Been In Love Before: A Novel (3 page)

Chapter Four

Dr. Ryan Macgregor sat on his large patio overlooking the beach in front of his large white stucco house in Boca Raton. It was an ultramodern three-story house with a four-car garage and so many bedrooms he had lost count.

Sitting by the pool, he was going through the motions of reading his outdated professional magazines. He bought the house because Grace loved to swim. Then he had lost her when she was biking down A1A and was killed by a hit-and-run driver. Now he sat by the pool and thought of nothing but her.

She had called him that day from the side of the road, and he remembered she had told him, “Chill the champagne, Ryan my sweet, I beat my best biking time this morning. Today is a good day, I can tell.” Her voice had faded away. Then, talking with an edgy laugh, she said, “You won’t believe this guy, baby . . . he’s driving like a maniac. He’s crazy or drunk,” she shrilled. She talked faster as the fear rose in her voice. And then he heard her say, “Oh no! Oh my God! No! . . .” There was static, and then the line went dead.
Dead?
From that moment on, she was gone from his life forever.

Now he sat by the pool he had built for her, catching up on his reading, skimming through past issues of
Psychiatric Journal Review
. He knew that as a psychiatrist, he had to keep up with the latest in his field, but he could no longer tolerate the incessant medical bulletins. In addition, he was not interested in their conventions, even though they were usually held in some remote island paradise or on a luxury cruise ship. He had a good practice with another doctor, and he was good at what he did, but he could not face the truth: his Gracie was gone. As a psychiatrist, he was at a loss. What could he do? Talk himself out of it? He had lost the love of his life. It wasn’t fair. Life wasn’t fair.

He looked at the still water of the pool beside him and wondered how long he would have to stay under the surface before he would die . . . and join her.

What if I take the rest of the sleeping pills and just lie on the bottom and never wake up? Maybe I could just take the pills I have in the medicine bottle upstairs and just fall asleep . . . and never wake up? That should be enough to do the trick. Just lie in our bed, with thoughts of Gracie. Why wait? She is only a breath away. She would be there waiting for me.

Grace had always said he was a procrastinator and afraid to make a commitment. They dated for years until she gave him an ultimatum—get married or else.
I could join her at the bottom of the pool; it would only take . . .

“Hello?” he heard a familiar voice call. Again, it sounded through the air: “It’s me; I’m home.”

“Oh my God, Gracie?” He was dozing, and his eyes began to tear as he looked into the sun at a figure approaching him.

“Dad? Daddy? Oh, there you are,” said his daughter, causing his recurring dream to once again disappear in an instant. A tear still hung in his eye, unable to fall. His Gracie was gone.

“I was calling for you, Dad. Didn’t you hear me?” said his tall, independent, red-haired daughter. She was the image of her mother, temper, iron will, and all. She had taken charge of everything since her mother died. In a way Ryan was glad to have her help. He was lost and adrift without his Gracie.

“Hi, Mary Katherine. I must have dozed off here by the pool. I didn’t hear you come in.”

Only her parents called her Mary Katherine; everyone else called her Mary Kate or clung to her childhood nickname,
Graw
, given to her by her paternal grandfather. When her grandfather first saw the screaming red-haired baby, who was delivered at his home, he said in his heavy Scottish brogue to her mother, “Hell, woman, don’t worry about it, she’ll
graw
out of it!” She immediately stopped crying, and the nickname Graw stuck.

Her eyes narrowed as she examined her father in the early-morning light and guessed what was going on. “I miss her too, Daddy.” She kissed him on his forehead.

“What was that for?”

“Do I need a reason to kiss my only father?”

“No, no, you don’t. What’s up?”

“I thought Uncle Eian and Uncle Robert would be here waiting for me.”

He squinted, looking up at her into the hazy morning Florida sun. “I left them a message, and Robert called back saying he would be here, but it would probably be much later in the day. He and Bobby were down in the Keys fishing. And I’m sure your uncle Eian will be here soon; it’s Sunday, free food and free drinks, and he never misses a game on TV when he’s not in the broadcast booth.”

“Like always. Daddy, can you call them and make sure that they are here later today, definitely? I really need to talk to them and to you today.” She kissed his forehead again and said, “I’ll see you later, Daddy. I am off to meet with the caterer, and then I’ll come back here before I go to the office and meet a new client.”

