Authors: Faith Sullivan
Connor pries another piece of siding off the cabin. He has a tool belt slung around his waist and a Yankees baseball cap on his head. The truck’s radio is blasting. Taking advantage of a rare day off, he’s working like a mad man to get the cabin ready for the winter.
I can’t believe we’re at the end of August already. My self-imposed deadline is looming. Will I stay or will I go? I can tell Connor’s nervously awaiting my decision, but he hasn’t said a word about it. I think he’s trying to ignore the inevitable, and he thinks by not pressuring me he can swing the vote in his favor.
Donning a pair of work gloves, I start to unravel the bolt of pink insulation that Connor’s going to affix to the frame of the cabin. The scratchy material is murder on the skin, so I’m glad I have something to protect my hands. Wiping my brow, I examine all the work we’ve done to the place so far. The windows are gleaming. The roof is freshly tiled. A new screen door hangs on its hinges. It’s shaping up to be quite a cozy little home.
My eyes swing over to Connor, and I drink him in. He looks so unbelievably hot. He’s wearing a wife-beater, and the muscles in his arms gleam from the physical labor he’s performing in this heat. I imagine ripping off his shirt and running my hands down his chest.
“Michelle, you wanna bring that over here?” He catches me staring at him, and despite how close we’ve become, I still blush. Not trusting my voice, I nod, dragging the insulation across the grass.
“Can you hold the opposite end for me?” he asks as he slices off a section with his utility knife. Wielding a staple gun, he starts fastening it to the wall of the cabin. Raising my arms above my head, I hold it in place as Connor moves around me. He’s directly behind me and his hands stretch above mine. Flinging the staple gun to the ground, he grabs my waist, pressing me against him while nibbling my ear.
It feels so good. Leaning back into him, I twist in his arms so that we are facing each other. His mouth devours mine as he slides his fingers through the belt loops of my cutoffs, lifting me up. Taking the hint, I wrap my legs around him as his hands slide over my back pockets. We haven’t come up for air, and my head is spinning. I just can’t get enough of him.
Wanting him to take off his shirt, I fumble with the material. Realizing I’m still wearing the clumsy work gloves, I laugh against his mouth. Finally separating, he gives me a quizzical look. I bring my hands in front of his face, and he begins to laugh too. Striding to the porch, he deposits me in the rocking chair before entering the cabin. I hear the clink of ice, and he returns with two glasses of lemonade. Handing one to me, he props himself against the railing, taking a sip.
“We should be able to finish this today. It’s not even noon yet.” But he casts an anxious glance at the overcast sky. “We might be in for one hell of a thunderstorm though.” Slugging back the rest of his lemonade, he bounds off the porch signaling for me to follow.
I have to smile at his sense of urgency, but I don’t think he’s going to beat the storm. We’ll be lucky if we get one side of the cabin done before Mother Nature descends. Shaking my head, I sprint after him.
We manage to secure two more strips before the wind starts to pick up. The chime on the porch is tinkling wildly in the breeze. Connor’s laundered uniforms are flapping on the clothesline. I better retrieve them before they get carried away. Running across the yard, I remove the clothespins, throwing his shirts and pants over my shoulder. Casting a quick look back, Connor is hurriedly nailing the siding back into place.
A fat raindrop hits me in the middle of the forehead. There’s no time to waste as I sprint up the steps and into the cabin. Tossing the laundry onto the couch, I start closing the windows. Connor follows soon after depositing his tools by the door before shutting it against the downpour.
Peering at my reflection in the window, I try taming my windswept hair. With no air circulating, it feels like it is a thousand degrees in here. A sharp crash of thunder makes me jump. Connor chuckles while rummaging through the cabinet drawer for a match. Lighting a candle, he sets it in the middle of the kitchen table before taking a seat. He eyes me expectantly, waiting for me to join him. We both know the time has come.
Lowering myself into the chair opposite him, I cross my hands in front of me. The rain is pattering loudly against the roof, but thanks to Connor’s efforts not a drop gets through. Clearing my throat, I raise my voice over the noise of the storm. “I guess this is a good time to talk.”
If he’s apprehensive, he’s hiding it well. The candlelight flickers in front of him, softly illuminating his face. He doesn’t say a word, just waits for me to continue, but his eyes never leave mine.
