Chapter Thirty-Five
Brady
“Mr. McDaniels?”
I look up. The professor asked me a question, but as is often the case these days, I haven’t been paying attention.
“What was the flaw in the contract, Mr. McDaniels?”
“In Hamer v. Sidway ?”
“No, Mr. McDaniels. We’ve moved on to Kirksey v. Kirksey .”
“Oh, um…” Quick, idiot. “Lack of consideration.”
“Correct.”
Phew. Thankfully, the professor moves on to another student. I go back to searching the internet for Angela Pines. Of course, that yields absolutely nothing. All I have are the few pictures I’d taken of her and the memory of her smell. Citrus and coconut and tons of attitude.
I glance at my phone when a text from my dad lights up the screen.
Got some news. Meet me down at Broadway Bagel after class.
I let him know I’ll be there and try to pay attention to the rest of my Contracts class. It’s pretty much a lost cause.
As soon as class is over, I put on my Giants beanie, shove my hands in the pockets of my down jacket, and head toward Broadway.
It’s a twenty-minute walk through slush-coated streets on a thirty-degree January afternoon, but I’ve always liked winter in the city.
These days, I don’t so much like it as endure it.
Nothing feels the same since I returned to New York and started school at Columbia.
I’m living at home, surrounded by my family until I get a place of my own.
I can hang out with my friends whenever I want.
I can get decent pizza on any block. But I feel removed from everyone and everything, like I’m not really home.
I wonder if that feeling will ever go away.
I get to the bagel place and see my dad inside, sipping a coffee. His hair is grayer, but other than that he’s weathering the stress of having federal forgery charges hanging over his head. He’s still strong and unbowed, still our rock, and the one who’s always able to make us feel safe.
“Hey, Dad.”
To my surprise, he stands up and greets me with a strong, back-slapping hug. My dad never shies away from hugs, but he doesn’t usually dole them out in bagel places.
“It’s over,” he says, still holding on to me.
“What?”
He steps away, his eyes shining. “The district attorney called my lawyer this morning. It’s over. They’re not filing forgery charges.”
I drop down into a chair and rip the beanie off my head so I can run my hand through my hair. I stare at my dad as he takes the seat across from me. “How? Why? Did you give them what they wanted?”
“No,” he says. “I never gave them the names.”
For weeks, we’ve been waiting for charges to be filed. My dad’s lawyer walked him through various possible plea agreements, all of which carried some jail time. The only certainty was the hopelessness of the situation. Until today.
She didn’t. She wouldn’t. I told her not to do it.
And yet…
No. She hates me. She wouldn’t do it.
Amid the profound relief and joy, an uncomfortable feeling is pricking the back of my mind.
Two more weeks pass before everything comes crashing into place. We’re all at our house watching Monday Night Football when a breaking news alert comes on during halftime.
Mob boss Angelo Pini arrested. The headline accompanies live footage of a tall, movie-star-handsome man with slicked-back gray hair and a defiant smirk being led from a brick mansion in handcuffs.
I jump out of my seat, knocking over Siobhan’s popcorn in the process.
“Hey!”
I shush her and she stomps off to make some more popcorn. Mikey follows her, probably to sneak a beer.
“Dad!” I call. He comes in from the kitchen.
I point to the television. He sits down next to my mom, and we listen to the announcer.
Elusive mafia boss Angelo Pini has been arrested at his Staten Island home on federal human trafficking and racketeering charges.
A dozen women alleged to have been forced to work at strip clubs he allegedly owns have been placed into protective custody.
Due to Pini’s extensive wealth and dual U.S.
-Italian citizenship, bail is expected to be denied.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” murmurs my dad. “Did you know anything about this?”
“No.” I’m furious, at Lou, at Angela, at myself.
“I know you told Lou you didn’t want her involved,” says my dad. “I would have given up the names if I thought he’d go this far.”
“And I would have told you to if I thought she’d go this far,” I say.
My dad looks at my mom, who’s sitting there with an astonished expression on her face. “She gave him up?” she says.
“Sure looks that way.” I sold her out, and she did it anyway. She saved my dad.
“What are you going to do?” asks my dad.
After I let her have it for putting herself at risk like this? “Marry her.”
I’m not kidding. I’m way beyond girly relationship stuff.
I want the whole relationship enchilada with her.
A wedding, a honeymoon, a walkup in Queens, fights over what color to paint the bedroom.
(Honestly, though, that would never happen.
She can paint everything salmon pink and baby-shit yellow for all I care.) Speaking of baby shit, I want that, too.
Not so much the shit, but the babies. The bottom line is, I love her—her courage, her determination; I even love her attitude.
It doesn’t solve anyone’s problems, but it’s the god’s honest truth.
“Brady,” says my mom, her face etched with worry. “She has a target on her. She’s his daughter.”
“I don’t care,” I say. I’m already watching her walk down the aisle to me.
“You’re being impetuous, Brady,” she says. “You’re not thinking.”
“All I’ve been doing is thinking, Mom. About her.”
“Brady—”
“Deirdre.” My dad links his fingers with hers. “Give him a break, honey. He knows what he’s doing.”
“I know,” she says softly. “I just… Brady, are you going back to California?”
“If that’s what it takes, yeah. Whatever she wants.”
My mom isn’t going to let me see how sad that makes her. She smiles and squeezes Connor’s hand.
Siobhan comes strolling back into the room with a fresh bowl of popcorn. “What’s going on?”
“Your brother’s going to try to get you that sister-in-law you want,” says my mom drily.
“Yes!” Siobhan exclaims, pounding her fist in the air and spilling more popcorn as a result. “How exactly are you gonna pull that off, since she hates your guts and all?”
Yeah, there’s that little problem to deal with.
“We’re going to help him,” says my mom.
“Cool. I’m in.”
Uh, okay…
There’s also the other big problem my mom correctly alluded to. But I have an idea about that one.
I go outside on the front porch and dial up Lou. “I need a favor,” I say.