Finding The Way Back To Love (Lakeside Porches 3) (36 page)

Peter balled his fists, galled that the people he’d turned his back on were the ones helping Bree, when he’d been too high and mighty to help her himself.
God, I’ve been so wrong
.

Bree waited for his fists to relax before speaking. “Peter, they’re really great to me. They know how hard it is, and they’re always wanting to help or to say something kind or encourage me.”

Peter picked at something stuck on the tablecloth, jam maybe. “And it never occurred to you I might want to help you too?”

She scowled at him. “Whenever I tried to talk to you about my drinking, you yelled at me. Remember, you ‘forbid’ me to be an alcoholic. What were you thinking?”

He flashed on a scene at the chief’s dinner-dance: Sam sitting across the table from him, goading, “You forbid her? How’d that work for you?” And he’d stupidly answered that Bree hadn’t bothered him with any more drunken escapades after that. His stomach clenched, and he sucked down air to keep from upchucking the tuna sandwich.

“So it wasn’t that you stopped drinking and drugging after I ordered you to stop? It’s that you stopped talking to me about it?”

“Yeah,” Bree confirmed, her face filled with misery and regret. “Whenever I brought it to up, you just kept talking about Dad and how much you hated him and how much he screwed up our lives. I wish you’d just forget about Dad and get real about how awful this is for me. I wish you’d learn what alcoholism and addiction are really about and help me get well.”

He met her eyes, expecting to see reproach. Instead he saw a scared young woman, her forehead knit with worry, her mouth trembling, her hands flat on the table to keep them from shaking.

Frightened by her pain, Peter twisted in his chair and saw again the neat, spare living room, so much like their home growing up. “Paddy O’Donnell”—he remembered now—“was the baker that used to bring us loaves of bread, even after Dad died. And a pound of butter sometimes?” He glanced at his sister.

Bree nodded. Her shaking lessened, and her voice had strength when she said, “He told me he beat his wife one night, so bad it almost killed her.”

Peter hung his head as he thought of his parents’ fights.

“After that,” Bree went on, “she left, with their four kids, to live with her sister in Oswego. That was his bottom. He was my age now when that happened.”

Peter’s head jerked back to her. “Paddy was twenty-six when he beat his wife nearly to death?” His heart raced.

Bree nodded. “He found AA, and they helped him get sober. He never drank again.”

This time, when Peter glanced at the living room furniture, the years fell away. He saw the gentle, young man who came by with loaves warm from the oven and a smile for them all. “He must have been just a few years sober when he started coming by. I remember, he’d leave the loaves on the kitchen table, stop in the living room to ask how the homework was going, then head upstairs and roust Dad out of bed.”

Or try to. When Daniel Shaughnessy was well enough to get up, the two men talked out on the back porch; when he wasn’t, they talked in the bedroom. “Paddy was so sincere. He came back again and again, but Dad never got it.” Peter asked Bree, “Did she ever come back? Paddy’s wife?”

Bree shook her head. “He sees two of his kids. One of the others is in jail. And the oldest died last year from a heroin overdose.” Irony twisted her smile. “It’s funny; that kid died a couple days before I called Paddy. His name was Danny, like our dad.”

The reality made Peter’s head spin.
Danny O’Donnell. Daniel Shaughnessy. Both dead from the disease Bree has, but Paddy has it, too, and he’s alive and okay
. He sucked air deep into his lungs and whooshed it out again.

Bree’s eyes brightened. “Paddy told me he had the strongest feeling, when Danny died, that someone would call him, only him, for help. So he didn’t drink, even though the pain was killing him. He carried his phone on him all the time and kept it turned on. I got him when he was sliding loaves in the oven, and he dropped the board and the loaves on the floor, and he talked to me.”

“So you called him a year ago? You’ve been struggling all this time? And I just made it worse.” It wasn’t a question this time. His voice was thick with pain and self-censure.

Bree nodded. “I think it’s cool Paddy could help me, even though he couldn’t help his son Danny or our dad. I owe it to Paddy to make this work for me. And maybe someday I can help someone else. I owe him that.”

Peter’s face relaxed and he gave a hollow laugh, “We owe him a few loaves of bread, too, don’t we?”

Bree reached across the table to touch his hand. Her gaze probed his. “Does that mean you’re starting to get it?”