Bolstering my courage, I charge ahead. “I didn’t know how this was gonna work out, you and me, living here, in such close quarters.” Nervously, I twiddle my thumbs. “I honestly thought we’d kill each other, especially me being here in a state of limbo with nothing to do. I was sure I’d go insane.”
He nods. He knows me well enough to agree that what I’m saying is true.
“But it didn’t turn out like I expected. I was kept busy fixing up the cabin, taking long walks, reading books from the library, driving you back and forth to work. My days were filled, and my nights, well…” I don’t have to verbalize how great the chemistry between us has been.
“The university is back in session. So yesterday I stopped by to walk around campus to get a feel for what it’s like with students and professors milling about. And you know what? It was great.” He leans forward eager to hear more. “I even talked to the head of admissions and she said that technically I could be considered a transfer student since I did attend half a semester at NYU before dropping out. And what’s great about that is, I wouldn’t have to wait until next fall if I get accepted. I could start in January when the spring term gets underway. I filled out the paperwork she gave me, and I’m going to return it after Labor Day so she can get the process started.”
He pushes away from the table and kneels at my feet. Turning to face him, he clasps my hands in his. “Does that mean…?” He’s trembling ever so slightly.
“Yes.” Clasping him around the neck, I press my forehead against his. “It means yes.”
He caresses the side of my face. Gently, he finds my lips, bestowing upon them a feather-light kiss. When he sits back on his heels, I’m overcome by the tears brimming in his eyes that my own begin to fill. “I never thought I’d be happy again,” he manages to get out as he takes a deep breath. “But I am.”
Running my fingers across his cheek, I smile down at him, my heart ready to burst. “Me too, baby. Me too.”
Days later, we receive a call from the realtor that the sale went through. Maria is now the official owner of Donnelly’s Pub. All Connor needs to do is return to the city to sign some of the final paperwork, and it’s a done deal. The pub is no longer his.
After hanging up and relaying the news to me, he steps outside and stares across the lake. Walking down to the dock, he pushes Miguel’s old canoe into the water and gets in. After watching his progress in the boat for the better part of an hour, I pick up the phone.
“Mrs. Donnelly, it’s Michelle.”
“Did it happen?”
“Yeah, it did.”
She pauses and I give her a moment. Judging by Connor’s reaction, I know it’s a bitter pill for his family to swallow.
“How’s Mr. Donnelly holding up?” He’s spoken to his son since finding out about the fate of his beloved pub, but there’s still an overhanging tension between them.
“No doubt this news is going to be a blow.” She sounds defeated. “But he’s learning how to work through it at his own pace.”
“That’s all anyone can ask,” I reply, infusing my tone with as much warmth as I can.
“I guess Maria wants the place as is, huh?”
“Yeah, what a relief. She doesn’t want us to remove a thing.”
“That’ll be a comfort to my husband.” I never expected her to get so emotional, but I can hear her sniffling on the other end. “So when are you and Connor coming in?”
“We’re driving out tomorrow morning. Connor’s going to stop first at the realtor’s office in Midtown, and then we’ll head over to Brooklyn.”
“I’m glad you’ll be here for the first anniversary.”
I choke up a bit. “It’s where we should be, you know?”
“I know.” She swallows audibly before striving for a more jubilant tone. “We’ll have lunch ready when you get here.”
“Am I finally going to get a chance to taste your lasagna?”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Her words bring a smile to my face.
“See you around one-thirty then.”
“Okay, have a safe trip.”
Connor is slowly paddling toward shore. I watch him drag the oars through the water, closing the distance between us. I hope with all my heart that he’s strong enough to endure these next few days. I hope I am too.
***
We’re out of the realtor’s office in no time. I can see how the sale proceeded so quickly thanks to their efficiency and organization. They made everything as streamlined as possible for Connor. It was painful enough for him without adding any tedious headaches on the business end. Things couldn’t have gone more smoothly.
Driving across the Brooklyn Bridge, I gaze straight ahead, trying not to look back at Ground Zero. Connor doesn’t speak until we cross into the other borough. We don’t mention it, but it’s there. And for the moment it’s okay that we don’t talk about it. So much is in flux right now. It’s better if we only focus on one thing at a time.
Weaving through the traffic, Connor remains quiet. I can only imagine what’s going through his head. Removing my sunglasses, I pat his arm. “It’s going to be okay.”
