Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14
I t had been a good thing Brandon brought Father Michael along to visit Julian because Julian only agreed to visit with them when he heard Father Michael was there.
Walking through the treatment center, Brandon felt like he was walking into a resort rather than a rehabilitation center, but that’s what someone got if they had a lot of money. Even getting sober was more luxurious. They met Julian in the visiting area that looked like a conservatory with plants and flowers, and even a water feature. Julian’s whole body had sagged in his seat, but from the last time Brandon saw him, he looked much better.
“You look good,” Father Michael said, as he sat down. He didn’t wear his priest gear. Instead, he wore a Red Sox hat and a plain blue sweatshirt. Nobody would even know a priest sat among them in the room.
“Well, I feel horrible,” Julian said, bouncing his knee up and down.
“It’ll get easier,” Brandon said.
“One day at a time,” Father Michael said. “It’s why so many of us keep track of our days sober.”
“How many days sober are you?” Julian asked Father Michael.
“Fourteen years, six months, and twelve days sober.” Father Michael looked at Brandon.
“Almost seven years,” Brandon said.
“Am I going to feel like this forever?” Julian asked.
“No,” Father Michael said. “Sometimes I can feel the urge to drink, but I use prayer and my friends to help me.”
Father Michael turned to Brandon, expecting him to add something.
“There’s always a little voice telling me I can have just one.” Brandon didn’t want him to think it would be sunshine and lollipops, but he could get through it. “What harm could it do? Especially at night.” Brandon felt it right then. That little feeling that he could be in control of alcohol. “But now, in my sobriety, I’m stronger than that voice. At first, I wasn’t. I needed to learn the tools that worked for me to stay sober. And one of those tools was to get help and use my support system.”
Julian exhaled a long breath. Then said, “Thanks for coming.”
Brandon understood how daunting it could feel. “It’s like the death of another life.”
Julian snorted at that. “Isn’t that the truth?”
“You’ll get through it, but you have to do the work and lean into your support system,” Father Michael said. “Have you told your family?” Father Michael asked.
Julian shook his head. “I told no one. Not even work.”
Brandon thought of Cora. Would she tell? “I called Cora and told her you were okay.”
“You did?” Julian looked up.
Brandon nodded.
“Oh.” Julian’s knee started bouncing again, and he stared out the windows. He rubbed his face with both hands. “She hasn’t returned my calls.”
This surprised Brandon. She didn’t call Julian back. Did he get things wrong? Was she upset with him about losing her internship? Had that straw broken the camel’s back?
“I just want to apologize.” Julian’s jaw tensed. “Make things better, you know? I do anything to make it up to Cora.”
His knee pounded faster up and down.
“You should start by calling her boss, Madame Dubois,” Brandon said, “and explain what happened that night.”
Julian’s face twisted. “Seriously?”
“You could make things right,” Brandon said. “It’s part of the process. You have a chance to fix it.”
Julian groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “You’re right.”
The conversation shifted to ways to keep positive and away from any triggers that might lead him to drink. Brandon had hated those days that had seemed like time stood still and alcohol literally whispered in his ear. Just pick me up , it would rationalize. It’ll make you feel so much better , the liquor would say to him. The minutes had dragged each day when, suddenly, it stopped.
They stayed for over an hour before Julian had to leave and attend a group therapy session.
When Father Michael left for the restroom, Julian turned to Brandon and said, “Thanks for coming, really. I appreciate it.”
“You should think about talking to your family,” Brandon said. “It’s nice to have someone understand what you’re going through.”
Julian rubbed his hands together. “My brother and I are close, but my brother’s getting married and has this great life in Maine. I don’t want to ruin that for him. He’s already worried enough about me.”
Brandon kept forgetting the connection between Cora and him. “Is that how you met Cora? Through your brother?”
“No,” Julian said fast. “Cora and I started dating before those two.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I know you think I’m this scumbag, but I wasn’t the one who ended things in the first place with Cora. When I came to the restaurant that night, she wanted nothing to do with me.”
He had a feeling Cora’s version would be a bit different than that, but he let Julian think otherwise.
“Is that why you showed up at the restaurant with another woman?” If that had been his plan, Cora hadn’t wasted a minute falling for it.
But Julian looked away. “No, I forgot she worked there. I was blacked out for half of the things we did together.” Shame washed across Julian’s face as his eyes watered. “I really screwed up with her.”
