Chapter 5
Bryan
O ut of the blue, my father called me. He asked if I would come to dinner because he and Mom wanted to talk. Finally, after all these years, I was going to hear them apologize for the way they had been acting. I called Hailey and asked if she could make it, and to my surprise, she said she would move some plans around. I honestly didn’t expect her to do something like that. I picked her up in my truck, and I could tell she was nervous. The first time she met my parents, she’d ended up putting them in their place, and she hadn’t seen them again until the show at the art gallery. She held my hand tightly while we rode down the highway, and she didn’t speak until we exited and started down the main road in town. “How are you feeling about all this?” she asked. “Honestly? Not any different than I did yesterday. My hope is they’re finally coming to their senses, but I’ve coped with not having them around if this is just another scare tactic.” “Scare tactic?” she asked. “Yeah. Them trying to do their best to scare me into the type of lifestyle they wished I’d lead.” She nodded and went back to staring out the window, but her hand tightened in mine. From the moment we entered my parent’s home, I could tell something was different. The air seemed a little lighter and the furniture was arranged differently. The house seemed more open and inclusive, and it took me a little while to digest everything. Rooms that hadn’t been opened in years had their doors thrown out wide, and even the air smelled of a lighter scent than the musky perfume my mother doused around the house.
What the hell was going on?
“Bryan!” my father exclaimed. “Welcome.”
I could tell Hailey was taken aback by everything as well as she watched my father embrace me.
“And Hailey. It’s wonderful to see you again. I’m so glad you're back in Bryan’s life.”
“So am I, Mr. McBride.”
“Please, call me Michael. Like old times,” my father said.
Old times? Who the fuck had tainted my parent’s water supply?
My mother was already sitting at the kitchen table, and I could tell she was less than amused. That made a bit more sense. My father was trying to make up for the fact that my mother was in a shitty mood, and suddenly, my hopes of them apologizing were dwindling.
My mother would soon backhand my father before he apologized on her behalf.
“Hey, Mom,” I said.
“Bryan.”
“Aren’t you going to say hello to Hailey?” I asked.
“No.”
Hailey giggled to herself and shook her head, and that caught my mother’s attention.
“Did I do something funny?” she asked.
“Yes. The two of you have found a way to wiggle Bryan over here for a dinner he isn’t interested in under the assumption the two of you are going to apologize,” Hailey said.
I didn’t expect her to be so blunt, but I couldn’t deny what she was saying.
“And what would we apologize for?” my mother asked.
“Ready to go?” Hailey asked me.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” my father said. “Since the two of you came all this way, why don’t you sit down and enjoy a nice meal?” Hailey shot me a look. It almost made me feel as if she was more agitated than I was, like they had somehow ruined her night or inconvenienced her. And while I couldn’t deny that she was about to be thrust into a situation like before, I’d never known Hailey to be impatient or hold that against someone. It was confusing to me. “Hailey, why don’t you come sit by me and tell me how John’s showcase went?” my father asked. Even I could see the look of shock that rolled over Hailey’s face. “Um, all right,” she said. I escorted her to my father, and I pulled out her chair. She sat down and took a deep breath through her nose, obviously trying to relax. One of the waitstaff tried to pour her a glass of wine, but she waved it off before asking for some water. “So,” my father said. “How did everything turn out?” “It, um, actually went very well. We sold most of John’s paintings that evening. I had a few hanging up the next day, and they sold before the week was out.” “How many paintings were there?” my mother asked. We all stopped and turned toward her before she shrugged and sat back in her chair. “There were sixty-two paintings in all,” Hailey said. “And you sold all of them?” my father asked. “Well, not all of them. There was this pair of paintings, sort of inverses of each other, and I felt like they needed to be sold together. Unfortunately, no one wanted to purchase them together, and that didn’t feel right to me. So, I’m loaning those out to galleries and museums that are interested, and half of the proceeds are being donated to the local homeless shelters in the area.” “Really?” my mother asked. “Could I see them sometime?”
