Page 89 of Fall for Me

Seamus

When I pulled up to the old brick building down on Riverfront Drive, I was surprised to feel nerves pressing at my gut. I don’t know why, when I’d rehearsed what I wanted to say tonight approximately eight thousand times, both in the mirror, and later to Eli.

Maybe because eight thousand times over two weeks wasn’t enough times to say something I still wasn’t convinced was the right thing to say.

But that was the thing with words. You could think them as much as you wanted; you could guess or infer what might happen when you said them; but you never really knew how they were going to land until they came out of your mouth, to the person you intended them for.

I gave one last look at myself in the rearview. I couldn’t see much beyond the top half of my face, but my hair still looked somewhat combed, though the light wind whipping off the river outside would screw that up fast enough. The mirror didn’t give me a good view of my suit, which sucked, because I’d bought it new—with Jude Kelly’s assistance.

I’d asked Eli for advice the day of the sunrise with Chelsea. He’d come over to my place with a slab of drywall and a bucket of mud. He insisted on fixing the hole while I ate my overdue breakfast, and we’d had a long talk about what had happened. Nothing, he’d told me—nothing—could get in the way of our friendship, and by the same token, he wouldn’t get between me and Chelsea.

I mostly listened while Eli talked, which was the way of our relationship, but I didn’t mind. He always left room for me to say my piece, even though that day, I’d already decided I wouldn’t. The conversation had to be had, and I was glad for it.

But my mind had already been on tonight, even though two weeks ago, Dad was still scrambling to land on a venue, and had even gotten desperate enough to contact the school district to see about renting the Quince Valley High gymnasium for the event.

But Chelsea had come through.

Eli had too, both with the venue and the suit. Eli had begrudgingly advised me to ask his brother for help when I asked him where to get something nice. My best friend had several good suits himself, but admitted Jude knew more about high-end shit than both of us put together. Jude had directed me to a tailor in Greenville, an old-school guy who custom-made the navy pinstripe number I was wearing now.

It felt strange, wearing it. But it was better than my single other suit. Except for a couple of meetings, I’d mostly worn it for funerals. I didn’t want to wear my funeral suit tonight; the most important night Reilly and Sons had ever had. It was only one party, but it was going to cover several major announcements: Joyce Ruiz’s retirement, after thirty years of employment with Reilly and Sons. The company’s thirtieth anniversary. Certain big job announcements.

Our new name.

As I slammed the truck door, I tugged on my lapels, wishing I’d brought a coat. It was freezing tonight—a week before Thanksgiving and the weather guy was predicting snow within the week. Still, Chelsea had assured me it would be warm enough inside without one.

It was a gorgeous night. Still afternoon really, but with the sun setting before 4:30 in Vermont at this time of year, the sky was already in full orange sunset mode, the first stars popping up overhead. The party wasn’t until seven, but Chelsea had wanted to give me a tour of the building before everyone showed up. She’d sent everyone involved in the set-up home to get ready, so we’d have the place to ourselves for an hour at least before Ben showed up with the food.

“You sure I can’t help at all?” I’d asked every other day since she took over party planning from Dad.

“Not a chance.” She’d kept all three of us out of it, enlisting several of our contractors to volunteer, along with Eli, Jude, Chelsea’s friend Mia and Jude’s friend Nora to help instead. “They’re just excited to be a part of the hottest event of the year in Quince Valley.”

My dad had raised his eyebrows at that, looking like he might protest either not getting to keep helping or the fanciness of the event, but Chelsea had raised her eyebrows back and he’d folded like a cheap lawn chair.

Watching her over the past two weeks had been incredible. But it made my chest hurt, too. She’d been in her element. After advising Dad the big box grocery store appetizers and folding camping chairs weren’t nearly good enough for a celebration of this magnitude, she’d immediately negotiated a deal with Ben next door to cater. It was perfect—Viande et Patates literally meant meat and potatoes, and the appetizers he was preparing were just fancy enough to be called canapés, but hearty enough to be appreciated by our guests. She’d also gotten the chair rental place to cut the price in half, and found sound equipment far superior to Dad’s boombox setup.

Now, as I walked past Ben’s restaurant and its hum of conversation and music toward the door of Eli’s newly acquired property, I had to work to keep my breathing steady. It was time to talk to Chelsea. To say the words I’d practiced eight thousand times before getting here.

To deal with the brick that had landed on me that morning up on the rocky hill, looking out at the sunrise. It was there I’d known there was only one way to do this right, and that wasn’t with us moving forward like everything was okay.

The thing was, up on that hill, I’d had two revelations. The first was that I’d told Chelsea about what had happened that morning on the river with Kevin, and she hadn’t run away screaming.

The second was that I’d unburdened myself on her, and while I had been ready, she hadn’t.

I paused at the door to Eli’s building. The whole ground floor had a plywood facade up, but Chelsea had gotten us to stencil our new name across the front to make sure partygoers knew they were in the right place.

Only the words were new: Reilly Contracting Group. No more Sons.

Both Dad and I had been so choked up down at city hall when we’d filed the paperwork last week that we’d decided to get a beer at O’Malley’s afterward. We ended up staying long enough that we had to get a cab at closing time.

It was like my talking to Chelsea had broken a dam. Dad and I spent the whole time talking. Dad told me stories I’d never heard about Kevin, and I told him my favorite memories of Mom.

The servers had clustered together to look worriedly at the two grown-ass men weeping into our beers and bursting out laughing in turns, our very own wake for the lost half of our family. It had been the best night, and though we’d talked about things we’d avoided for years, it had felt cathartic. Easy, even, once we got going.

Tonight, the night that was supposed to be a celebration—this would be the hard one.

But I couldn’t stand out here forever. Not when Chelsea was waiting.

I pulled open the door.

---