Authors: Faith Sullivan
Connor wants me to handle today’s beer delivery. I don’t know if I’m up to the task, but I’m game. It’s all I can do to make up for last night’s debacle. It’s embarrassing that he had to call in reinforcements. At this stage, I’m more of a liability than an asset to him. He’ll probably end up firing my sorry ass before it’s all said and done.
A large shadow passes across the window as the distributor’s truck pulls up out front. I get up from restocking the shelves under the bar and grab the checklist Connor gave me. I have to make sure we receive everything he marked down. Before I sign off on the order, I better double-check it all. Last thing I need is to make another mistake.
The driver already has a dolly fully stacked and is heading around the corner. All deliveries come through the back, so it’s up to me to get my butt in gear and let him in. The wind is brutal today. I wouldn’t want to keep anyone waiting in such miserable conditions.
Running through the kitchen, I slide back the deadbolt. Using both hands, I hold the door open against the gale ripping through the alley. The driver, his cap pulled low, scoots in. Pushing my windblown hair out of my face, I turn around to say hello, but I can’t speak. Two mascara-lined eyes stare back at me.
“What? Cat got your tongue?”
“No, I was just expecting…”
“A man?”
“Well…yeah.”
She stands back, sizing me up. “Well, I was expecting Connor, so I guess we’re even.” Extending her hand, she continues, “I’m Emily. And you are?”
“Nice to meet you,” I say, shaking it. “I’m Michelle, the new waitress.”
“There’s no shortage of pretty girls floating in and out of Donnelly’s Pub. Are you Connor’s latest conquest or are you here for the long run?”
“It all depends. Were you one of Connor’s conquests?” My conversation last night with Tammy is making me braver than I normally am.
“Touché,” Emily responds with a note of admiration in her tone. “You’re not a push-over, I’ll give you that. Besides, I’m a happily married woman,” she says pointing to her wedding ring.
I can’t help it. I persist. “But did you ever…?”
“With Connor?” “Yeah.”
“Before I was married, he offered. I thought about it. But I ultimately said no.”
“Why?”
“I’m not into the domineering type.”
We’re locked in a standoff position, not giving an inch. But that comment breaks the ice. She knows what he’s really like. She’s not fooled by appearances.
“So are we cool?” I ask with a glint in my eye.
“Hell yeah,” she says. “Now where do you want this stuff?”
“In the storage room, like always, Emily.”
Connor’s unexpected arrival makes both of us jump. How long was he standing there? How much did he hear? Emily and I exchange a guilty look.
“You got it,” Emily says, dragging the dolly behind her.
“What are you doing here? I thought you said I could take care of the delivery,” I question him. I’m pissed he doesn’t think that I can handle it.
“Just supervising, that’s all,” he replies, but I want to wipe the smugness off his face. “But honestly, I wanted to see what you thought of Emily.”
“Does it matter?” She said nothing had happened between them, right?
“Because working and living here, you’re going to be around guys most of the time,” he admits, reaching for the delivery list I left on the counter. “I thought it’d be good for you to have one friend in this city who’s a girl.”
I want to laugh, but I contain it. I don’t think Emily does girl time. She’s definitely not the mani-pedi type. But secretly I’m touched that he’s trying to make me feel welcome here. Maybe Emily and I can be friends. She’s tough, but it’s something I can get used to. She’ll certainly keep me on my toes and call me on all my bullshit.
Tucking an auburn curl under her hat, Emily addresses Connor. “It’s all unloaded.” Pursing her lips, she asks sarcastically, “Do you want me to stick around while you count every last bottle, or can I leave?”
Damn, this girl knows how to keep Connor in line. I should be taking notes.
“Cool your heels for a minute, will ya?” Connor can’t help but smirk. “I’ll be right back.”
It’s now or never. “Would you ever want to go for coffee or something? We can have an all-out Connor bitchfest that he won’t be around to interrupt.”
She squints up at me. “I like the way you think.”
