The Father's Son - Chapters 1-3

The Father's Son (@Jim Sano)

Chapter 1

 Against his instincts, David entered the rear of the small wooden church and gazed beyond the vacant pews to the granite altar, the crucifix, and the Stations of the Cross depicted down each side. The silence of the empty church settled over him, and the dim glow of light entering through the multicolored stained glass windows summoned an inner solace he struggled to resist. He breathed deeply and exhaled, letting go of the emotions of what he had to face.

The faint aroma of burnt wax candles drew his attention to the alcove to his left, to the very spot he had stood as a young boy, more than thirty years earlier. Now standing before the wood-carved statue of Mary, he could feel his eight-year-old hand securely in his father’s rough but gentle grip. He was looking at Mary’s gentle gaze as his father spoke to him. “David, whenever you are lost or need to be strong, always think of Mary. She trusted in God’s plan for her. She knew he would give her the guidance and strength she needed to follow it.”

He tensed. How had his father dared to lecture him about trust?

Anger shivered through him and shattered the church’s spell. With three long strides, he rushed outside, blinded momentarily by the intense afternoon sunlight.      

He circled around to the front of the tiny church and stood atop of the steep hill looking over the harbor and islands of the humble fishing village known as Stonington, Maine. The sight was nothing less than breathtaking with the rugged coastline, the silhouettes of Isle of Haut and countless smaller pine-treed islands dotting the ocean water in the distance. Nowadays, the harbor teamed with lobster boats and old schooners docked for the night in the calm waters of the protected inlet. He could see the spit of an “island” named Two Bush for the number of bushes on this otherwise barren rock. Off in the distance, he could hear the fog horn from the Mark Island lighthouse. As he walked down the steep grade of the road, familiar sights flooded him with memories he had long ago buried deep inside. The smell of the ocean air, the clang of the rigging slapping against the aluminum masts of the sailboats, and the rhythmic sound of the waves lapping against the rocky shore made as much an impression on him now as it had each summer when he had come as a young boy to this small town for vacation, until that last year.

His father had taken him to the church before they were to travel home, and little did he know it would be one of the last times he would ever see him.

In the center of the village, he passed the local newspaper office, two art galleries, Bartlett’s grocery, the library where people were sitting on the small stoop, and a used book and art shop where he spotted his companion from his six-hour journey from Boston. With two gift bags in hand, she glanced up, and an infectiously big smile came over her face as she waved and shouted, “David!” In the late afternoon sunlight, her striking blonde hair and the brightly colored sundress that hugged her long, shapely body made it clear that she was no town native.

Before Jillian could ask him whether he was successful with his mission, David placed his arm around her and kissed her. She was a worthy distraction for him and, for the moment, she forgot her question.

They stowed her packages in his car, spent the day together exploring the island, and the evening at the Inn on the Harbor in their room by a romantic fire and a stunning view of the quiet moonlit harbor. Jillian slept while David’s mind was racing all night until the morning hours as uninvited memories forced their way into his thoughts.

By eight o’clock, David was dressed in a finely tailored suit as Jillian wore an attractive but appropriate black dress for the occasion. They grabbed breakfast at the Harbor View Cafe across the street and then headed to the cemetery on the edge of town. Jillian stood stiffly at David’s side as he stared at the names on the gravestones. Next to his mother’s freshly dug plot was his mother’s twin sister, Marie. She’d died as a child, so he’d never met her, but his mother, Ann, had often talked about her. They were born on Easter Sunday, and Marie was the April Fools’ joke that year because no one was expecting twins. Unfortunately, Marie was born with a rare lung disease that often kept her home in bed when breathing was particularly difficult.

Marie and David’s mother were remarkably close, even for twins, and with no other siblings, they enjoyed each other’s companionship more than any friend from school. When Marie’s condition worsened to the point that she could no longer attend school, his mother had carried her books home from school and taught her the lessons. By that summer, Marie’s condition had worsened. His mother had often dwelled on Marie’s final day, when she had sat with her in bed, promising that she would never leave her side, but before the sun had set, Marie had drawn her last breath. His grandmother had pulled his mother out of Marie’s room, tears streaming down her cheeks and body shaking. She’d often uttered the same thing she’d said to her mother that day: “How could God do this to Marie? She’s only twelve years old!” Over time, her sorrow had given way to anger and the inability to forgive God for not taking care of Marie. His mother told him she’d made a vow to be buried with her, to be with her always. That was one promise she had been determined to keep, and now David was making certain she did.

