Love Around the Corner Page 4

  As he watched her puttering between the counter and the fridge, frequently forgetting what she’d gone to get and having to turn back around, she seemed more disconnected than he remembered. She’d been okay while Tim had still been living at home, going to medical school at Columbia. But since he’d left for his residency, she’d been alone most of the time, and it wasn’t good for her.

  Tim was chatting with her, keeping her entertained, so Brendan took the opportunity to check out the rest of the house and see how things were holding up. Upstairs, apart from her bedroom, the rest of the rooms looked untouched. His old bedroom was like a time capsule of his senior year in high school. Running his fingers along the dusty surface of his dresser, he wondered idly if any mementos of his time with Gemma had survived in here.

  But he’d satisfy his curiosity about that some other day. Right now, he was trying to get a feel for how Mom was doing on her own. First off, he definitely needed to hire a cleaning person for her. She seemed to have let that go, along with cooking. Up the next flight of stairs, the third floor felt like a tomb. His shoes left imprints in the dust on the stairs. How long had it been since she’d been up there? Maybe the house was just too much for her to manage now.

  For most people, coming home was comforting. It was supposed to make you feel safe and taken care of. But it hadn’t been that way for Brendan since his father died. Home just meant responsibilities, people to worry about. Sometimes he wished it had been different, that he’d been the one to be taken care of. But it hadn’t been and never would be, and that was okay. He’d made sure Mom and Tim had a home they could count on, and that was enough.

  Back downstairs, Mom had finished making lunch, and Tim was just coming back in from clearing off the table in the backyard.

  “Don’t get out there much, do you, Mom?”

  She shrugged. “Seems like a lot of bother when it’s just me.”

  Brendan made himself useful carrying plates and glasses outside and then held her chair out for her as his mother got settled.

  She smiled tremulously at them. “It’s so nice, having both you boys home for a visit.”

  Brendan glanced quickly at Tim. “Mom, I moved back, remember? I’m here for good now.” Had she forgotten that already?

  She let out a soft scoff. “Buy yourself a place in the city if you want, but your job is in Chicago, Brendan.”

  He set his glass down. “Mom, I don’t work for Walsh anymore. You know this.”

  Across the table, his mother stared at him in dismay. “Brendan, you just can’t do that. Not after everything Jimmy has done for you.”

  “I’ll always be grateful to Jimmy for the opportunities he gave me.”

  “So grateful you’d quit your job and leave him in the lurch?”

  Brendan couldn’t help but laugh. “Mom, he’s not single-handedly running the place like it’s a deli or something. There are a thousand people lining up to take my job. Look, I got invaluable experience with Jimmy—”

  “He taught you everything you know.”

  He took a deep, measured breath through his nose. She couldn’t help it, he told himself. After his father, her brother, James Walsh, was the man she relied on most, and she was lost without a man to rely on. He’d made sure he was that man now, arranging her life for her so that she never encountered an obstacle or a difficulty, but she still couldn’t help seeing her brother as her personal savior. “I won’t forget it. I haven’t. But I’m interested in going in a different direction than Walsh, so I started my own company.”

  “That’s gratitude. He trains you and you stab him in the back by becoming his competition.”

  “Mom, Walsh could buy and sell my company a dozen times over. I’m not his competition.”

  “But he relies on you. You know he doesn’t have any kids of his own. You’re supposed to take over.”

  That allegation stung a bit, because it was true. Jimmy had been grooming him to helm the corporation for fourteen years. But his eyes had been opened about who and what Jimmy Walsh was, and he couldn’t close them again, no matter how much money he could have made with him. Some things mattered more than money.

  “He’ll find somebody new to rely on.” Besides, the day Jimmy Walsh was sentimental about family... But he wouldn’t say that to his mother. She would just refuse to hear it. Her adored older brother could do no wrong in her eyes.

  “Mom, have I told you about my rotation through pediatrics?” Tim interjected, trying to divert her attention.