“It’s all here, Emily. Thanks!” Connor shouts from the supply room.
“Glad to hear it, Donnelly,” Emily yells back. Stuffing her work gloves under her arm, she pulls a business card out of the pocket of her overalls. “Call me, and we’ll set something up. You’re gonna need someone to let off some steam with, because that boy is gonna drive you crazy in all kinds of ways.”
I’m in my room mentally preparing myself before starting my shift. I spritz on a tad more perfume and apply a fresh coat of lip gloss. The t-shirt I’m wearing is the tightest one I own. The white material is thin, showing hints of the fuchsia bra underneath. I’m taking Tammy’s advice. To make it, I’m going to have to flaunt what I’ve got.
The guys who frequent Donnelly’s Pub aren’t looking to placate a nervous little girl. They want to be served by some eye candy. I may be a little rusty, but I can flirt with the best of them. Even if they can only look but not touch, they’ll wind up staying longer and drinking more. Connor will approve if it benefits his bottom line. And I can have a little fun in the process.
But my plans go awry by an unwelcome intruder. I let out a scream.
Immediately, Connor’s footsteps are heard running up the stairs. He bursts through the door to find me standing on the bed.
“What the hell is going on in here?” he asks, out of breath. He does a double take when he sees what I’m wearing, but with an effort he shifts his gaze from my chest to my face.
“There’s a cockroach on the floor,” I whine, shifting my weight from foot to foot. “It’s huge, and it came out of nowhere, and…”
“Well, kill it then,” he says like it’s a no-brainer.
“No, I’m not going near that thing. It’s disgusting!” Keeping tabs on where it crawled, I point it out to him. “It’s over there against the wall. Get it, Connor.”
Disgruntled, he takes off one of his boots. Hovering over the cockroach, he slams the heel on top of it before it can move. He stands up and shows me the bug guts covering the sole. “Are you satisfied?”
“Yes. Connor Donnelly, you’re my hero.” He gets me so mad. I can’t help mocking him.
He looks at me with a pained expression. “But if it happens again, you’re on your own. I can’t be at your beck and call dealing with every cockroach you encounter. It’s a part of life here. Get used to it.”
Here he goes with one of his lectures again. I roll my eyes, hoping to provoke him.
I can tell my reaction angers him. He strides toward the bed, encircling my wrist. “And you’re not serving my customers dressed like that.” I drop to my knees and our faces are inches apart. His breathing is heavy, and he can probably feel my pulse racing. To keep from falling forward, my other hand fumbles over his bicep until it reaches his shoulder. I brace myself against him. His arm goes around my back as his fingers skate across the clasp of my bra. The warmth of his hand ignites my skin through the barely there fabric.
“Jesus, Michelle,” he says in frustration, as if he can’t help himself. His palm slides underneath my arm, cupping my breast. The sensation spurs my arousal, and I throw my head back as a moan escapes my lips. His hot breath is on my neck, and I’m ready to give him anything he wants. But instead, he releases me, lowering me onto my back. He hovers above me for an instant before pushing himself off the bed.
I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes. But it doesn’t matter. His back is to me as he bends over to slide on his boot.
“I want you to change your clothes, and then…” His voice is shaking as he tries to maintain control. “Come down and start your shift. I don’t want to have to talk to you about this again.”
“Connor…” I start, but when I sit up, he’s already gone.
Connor is giving me the silent treatment. Performing his bartending duties, he fulfills the written drink orders I place before him, but that’s it. No friendly banter. No eye contact. He’s completely tuning me out. I’m sick of second guessing myself around him. It seems all I do is piss him off.
It’s not a great night to be out as a nor’easter howls in off the Atlantic. It’s times like these that remind me I’m living on an island with a raging ocean just beyond the harbor. It’s a far cry from being landlocked in Pennsylvania surrounded by mountains. Mentally, I can’t go down that path—I’m already homesick enough. And the push-and-pull dynamic Connor and I are establishing isn’t helping matters.
