Never say never, p.4
Never Say Never, page 4
Lisa agreed with the goodbye part, but she also knew that her relationship with Patrick didn’t figure into the equation on any level. She’d asked herself why she’d done what she had a million times over the past seventeen years—and even more often the past few weeks. There was only one answer. But how do you tell the wrong brother that you’ve been in love with him since the first moment you met?
Lisa tried to speak, but her words were tangled in threads of guilt. After a lifetime of growing up just one step removed from the nasty buzz of gossip, Lisa couldn’t shake off the fear of what people would say if they knew what she and Joe had done on graduation night after Patrick had passed out.
Even now, years removed from that night, Lisa couldn’t bring herself to explain why she’d made love to Joe when she was committed to his brother. “You were the one, Joe,” she could have said. “Your brother pursued me and you didn’t. He loved me, but I loved you.”
Lisa had tried to tell him that after Patrick had died, but Joe had pushed her away, unwilling or, perhaps, simply unable to listen to anything once he’d learned that she’d told Patrick of their indiscretion.
“What happened was sex, Joe,” she said, recalling all too vividly his hurtful remarks the afternoon of the wake. She stepped back to break his hold on her arm. “Maybe it was my mother’s wayward genes kicking in. Whatever the reason, what we did took place in a parallel universe.”
His hand fell to his side. She thought she read disappointment in his face, but a second later his infamous dimple was in place. “Sorry. I guess I was trying to cross over one of those bridges I burned a bit too hastily in my past. I thought as adults we might be able to start on new ground and rebuild our relationship, but apparently I was wrong.”
Lisa walked into the kitchen to help clean up the dishes. She couldn’t afford to hand out second chances, not until she’d finalized her business dealings with Maureen and, perhaps more importantly, figured out what to do about the issue of Brandon’s paternity.
“Are Lisa and Brandon gone?” his mother asked.
Joe fought to stifle a yawn. He hadn’t gotten in a run today and the lack of exercise—along with a heavy meal and the stress of returning home—had taken a toll. “Uh-huh. She said something about studying for her finals. And Brandon’s going out.”
Maureen closed the cupboard door and turned to face him. Her beaming smile made his heart feel lighter and not so tired. “That photo you brought him is apparently quite a coup. He’s trying to impress a new girl.”
“He has a girlfriend?”
His mother shook her head. “No one steady.”
Joe was curious about his nephew. Brandon was a good-looking kid who had seemed pretty sociable during dinner. It struck Joe as odd that the boy didn’t have girls flocking around him, like Patrick had any time he and Lisa were on the outs.
But Joe didn’t know his nephew. Maybe, if things worked out, he’d be here long enough for the two of them to spend some time together. But that depended on what his mother decided about the sale.
“So, Mom, what do you think about my idea of filming Joe’s Place?”
She let out a tired sigh then, taking his arm, said, “Let’s go home. We can talk on the way.”
Joe glanced at his watch. “But it’s only nine-thirty on a Saturday night. Dad will turn over in his grave, if we close Joe’s Place this early.”
She swatted him gently. “He was cremated. Just like your brother. So drop that nonsense.” She snapped off the kitchen light. “Martin will close up. He’s had to take care of a lot since I got sick. During chemotherapy, even the smell of beer would have me rushing to the toilet.”
Joe tried to hide his reaction. He couldn’t think about his mother in pain, which probably explained why he’d made himself scarce during her treatment. He’d been in the waiting room throughout her surgery at Stanford, but once she’d returned home, he’d hidden out in L.A. He couldn’t handle seeing his mother so weak and fragile.
“But you look great, by the way. You feel good, huh?”
His tone must have betrayed his worry, because she hugged him as she might a little boy. “Yes, dear, I’m fine. I’m getting married, aren’t I? What kind of idiot would say ‘I do’ if she weren’t healthy? Marriage is a lot of work. You have to be in good shape to survive it. Right, Martin?” she called out, with a wave to the man behind the bar.
