Chapter Nine
Connor woke on his own without an alarm, which was unusual.
Most mornings, he relied on several hits to the snooze button before he was ready to pry his eyes open and roll out of bed.
But it was Sunday, and Sam had arranged his week so he didn’t have any spillover jobs that cut into his weekend.
He lay in bed for a moment, marveling at that small feat of organization.
Now that Sam was up to speed, he’d started picking up some of the extra paperwork that had stolen chunks of Connor’s meager free time.
Yesterday, Connor had spent the afternoon deep cleaning his apartment.
Mostly because he wanted to distract himself from replaying the conversation with Sam but also because the place had been sorely neglected by his hectic schedule.
Faced with another empty day stretching before him, Connor was at a loss for how to fill it. Coffee would be a good start.
He got out of bed and pulled on some clothes then padded barefoot to the living room.
He took a record down from the shelf and placed it on the turntable.
In the kitchen, he filled the kettle at the sink and set it on the stove.
Even Gnarls Barkley wasn’t smooth enough to drown out the trill of Connor’s phone from the bedroom, and he sprinted down the hall to get it while the kettle screeched on the stove.
“Finnis, save me,” Brian said when Connor picked up. His voice was thick with congestion, and as he wheezed into the receiver, a piercing shriek rose in the background.
“What’s going on?” Connor asked, holding the phone away from his ear.
“Jules is at an education conference, and I’ve been struck down by Ellie’s plague,” Brian moaned. “The ship is sinking. I need backup.”
Connor shook his head at the irony. First weekend off in months, and he’d gone and jinxed it by imagining all the alluring possibilities. “You seemed fine at the game on Friday.”
“That’s how these things go. Preschool is a petri dish.”
“I can’t guarantee I’ll be any help,” Connor hedged.
“Matty loves you, and—to be honest—I’ve tried everyone else. Marcus and Evie have their hands full with their own spawn, and there’s no way I’m passing this bug on to Mimi while she’s pregnant.”
“But you’ll pass it on to me?”
“You’re a big boy.”
Connor snorted. “So I was your last resort?”
“Come on, why are you always so weird about kids?”
“Weird how?”
“Like they’re an alien species.”
“That’s not wrong.”
“Please, Connor, I’m begging here. Bring your tool bag and show Matty how many different ways he can make a hole in the wall. Use your big ol’ brain of facts and bore him to sleep. I’ll take anything.”
Connor laughed. “Okay, give me a chance to get some coffee in me first. I’m going to need it.”
“You sure are. Thanks a million, man.”
Connor hung up with a sigh. So much for his free morning. He walked back to the turntable and picked up the tonearm, the record spinning silently beneath.
Brian and Jules lived in a quaint little bungalow just south of the town’s main street.
When Connor arrived at the house, he had to walk through a minefield of plastic kids’ toys to reach the front door, making sure not to trip on the overturned tricycle lying across the top step.
He rapped on the door with his fist. From inside, he could hear the thud of small feet followed by an indistinguishable holler that he assumed belonged to Brian.
He turned the knob, and the door opened on its own.
Connor made his way down the hallway toward the noise.
The floor was littered with clothes and toys and what appeared to be scattered Cheerios.
He poked his head into the living room to find Brian prone on the couch, with Matty sitting on his chest like a conquering soldier and Ellie rocking nearby in a swing, her green eyes wide.
“Morning,” he offered, taking in the chaos of the room. “Have you had breakfast?”
“Daddy let me lick Nutella from the lid,” Matty announced triumphantly.
“I’ll take that as a no. Come on down, Matty.
You’re going to help me make French toast.” Connor lifted the four-year-old from his perch, and Brian let out a relieved groan.
He hoisted Matty over his shoulder and plopped him onto the island in the middle of the room.
The combined living-dining-kitchen was small on its own but rendered almost claustrophobic with all the kid clutter.
“Don’t mind the mess in there,” his friend warned as Connor began stacking dirty plates in the sink. “I may have also overdosed on cough syrup, so don’t mind me either.”
“Sounds like a real party.” Connor wiped down the mosaic of spills on the counter to carve out a little working space. “Jules is going to lose her shit when she comes back to this.”
“Tell me about it,” Brian muttered, and from her swing, Ellie gave a sympathetic coo.
“At least Ellie seems to be on the mend,” Connor remarked.
“Thankfully. I caught Matty chewing on her pacifier, so no guess who she got it from. I think the kids are through the worst of it. Me, on the other hand...”
Connor took a grease-spattered frying pan from the stove and doused it in hot water. “You’re not making this look appealing.” He spotted a mixing bowl under the counter and opened the fridge for eggs.
“That’s the point,” Brian huffed from the couch. “I’m doing you a solid, man. So when you get a girl in the family way, you’ll know what to expect.”
Connor smiled indulgently and ignored the guilt that pricked his chest when he was pretending to be someone he wasn’t.
The making and eating of said French toast was enough to keep Matty occupied long enough for Connor to take a decent stab at cleaning the kitchen and putting Ellie down for her nap.
He brewed coffee for himself and Brian and then took a seat beside his friend on the couch while Matty built a garage for his toy cars around Connor’s ankles.
“That was impressive.” Brian took a slow sip from his mug. “You might be my first choice next time.”
“I don’t mind being last. Was Grandma Spielman not up to the task?”
Brian gave a snort. “You know my mom. She considers receiving our annual Christmas card the extent of her grandparenting duties. And let’s not even get started on my dad. I wonder if it’s too soon to wrangle Sam into babysitting,” he mused. “Might scare him off again.”