What a slow night. Connor checks his watch before heading into the kitchen. Leaving the bar unattended isn’t like him, but there’s only one guy sitting there, the one who was pacing beneath my window. Desperate for someone to talk to, I plop onto the stool next to him and follow his gaze to the TV perched above us. “Who’s winning?” I ask, attempting to lure him into a conversation.
“The Knicks, I think,” he mutters glancing in my direction. “Sorry, I guess I’m not really paying attention to the game.”
I notice he’s wearing heavy work boots and thick coveralls appropriate for a construction site. His hands are red and chapped, and a hard hat emblazoned with an American flag sticker rests against the lunch cooler by his feet.
“That’s okay,” I respond, catching how exhausted he sounds. “Hard day on the job?”
His bloodshot eyes find mine. “You could say every day’s a hard day.”
“I can relate.” I feel sorry for him. He looks spent. “Where do you work?” He takes a slug from his beer bottle before answering. “At Ground Zero.” My heart stops. “I’m officially part of the search and recovery effort, but mostly what I do is remove debris. You’d think all of that manual labor would tire a guy out, but I still can’t sleep at night. That’s why I usually end up here, to try to take the edge off.”
I don’t want to pry, but my curiosity gets the best of me. “Have you found anything?”
“Yeah, my crew found some remains a while back. It’s what we hope to find. To give the families some closure, some sense of peace.”
My breath catches. “How long have you been doing this?”
“Since it happened.”
I swallow past the lump forming in my throat. My eyes search his. “Why do you do it?”
He takes another drink, this time finishing the bottle. “Honestly? Because I feel an obligation to do something.” He points to the photos on the wall in front of us. “See those guys? A lot of them used to come in here. I remember them.” I scan the firemen in the pictures as he talks. “They’d do anything for anybody. Even if it meant facing hell on earth.”
He balls his fists as tears stream down his face. “They didn’t deserve it. No one deserves a death like that.” He breaks down, resting his head on the bar.
I pat his back. I don’t know what else to do.
After a few minutes, he pulls himself together and reclines back on the stool, his face blotchy from crying. “I apologize. I haven’t done that in a long time. I don’t mean to burden you with my problems.”
“Don’t be silly. We’re in a bar. I’m sure it happens all the time,” I say as cheerfully as I can muster.
He lets out a half-choked laugh. I take it as a good sign. Getting up, I walk behind the bar and pop open another bottle of the beer he’s drinking. “This one’s on the house.”
“Only if you’ll have one with me.”
I smile. “Absolutely,” I say, opening one for myself. Raising the bottle to my lips, I stop midway. “I never asked your name.” Even though I already know it.
“It’s Miguel.”
“Cheers, Miguel,” I say, clinking my bottle to his. “I’m Michelle.”
“Nice meeting you, Michelle. You’re a great addition to the place.”
“My boss doesn’t seem to think so.”
“Connor? Trust me. You wouldn’t be here if he didn’t want you here. He just has a lot on his mind.”
Miguel’s remark floors me.
Connor
has a lot on his mind? Like what? Who he’s sleeping with tonight?
“That’s kind of you to say, but I think there’s more to it than that.”
Miguel studies me as if debating whether or not to say more.
“I’ve known Connor for a long time. Give him the benefit of the doubt. He’ll come around.”
“You’re a good guy, Miguel. Too good.” I lean forward and give him a quick peck on the cheek, causing him to blush profusely.
“If only I were thirty years younger,” he jokes.
A wintry mix rattles the windowpanes, calling our attention to the weather. “I better get going while the trains are still running.”
“Where are you headed?”
“Hoboken. Just across the river.”
“Have a safe trip home, Miguel.”
He collects his things and zips his coat. Before heading out, he turns around. “Michelle?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
They’re two simple words, but they mean so much more. I know it, and he knows it.
“You bet.”
I watch him walk out the door. With a sigh, I pick up the empty bottles and toss them in the recycling bin. I fail to notice the slight shaking of the kitchen door and Connor behind it, crying silently.