Martin wasn’t the jovial, flush-faced Irish bartender with a million stories Joe’s father had been, but he was dignified and efficient. He reminded Joe of the English butler Anthony Hopkins had played in The Remains of the Day.
Martin didn’t answer. Joe hadn’t expected him to.
“Night, Martin. See you tomorrow at the barbecue,” Joe said. He’d already loaded his bags into Maureen’s car, which was parked beside the well-lit delivery door.
The temperature had turned brisk, a result of the Delta breeze, no doubt. Joe had always loved late spring in the valley. The fog was gone and the blast-furnace heat of summer was still a few weeks off.
Maureen walked to the passenger door of her new hybrid sedan. “Don’t I need a key?” he asked, after settling into the driver’s seat.
“Nope. Just push the button and put it in reverse.”
Joe had known she was thinking of purchasing a new car a year ago, but after her diagnosis, all plans had been put on hold. He saw the fact that she felt well enough to invest in a big-ticket item as a testament to her good health.
“I love it. Smartest thing I ever did. You wouldn’t believe the mileage I get. Did I tell you that, legally, I can drive in the diamond lane, even if I’m all by myself?”
Joe smiled. Why beating traffic in the commuter lane was important to someone his mother’s age was beyond him, but he was delighted to know she was pleased with her purchase. “Is Brandon happy to have the old car?”
“Oh, heavens no,” Maureen said. “He thinks his mother and I are ruining his love life by making him drive an old-lady car, but I told him he’s too young to worry about love. He needs to focus on his studies.”
Too young to fall in love. Joe had fallen in love with Lisa when he was younger than her son was now. Seventh grade. Her first day at a new school. Joe had been selected to show her around. There’d been a couple of other students in the group, too, but from the minute he’d seen her, Joe only had eyes for Lisa. Until his brother had staked his claim, of course. Once Patrick made up his mind to have something, everyone knew it was hopeless to fight. Patrick had been a force of nature. He’d swept through life, leaving a wake of destruction at times, benevolent gifts at others.
“How’s Brandon doing in school?” Joe asked, as they exited the alley that provided access to both extra parking and the small fenced-off area euphemistically called the beer garden. The lattice-covered patio held a picnic table and half a dozen chairs for patrons who wanted to smoke.
The path home was so ingrained in his mind, Joe could probably have closed his eyes and made every turn. But instead he looked around, taking in the changes. A few new storefronts, but nothing compared to the housing developments outside the city limits. Vast tracts of land that had once produced almonds—and provided spots for Patrick and his friends to throw keg parties—were now covered with homes.
“Not bad,” his mother said. “Mostly Bs. Not as good as you, but better than your brother.”
Grades weren’t his and Patrick’s only difference. Pat had been a star athlete. Joe could barely swing a bat. Gregarious and loud, Patrick Kelly had been the center of every gathering while Joe had stayed in the background.
“Don’t bother my brother,” Patrick would warn people. “He’s storing up information for a future screenplay.”
“So tell me more about this movie you want to make,” his mother said.
Joe had waited until Brandon and Lisa had left to bring up the subject, but he suddenly felt dead tired. “Does corned beef have tryptophan in it? I feel as if I could sleep for a month.”
Maureen turned slightly in the seat. “Stop teasing, Joseph. If you don’t want to tell me about it, fine.”
Joe put on the blinker to pull into the driveway. A thirty-year-old square two-story with Tudor aspirations. The amber glow of the streetlight half a block away wasn’t enough for him to make out the new paint and shingles that he’d paid for last summer. The gifts he’d sent while his mother was puking her guts out from chemotherapy.
“I’m sorry, Mom. This is important to me and I want to present it to you right.”
Maureen didn’t say anything for a minute, then she asked, “Is that the real reason you’re here? Not my wedding or Lisa’s graduation. You came home to reconnect with your roots?”
Is that what I’m doing? She made it sound so simple.
“Every movie takes a recipe and ingredients. I’m still working on my recipe, but I picture interviewing old-timers and using some of those old movies of mine I shot when I was a kid. You still have them, don’t you?”