Jillian reached out to David, drawing him back to the present. “Are you okay, David?”

David nodded his head several times. “Yes. Yes. I’m sorry. I was just thinking about this being the one thing my mother always wanted.”

Other thoughts raged in his head. During his morning run, he had headed up a steep hill and picked a route that ran along the coastline which, with each turn, unburied another forgotten memory as he ran by homes and docks that had seemed barely altered by time. He had slowed to a standstill when he reached the house where his mother had grown up. He recalled spending hours sitting on the wraparound porch with his grandfather and his grandfather’s old adopted bloodhound, “Duke.” Duke was named from the stories his grandfather, Pops, had recounted about the many years he’d spent on Captain John Duke’s schooner, the Annie and Ruben, hauling large blocks of granite from the local quarry to Boston, New York, and Washington used to build schools, museums, and government buildings. Pops had a profound regard for Captain John and would think of him when he sat beside his dog.

David remembered evenings out on that porch with Pops and his father lighting up cigars, and occasions when the entire family gathered telling stories and laughing loud enough for anybody on the harbor shore to hear. His older brothers, Jimmy and Bobby, his sister, Abbie, Pops and Grammy, any cousins that dropped by, and his dad and mom had carried on for hours at a time. He could still envision his mother throwing back her head, giggling and smiling as she glanced over at him or put her arm around his dad. He had forgotten that beaming smile and distinct and infectious laugh of his mother. Until that moment, the picture in his mind of his mom was of a distant, serious and often beaten, bitter expression that had seemed to represent her life after that fateful October afternoon in 1971, back home in Boston, where everything in his life fell apart.

He shook the thoughts away and turned to look at Jillian, startled to realize how exceedingly beautiful her facial features were. There in the unlikeliest of places, he stopped to drink them in as she blushed under his attentive gaze.

He took her hand in his. “I really shouldn’t have asked you to come today. We hardly know each other, and I’ve dragged you six hours to a funeral for someone you’ve never met. I wasn’t thinking or being fair to you.”

“I’m honored that you asked me to come. I just want to be here for you.” She stroked his hand.

“I haven’t really talked about my mother to anyone. I don’t know exactly what to say.” He paused, embarrassed for what he was about to admit. “We may be the only ones that show up.”

 “Didn’t you mention you have brothers or sisters?”  

“My sister didn’t think burying our mom warranted the flight and hassle of coming out from Minnesota, and my brother didn’t return my calls or letters.” He did not tell her that he had not even broken the news of his mother’s death to his ex-wife or his two children, which had seemed like the best idea at the time, but now that the day was here, he was feeling differently about making that decision for them.

He pulled his hand away from her and shoved both of them in his pockets as he stared at the casket suspended over the covered grave. “Growing up, she took care of the three of us for years, working long hours at a job I know she hated but was glad to have. Then, she came home every evening to cook our meals, mend our clothes to get a few extra months out of them, and made sure we stayed in school and off the streets. I hardly ever saw her smile, and she rarely took the time for friends or fun. She took care of us in terms of physical needs, education, food, and shelter—and that was all she had to give. Emotionally she was not—.” David paused, eyed the funeral attendants shuffling around by the limo, and said more softly, “I’m sorry, I’m going on too much.”

Jillian jumped in. “Please don’t apologize. You need someone to confide in about your feelings, or you just end up bottling them up—but never enough to stop them from coming back up.”

They stood there awkwardly for a few minutes until Jillian spotted a heavy-set woman approaching.

The woman lumbered over to them, out of breath and wiping her forehead with a napkin. “You must be Annie’s son.”  

David looked her up and down with no idea who she was. “Yes, I’m David Kelly.”

 “David John Kelly,” the woman added before he could say anything more. “I guess you’re wonderin’ who I am.” She paused to catch her breath. “Emma Brown. I was a close friend of your mom and her sister, Marie and grew up next door to them in Green Head. I felt like a third sister to them and grieved with Annie when Marie died so young. You probably don’t remember my coming over to visit with your mom and family on your Grandpa’s porch, but I remember you, the youngest of Annie’s clan. I feel like I know you better than my very own. Your mother used to write me—oh, once or twice a month—and I would read all about you and Abbie and Bobby, and poor Jimmy. She was so heartbroken after the tragedy. I think it sadly opened up the wounds from Marie’s death too wide to heal. I kept telling her she had to be strong for you kids, but I constantly worried about her.” Emma turned to Jillian and stretched out her hand to Jillian. “It is so nice of you to come with David.”