Brandon didn’t know Julian very well, but he did know Cora. “She isn’t someone who will hold this against you forever.” If anything, Brandon thought Cora was too forgiving. “I would try to make things right by apologizing when she’s ready.”
“What’s the deal between you and Cora?” Julian stared right into Brandon’s eyes.
“Excuse me?” He didn’t need to confess anything else to this man. “She’s my friend.”
“Friend, right?” Julian rolled his eyes.
Before Brandon could ask what he meant by that, Father Michael came back from the bathroom. “You ready, Hemmingway?”
“What’s with the nickname?” Julian asked.
“Don’t you know you’re sitting with the next great American writer?” Father Michael patted Brandon's shoulder with his hand. “He just needs to finish the dang novel.”
“You write?” Julian seemed surprised by this. He turned to Brandon. “What’s your novel about?”
Brandon didn’t expect to have his elevator pitch ready to go, but there he was. “It’s set around a crime, but it’s mostly a story of overcoming grief.”
Julian didn’t appear too impressed as he took in this information. “Do you have a publisher?”
“No.” Brandon's insecurities crept up when talking about his writing. People didn’t take a kitchen manager very seriously when discussing literature.
“Have you signed with an agent?” Julian asked.
“Do you know how this works?” Brandon did, and it wasn’t as easy as just signing an agent or getting the right publisher.
“I know a few people who could help you out,” Julian said, shifting on the couch. “If it’s good.”
Brandon gritted his teeth. “Well, we should head back before there’s traffic.”
“Sorry,” Julian said, holding up his hands. “I just mean, I haven’t read it yet. I don’t know what it’s like.”
“You don’t have to worry about what it’s like,” Brandon said a bit too quickly.
“Yeesh.” Julian held up his hands. “Someone’s a bit sensitive.”
“Dude.” Brandon stared Julian down. Was he that stupid? What did he not get?
“He just needs to commit to finishing,” Father Michael said, which rubbed Brandon because it was true. He then walked over to Julian who stood. “Take care and stay the course.”
Julian nodded and gave Father Michael a handshake. “Thanks for coming.”
Julian went over to Brandon, who stood in the doorway and reached out his hand to him.
“I really do appreciate your help,” he said.
Brandon dropped his arms, which were crossed against his chest, and took Julian’s hand in his and shook it. “Take care of yourself.”
A sadness washed over Julian’s face, and Brandon felt sorry for the guy.
When they got into the car, Brandon asked, “Think he’ll make it?”
“I sure hope he does,” Father Michael said, looking back at the center.
On the ride back, they didn’t talk much. Father Michael sat quietly, which was alright with Brandon. He had a lot on his mind. Mostly the ghosts that haunted him.
Just as they entered Massachusetts, Father Michael said, “Let’s get something to eat.”
“Sure,” Brandon said, pulling off on the next exit.
They found a small diner that served breakfast all day long. The two didn’t speak as they sat there in a booth. Father Michael studied the menu as Brandon stared out at the patrons sitting and eating, living their normal lives. Had they, too, gone through a big moment and needed to refuel?
Father Michael leaned back. “Want to talk about it finally?”
“What’s that?” Brandon asked, looking up from the menu.
“Your bottom.” Father Michael had waited years for Brandon to talk about it.
Brandon could feel the lump dig into his throat. “You mean the funeral?”
Father Michael adjusted in the booth and cracked his knuckles. “No, the night before when you drank all the liquor in the house,” Father Michael reminded him.
Father Michael put the menu down, crossing his hands over each other like he did when he became serious in listening.
Brandon shrugged, looking at a framed newspaper clipping of a five-star rating on the wall. “I drove down to the fishing hole where he’d take me and passed out.”
When Brandon woke up, he didn’t know what had happened to him. He couldn’t find his keys, he wore his father’s clothing, and he had a black eye, which, to this day, he still didn’t know how he’d gotten.
“I missed his funeral,” he whispered so quietly he barely heard himself.
Father Michael nodded. “I know. It was hard to see.”
Father Michael had been the officiant. He’d stepped in to take Brandon’s place as a pallbearer. He’d held Lucia’s hand and sat with her as they lowered her husband of thirty years into the earth. He’d taken her home, put her to bed, and looked for Brandon.