He nodded. Shame caught in his throat and made it hard to get the words out. “I’ll do anything that will help you get well. You mean more to me than anyone or anything. Tell me what I can do.”

Hope lit her eyes. “I need you to be my big brother. Help me get into a rehab and figure out how to get my life on the right track—school and work and friends and finances. Help me get out of this mess.” She gestured above them. Her voice broke. “I want to be someone you’re proud of. Someone I’m proud of.” Tears spilled down cheeks and dropped off her nose. “I need AA. And I need you with me, helping me to get through this really bad time.” She choked. “Please, Peter.”

Peter’s chair clattered to the floor as he shoved back from the table. He gathered her into a tight hug. “We’ll do this together, Bree. It will be okay,” he told her, his voice muffled by her hair. “God, forgive me.”

Peter’s chest convulsed with a sob, and he cried the tears he’d held back for the thirteen years he’d lived with his drunk of a father. “We’ll be okay,” he promised.

“Pinelli, you seem confused,” Joel teased. He took another bite of bagel and surveyed the noisy dining room of the Bagel Depot. At every fourth table, he spotted someone from the Early Risers meeting.
Smart business move, hosting the meeting in the back room
.

“Confused? Try blown away.” Tony pocketed his phone. “That call I just took? That was Peter Shaughnessy asking about a rehab for his sister.”

“Holy . . .”
Who convinced him and how?
“What happened?”

“All I know is she called him from jail last night. Protective Custody.”

“From Syracuse? That must have been a hell of a drive.”

“I give him points for finally trying to help his sister.”

“It took some courage to call you,” Joel pointed out.

Tony grunted and reached for his mug.

“Bro, what’s up?” Sam asked them. “Join you?”

“Just the man we want to see,” Tony said. “Set your food down, and I’ll pull over a chair for you.”

Joel made room on the tabletop for Sam’s meal. He set Sam’s empty tray on the window ledge with a stack of others.

“That’s a dry everything bagel, isn’t it?” Sam pointed an accusing finger at Joel’s plate.

At Joel’s answering smile, Sam snorted, “You a martyr or something?” He sat on the chair Tony had scrounged for him and picked up his breakfast sandwich special.

“Your partner,” Tony informed him as he settled back in place, “is putting his sister in rehab.”

“So that’s where he went,” Sam mumbled around a mouthful of food.

“Ma says don’t talk with your mouth full. What do you know?”

“He called in right before shift.” Sam paused for a noisy slurp of coffee. “Said he had a family emergency. I figured it was something with Bree.”

Brows furrowed, the three ate without speaking, until Joel asked, “Which rehab?” He brushed seeds and crumbs from his elegant, manicured hands and whisked them up with his napkin.

“I told him Clifton Springs was the best, as far as I was concerned. Gave him a few phone numbers.”

“That’s a one-eighty turnaround for Peter,” Joel said.

The brothers nodded and chewed in silence.

“Think he’ll come back to the team?” Sam asked after he’d swallowed the last bite.

“You want him back?” Tony’s face scrunched with indecision.

“Hell, yes,” Sam told him. “Don’t you?”

The brothers made eye contact, and a silent debate flashed back and forth.

Joel sat back and took a sip of black coffee.

Tony dropped a charred edge of crust onto his plate and pushed the plate aside. “Yeah, I want him,” he said. “Let’s work on that, soon as he’s back.”

The enticing aroma of hazelnut coffee drew Bree to the kitchen. Sunlight poured through a tiny, high window. Peter stood on the blue throw rug that she’d placed over scarred linoleum. He poked at the contents of a skillet, his back to her.

“Thanks for coffee. What are you making?”

“Good morning.” He gave her a smile. “Some scrambled eggs with tomato and cheese. Can you fix some toast for us?”

Bree opened the freezer and selected a loaf of cinnamon raisin. “This okay?”

Peter glanced over. “That’s one of Paddy’s?” he asked when he spied the name on the wrapper. He made a mental note of the address.

“Yeah, I went to the bakery last week and stocked up.” She separated four frozen slices and uncovered the toaster.

“Listen,” Peter said, “I made a couple of phone calls.”

“Who’s up at this hour?” she quipped.

“It’s eight o’clock, Sleeping Beauty. Tony Pinelli’s already been to a meeting. He told me there’s one every morning at the bagel place downtown.”

