Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
T he last thing Brandon needed was to deal with someone else’s problem. But he stewed at the restaurant, pretending to be working but not doing much of anything. His mind spun over the past few days.
After what happened at Cora’s place, he decided to go to her show and talk to her. He needed to apologize for being so harsh, but she was nowhere to be seen when he arrived. When he asked where to find her, he was told she had left with “some guy.”
Maybe it was better that way, he thought. He turned into a complete fool when it came to Cora. He needed to get his head cleared.
He wouldn’t be able to write with his head in chaos. He should call her back, but knowing him, he’d say something about that guy, and she wouldn’t like it. He’d wait a little longer, then reach out when he could express his feelings calmly.
Why would she risk losing it all for someone who couldn’t be open about his life? What was it about Julian Abbott?
“Why are you here?” Mia asked. “I thought you were off today.”
“I needed to finish a few things,” Brandon lied, moving things around on the counter.
“We’re fine,” she said, shooing him away with her hands.
“I know, I’m going,” he said.
Brandon had planned on writing all day, but if he couldn’t stop thinking about Cora, he wouldn’t be able to write. So, he wasted time in the restaurant. He just needed to talk to her. But he couldn’t. He didn’t even know what to say. Truthfully, he wasn’t just angry with her recent actions but also angry at himself for allowing himself to feel something for her when she clearly had no feelings toward him. What was he thinking?
“Look what the garbage dragged in,” Mia said under her breath as the front door to the restaurant opened.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Brandon said as he stared at Julian Abbott. “What are you doing here?”
Julian looked at Brandon, his eyes bloodshot, his face swollen and red. The smell of day-old booze reeked off of him. His brand-named athletic wear appeared crumpled. Julian looked terrible.
“You said if I needed help, I could ask you,” Julian said. “Well, I need help.”
Julian’s words came out weak. Brandon looked him up and down, then shook his head. He could tell he was on something. “Not until you go to a meeting.”
“I’ll go to a meeting, but not here,” Julian said, looking around, acting a bit paranoid. “I can’t in the city.”
Brandon picked up his phone and pretended to look busy. “Look, man, you need professional help,” Brandon said, putting his phone down. “I can’t help you.”
“You said you could help,” Julian reminded him. “You told Cora you’d help.”
And there was Cora again. He looked across the bar at Julian, whose bloodshot eyes looked beaten down.
“You have to start by going to a meeting or talking to a professional.” Brandon didn’t know the data on the percentage of people who kept clean after attending meetings, but he did know addicts needed support, and the meetings were a good start.
“Do you think you could take me?” Julian’s eyes revealed desperation. “I just can’t go to one in the city. I can go anywhere else.”
“Do you really think that people care that much about you?” Brandon doubted it.
Julian said. “I’m an Abbott. Everyone wants to see me fail.”
Mia bumped Brandon with her elbow. “Ah, come on, Brandon, the guy’s asking for help.”
Brandon let out a low groan. He hadn’t gone to a meeting in years and hadn’t had a drink of alcohol in even more. He was one of the lucky ones who didn’t need much help, just a reckoning one day. But he had seen the unlucky. And by the look in Julian Abbott’s eyes and the smell on his breath, he was an unlucky one.
“Let’s go,” Brandon said, walking out from the back of the bar. “I’ll take you to one down a way.”
Brandon walked to the kitchen and headed to the back door without waiting to see if Julian answered. He stopped in the office and picked up his keys and coat. Julian followed awkwardly, looking around like someone lost in a bad neighborhood.
Wait until he saw where Brandon was taking him.
“I can have my driver take us there,” Julian said.
“You’ll come in my car,” Brandon said. “Tell your driver to take the day off.”
Julian twisted his face but didn’t argue. He followed Brandon to his car and got in.
Brandon hadn’t been to St. Patrick’s in years, but he knew the meeting times like the back of his hand. When he pulled up to the rectory, he saw Father Michael playing basketball.
“We’re going to church?” Julian asked, squinting his eyes out the window.
Brandon shook his head. “No, we’re going to a meeting.”
Father Michael stopped playing when he noticed Brandon getting out of the car.
“Well, well, Hemmingway, it’s about time you came to even the score,” Father Michael said, smiling wide. He threw the basketball at Brandon, who, in turn, grabbed it and went for a layup as Father Michael tried to defend him. “Looks like you still got it.”
Brandon laughed as he caught the ball. Father Michael’s nickname hadn’t called him in a while. “Hardly.”
Father Michael looked over at Julian.
“This is Julian,” Brandon said, holding the ball. “He’s looking for a private meeting.”
