Red Dreams

Chapter 1

Chapter 1This afternoon I sat at my desk, in my beige office with no windows and terrible ventilation, at the financial institution foolish enough to hire a man on the brink of a nervous breakdown. This financial institution shall remain unnamed.

Jordan, one of my new colleagues, stuck her happy face in my door. She’s a young woman with a bubbly personality and a high-pitched laugh, that for some reason makes me want to hit myself in the nose with my pen holder.

“We’re ordering lunch,” she said, giving me a perky smile. She was dressed in a fitted little blue dress straight out of the Breakfast at Tiffany’s movie. Or book. Whichever of the two comes to your mind first. “You know,” Jordan added, “for Bianca’s promotion.”

Bianca. I used to love that Disney movie! The Rescuers. Remember, that little girl stuck in the Devil’s bayou? And wasn’t Eva Gabor the voice for Bianca? Oh, she was so elegant. I was captivated by her voice, as a kid.

“Derek?”

“Sorry, no,” I blurted out. “I’m, uh, fasting—intermittently.” Very fad excuse. I was pretty proud of myself.

“Oh…okay.” Jordan laughed. She was always laughing for no reason. In the nineteen century they would have bled her. “Well, we might go for drinks later, too, so…”

Drinks. Nah. These days, I like to drink my booze alone. In the dark.

Jordan hesitated in my door. I could smell her slightly musky vanilla perfume and the scent brought back a memory…Aunt Fran.

Oh my God, what would Aunt Fran think of me now? She’d beat me senseless with a pastry roll. She’d shout in my face, “What are you doing! Call him now! Forgive him everything, you little hypocritical whining and weak man!”

“I think,” Jordan said, glancing back at the hallway and then focusing her somewhat serious eyes on my face, which at that moment I imagined looked like a pale mask of complete and abject indifference. “That maybe, um, John would like it if you were there tonight.” She smiled and put her hands together, near her mouth. “I think he really, really, likes you. Just saying!” She left, her beautiful long brown ponytail swinging.

John. Which one was he again?

On my desk, my phone vibrated. Boone’s handsome face was lighting up on my screen. Ever since I left his brother, Boone calls me once or twice a day. You know, like you’d call your teenage kid if you were on vacation and had left him home alone or maybe the way you’d call your grandma after she’d set her living room on fire a few times.

“Yes,” I answered in a drawn voice.

“I’m coming over for dinner tonight, okay?”

I had a rusty head of lettuce in my fridge and a case of Smithwicks beers. We’d be all right.

“We’ll order some Thai or something.” Boone sighed. “I gotta talk to you. It’s important.”

“Okay, bring your gun, you know, just in case.”

“Red.” He blew out a sharp breath. I’ve been testing his patience lately.

I know, I’m testing yours, too, Bump. But I’m doing the best I can here.

“What time do you get off there at the stupid job you weren’t meant to take?” Boone asked. He hates me working at a bank again.

“Be at my place around six.” I frowned, realizing that maybe it was time I told him how much I appreciated his attention and good will. The guy is a cop and a father to two young kids, and here I am lately, taking up all this space in his life. “I’ll listen to you this time, okay, Boone.” My voice sounded different.

I was feeling something. A shadow of something. But something, nonetheless.

“You will?” There was genuine surprise in his voice. “You’ll let me talk some sense into that thick Irish skull of yours?”

The corners of my mouth rose. I was actually attempting a smile. “Yes,” I whispered. “You can try.”

So later Boone came over to my apartment on Fifth Avenue. No, Bump, not the Fifth Avenue. My Fifth Avenue is in a working-class neighborhood in Montreal. I wonder why we call it a “working class” neighborhood. Is it just a nice way to say working poor? Or hardworking, overtaxed, and underpaid?

Back to Boone.

We were sitting on two plastic garden chairs on my back porch, facing a little yard full of weeds and dirt that I’ve purposely neglected because fixing it up and planting a garden would actually mean I intend to stay here. And I don’t, as I told you. Both of us need to remember that.

“We had our noodles and two beers.” Boone looked up from the beer bottle he’d been twirling in his big hands. He was in a plain blue T-shirt and black jeans, looking so good and safe. “So, can we talk now?”

“Yes.” I stared straight at him, sitting up stiffly in my chair, hands on my knees, acting like a man flying on a plane for the first time, eyes riveted to the airline employee about to explain how the oxygen mask works.

Boone watched me for a second and then set his bottle down on the dusty ground. “Look, I feel like in the last three months, I’ve said everything I could, you know, in my brother’s defence.”

That was true. He’d said plenty.

“But I didn’t say this.” He gave me a long look. “My brother didn’t cheat on you. He had a moment of weakness ‘cause that club was sinking you both and he was half out of his mind and f*****g stressed out ‘cause you two were at each other’s throats. Right?”

Whatever.

“And he didn’t sleep with a guy. He slept with a woman. Doesn’t that make a difference to you? I mean, doesn’t it?” Boone blew out a sharp breath. “To me, it seems, that it should make a difference. It feels like it’s not cheating.”

Yes, Bump, I know. I know. Terrible.

