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“Sweetie, not in the least.”
My parents used to live in this little house on Staten Island, moving in right around the time I was going to be born. Myrealparents. My biological father and mother. Mom and Dad. Mom died when I was an infant, and that left Dad to raise me, all alone. That’s always hard, but for some people, they come out of it better, changed. Unfortunately for us, Dad had no idea how to be a parent. As soon as he could, he took his on-again, off-again girlfriend, Crystal, and moved across the country, leaving me alone with this house that should have held so many memories, so much potential, but was instead a graveyard for such things.
I could have left all the bitterness behind. But I couldn’t leave the bedroom where my parents had lain together, discussing the future. I couldn’t leave the kitchen where they had eaten their meals, or the living room where they watched the news.
I couldn’t leave this dinky little place, with its core of candy-sweetness under all the bile and black, burnt failures.
“Oh, no,” Maggie intoned.
I looked up at her.
“You’re spiraling.”
“I am not spiraling,” I lied, to defend myself.
“You are totally spiraling.” Maggie jumped up to her feet and reached for me, grabbing my wrist and dragging me with her. “Let’s get you out of this place for a bit.”
I opened my mouth to tell her I couldn’t really afford to go get coffee or eat out.
Maggie rolled her eyes at me and interrupted my attempt to talk. “Going for a walk is free enough, isn’t it?”
I couldn’t argue with that.
Suddenly, leaving the house felt like a pretty good idea. I’d been inside all day and the weather would be nice out there.
Sensing my agreement, Maggie pulled me over to the front door. I got my shoes on and fetched my keys, to lock up the door behind us—more out of habit than because it would keep unwanted guests out.
Outside, the air was damp and a bit chilly, rattling naked tree branches all down the thin neighborhood street. Staten Island was one of the most affordable places to live in the whole city. However, it was still NYC, so affordable meant still pretty expensive and of bad quality. For the price of a ranch home in the Midwest, my parents’ home on Staten Island was a tiny and boxlike construction with a coat of faded green paint. The front and backyards were all but nonexistent, thin strips of land that struggled to provide grass, or even weeds.
All the other homes in the neighborhood were about the same, all single-story and shrunken. A few of the pricier homes had walkways leading around the side. Some of the more industrious of the homemakers had planted bushes and trees in their yards, which could actually look quite nice at any other time of the year when all the plants weren’t dying.
Maggie walked down to the sidewalk and turned back to me. “Let’s go to the park.”
“Okay,” I agreed, and went off with her, knowing I had nothing better to do—and no choice in the matter anyway.
CHAPTER3
CARTER
Two days later, Brian approached me with his plans for the party.
I reached to take them from him, excitement fizzing through my veins. “I can’t believe you did this so fast.”
“People tend to make way for you when you’re a former lawyer.” Brian flashed a grin and flopped down in a chair on the other side of my big black desk. “Take a look through and tell me what you think.”
The first section of the paper made note that the party would take place in a warehouse I owned on one of the island’s beaches, which I often used to throw artist’s functions and host gallery viewings. The warehouse had plenty of space in it for partygoers to come and relax. There would be security amongst the crowds, dressed up to blend in, who would enforce peace and prevent anyone from wandering off into areas where they weren’t supposed to. Since I often used the warehouse for other similar things, there were kitchens for caterers to work in, and bathrooms for the guests.
Brian had already selected a catering service, pending my approval, and had chosen a cleaning company to tend to litter during the party and tidy up afterward.
“We haven’t used this company before,” I noted, peering at him over the top of the papers.
He nodded. “I know. But we normally don’t extend these functions of yours to the waterfront. This company has cleaned beaches before. Stellar ratings in all regards. The only bad review is from a man who is either homeless or was previously homeless, who was annoyed the cleaners kept tossing out his bottles.”
“I hadn’t considered how using the beach would change things.”
“That would be why you hired me.” Brian leaned back, his arms folded behind his head.
Further on in the plant, he detailed how he would hire lifeguards to make sure nothing tragic occurred in the water.