  “Pediatrics?” she echoed.

  “I loved it. I’m thinking of specializing in pediatrics. Of course that’ll require an additional residency, and another three years.”

  Brendan watched their mother as Tim outlined his plans. She’d always been dreamy and a little distracted, but she seemed to be retreating further into herself. She was alone too much. Now that he was back in the neighborhood, he could make sure she got out more and engaged with the world.

  After cleaning up from lunch, Brendan slipped out into the backyard again while Tim put on a pot of coffee. The old garden shed was still there, tucked into the back corner of the yard, sliding more into decay with each passing year. The house on the street perpendicular to theirs had a driveway that ran along their back fence. That was how Gemma had slipped into his backyard and into the shed. Such a sad little heap of wood, but it lived on in his memories like a shrine.

  The first time they’d had sex, it had been in that shed. The many subsequent times had all happened there, too. Over the months they’d been together, he’d snuck old cushions and blankets out there, attempting to make it more comfortable. It had still been freezing, dirty, and dark. They hadn’t cared. In those heated moments, nothing had mattered beyond getting their hands on each other. Some of the best sex of his life had happened in that run-down shed. Other, less pleasant memories were made there, too. That’s where he’d told her he was leaving. That’s where she’d cried and begged him to change his mind, to choose her instead. What he hadn’t been able to explain at the time was that he’d had no choice but to break her heart.

  Over the years, he hadn’t let himself remember too often, because dwelling on what he’d lost, what he’d never have again, just made it worse. But that didn’t mean he didn’t think about her. Maybe it was because of the way it had ended, or maybe it was because it had been that kind of hot, intense first love that left a permanent scar—whatever the reason, he’d never been able to fully exorcise her from his mind. He’d sought out Gemma hoping to finally lay the memories to rest. He’d been so sure he’d find her happily married, maybe raising some kids, that brief high school romance with him just a hazy memory for her. Maybe then—finally—his own memories would start to fade.

  But she wasn’t married. And that crazy electricity they’d shared as teenagers had unexpectedly come roaring back to life last night when he’d walked her home. She was different than he remembered. Of course she was. Thirty was a whole different ball game than sixteen. She had more hard edges and sharp points now. In all fairness, he was probably the person who’d put some of them there. That biting wit was new, too, although maybe that was just for his benefit. Her tough yet sweet sass was just the same. Last night, all she’d shown him was her anger, which was understandable. But he’d seen flashes of the tenderness he remembered when she’d dealt with Dennis and Frank. And when she talked about her sisters, the nurturing Gemma from before made a brief appearance. He suspected her heart was still as big as it had ever been, even if it was now closed to him.

  Last night, a thought had been planted in his mind that he was having a hard time ignoring. He’d come back to Brooklyn to fix what had gone wrong in his life. He’d thought that meant his work and his mother. But there was one other terrible wrong he’d committed, and maybe he could fix that, too. He certainly wanted to try. He hadn’t realized until he saw Gemma again that he’d never stopped m
issing her. He’d spent twenty years working for everyone else’s happiness. Maybe it was finally his turn. He still wanted to lay to rest memories of high school Gemma, but now he wanted to fill that space up with who she was now, if she’d let him get close enough to discover it.

  Behind him, the back door opened and Tim came out, carrying two cups of coffee, one of which he passed to Brendan.

  “Still black?”

  “Still black,” he said, taking a sip. “Where’s Mom?”

  “Lying down for a minute. I think the excitement of having us both here wore her out.”

  Brendan sat down on the top step of the old wooden deck. Tim settled next to him, looking out over the backyard, bare and scraggly after the winter. Brendan took after their father, tall, with the same red-gold hair and Irish freckles when he was younger. But Tim had Mom’s coloring. Smaller and thin, with black hair, pale skin, and bright blue eyes. When they were kids, people had always been stunned to discover they were brothers.

  “She’s getting older,” Tim said quietly.