“Of course,” she said, her tone offended. “They’re yours. They might be valuable some day.”
Joe doubted that but didn’t argue. “I shipped my tripod and the rest of my editing equipment by freight. It should be here early next week. I have until then to come up with a rough storyboard.” Or at the very least, an idea of what he wanted to accomplish.
“What does Lisa think of this? She told you I’ve agreed to sell the place to her, right?”
Joe nodded. “She told me. I was…surprised. To say the least.”
He looked at his mother. Her head was resting against the seat and her eyes were closed. Her hair had returned pure white after her treatments, and Joe still wasn’t completely used to her fashionable bob. “You look exhausted. Should we table this conversation till tomorrow?”
“It’s been a hectic few weeks,” she said. “And there’s still so much to do. First Lisa’s party, then the wedding.”
Joe felt his stomach muscles contract whenever that word came up. He hoped his reservations were gone by the time the couple said their vows.
She took a deep breath then opened the door. “You’re right, dear. We’ll talk in the morning. You know the way to your room.” She got out then leaned down to add, “I’m so happy you’re home. It’s been too long.”
Joe watched her walk up the three wide steps to the front stoop. She moved with measured grace, but none of the energy he remembered.
After pulling into the attached garage, Joe turned off the car and retrieved his luggage. When he picked up his carry-on tote, Joe remembered a second gift he’d brought for Brandon. The boy had been so thrilled by his poster, Joe had forgotten about the music CD he had for him.
Modamu Davies’s new hip-hop group. Joe had heard the band’s name mentioned at the last party he attended in Malibu, but he didn’t know the music and was pretty sure he wouldn’t like it. The thought made him feel old.
“Thirty-five is not old,” he muttered, digging through the outside pocket of his suitcase. Leaving his bags in what his mother called the mud room, Joe detoured to the backyard. Hopefully, the exterior speakers he and his brother had set up still worked.
His mother’s stereo sat on an oak-and-glass étagère just inside the sliding glass patio door. Joe inserted the disk and turned the knob so the only speakers playing were the ones under the eaves. A few seconds later a chest-thumping beat filled the fenced enclosure.
As he walked around, taking in the changes his mother had made to the landscaping, Joe tried to make sense of the rapper’s words. Is he speaking another language?
Yeah, it’s called youth, a cynical voice answered.
Joe followed a worn path in the grass and came up short when he spotted an unfamiliar gate. The Kellys shared a fence with Lisa’s mother, but this entrance hadn’t existed when Joe was a kid. His father must have put it in for Brandon. Maureen had told him that Joe Sr. and his grandson had been extremely close.
No mechanical latch was visible on Joe’s side of the fence—just a four-inch-long piece of string that dangled through a hole in a wooden slat. Attached to the string was a small bell.
He was tempted to walk next door and finish his conversation with Lisa. Sorely tempted. Something had sizzled between them tonight when he’d played that song.
He started back to the house, instead. Any issues between him and Lisa were best ignored. They’d screwed up once and still lived with the guilt. His feelings for Lisa were complicated. Too complicated to resolve during a brief visit home.
He’d barely taken half a dozen steps when a sound that didn’t belong on the CD made him freeze midstride.
The tinkle of a tiny bell.
Chapter 3
The gate opened with a bang. His nephew ambled through the opening.
“Hey, man, I figured it was you,” Brandon said. “I heard the music. Not something Grams would play. She’s into golden oldies like Joe Cocker and Rod Stewart.”
Joe fought to keep from wincing. He liked that music, too. Damn, I am getting old.
The boy came closer, his head cocked in obvious concentration. “Who is it?”
Joe held up the jewel case that he still carried. “A new group. My friend’s label. He says they’re hot.”
Brandon took the case from him.
“It’s yours if you want it.”
“Sweet,” Brandon said, squinting to read the label, but the glow from the low-voltage lights was too dim.