“This is your argument?” I said, raising an eyebrow. I stood and picked up our empty bottles. “Thank you for coming and for dinner and—”

“You said you’d listen.” He shot me a sad look.

How could I resist? I sat again. “What.”

“When my brother—” Boone stopped, frowned. “Man, I’m no good with words.” He sighed.

He’s such a good and sane man. I don’t know why he’d choose me as a best friend.

“Go on, Boone,” I said, reaching out to touch his hand. “I’ll listen.”

“Thank you.” He nodded, biting his lower lip. “Okay. So…When my brother came back from Vancouver, remember, after Davie died? He was real broken up. Like, a different man from the guy I’d grown up with. And then you came along and lit him up like a firecracker and he was my brother again. My Nico.”

So much damage. Such waste.

“I came here to tell you that he’s worse than he was when he came back from Vancouver. He’s worse, Derek. Do you understand that? You know, Lene told me that half your staff at Split quit ‘cause you left and ‘cause he’s been acting like a rabid wolf in that kitchen.”

In the last years, Split was such a huge piece of my life. Those kids, waiters and bartenders—were my family. When Nick dirtied our love with that, that, that—oh, God, I’m stuttering in my own bloody journal—woman, I had to walk away from our business. How could I stay and work with him in a place where there were knifes and cast-iron pots within my reach? Mad as I was, I’d have ended up in jail.

“I think he’s gonna shut down the restaurant, Der. That’s what Mom thinks, too. And then what? That’s my brother’s whole life right there. But he can’t run that place without you, and most of all, he can’t…make it without you.”

“He should have thought of that before he f****d his old high school crush.”

I know you want to know who that girl was, Bump. I’ll tell you, but very succinctly, because I hate to think of her. Her name is Veronica. Yes, yes, like the character in the Archie books. She kind of looks like her, too. And Nick had a crush on her in high school and she was the only girl who used to ignore him (supposedly).

Let’s not spend too much time on her. Nick already has.

Do you want to know the truth? But please, don’t think any less of me. I may be weak. Stupid. Needy. Emotionally dependant. A bloody mess of a man. But God help me, I still love Nick. And the idea that I’m hurting him this much tears me up inside. It kills me a little more every day. But I’m hurting, too, and it’s his fault. So what am I supposed to do here? Just forgive him? What then?

I don’t know. I don’t know.

“Derek…he made a mistake. A really terrible mistake.” Boone stared at me with eyes full of emotion. “But the problem is, you always put my brother up on a pedestal. Like he was some kind of perfect guy or something. He’s a f*****g human being, Red. With flaws. Like the rest of us. And he treated you like a goddamn king.”

“Are you actually angry with me? Are you blaming me here? Do you not recall what it was like for me growing up? You were there, Boone, weren’t you? Do you know how hard I had to work at—at—at getting my self-esteem above the self-loathing mark? I worked really, really hard on myself, Boone, and finally, I had my self-worth back, and your brother, the love of my bloody life—” I was getting emotional and couldn’t control my voice or the words coming out of my mouth. “—the man I have worshipped ever since I was a wee little boy, the man I married, the man I gave my soul, heart, f*****g life to, f****d me up all over again, and now look at me! Look at me! I’m right back where I started! In this bloody Verdun apartment, alone and—and completely, just so completely, so f*****g completely—” I broke down, turning my face away from him.

Those tears felt amazing. There were tears of truth, not of anger or pain.

“Hey, hey.” Boone got out of his chair and pulled my head to his stomach and squeezed my shoulders. “Come on, now. I didn’t come here to make you cry. I’m sorry, Red. You’re right. Maybe I—”

“No, no,” I said, moving away and looking up at his troubled expression. Poor guy. The drama Nick and I are putting him through. “You’re such an amazing brother to him and he does deserve all of your admiration. He does.” I sniffled and for the first time in months, the mist around my brain seemed to be clearing a little. I stood and gave him a hug. “Now go home. Be with Kenya. Be with your family.”

“Yeah? You’re gonna be all right?”

I picked up the bottles again and nodded. There was a gorgeous June sunset happening. The alley was filled with kids playing ball or riding their bikes. It was pretty peaceful. “Yeah,” I breathed, looking back at him.

“Okay, well, call me. Tomorrow or something.” He hesitated on the steps. “You’re seeing Spencer this week?”

At the sound of Spencer’s name, guilt assailed me again. That wonderful little boy. He’s so smart. So wilful and introverted. He rarely lets Nick and I know what’s going on in his brilliant mind. And now with this sudden, almost violent separation, he’s being tossed from home to home, to stay with one of the three adult idiots who call themselves his parent.

“Yes, Mona is supposed to bring him over around seven tomorrow and he’s staying the weekend.” I was looking forward to his visit. It would force me to get my act together, if only for two days.

“Okay. Good. That kid loves you. And he misses you.” Boone opened his hands. “Not trying to lay a guilt trip on you or anything. Just saying. It’s been tough on him.”

Boone left about an hour ago. I’ve been thinking a lot since he left. I have it in my hands to stop this painful situation. To put an end to the torment. But I can’t find it in my heart to do it. I’m not ready. It’s too early in the story for reconciliation.

But we’re getting there, Bump.