Hailey looked over at me with a quizzical stare before she nodded. “You’re more than welcome to see your son’s paintings anytime you wish, Mrs. McBride.” “Dorothy is fine,” my mother said. I saw a smile cross my father’s face that I hadn’t seen in years, and for the first time since we walked in, I felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. There was a nagging voice in the back of my mind wondering if they were interested because of the local fame Hailey had garnered for herself, but I tried to silence that pessimistic voice before it became vocalized. “I’ve seen you a great deal in the newspaper,” my father said. “It seems your gallery’s doing well.” “It has been. I’m very excited about it. I became profitable way before I figured I would be,” Hailey said. “You’re no longer in any debt with your business?” my mother asked. “Nope. Haven’t been for the past three weeks,” Hailey said, smiling. “That’s fantastic!” my father exclaimed. “And rare for artistic businesses such as yours. You’ve got that business mind of yours to thank for that.” “I honestly never really thought I had one,” Hailey said. “But thank you.” “Those that never think they’re good at something are usually the ones that excel most in it,” my mother said. “Well put, Dorothy. Well put,” my father said. “I was shocked by the quality of art on the walls at the showcase,” my mother said. “You mean John’s art?” Hailey asked. “He had a great deal of talent, didn’t he?” The entire table fell silent while we all trained our eyes on my mom.
She looked somber, and her stare had glazed over. She was losing herself in her thoughts like she was remembering something. And I could’ve sworn there were tears rising in her eyes. Hailey slowly panned her head over to mine, and all I could do was shrug. I was in foreign territory and had no idea how to guide her through any of this currently going on. “There was one on the wall that caught my eye,” my father said. “It was a painting of a sunset that was reflected in some sort of body of water. Except there was a boat that interrupted the reflection with a man fishing in it. The detail was astounding. Did you sell it?” “I did,” Hailey said. “It was one of the last ones to sell before the showcase wound down. It’s being shipped to London.” “London?” my mother exclaimed. “John’s artwork is going all the way to London?” “It’s actually going all the way to Australia as well. And South Africa. I think there was someone shipping a painting to Beijing. I’d have to take a look at the book I wrote everything down in,” Hailey said. “A book? Oh, no. That should be your next move before you have another showcase like that. Make sure things are electronic. It’s faster and you can have people enter in their own information. It’ll free up your hands to mingle and make connections,” my father said. “That’s the plan,” Hailey said, grinning. “That and putting in a security system. I’ve already learned that the hard way.” “Why’s that?” my mother asked. “I had my gallery vandalized a few weeks back,” she said. “It was nothing terrible, but it could’ve been worse.” “Drew and I stepped in and fixed it up before the day was out. Had to replace a window, patch some holes, repaint the walls. Stuff like that,” I said. “What the hell is wrong with people these days?” my father asked. “Did you find out who it was?”
“We did. He’s been arrested and charged. Far as I know, he hasn’t made bail,” Hailey said. “Good,” my mother said. “Serves that bastard right.” Hailey’s eyes widened and giggled at my mother’s choice of words. “John had a great deal of potential,” Hailey said. “He could’ve been a professional.” “Had he had the correct support,” I said. The tone of the dinner suddenly fell again while plates of food were being set in front of us. The small smile my mother garnered faded from her face, and I heard my father clear his throat to try and rid the tension from the room. Hailey slipped her hand over and squeezed my thigh, trying to find some comfort of her own while she proclaimed her support for me. I knew I was right, even if they didn’t want to admit it. “Or had he not been driven away,” I said, murmuring. “It was your brother’s choice to turn to drugs to cope,” my mother said. “Now, we may have made some bad parental decisions raising you boys, but there is nothing that excuses that sort of behavior.” “An artistic outlet would’ve helped with that,” I said. “Had he tried to turn it into something practical like you did, then maybe we would’ve supported it,” my mother said. “Or maybe you could’ve allowed a little boy the ability to paint with watercolors,” I said. “Well, if John hadn’t been such a—” “That’s enough, Dorothy,” my father said. The tone of his voice was shocking, and it caused my head to whip over to him. The stern glare my father had in his eyes had always been one reserved for me and John. Whenever we’d flunked a test or gotten into trouble at school. Whenever we were fighting or whenever we broke something of Mom’s. Never had I seen it turned toward my mother like that. “It’s time we faced the truth,” he said.