Jillian smiled. “I’m pleased to meet you too. I’m Jillian Miller.”

David spotted John Colby, the funeral director, approaching them.

John patted David’s back, shook his hand, and greeted him with the hushed voice people reserve for sleeping babies and funerals, and a distinctive Maine accent. “David, I hope things have been set up to your satisfaction.” Without waiting for a reply, he waved toward a huge spray of flowers. “Did you notice? From your friends at IMS.”   

David glanced at Jillian, knowing she’d shared the location with his secretary to ensure they would send something. She returned a half-guilty smile.

David collected himself. “Thank you, John.”

After a brief welcome to the two women, John glanced around at the empty landscape, as if to check for anyone else climbing the hill to the funeral, then stepped up to the casket, cleared his throat, and stood more erectly—a sure sign he was ready to begin.

David had left the ceremony plans to the funeral home. Because his mother had long ago abandoned religion and God, as she had believed they both turned their back on her sister and herself, he had decided against anything tied to the Church. John read a short meditation on her behalf, and then David read a poem called “Remember Me” that was recited at Marie Kelly’s funeral, one she had picked out before she died.

After the readings, David turned to the casket. “Mom, you can finally rest from all your years of sweat and heartache. You can be with your sister again, the one you loved most in this world, and lost without ever knowing what the purpose was.”

As they lowered the casket into the grave, he tossed a clump of soil and a rose on top then turned and walked away.

While Jillian stood by the gravesite deep in thought, Emma caught up with David under a honey locust tree. “David, I want you to know your Aunt Marie’s life did have meaning and purpose, at least to me. I admired your aunt’s strength and her incredibly positive spirit. Others would’ve been mired in lamenting that life was being robbed from them, but not Marie. She took the smallest things, and not only made us appreciate them but also to realize how important they were: a smile when someone entered the room, the tiniest wildflowers along the path we would walk to pick blueberries, or sitting to look at the view of the harbor from the hilltop. She would ask how I was, even when she was obviously having a difficult day herself, or would help out the family down the road because she knew they had so little. Marie believed she had a purpose no matter how compromised or shortened her life would be, and she loved your mom more than herself until the end. Well, when I grew up and thought about what my life was going to be about, I thought of Marie. Her example made quite an impression on me. She is the reason I’ve spent the past fifty years helping to build a network of support shelters in Maine and several in Burundi and Nigeria, Africa. I’m not telling you this for egotistical reasons, but to let you know how much your aunt’s life impacted mine. I cherished and loved Marie almost as much as your mom did.”

He looked into Emma’s eyes as she spoke and surprised himself with how differently he viewed his mother as Emma’s words unfolded.

Emma continued, “I also loved your mother like a true sister. She wrote to me as if I were the only one with whom she could share her struggles and feelings. Losing Marie was like losing half of her heart. Then losing her first born so tragically was plainly too much to bear. But your mom knew she had a job to do, to take care of and raise all you kids the best she could. She desperately wanted all three of you to have a better life, and she believed you, especially, had the strongest chance to fulfill that wish.”

Emma gave David a hug and then pulled a tissue from her purse to wipe the tears from her face as Jillian approached. Emma said, “It was so good to see you again, and I do pray your mom is smiling once more with Marie.” She turned to Jillian. “It was so very good to meet you too, Jillian. Maybe you will come back this way some day under happier circumstances.” Emma leaned in to whisper in Jillian’s ear, “And your mate here may be a looker, but I believe deep down there’s something there that would make him a keeper.” She hugged Jillian, and then David, before turning to walk back to the funeral home for her car.

David watched till she disappeared down the hill, not realizing he’d been holding his breath. He let out a deep sigh and looked around him. The men from the funeral home were patiently standing off in the shade of an oak tree, waiting for David to leave so they could finish their work. Other than them, the place was empty. He shook his head—this was all his mother’s life had amounted to. Mourning her sister and working herself to death to take care of her children on her own, with only one soul showing up to pay respects. Not even her other two children.

His mother had no idea how good life could be. The bitterness and sadness that had overshadowed her life, robbed her of any chance of living it well.