“After the funeral, I went looking for you,” Father Michael began. “I had never wanted a drink more than at that moment. Seeing your family crumble, watching you fall apart while your mother and siblings grieved, was like watching a freight train plow into something. I don’t know how or what made me look, but I went to where your father had taken us fishing as kids. And there you were.”
Brandon remembered falling apart in Father Michael’s arms. He could feel the lump in his throat again as memories of his bottom weighed him in his seat. “How could I have missed his funeral?”
Brandon picked up the menu now, looking at the varied choices, the lines blurring as he tried to hold back his emotions.
“Sometimes you have to hit the bottom, so you know how high you have to go,” Father Michael said. “I know your father’s proud of the man you’ve become.”
People always mentioned his father, but Brandon wanted to make his mother proud. Had she forgiven him after that night? If he hadn’t forgiven himself for his father’s funeral, then how could his mother forgive him?
“Do you think she’s forgiven me?” Brandon choked out, grabbing a napkin before the waitress noticed a man crying in the diner.
“Of course.” Father Michael chuckled as he handed Brandon another napkin. “She still pulls out your photograph in church.”
“But has she forgiven me?” Brandon needed to know, really know, that he didn’t disappoint the one woman who had always been there for him.
“Brandon, you have always been a good son, even when you made mistakes.” Father Michael took hold of Brandon’s arm. “And you’ve turned into an even greater man.”
Brandon’s chin wobbled at that one and he took in a deep breath to steady his emotions. “Do you think I can forgive myself now?”
“I think it’s about time,” Father Michael said.
After the food arrived, the conversation naturally turned to the Red Sox and the predicted bad winter. When they got back to the city, Brandon headed to his mother’s place. As soon as he walked into the house, he went straight up to her and wrapped his arms around her.
“Thank you for everything,” he said into her ear.
She held on to him, leaning into his embrace. “You’re a good boy.”
Brandon spent the night with his mother and sister, talking about the whole situation with Julian.
“You really did a nice thing,” Sophia said.
“I’m proud of you, Brandon,” Lucia said
And that’s when something shifted in Brandon. The shame and guilt didn’t leave, but it didn’t make him feel like he was drowning.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “About the funeral, leaving you guys to deal with it.”
He looked down at his hands but forced himself to look up at his mother and sister. “I promise I’ll never put you through that again.”
Sophia smiled. “We know, Brandon.”
And his mother nodded. “We know. We love you.”
When he returned back to his apartment that night, he got a text from Cora.
How’d everything go today?
Brandon wasn’t sure if he should respond as the doubt crept back in. She was checking in on Julian . Good. He looked good.
That’s when his phone began to ring.
“So, he looked good?” Cora asked right when he answered the phone.
She was still clearly into Julian. “Yeah, he looked good.”
“I don’t know how to thank you, Brandon,” she said. “You went above and beyond for him, and I don’t know how I can repay you.”
“You don’t have to repay me,” he said. He played with a pen cap, opening and closing it. He wished he had enough guts to tell her right then and there how he felt, but he chickened out. “Are you still in Maine?”
“I am,” she said. “It’s peaceful.”
“Sounds nice.” He dropped the pen on his coffee table and leaned back on the couch. “Isn’t your mom’s place right on the water?”
He had heard about the mysterious grandfather who left her mother a cottage on the ocean.
“Yeah, it’s really pretty, especially this time of year.” He heard what sounded like waves in the background. “I should go back to the city and ask to be put on the schedule.”
He could hear a reluctance in her voice.
“But…” He waited for her to answer and could feel his heart start to beat faster in anticipation of bad news.
“I think I’m going to stay here for a while,” she said.
And his heart dropped like an anchor. “You’re leaving Boston?” He couldn’t believe this was happening. “Talk to Madame Dubois, tell her about Julian. I’m sure you’ll get your internship back.”
“No, it’s not even that.” She sighed into the phone. I’m kind of hoping to reset here, learn some things, try new things, and establish my brand. I want to go for it. You know?”
He did. “I think that’s great.”
“You do?” she said. “You’re not mad?”
“Mad that you want to pursue your dreams?” He shook his head as he held the phone. “I think it’s admirable.”
He wished he had enough guts to do it.
“You always have a job if you want to come back,” he offered, but he hoped she wouldn’t have to. “I really hope nothing but the best for you.”
“You always have a place to stay if you’re ever in the area,” she said. “Seriously, it’s a perfect place to write.”
“It does sound nice.” Could he even take time off?
“Come and see how beautiful it is.”