My encounter with Miguel disturbs something deep inside of me. Something I let fester for too long. Something I should’ve dealt with sooner.
Today’s my day off, and I know exactly where I’m going. I can’t put it off any longer. I know what I need to do.
What a difference a few weeks can make. Once the calendar turned to April, spring arrived with it. The sun is shining and the temperature is expected to reach the nineties. I take it as a good omen.
“Where are you off to by yourself?” Connor leans against the doorway, watching my every move. We’re not on the greatest of terms. He’s still keeping his distance, but he’s speaking to me again.
“I have some things I need to take care of.” The less I say, the better.
“If you wait until one o’clock, I can go with you. I gotta finish up some paperwork, and then I’m free.”
Okay, awkward. I’m about to endanger our fledgling truce, but I don’t want him to come. This is personal. I have to do it on my own. But how do I tell him that?
“I kinda said I’d meet up with Emily for lunch. She’s working today, so she only has a half hour around noon.” The lies flow easily off my tongue.
He eyes me suspiciously. Does he buy it?
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“The Sbarro’s over on Broadway.” Please let that sound legit.
“Do you know which subway to take?”
“I’m gonna hail a cab.”
“Big spender, huh?”
“I’ve been making a killing on tips. So why not?” Thanks to Tammy’s help.
“Call me if you get lost. I’ll have my cell with me.” Does he think I’m that incapable of fending for myself?
“Yes, Dad.”
“Ha ha, very funny,” he says as I scoot by him and out my bedroom door. My shoulder brushes against his arm, and I hear his breath catch. But I keep going. The last thing I need is for him to run away from me again. Instead, I run away from him.
Jogging down the steps, I’m out the front door in no time. I fall into pace with the pedestrians on the sidewalk and turn right at the next block. Connor thinks I’m heading uptown, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s tailing me until I’m safely bestowed in the back of a cab. It’s moments like this that I really miss having a car, but I’m a hot young thing in New York City. Hailing a ride should be a piece of cake.
As the traffic light changes, I step off the curb and raise my hand. Within seconds, a cab pulls up alongside of me. Now that was easy. I slide in and give the driver the address of the Sbarro’s. I have to make it look authentic until I’m out of Connor’s neighborhood.
I wait until we’re stopped in traffic before I tell the driver where I really want to go. He shakes his turbaned head at me like I’m nuts and flicks his turn signal on to double back. I assure him that his tip will adequately compensate him for his trouble, but he keeps muttering under his thick mustache.
When Connor invited me back here, I thought he’d give me more of an insider’s view of the city. But since I moved in, all we’ve done is work. He hasn’t taken me anywhere. I didn’t expect this level of reluctance on his part. I was hoping he’d be more open about showing me the ins and outs of his hometown.
The driver turns at the intersection, and we’re headed back down Broadway, not up like Connor believes. We’re not even a mile away, and I don’t have much time to compose myself. Staring through the glass, it’s hard to pick out any particular person walking by. They all start to blend together. There’s a ringing in my ears, and I break into a cold sweat. No. Not here. Not now. I have to conquer this, once and for all.
Unbuttoning my denim jacket, I lower the back window, letting the cool air hit my face. It helps relieve some of the dizziness. The cabbie is oblivious to my distress. The red digital display on the meter changes, upping the current fare to $4.85. I force myself to focus on the numbers, the cold, impartial numbers.
And then, we’re here.
The cab glides to a stop beside a wrought iron fence covered in flags and hand-drawn posters. Across the street behind a plywood barrier is sacred ground. I can’t believe I’m finally here.
I give the driver a twenty, and he sputters a profuse litany of gratitude through the plexiglass divider separating us. I step out of the cab, and the noise on the street engulfs me. The incessant car horns, the beeping of construction vehicles in reverse, and the grinding of backhoe shovels on concrete all bellow, but I don’t hear a thing. I’m in a place I’d never thought I’d be, but it’s where I knew I had to come.
Ground Zero.