“It’s Sunday, Mary Katherine. Don’t they give you time off?”

“Yes, Daddy, they are very good to me there at the law firm, even though I am new there. I love my job. However, I have work to do. But make sure to call them, okay? I’ll be back later. Bye, Daddy. Love you.”

She kissed his cheek and, like a whirlwind, was gone.

Chapter Five

Sunday morning Robert Macgregor sat on the old wooden chair on the porch of his seaside bungalow and sipped his coffee as he watched the glory of the beautiful sunrise over the Keys. Bobby had left hours earlier, but the elder Macgregor was lingering as long as he could. He didn’t want to leave.

He secured the boat to the dock for rough weather, shut off the hot-water heater and the main water supply for the small house, locked the doors, and closed the shutters at the cabin.
Time to go,
he thought. Then he started on his long drive home to Boynton Beach, some five hours away.

The narrow two-lane road leaving Key West had but a few cars heading north from the southern Keys. He loved life in the Keys. On the drive home, he had a long time to think about
his
life.

Maybe I should just move down to the cabin permanently and then head north for family events. Bobby can run the store. I have everything I need here at the cabin. I can hunt and fish anytime I like, and the town of Key West is only minutes away. That makes sense. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll just wait until after the wedding before I tell everyone. There is plenty of time. Time to get on with my life.
He could always come up for a few days to see everybody, including his new grandson. Now content and with a plan formulating in his mind, he began to hum an old Harry Chapin song, “Mail Order Annie,” a familiar tune from his childhood.
It was one of Tess’s favorites. Yes, that is exactly what I’ll do.

Five hours later Robert turned off I-95 at the Boynton Beach exit and headed west on Boynton Beach Boulevard. He passed a golf course and a country club and then a canal, and finally a cornfield. He made a sharp turn onto a narrow, dusty road running beside the canal, which led to his home. At the end of the dead-end road, he stopped in front of a solitary house with a view of the seventh fairway of the nearby golf course on the other side of the canal. He liked to tease his younger brother Ryan, the doctor, because he too had a waterfront home. The only difference was that Ryan had paid millions of dollars more for his.

Robert’s two-bedroom cottage was small, with a porch at the front and the back. The front entrance featured a leaded glass door, which he had salvaged from the demolition of an old mansion nearby. He had also secured matching twin French doors for the rear, off the living room. There was a broad expansive deck off the back, with a boat dock and a fishing pier in the canal. He had everything he needed right here and knew he would miss it when he moved to Key West.

“I’m home,” he said aloud to the empty house as he walked inside, and upon hearing no response, he repeated himself. “I’m home!” A mouse scurried from the mass of discarded cartons of Chinese food in the corner of the kitchen.

The pungent odor of half-eaten pizzas, emanating from a pile of pizza boxes stacked high on the kitchen table, welcomed him as he entered. Inside, the floor of the house was littered with newspapers, dirty clothes, fast-food containers, beer bottles, fishing gear, and soda cans. It was hard to tell the color of the carpet underneath all the clutter inside the house. The kitchen sink was filled with half-empty soda and beer glasses, and stacks of plates with strands of spaghetti still clinging to them.

The master bedroom contained an unmade king-size bed with the bedsheets bunched together at the end of the mattress. Pillows were scattered about the floor. The bed was pushed against the window, the heavy, dark mahogany headboard still stored in the garage attached to the house.

He looked around the small house and knew what Tess would say if she saw it. Since she had passed away two years earlier, he had kept meaning to clean the place up, but never seemed to find the time. His house and his life . . . were in shambles.

He looked around his home.
Just because I’m living alone does not mean I need to live like a pig. Today’s the day,
he told himself. If he was going to rejoin the human race as he had promised his son, he had to start now.
Let’s clean up!
He grabbed a large black contractor’s trash bag from the garage and started shoving piles of trash inside, soon filling it. He reached for another one. Then another. He soon had a pile of six trash bags outside before taking a break, grabbing a beer and a leftover half-eaten pizza from the fridge. He popped the pizza in the oven and set it at 350 degrees. He filled another three black plastic trash bags. It was then he noticed the message light flashing on his ancient answering machine, informing him he had two new messages, and pressed the button.

“Hey, bro, this is Ryan. Don’t forget to come on over Sunday afternoon. Mary Katherine wants to talk with the three of us—together. If you speak to Eian, remind him as well. Hope you had a good trip to the Keys. See ya. Bye for now.”

