Chapter Eleven - Charlotte
I’m not working until 11:00 a.m. today, so I’m planning to spend the morning Christmas shopping. I swing by the restaurant first, wanting to talk to Dad, to see Danny, to ask about the Naval Ball menu and maybe have some breakfast while I’m there. It’s not open yet when I get there, but I open the door with the key Dad made for me. I know he and Danny are there, so I head to the back, stopping when I hear voices echoing.
“But it is serious,” Danny’s voice echoes. He sounds frustrated.
“Because you’re making it out to be,” Dad says, sounding equally upset.
“We’re losing a lot of money, and you don’t seem to give a damn,” Danny says. I frown, confused and unsure what to do.
“I told you, Danny, I’m looking into it,” Dad sighs.
“How? Name one thing you’ve done,” Danny snaps, like maybe they’ve had this conversation before.
“The new inventory sheets, for one,” Dad says, and Danny laughs bitterly, a disbelieving sort of sound.
“The inventory is not the problem, Hank!” Danny says. I can’t see him, but I’m sure of the expression on his face, the way his jaw is probably tight. My dad is probably red, the way he gets when he’s mad like the heat is rising up inside him.
“It fucking might be if you’d let me handle it and see!” Dad says. I back away, not sure I should be listening to this. I had wanted to talk to both of them, but I don’t want to walk into a fight, and I don’t think I want to hear any more of it. I let myself back out, confused and worried.
I’d thought the Dock’s End was doing well—doing incredible, actually. Isn’t it? How can they be losing money? What could be happening that has Danny so concerned? Why are he and Dad fighting? I’ve only heard them fight once before, back when I was a kid. Danny had come to work at the franchise Dad used to manage to reek of alcohol, clearly still drunk, and Dad had yelled at him in front of everyone, like years of frustration were breaking. They’d said all sorts of things I hadn’t really understood at the time that I was years away from being able to comprehend.
But I remember them all, vividly. Dad had said Danny needed to get his shit together and get his life under control. Danny had said he’d never asked Dad to tell him what to do, that he wasn’t looking for a damn parent. Dad had accused Danny of having no clue what he was looking for and kicked him out of the restaurant, telling him to not coming back until he was sober. My mom had said Dad should just fire him, and Dad had told her that restaurant decisions really weren’t up to her, and then they’d fought, too.
I’d ended the night in my room, head under the covers and my favorite music turned all the way up, trying so hard to drown out all the day’s yelling.
I wonder what’s happening now, what’s going on. I wonder if I should ask Danny about it. I head back out on the street and grab a coffee and a bagel for breakfast before doing some shopping. I can’t get the fight I’d overheard or anything that’s been happening lately with regard to Danny and the restaurant, out of my mind. As I shop, I keep seeing things that remind me of him, or that I think would look good on him, and every time I wish I could get Danny out of my head, in general.
I don’t think getting him a Christmas gift is a good idea, given everything, but it doesn’t stop me from picturing how all the cable-knit sweaters would look on him, the colors on his skin and the fabric hugging his muscles. I’m tempted to buy him something small, just for friendship, for our new relationship, but I don’t know what that could possibly be. There isn’t a boutique section for “hey, you’re my dad’s best friend and we slept together, but let’s just back up and be friends” gifts, after all.
I end up buying a few things to send down to Mom: a beautiful patterned scarf, a novel by her favorite author, and a set of bath products and perfumes from a local beauty shop she always loved. I also grab a few gifts for friends back in Philadelphia and something small for the secret Santa exchange at the hospice. I’ve got a couple things in mind for Dad already, although I’d like to nail down one or two more before Christmas.
I head to work, pleased with my shopping finds if still troubled by everything I overheard this morning. Catherine is on my patient load today, and she’s in great spirits when I make my first rounds. She’s quickly become one of my favorite patients I’ve ever worked with—she makes me think of the kind of person I want to be, the kind of woman I aspire to be like.
“I saw your daughter is taking you home for the day on Christmas,” I say, smiling. Catherine nods.
“She said it wouldn’t be a holiday without me. But truth be told, between you and me? I think she just wants to pick my brain for my famous mashed potato recipe before it goes with me,” Catherine says.
“A closely guarded secret?” I ask, guessing. Catherine laughs, and even though I’ve worked with so many elderly patients, I can’t help but be impressed by how calm, how casual she is about her own mortality. It’s not surprising, though—with all her stories, she gives off such an air of handling whatever life’s thrown her way with grace.
“Something like that. Truthfully, I never thought they were that good, but the kids have always loved them, and now my son-in-law tells me they’re my claim to fame,” Catherine says.
“I’m sure they’re wonderful,” I say, nodding.
“I’ll sneak you back some. If Gary leaves any for anyone else, that is,” Catherine says, laughing.
“Is Gary your son-in-law?” I ask. Catherine nods.
“He’s a middle school teacher. Lovely fellow, makes my daughter really happy, and he’s a good father,” Catherine says, smiling.
“That’s great,” I say, smiling back. Catherine shakes her head again and looks at me.
“Well, how about you? Is there anything wonderful in your life? Any man sweeping you off your feet?” Catherine asks. I flush, instantly thinking of Danny.
“No one special,” I say, although it doesn’t feel true.
“But someone you want to be special, right?” Catherine asks, laughing her raspy laugh.
“I’m . . . making up my mind about that,” I say, and that statement feels a little truer. I pull her medicine from my cart, Danny still on my mind.
“Decide quick, honey. Don’t let a good man get away. Life is always better when you’re not alone,” Catherine says.
“I’ve heard that,” I say, nodding. I think she might be right, although I don’t know what to do about it.
“Believe it, and hold on tight to things and people that make you happy,” Catherine says, studying me like she can read my thoughts somehow. Could I be happy like that, with Danny? I think I do feel happy when I’m with him. But then I think I’m not sure that’s actually enough. I’m not sure happiness lasts, not after everything my parents have been through, after everything I’ve seen my friends in the city go through for the sake of relationships. I want to think Catherine’s seen enough to know it’s worth it, but I’m not sure happiness is a gamble worth taking right now, all things considered.
“I’ll certainly try,” I say, smiling at Catherine again. “Ready for your medicine?”
“For my nap, you mean,” Catherine says, taking the medicine from my hand and poking a small blue painkiller with her finger. “This little one never lets me stay awake.”
“It tends to have that effect on people,” I say.
“Especially little old ladies who can’t stay awake a damn minute as it is,” Catherine says, throwing her pills back with a glass of water. “Tell me about your maybe-special man when I wake up, all right? It’ll make my day.”
“It’s a deal,” I say, taking the paper water cup back from Catherine and shaking her thin hand. I’m not sure what I’ll say, not sure how to talk about Danny at all. Maybe that’s why it makes me so nervous.
Maybe that’s why he does.