  “Yeah, I noticed. She seems a little out of it.”

  “So when we were doing our rotation through the Psych ward, this buddy of mine from my residency told me about his mother. She has dementia.”

  “You think Mom has dementia?”

  Tim held up a hand. “No. Not that could be diagnosed. But my friend, he told me that once they got the diagnosis for his mom, looking back, he could see warning signs that were there years earlier, long before anything became a problem.”

  “And you think Mom has warning signs?”

  “I think,” Tim said carefully, “that we should keep a close eye on her as she gets older.”

  Brendan sighed and ran a hand over his face. “I guess it’s good I moved back.”

  Tim made a face. “I’m sorry, man. If I do this pediatrics specialty, I’m looking at four years of residency still to go, and—”

  “Hey.” Brendan cut him off. “Go do your residency. Don’t worry about this. I got it.” The last thing he’d do was truncate Tim’s dreams. He’d worked too hard to make them possible.

  Shaking his head, Tim clutched his coffee cup in both hands. “You’ve had it for way too long, Brendan. Getting me through college, sending money for Mom...”

  He’d done a lot more than just send money to his mother, but if Tim knew the extent of it, he’d just feel worse.

  “I was the one with the opportunities that allowed for that. I don’t regret any of it.” Which was true. He could be sorry for the way things had turned out fourteen years ago, but he couldn’t regret what he’d done, because he’d never really had a choice. “I think the house is getting to be too much for her,” he added.

  “I noticed. What do you think we should do?”

  Brendan thought through the idea he’d had during lunch. “I’m planning my next development, six units right here in the neighborhood, as soon as I secure the right properties. I was going to move into one unit myself. Maybe we could move Mom into another. Then she’d be right next to me, in a smaller space that would be easy to manage. I could take care of everything.”

  “What about the house?”

  Brendan craned his head around, glancing up at the back of the three-story brick townhouse his father had inherited from his grandfather. “Maybe it’s time to talk to Mom about selling up.”

  “What do you think it would go for?”

  “Three million, easy.”

  Tim choked on his coffee. “Are you serious? Three million dollars? But nothing’s upgraded.”

  “Yeah, which means original tiling and claw-foot tubs in the bathrooms. All the original hardwood floors. Four working fireplaces with period enamel tiling. I’ve been learning the market since I got back. A three-story, one-family house in Carroll Gardens, built in 1907 with all its original detailing? Three million is the bottom for this house.”

  Tim let out a low whistle. “That’s a lot of money. Plenty to take care of Mom when the time comes. There are organizations I’d like to work for, nonprofits...places that do good work but pay for shit. I haven’t really been considering it because I needed to help you out with Mom—”

  “You don’t need to worry about that. The money from the house will cover everything.”

  “You sure?”

  “Mom will be fine. I’ll make sure everything’s set up for her when she needs it.”

  “When do you want to talk to her about selling?”

  “We have time. I haven’t even secured properties for my development yet.”

  Tim clapped him on the shoulder. “You will. I’m beginning to think you’re Superman, Brendan.”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “I’m no superhero.”

  He didn’t need to be a superhero. He was just trying to be one of the good guys after spending far too many years on the wrong side. Maybe he’d never really be able to do it. Sometimes the scale felt too far tipped in the wrong direction. But he was going to try. He wanted to be happy for once. He wanted his life back. And he wanted Gemma Romano back, too, even if he wasn’t sure if he deserved her. He’d just have to do whatever it took to earn the chance.

  Chapter Seven

  If there was one time of the week at Romano’s that was sleepier than a Tuesday night, it was a Wednesday afternoon. The stillness, broken only by the background hum of some long-forgotten Mets game replaying on ESPN3 on the flat screen, did nothing to banish memories of the night before from Gemma’s mind.