The second message was from his son, Bobby. “Hi, Dad, I really enjoyed the week. Don’t forget to telephone that Callahan woman on Monday. I’ll call you tomorrow night to see how your conversation went. Love ya.” He pulled the card from his pocket and thumbed the name and number.
Tomorrow. I’ll call her tomorrow.

The phone rang; it was Ryan. “Where the hell are you? Mary Katherine was already here; she was looking for you and Eian.”

“I just got in from Key West. Now I’m cleaning up the place a bit.”

“Well, you better get your ass over here, pronto. And yes, I have plenty of beer. See ya soon, brother. Bye.”

He grabbed his beer in one hand and the cooler filled with the fish fillets in the other and was out the door. It was not a long drive, but it was worlds away. Ryan lived facing the ocean in the high-rent district just outside Boca Raton. His house was a big white beach house with a pool, but Ryan said it always felt so empty now with Gracie gone.

When he pulled into Ryan’s driveway, he noticed Eian’s SUV parked in front of the garage. The courtyard was large enough to hold ten cars.

Hail, hail, the gang’s all here!
Robert grinned, thinking of his two younger brothers waiting for him inside.

He walked down the terrazzo sidewalk lined with pink-and-purple bougainvillea vines, with their blossoming flowers dripping from the white stucco walls that surrounded the courtyard. The fragrant bouquet was welcoming. The scent reminded him of sweet honeysuckle. Mum and Da had had them at home when the brothers were growing up in Georgia. He did not bother to ring the doorbell. This was family; this was home, especially after everything the three of them had been through.

Ryan’s furnishings were very modern, mainly glass and chrome, and white leather furniture. One of the top decorators from a chic Boca Raton boutique had decorated it. The house was monochromatic, all in white, except for one huge painting hanging over the fireplace, done in subtle blues and bright reds. Gracie had painted it in one of her many creative moments.

“Hey, bros, the good-looking one is here,” Robert announced, opening the front door.

“Yeah, well, the smart one is already here,” joked Ryan.

“Hey, let’s not forget the famous one, the one all the ladies love,” chimed in Eian.

Robert set the cooler down on the tiled floor of the kitchen.

“What’cha got in there?” asked Eian.

“Cobia fillets, fresh caught. Bobby and I just caught them yesterday. Want me to grill up some? Ryan, what about you? You said you got beer?” he asked in rapid succession as he opened the huge subzero refrigerator.

“Yeah, I’ll have a beer and some of that fish,” said Eian. “I’m starvin’.”

“Yeah, well, homelessness will do that to you. Besides, you’re always hungry,” said Ryan in jest.

“What do you mean, homeless? What happened to you?” asked Robert as he continued to search the fridge for beer.

Ryan chimed in, “Robert, get this. Laura came by and evicted him. Nice in-laws, huh? So Eian is staying with me for a couple of days until he can find someplace else to live or work it out through their attorneys. Can you believe that, his only daughter evicting him?” Ryan started to laugh and soon could not stop himself.

“Stepdaughter, please,” Eian interjected, his face turning red, showing his annoyance, before he too began to laugh.

Robert was amused as he imagined his tall, famous, baseball-playing brother being thrown out of his own home.

“She evicted you . . . from your own home? I’ll be damned,” Robert said, laughing at the turn of events.

“That’s true family love,” joked Ryan, still smiling.

“Ryan, where the hell is the goddamn beer?” Bob asked.

“Robbie, look in the beer chiller on the side of the dishwasher, there, next to the wine cooler.”

“Got it! For Christ’s sake, college boy, you have separate refrigerators for food, beer, and wine? God, some people live really well.”

“Don’t start on me, brother.”

“I’m just saying that some people live very well and—”

“Hey, can you two cut it out?” interrupted Eian. “I’m hungry. Robert, are those fish steaks done yet?”

“I’m on my way, now that I’ve found the goddamn beer!” he shouted. “Beer fridge,” he said, muttering under his breath. “What’ll they think of next?”

“What’d you say?” asked Ryan.

“Nothin’. Do you want some fish or not?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Hey, Bob, do me a favor and don’t grill those in the house. Take them outside and cook them on the barbecue grill. I don’t want the house to smell like fish for weeks.” Ryan never grilled or cooked fish in the house—too messy, too smelly.