“Get out of my house,” my mother said. “It’s not just your house,” Hailey said. “Get the hell out of my home,” my mother said while she glared at Hailey. “No, Hailey. You’re more than welcome here. You always have been,” my father said. “Not only are you in love with our son, but you were deeply involved in the life of our other son. You will always have a place at this table.” “Michael, what are you doing?” my mother asked. “Dorothy, I know you’re in pain,” my father said as he reached out for her hand. “What in the world are you doing?” she asked as she ripped her hands away. “Dorothy, give me your hand,” he said warmly. I watched the transaction, completely rooted to my seat as my mother slowly slipped her hand over to his. The comfort and the love that radiated from my father’s eyes were being absorbed by my mother, and for the first time, I saw pain and regret and guilt behind her eyes. I reached down and pried Hailey’s tightening grasp from my thigh, interlocking our fingers while I held on to her tightly. “We read the article that talked about John’s life before he died,” my father said. “It was suggested that he hadn’t cleaned up his act.” “Mr. McBride—” “Michael,” he said. “Michael,” Hailey said, “John was clean, completely clean, for months. Your son did not overdose in the middle of a dark alleyway. He was intentionally shot up.” “That’s what Bryan tried to tell us the last time we were all together,” my father said. “And he’s right. There were some issues with an art therapy student of mine, and there were some men that came after me,” Hailey said. “John was trying to protect me the only way he knew how, the only way he could during that point in his life.” “He died a hero, Dad,” I said. I saw my father’s gaze lock hard on my mother’s face, who looked like she wanted to get up and run. Her body was tense, and her eyes were downcast into her lap. Her lips were pursed, and her brow was furrowed. She was white-knuckling my father’s hand while she sat there, wanting desperately to run but not allowing herself to do it, not while my father had a grasp on her. “I didn’t want to believe it when Bryan told me,” my father said. “It was easier to think he’d died of his own accord.” “It leaves a cord dangling,” Hailey said. “I tried everything I could, Michael. I left several anonymous tips. I even went down to the police station myself and tried to file a report. But they threatened to arrest me for filing a false report.” “They what?” my father asked. “Yeah, Dad,” Isaid. “They threatened to throw Hailey in jail for trying to report what actually happened.” “Are those men still on the streets?” my father asked breathlessly. “No,” Hailey said. “They died a couple years ago. It’s why I left L.A. for good. I wanted to leave all of it behind, but I was scared if I left, they would follow me.” I brought Hailey’s hand to my mouth to kiss, realizing she was now shaking. “It’s all right,” I said into her skin. “Just take deep breaths.” “The police did your son wrong by not investigating, Michael. There’s nothing we can do about John, no matter how much we wanted to do something. But, if I could find a way to save someone from the exact lackadaisical police procedures that left your son’s murder unsolved, then I’d sacrifice anything to make it happen,” Hailey said. It was the first time I’d ever heard Hailey explain the guilt she carried with her so intellectually, and my eyes hooked onto her. She was staring hard at my father while my mother’s gaze slowly traveled up to her face. The three of them sat there, looking at each other while our plates of food grew cold. I didn’t know about anyone else, but I was no longer hungry myself. “I can look into that,” my father said. “You can what?” I asked. “If this is all true, and they simply brushed my son’s murder as an overdose, then someone needs to answer for that,” my father said. “What in the world could you do?” my mother asked breathlessly. I felt the very air I was breathing leave my lungs at my mother’s question. In seven small words, she had not only accepted what had happened to John, but she was engaging herself in the conversation of what to do and where to go from here. “I have many contacts with the politicians who oversee Los Angeles. I might be able to make some closed-door meetings happen and have some intense intellectual discussions,” my father said. “You would do that?” I asked. “Yes.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Maybe I hadn’t heard him right. “You would use your connections to help change police procedures in the city of L.A. because of what happened to John.” “Yes,” my father said. I sat back in my chair and allowed the entire exchange to wash over my body. It wasn’t an apology, but in the grand scheme of things, it was better. It seemed as if Mom had come one step closer to accepting what had really happened with John as well as identifying how they misstepped as parents. My father was reaching out and using the very influence I threw in his face at our last dinner to help a son it seemed like he was intent on no longer acknowledging. They seemed at least mildly interested in Hailey’s work and what was going on with her gallery, and they even made comments about how talented and artistic their son had been.
It was more of an outcome than I ever could’ve imagined coming from this dinner, and I was grateful.
For the first time in over seven years, I was grateful to my parents.