“And if it’s not?” He puts on his turn signal before making a right.
“Then it’s his fault, not yours.” I give him a reassuring squeeze.
Pulling up to a line of row houses, Connor backs into the last remaining parking space. “They live down the block, but I don’t see anything closer.”
Opening the door of the truck, I wait for Connor on the sidewalk. It feels strange to be back in New York. It’s weird to see people milling around me when I’ve gone days without encountering anyone besides Connor. Culture shock is definitely setting in.
Connor takes my hand and carries a cheesecake box with the other. He thought it’d make a nice peace offering to his dad, being that it’s his favorite. I’m not going to lie, I’m a little worried about how this is all going to play out, but I have faith in Connor. He’s not the same guy who stormed out of the restaurant in Midtown.
Walking up the stone steps, I press the doorbell. Before I can even take my finger off the button, Connor’s mother throws open the front door. Embracing her son, she leans over to give me a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ve been waiting all morning for you. Come in, come in.”
The hallway is narrow and the tiny foyer abuts the staircase leading to the second floor bedrooms. A living room with a large bay window is immediately to our left. Looking in, I see Connor’s father in a recliner watching TV. He and Connor lock eyes. For one terrible minute, I think they’re going to ignore each other, but Connor takes the initiative. Handing me the box of cheesecake, he strides into the room and sits on the couch.
“Dad.”
“Connor.”
Nothing more is said, but Connor’s mom wipes her hand dramatically across her brow. “C’mon, Michelle. You can help me get things ready in the kitchen.”
***
After a delicious meal, we’re back on the road. Maria said while we’re in the city we can stay in Connor’s old room above the pub. As a part of her grand re-opening, she’s holding a special gathering for members of the support group tomorrow night. It’s going to be an emotionally challenging day, and I’m glad we’ll be here to mark the first anniversary with them.
“Your dad is taking it better than I expected.” I glance at his profile.
“I think he’s just going easy on me given what tomorrow is, but he’s coming around.” At the traffic light, he pulls a cigarette from behind the visor and reaches for his lighter in the cup holder. Rolling the window down a crack, he takes a drag and exhales. He hasn’t smoked in quite a while, but the day has taken its toll.
Soon the familiar awning is in view. Turning into the adjacent alley, I notice how different the vibe is from when I first arrived. I was so scared and unsure of what I was doing back in New York. I hardly knew Connor then and I was going on gut instinct alone. Now I truly feel like my life belongs somewhere else. I can finally let go of New York. Like ripping off a band-aid, coming to that realization only hurts for the moment.
Standing before the door, Connor pulls his keys out of his pocket. His eyes are lowered. His body language is tense.
“Talk to me,” I urge, touching his arm. “Was it a bad idea coming back here?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead he turns the key in the lock, and we enter the bar that’s draped in total darkness. Only one of the neon beer signs is lit. He scans the room as if searching for something he can’t quite find. “Yeah, it’ll be okay. I think I need some sense of closure anyway,” he remarks, guiding me toward the stairs.
Making the ascent, our footsteps echo through the empty building. I never noticed it before, but it really does feel haunted. I don’t how Connor stayed here by himself before I arrived. I can see how the desolate atmosphere could get under someone’s skin.
As if thinking the same thing, he puts his arm though mine as we move down the hallway toward his room. It’s pretty empty except for the bed and what remains of the furniture. Maria packed up all of Connor’s personal belongings and sent them ahead. Now it’s just a shell of what it used to be.
I turn down the bed and start unpacking our overnight bag. Stuffing our toiletries in my arms, I take off my shoes and head for the bathroom. Lining the sink with bottles of shaving cream, mouthwash, etc., I turn on the tap to get the hot water going. Memories of the night we spent in here after the bar fight come flooding back. It’s amazing how much has happened since then.
After completing my nightly ritual, I find Connor already in bed staring at the ceiling. Quickly slipping into one of his undershirts, I climb in next to him. I’m totally depleted. I want nothing more than to curl up next to him and fall asleep.
Throwing my arm across his chest, I snuggle up beside him as he wraps himself around me. Wanting to ease his inner turmoil, I tilt my head, bestowing a quick kiss on his shoulder.
He laughs. “What’s that for?”
“Just letting you know that I love you.”
Stroking my hair, he rubs my temple with his thumb. I can feel his muscles relax. “I love you, too.”