More muttering about a beer fridge came from Robert as he slid open the door and made his way to the outside grill.

“Put the baseball game on, will you, Ryan? Use the big screen,” Eian said. He switched the channels back and forth, trying to watch two games at one time, until Robert came back into the kitchen. The constant brotherly banter between the two continued for the next fifteen minutes until they heard movement from the outside deck.

“Fish steaks are done! Grab some plates and clear a space on the table. We need knives and forks. Let’s go! Who’s winning?”

“The Yankees!”

“No!”

“Hey, guys, what do you say we eat in the dining room?” Ryan chimed in nervously as he buzzed around them, envisioning spilled beer and fish stains on his expensive Italian white leather sofa or worse, his expensive Persian rug. “Hmm? Okay? What do you say? We’ll be more comfortable in there, and it’ll be easier to clean up and . . . ,” Ryan said, but his pleas went unnoticed.

“Nah, this is okay, Ryan. Don’t worry about us. We’ll be fine. We’re good.” They both looked at the TV screen, shouting. “Come on, hit the ball!” Eian and Robert yelled at the batter on the huge screen. “Damn!”

They watched the rest of the game and then switched to an intense soccer match, the proud Scottish Aberdeen team playing against its fiercest rival, Manchester United. Neither team scored for the first half, until Aberdeen scored one goal at the whistle.

“Ryan, don’t you have any Scottish milk here at all?” asked Robert, searching the kitchen for a bottle of Scotch.

“Check his whiskey fridge,” yelled Eian in his tongue-in-cheek way.

“Funny,” Ryan replied, “I don’t think I have any whiskey, Robbie. If I do, it’ll be in the liquor cabinet in my office. Bottom shelf.”

While the rest of the house was filled with modern furniture, glass, chrome, and Italian leather, Ryan’s office had their father’s old polished cherry desk and worn leather executive chair. A picture of the five of them at the lake sat prominently on his desk. Da was still alive. Mum was smiling. Good times.

A few minutes later, Robert came in and said, “Here we go,” holding a bottle of prime Scotch whiskey in his hand, high over his head. “Now we can have a true party.” They trooped into the kitchen for ice and glasses.

Soon the whiskey bottle was half-empty on the kitchen table, and they were having a grand time simply being together, joking, laughing, just as when they were younger.

Finally Eian shouted to his brothers, “Hey, let’s go out on the town and have a really good time. I know a place where they have dancing girls, lots of booze, and we can enjoy ourselves. What do you say, guys? Huh? Make a night of it and we can maybe even . . . ?” He turned to look at his brothers, who were standing in front of him staring at something behind him.

He turned to see what they were staring at and why they had not answered him. It was Graw.

“Ah . . . hiya, Mary Katherine,” Eian muttered. “We were just talking about you. Come on in, Graw. We’ve been waiting for you to get here, right, guys?”

“Yes, I’m sure you have,” she said, giving them all the evil eye. “I need to talk to you, all of you. Out there,” she ordered. The three tall brothers towered over the tiny redhead as they shuffled back into the living room and took their seats to listen to what she had to say. She picked up the remote and clicked the TV off.

“Okay. I’ll be brief. Thanks for coming today.” She sounded as if she were giving a business presentation. “I just have a couple of things to go over with you and then you can go about your business, but no dancing girls, understand? All right? Besides, you boys are too drunk to drive anywhere.”

“Oh, Mary Katherine, we were just joking. We were going to—” started her uncle Eian.

“Give me a break, and don’t you ‘Mary Katherine’ me. I’m no dummy,” she lectured them, wagging her finger.

The three brothers were sitting on the long leather sofa in the living room facing her. The scene was reminiscent of a schoolteacher in front of her classroom, rather than a young woman about to lecture the elders of her family.

“Listen to me,” she started solemnly. “These past two years have not been good years for the Macgregor clan. We lost our best . . . our dearest.” Her voice began to tremble.

“Over the past two years we have lost Mommy, Auntie Alice, and Aunt Tess. We miss ’em all.” The mere mention of the names of the missing hushed the room. She stopped for a moment before resuming.

“Uncle Eian has done his very best to get out and meet people and make new friends, and get on with his life. Now we just need to have some of those women work in a job that allows them to keep their clothes on.” The ice was broken as the three brothers laughed and kidded the celebrity in the family. They began to joke among themselves.