“I guarantee it,” Connor said as Matty used his shin as a ramp to launch his miniature dump truck and it went skidding across the floor. “Were you guys close? I don’t remember seeing much of the two of you at school.”
“We both spent summers volunteering at the Pinnacle Theater and used to trade DVDs and movie recommendations. Shit, we even worked on a screenplay together.” Brian chuckled. “But I don’t think we hung out much at school. We moved in different circles.”
“Right.”
Brian’s expression grew serious. “I appreciate what you said at trivia the other night. It was shortsighted of me to pretend this place welcomes everyone with open arms. I know that hasn’t been Sam’s experience. Or yours for that matter.”
Connor blinked, his throat seizing.
“You do one dumb thing as a kid, and people still think of you as the town pariah,” Brian went on.
Connor gripped his coffee cup, masking a wave of relief. “One dumb thing?” he retorted. “That’s generous.”
“I’m just lucky my little misdeeds were never exposed.”
“Please, everyone knew who to go to for decent grass.”
“Like on the lawn, Daddy?” Matty piped up, lifting his head from the floor where he was traversing a red convertible over Connor’s shoelaces.
“Yes, that grass.” Brian shot Connor a dirty look.
Connor snickered and downed a mouthful of coffee.
“I take it back,” Brian said. “You’re no longer my first choice.”
“Works for me,” Connor said as Matty leaped onto his lap.
Connor stayed to make lunch and then put a kids’ movie on and left Matty tucked up with Brian on the couch.
He needed to pick up some groceries for the week ahead.
The only food waiting for him at home was an open jar of pickles and half a loaf of bread.
He promised Brian he’d swing by with extra diapers on his way back from the store.
Jim’s Supervalue was a hybrid supermarket-deli-hardware store in the middle of town that had doubled as a video store when Connor was younger.
The display of sun-bleached DVDs had been cleared out to make room for a community-fundraising table that hosted school bake sales or Girl Scouts hawking cookies.
Connor wandered through the aisles and absently picked up items that made no sense together.
He’d heard once not to shop while hungry, which would explain the kimchi ramen and the half dozen frosted cupcakes sitting in his basket.
When he reached the checkout, he spotted someone waving at him from the end of the line.
“Connor! Fancy running into you here!” Lily Bryant exclaimed.
She was short with chin-length gray-blond hair and Sam’s brown eyes.
Strange. This was the first time Connor had noticed the resemblance.
His mother had attended a painting class with Sam’s mom for years, but Connor couldn’t say he and Mrs. Bryant had much to do with each other, aside from the occasional job he’d been called out to at their house.
“Hiding some big news, are we?” she said with a wink as he joined her in line.
Connor’s stomach dropped to the floor. Sam told her? “Uh... what’s that?”
Mrs. Bryant pointed at the pack of diapers in his basket. “Are congratulations in order?”
It took a moment for his brain to unfreeze. “Ah, no, nothing like that. These are for a friend.”
“That’s nice of you.” She examined him with a wide smile. “I’ll admit, I was a bit surprised when Sam told us he was working at Finnegan’s. How long have you been running the business on your own?”
Connor was still waiting for his pulse to return to normal. “Just over a year now.”
“It’s amazing what you and Maureen are doing to support your dad. It must be so hard on you both.”
Connor eyed the line in front of them as it inched forward. “He doesn’t let us go easy on him, that’s for sure.”
“Well, we’ve heard only good things from Sam, which is something because he doesn’t say a lot these days.” Mrs. Bryant gave a little laugh. “I don’t know if he told you about what happened, but I’m so glad he’s out of Austin. What a disaster.”
Her eyes welled up, and she blinked quickly. Connor frowned. Sam hadn’t mentioned anything about a disaster. Come to think of it, he’d been rather evasive about his reasons for returning.
“Anyway, he was in a bad spot for a while, but he’s doing much better,” she continued. “The job has helped enormously. It’s such a relief to see him up and out the door every morning. I’m sure spending time with an old school friend doesn’t hurt either.”
“I wouldn’t say we were friends at school, Mrs. Bryant,” Connor admitted. “Which was probably a good thing. He was wise to steer clear.”
Sam’s mom began to stack her groceries on the conveyor belt—bread, milk, and a box of snack-sized packs of Goldfish crackers.
Connor held back a laugh. At the office, Sam had pulled one of the orange-and-white packets from his satchel with a puzzled look.
Then he’d stuffed it back into his bag and grumbled, “Her kid moves home, and she regresses to packing lunches.” Connor thought it was sweet.
“Oh, who hasn’t had a spell of youthful defiance?” Mrs. Bryant said, patting his arm reassuringly. “And look how well you turned out, taking over the family business. Your dad must be so proud.”
Connor forced a smile. It was a familiar enough refrain to have become grating. “I’m glad to hear Sam’s enjoying himself. He’s brought a lot of new ideas to the table. I’m lucky to have him on board.”
“Sam’s like that—always needing to throw himself into things.
” She stopped loading her groceries and stared down at her basket.
“But it can be hard on him too. He’s more sensitive than he lets on.
I only wish he’d take a moment to look up and see the bigger picture.
” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh my goodness! If he caught me talking about him, he’d be mortified. He already thinks I’m too involved.”
Mrs. Bryant turned to greet the cashier, but her admission lingered in Connor’s mind. Maybe he wasn’t the only one keeping secrets.