“Let’s go inside,” Joe said. “If we keep the volume down, your grandmother won’t mind.” A gust of wind made him realize his thin shirt wasn’t adequate protection from the cool night air—a fact made all the more apparent by comparison to Brandon’s outfit.
“Is that a letter jacket you’re wearing?”
“Yeah. I lettered in football and track.” The boy tried to sound blasé but couldn’t quite pull it off.
Joe kept his smile to himself. “I’m not surprised. Your dad was a jock, too. What about soccer? Patrick was killer at soccer.”
Brandon shook his head. “I played one year, but our coach was more into flirting with my mom than teaching me the game. Kinda sucked.”
Joe had wondered about Lisa’s love life over the years. She was so pretty and desirable. Although his mother had never mentioned any serious attachments, Lisa must have dated. “Did she like him?”
His nephew made a wry sound. “Hell, no. She wound up getting him kicked out of the league and coached my team herself. We made it to the finals, but afterward, we both decided soccer wasn’t our sport.”
Joe couldn’t keep from grinning.
They’d reached the patio, where the lighting was brighter, and Brandon looked at him questioningly, obviously trying to figure out what his uncle’s smile was all about. To mask his true feelings, which Joe wasn’t sure he understood himself, he said, “I was trying to picture what would have happened if any of my Little League coaches ever looked twice at Mom.”
Brandon’s eyes went wide. “Gramps would have kicked some serious ass.”
Joe laughed. “Isn’t that the truth?”
“Don’t get me wrong. Gramps was a great guy. I really miss him. But he could blow up like a firecracker if you pushed him wrong.”
Joe knew that all too well. Patrick had butted heads with their father all the time. The only big fight Joe had ever had with his father was the one about selling the bar. “Your son died from drinking too much. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” Joe had cried, desperately seeking someone—something—to blame.
He turned abruptly and opened the patio door. The music was a little raucous for his taste, but he planned to keep his opinion to himself. He didn’t want his nephew to think he was uncool.
“This would probably sound better on a car stereo,” he said, walking to the stereo where he pushed the eject button.
“Thanks,” Brandon said when Joe handed him the silver disk.
Decent manners. That’s cool. “You’re welcome.”
They faced each other awkwardly a moment, then Joe said, “Isn’t it a little early on a Saturday night for you to be home?”
“There was a party. I didn’t want to go.”
Joe had a feeling there was more to the story, but he didn’t push. He could hardly expect Brandon to open up when they barely knew each other.
Brandon shrugged off his jacket and dropped it in a chair, then sat on the couch and plopped his feet on the cluttered oak coffee table. His sneakers were a molded design in yellow leather with no visible laces.
“Can I ask you something?”
Joe turned off the stereo then walked to the chair across from Brandon and sat down. He didn’t have a lot of experience with teens, but he knew his ex-girlfriend’s daughters would never have asked permission to speak. Nor would they have listened to anything he said.
“Sure. What’s up?”
“Do you know why Mom never talks about him anymore?”
“Who?”
“My dad. It’s like he never existed. The other day she introduced me to some lady at the grocery store as Joe Kelly’s grandson. Isn’t that kinda weird?”
Joe thought a moment. Is this Lisa’s way of moving on? ‘Bout time. “It’s tough when a person dies young. Pat’s still eighteen in everyone’s mind. Too young to be the father of a boy who is nearly the same age as Patrick was when he died.”
Brandon flipped the CD case back and forth in his hands, his gaze on the floor. “I suppose it could be that. She talked about him more when I was little, but now she gets tense whenever I mention his name. Grams thinks it’s because Mom is worried about me driving.” He added under his breath, “And drinking.”
Joe sat forward. “You don’t, do you?”
“Drink?”
By Brandon’s hesitation, Joe could tell the boy was tempted to lie, but after a few seconds said, “Everybody does. But I’ve only been drunk once. A bunch of us were at a sleepover at a friend’s house. We raided his father’s liquor cabinet. When his parents came home, we were all puking our guts out.”