Father Michael reached out his hand. He nodded, understanding that whatever was going on with Julian didn’t need to be spoken out loud. “Let’s go inside.”
Brandon bounced the ball to Father Michael, and the three men entered the building.
“I’m Michael,” Father Michael said, putting his hand on his chest as he led them to the rectory’s office.
“Julian.” Julian placed his own hand on his chest, and Brandon snickered at how people treated Father Michael. Like he was this special hero or something. To Brandon, he was just another kid from Dorchester.
“Michael’s my sponsor,” Brandon said. “But he was my babysitter when I was a kid.”
“Were you a priest before you became sober?” Julian looked a little nervous as they walked through the rectory.
Michael shook his head. “No, after.”
Michael opened the door to an office Brandon was very familiar with. He had to have spent over a hundred hours or more in that room, listening to stories of pain and redemption. And one of them was his own.
“What’s your bottom?” Michael asked Julian as soon as they sat down.
“Excuse me?” Julian said, his eyes wide with confusion.
“Your bottom,” Father Michael said again. “Something brought you here. So what was it?”
“Like what happened today?” Julian asked.
“Like what was it that made you seek help?” Father Michael waited patiently for Julian to answer, but Julian shifted in his seat.
“I’ve been blacking out and changing my personality,” he answered, but Brandon knew Father Michael wasn’t looking for an easy answer.
Father Michael wanted Julian to feel the bottom right then and there. He wanted him to touch it, sit on it and lay his cheek against its floor because when you can taste the grit of the bottom on your teeth, you don’t want to go back there.
“You didn’t come all the way out to Dorchester to tell me about blacking out, so what’s your bottom, son?”
Julian teared up, and Brandon shifted his eyes to the floor. He never got used to seeing people at their lowest. He could write about it and create characters who got dragged through it, but seeing the destruction that addiction caused made his soul ache.
“I keep hurting the people I love the most.” Julian began to cry into his hands. His shoulders shuddered as he broke down. “I can’t stop. I try and try, but I can’t stop.”
“You’ll get there. You have to keep trying,” Father Michael said in that voice that made everything sound believable.
“You will,” Brandon said. If anyone could help with sobriety, it would be Father Michael. Recovery could happen. “Father Michael is the reason I’m still sober.”
Brandon’s low had been a moment he didn’t ever talk about. He never brought it up on his own. Even the night he’d spoken in front of the group at AA and told his story, he never shared his low.
Brandon still couldn’t believe what he’d put his poor grieving family through.
As Julian collected himself, Father Michael said. “Why don’t you stay here, and I’ll make some coffee.”
Outside, it began to rain, droplets bouncing off the windows. Brandon took off his coat, glad they were hunkering down for now. He loved Father Michael’s place. It was a safe haven after he’d become sober. A place to come when he felt his addiction calling. He could always turn to Father Michael.
And that’s when Father Michael leaned over, placing his hand on Julian’s shoulder, and said, “You’re going to be okay. We’ll help.”
Brandon could see Julian’s shoulder lean into Father Michael’s touch.
“The best thing you could do for yourself is check yourself into an inpatient rehabilitation center with professionals who can help you through this,” Father Michael said.
It made perfect sense. The guy had more money than the state of Massachusetts. But before Father Michael finished his sentence, Julian shook his head. “I can’t stop working. I’ll lose my job.”
“Do you have someone at home to help you?” Father Michael asked.
Julian shook his head. “I’ll be fine.”
“Let’s be real,” Father Michael said. “You’re not going to be fine. That’s why you’re here. You’re seeking help. Let us help you.”
“I can’t drop everything,” Julian said. “I’ll lose my job.”
“That’s an excuse,” Brandon said.
“Life can’t change until you’re willing to make the change,” Father Michael said. “There are many ways you can keep in contact and keep up with work.”
“But, I have things I need to do, people I need to see,” Julian said.
More excuses, Brandon noted.
“We’re not kidnapping you, Julian,” Brandon said. “You’re the one who asked for help, remember?”
“I know.” Julian shook his head, letting out a long, heavy sigh. “My whole life will change. I’ll disappoint everyone I know.”
Brandon understood exactly how he felt. He had disappointed everyone he knew at one point in his life. “You’ll continue to hurt her.”
“What?” Julian asked, but his eyes flashed with anger.
“You wouldn’t have to apologize anymore.” Brandon didn’t know what made him come to the restaurant to apologize to Cora, but he knew it had something to do with his drinking.
Julian shook his head. “My father will lose it.”
Father Michael patted Julian on the back. “I understand you don’t want to make waves or cause problems for your family, but believe me, your family will only want what’s best for you.”
“I can’t let this get out to the press,” Julian told Father Michael.