“In Tompkins Falls? Cool.” She shrugged. “Maybe the bagel place needs a waitress.”

“Maybe.” He savored her good mood.

They stood at the counter to eat their eggs and toast and coffee. Peter filled a dishpan with sudsy water and made short work of the dishes. He scrubbed the frying pan while Bree nibbled her toast. The second she picked up the last piece, he reached for her plate.

“In a hurry?” she teased.

He glanced at the clock over the sink. “Yes.” He handed her a plate to dry.

“How come you called Tony?”

When Bree finished drying the old plate, she kissed her index finger and relayed the kiss to the chip on the rim of the plate. Peter’s throat tightened.
Mom used to do that with the china cups and saucers her mother gave her.

He cleared his throat. “I figured Tony would know about rehabs. He says Clifton Springs is one of the best. So I called them, and they want us there this morning at ten.”

Bree’s hand froze halfway to the cupboard.

Peter took the plate from her and put it on its shelf. “What do you think, Bree?”

“I think that’s really scary,” Bree told him in a shaky voice, “and I want to do it.” She licked her lips. “I’m still under your insurance, right?”

“Right. That will pay about half.”

Her eyes searched the far corner of the kitchen.
Looking for money? For courage?

“I’ve got the rest covered,” he told her.

She gave him a wary frown. “How?”

“You know I rented an apartment instead of buying a house.” He shifted on his feet. “I still have the down payment I saved.”

“But Peter—”

“But Bree, you need a rehab. So we’re going to rehab this morning. Let’s get ready. It’s over an hour from here.”

She walked to the window and stretched on her toes to see the main street. “Looks like everything’s melted and is just slush now. I’ll bet the highway is okay.”

“It is. I called the highway department. Clifton Springs said you’ll need a week’s worth of clothes, just casual stuff. I put in a load of laundry a while ago, and the drier will be done in a few minutes.”

“You’re taking care of me.” Bree brushed away a few tears.

“Just doing what I can to make it a little easier. Why don’t you finish putting the dishes away and get your duffle started while I go down for the drier load? We’ll be out of here in twenty minutes.”

While Maya finished clearing away the dishes, Joel watched the faces around his uncle’s breakfast table. Manda showed no emotion, but her breathing was shallow. He touched her hand, and she interlaced her fingers with his and gave him a nervous smile. Gwen fidgeted with her coffee mug. Gianessa’s eyes were downcast, and she wore a Mona Lisa smile.
What’s she thinking?

Justin puffed out his chest and pushed his chair back a few inches. With his deep voice, he told them, “This is a day we’ve worked toward for nearly a year. Everything is now in place for us to design, build and open the Forrester Center for Holistic Recovery in the coming year.” He gave each of them a measured smile, which they returned.

“Oscar could not join us this morning, but he sees no issues with the necessary building permits. He has already met with the Cady’s Point Neighborhood Association, and they are on board with the new center, provided we take responsibility for all the necessary improvements to the road, and we keep vehicle noise to a minimum. Which we will.”

“Good work,” Joel commended him, “especially considering that you, Oscar, and Gwen have only been back a few weeks.”

“Oscar is focused,” Justin said. “And well paid.” He turned a proud smile on Manda. “Manda’s business plan is outstanding. While her masters program will make her jump through hoops until graduation, as far as I’m concerned, it is solid enough and far enough along for us to proceed. Gianessa will draft an operations plan with Joel’s support, and we’ll initiate the processes for whatever certifications and endorsements we need.”

Joel raised his coffee cup to Gianessa. “You and I will be a good team,” he told her. Gianessa met his gaze only briefly.

“And while we search for the architect,” Justin said, with a dramatic pause, “we will bulldoze the house that Lorraine built.”

“Hear, hear,” Joel seconded. He put his arm around Manda’s shoulders, and she leaned against him. “A new beginning for Cady’s Point.”

“We’ll break ground for the new center in April,” Justin continued, “with the donors and trustees in attendance. Between now and then, Gwen and I will be out selling the concept.” He winked in Gwen’s direction. “In our spare time.”

Gwen laughed. “I even have the wardrobe for it. But seriously, Joel, thank you for lining up the public relations firm. Having a professional package will give me some much-needed confidence and will make our message clear, coherent, and compelling.”