the family.”
“We’re not closer to her than her parents,” Dave says.
But Brock’s expression says differently. His eyes change. They widen just a bit but then go back to normal. I meet his brown-eyed gaze, but I don’t say anything.
He seems to get my meaning. “I’ve got to hit the can.”
“Okay,” Dave says. “Don’t be surprised if this game is over by the time you get back.”
“You guys okay on drinks?” I ask.
“Yeah, I’m good.” Dave measures out his pool shot.
“All right. I’ve got to get back to work.”
I head to the men’s room by way of the bar. Brock is in there, but we’re not alone. “Follow me,” I say quietly.
I lead him to the secret staircase that leads to my closet.
“Whoa,” he says when we end up in my apartment. “That’s some Narnia shit right there.”