  Her brain was in overdrive, replaying every moment of it, from the second Brendan had walked in the door until the second he’d kissed her cheek and walked off into the night. She was so mad at herself. For fourteen years, she’d been imagining revenge fantasies, practicing the epic “screw you” speech she’d give him in her head, ego crushing and ruthless. Then last night he’d finally been standing right there in front of her, all hot and confident and sexy, but instead of unloading on him like she’d so often dreamed, she froze, like a deer in headlights. Instead of telling him to go to hell and stay there, she’d gone all weak kneed and soft brained, and she’d actually let the bastard kiss her cheek. It was disgusting.

  In an effort to distract herself from last night’s disaster, she restocked every liquor bottle on the shelves. She even dusted them. Then she Windexed the mirror behind the bar, eliminating a year’s worth of fingerprints and smudges. Then she polished the taps, which absolutely didn’t need polishing. Nothing helped. The whole embarrassing, infuriating night ran on a constant loop in her head.

  As the afternoon light faded in the front windows and the streetlights began to flicker on in the twilight up and down Court Street, the front door shrieked on its hinges—next she’d oil those bad boys—and Dennis shuffled in.

  “Afternoon, Gemma. Get me a beer, would ya?”

  “Sure thing, Dennis.” She wiped her hands on the bar towel tucked into the waistband of her jeans. “Where’s Frank?” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen one of them without the other.

  Dennis heaved himself up on his regular bar stool. “Got a date. Can you believe that?”

  “What? Frank’s got a date? Who with?”

  “A lady he met online.” Dennis slurped the foam off his pint glass as soon as Gemma set it down in front of him. “Veronica. He says he likes her.”

  “Wait...he’s seen her before?”

  “Oh, yeah. Only for lunch. That’s what they do now. Lunch. Then the ladies don’t have to worry about—” Dennis blinked, a blush suffusing his ruddy cheeks.

  Gemma chuckled. “You mean women don’t have to worry about being pressured for sex at the end of the night? You forget, Dennis, I’ve been dating online, too.”

  “Ah, you know I forget you’re all grown up, Gem.”

  “Yep, I know the ropes.” And once again, she was thinking about last night, about standing
there on the sidewalk with Brendan, her dark empty house behind her, burgeoning with promise, and the wicked temptation of the hot man in front of her... Yeah, not gonna happen. “Well, I hope Frank has a great time with Veronica. He’s been divorced for, what?”

  “Fifteen years.”

  “Fifteen years! It’s time, Dennis, don’t you think? I mean, even my dad is dating again. Hey, we should sign you up!”

  “Eh.” Dennis shrugged. “My daughter wants to introduce me to someone. Some woman who lives near her. A widow like me. Marjory.”

  “See, there you go!”

  “Nah, they live all the way down in Toms River.”

  “New Jersey isn’t the moon, Dennis. Go visit your daughter and meet this woman.”

  Dennis seemed to consider this for a minute, so Gemma pressed her advantage.

  “When was the last time you went to visit your daughter?”

  “Too long,” Dennis acknowledged.

  “There you go. Plan a trip.”

  “Maddie’s on me to move down there,” Dennis said, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck.

  “To Toms River?” That gave Gemma an unexpected pang. When she’d been urging Dennis to take a chance on love, she’d imagined him bringing a lady love home to Brooklyn. It hadn’t occurred to her that Dennis might ever move away. But of course, that’s what everyone was doing now. Why would a retiree move back to this neighborhood of skyrocketing rents and perpetual change? The old-timers were moving out, not in.

  “Ah, that stuff’s not for me. My place is here.” Although Dennis sounded less certain of that than the words implied. What kind of place was this for Dennis anyway, Gemma suddenly wondered—all alone in some bar at six o’clock on a Wednesday? Maybe he’d be better off with his daughter in Toms River, chatting up the widow Marjory.

  “Hey, Dennis, I made lasagne bolognese,” she said briskly, dispelling the gloom. “Want some?”

  Dennis’s grin was bright enough to banish any pesky doubts or fears Gemma might have felt. “You know I’ll eat cardboard if you cook it, Gem.”