Father Michael shook his head. “You can call it a medical leave or an extended vacation, but the important thing is you get the help you need.”
Julian didn’t say anything. He sat there, bouncing his knee.
“Some people join a program,” Father Michael continued. “Others try it on their own, but either way, you need a plan that will work better than the one you have now.”
Father Michael leaned forward in his chair, looking straight into Julian’s eyes. Brandon could feel Father Michael’s command over him even from where he sat. Brandon had always listened to whatever he told him, and never had he steered him wrong. He had been there when Brandon fell off the wagon, picked him up, and forced him to face things the alcohol covered up.
“Your life can be so much more than this,” Father Micheal told Julian. “You can be so much more.”
Julian sat there, trying hard to stay stoic. But tears flooded his eyes, and his jaw quivered, even being clenched. That’s when he crumpled into Father Michael’s arms and began to sob. Brandon watched as Julian’s whole body collapsed into his embrace.
Brandon quietly got up and excused himself at that point and sat in the front office with Father Michael’s secretary, who was working on her computer. After a while, Father Michael came out of the office, leaving Julian inside and closing the door behind him.
“Liz, could you look up Dr. Murray’s number for me,” Father Michael said. He then walked to Brandon. “Dr. Murray is a parishioner who has helped me in the past find a good fit for people needing help.”
Brandon nodded, glad he had Father Michael to take over. “Thanks for your help.”
“Of course,” Father Michael sat down next to Brandon.
“I guess I’ll just head out then,” Brandon said, about to leave his seat.
“Where are you going?” Father Michael jerked back his head.
“Home,” Brandon said. “I can’t do anything more for this guy. I don’t even know him.”
“But he came to you,” he said in his Father Michael voice. “You need to stay here until he figures out what to do.”
Brandon opened his mouth to complain when Liz walked over with a slip of paper in her hand. “Here’s that number, Father Michael.”
“Thanks, Liz.” Father Michael took the paper and looked at it. He held it up and shook it twice. “Let’s go back to my office together. He needs to know he has support.”
Brandon groaned inside his head. Father Michael was right, as always. Julian had asked for help, which he had offered. What was he thinking? Aside from the Google search he did the other night when he took off with Cora, he didn't even know this guy.
And that was when it hit him. He was jealous of this clown. He was jealous that Cora had run off with him that night. Why hadn’t he seen this earlier? Like four hours ago—before Julian had walked back into his restaurant.
“Fine, I’ll help,” Brandon said, walking back into the office where Julian sat, bouncing his knee up and down.
“I’m just going to make a few phone calls,” Father Michael said, leaving the two men alone.
“How are you doing?” Brandon asked, unsure what to say to him, but Julian said nothing. He just looked out the window. Brandon sat down in the chair next to him.
“I ruined her show,” Julian blurted out. He covered his eyes with his hand.
“Whose show?” But the hairs stood up on Brandon’s neck in anger. He knew what show Julian was talking about.
“I said something stupid and got kicked out with Cora.” His eyes filled with tears. “I’m pretty sure I got her fired, but she won’t answer my texts or calls. And she wasn’t at her place this morning.”
Julian dropped his head and began to weep at this point. “I care about her so much. I tried to stay away from her. I did everything I could to keep away.”
Except you showed up at the restaurant , Brandon thought.
“I never want to upset her ever again.” He shook in his sobs. “Please, I know I’m not easy to like, and I don’t deserve your help, but you have to tell her I’m sorry.”
“No way, man.” Brandon couldn’t believe it. “You got Cora fired from Madame Dubois. That internship was really important to her.”
“I know.” Julian looked up at Brandon. His eyes looked pathetic. “Please, man, I’m begging you.”
“How could you do that to someone you care about?” Brandon said, but as Julian lost his emotions, Brandon could feel the hypocrisy oozing out of his words. Hadn’t he done the same to the people he loved when he drank?
He wanted nothing more than to wring this guy’s neck. He had every excuse to say no. He didn’t care about Julian Abbott and his family name. He had no ties to him other than being a customer in the restaurant. He had every reason to tell him to find someone else.
That’s when he saw Father Michael looking at him from the other side of the room. He gave Brandon a thumbs up and a stiff nod. He thought Brandon was doing the right thing by helping Julian, not thinking of ways to get rid of him.
One of Brandon’s very bottom moments had been almost exactly like this in that very building, begging Father Michael to help him. He didn’t even hesitate to help him. Father or not, part of his own recovery’s promise was to help fellow men in his shoes. How could he turn his back when Julian begged for help?
“Fine,” Brandon said. “But don’t expect her to forgive you.”