He took Jillian’s hand and started back towards his Porsche 911 GT2 convertible. As they walked, his thoughts drifted back to a summer night as a boy when he was playing street hockey with the neighborhood kids and an orange convertible sports car with a unique engine sound drove slowly down the street. Charlie Cassavette, wearing sunglasses, long sideburns, combed backed hair, and an opened polyester shirt with a gold chain glimpsing through, was driving the most distinctive car David had ever seen in a town where people could barely afford a third-hand, oversized car from the early sixties, often with one different colored passenger door and a hood that wouldn’t entirely shut. Charlie was driving a 1973 Porsche 914 that rode low to the ground and had only two seats. The passenger side was occupied by an attractive girl David didn’t recognize. Every kid had stopped playing to watch him driving through, their open-jawed mouths matching David’s own expression, except David’s was not jealous or envious, but rather determined that he wouldn’t only own a car like that someday but the moment as well. Charlie had called out to David, “Someday, Little DJ. Someday,” and sped off into the early summer evening.

As he held the door for Jillian and glanced at her, her long legs, her flawless ivory skin, and soft blonde flowing hair, he smiled.

David had exceeded even Charlie’s imagination of success.

Chapter 2

Jillian nodded off for long stretches of the six-hour drive back to Boston, and David thought about his work schedule for the week to help push the resurfaced memories and emotions back into the dark grave where he had buried them. His mother, father, and oldest brother were now all gone. His brother, Bobby, had severed ties years ago, and his calls to his sister, Abbey, were more out of feeling responsible than seeking a close relationship. He had separated from his wife and their two children six years ago, and as his time commitment and frequent travel for his job grew, David had become more of an awkward stranger than a real father to his kids. Amy, now sixteen, was beginning to see her parents as more of a roadblock to life than wise and loving mentors on her way to maturity. James was just turning seven and asking more questions about the father he couldn’t remember ever living with and knew he was missing.

David did not see of any of them now as being a natural part of his daily rhythm. The constant routine of work, exercise, and entertainment left little “free” time to sit and ponder the meaning or purpose of life, which after the current day’s reflections, may have been subconsciously by design.

Monday morning, David’s alarm went off at five o’clock as it did every morning. The song playing was “Wake Up Little Susie,” which only made him smile and mumble, “How about a little ‘Rocky’ or something to get me going?” He reached over the side of the bed and patted his yellow Labrador retriever. He had found him on his doorstep six years ago with no owner tags nor signs of where he came from other than the name Topper on his tag which he changed to Trooper. He dressed and ran a five-mile loop along the Charles River, through the Commons, and up and down the neighboring streets, before arriving back at his front door of his Beacon Street Brownstone apartment with a runner’s high and salty sweat dripping down his forehead. The run helped him quiet down the emotions still playing through his mind. After a soothing hot shower, he got dressed in one of his custom-made suits and headed off for his usual breakfast stop, the Eastside, on his way to work.

The walk from the Eastside to his Prudential Center office was only five minutes, and David would’ve taken the stairs up if his office were not on the forty-eighth floor of the tower. His secretary was a round Haitian woman named Izzie, short for Isadora. Her skin was dark, and she was attractive for a matronly built woman of forty years. After losing her husband, she had left Haiti to give her three children a chance at a better education and life, and she did not hesitate to sacrifice her own wishes to make that happen. Izzie had been with David for ten years now and insisted on calling him “Mr. Kelly.” She was always at work before David and today was no exception.

“Good morning, Mr. Kelly,” greeted Izzie as her hand touched the crucifix that rested on her light blue blouse.

David looked her in the eyes. “And good morning to you, Izzie,” as she handed him his mail neatly sorted in the order of importance from her perspective.

Behind him, he could hear familiar footsteps, the first of many people trying to grab a few minutes of his limited time. “DJ, got a minute?”

He looked up at Izzie’s smile and subtle nod. “Sure, Walshy. Come on in.”  

            Kevin Walsh was one of his area managers who aggressively drove his sales numbers but enjoyed having a good time as well. Many of the sales reps and managers had come from local colleges such as Boston College, Northeastern, or Holy Cross. Several were ex-football players, but all had something in common; they came from very modest backgrounds, were willing work hard and learn, and they were extremely loyal to both IMS and DJ Kelly. Everybody of importance seemed to have a nickname; Walshy, Sully, Quigs, DJ, Billy, OD, Paddy, Brendy, and Mickey. David knew he had walked in on the Irish Mafia of high-tech as soon as he had started at Information Management Systems.

            David was hired by Kevin and started reporting to him early in his career at IMS. Kevin taught him the ins-and-outs of the company politics and how to win a deal by any means possible. David was never thoroughly comfortable with the process but he was young and attracted by the opportunity to grow quickly at a company on the fast track. He spent as much time with all the top performers as he could to learn their tricks and best practices. He studied the technology, the competitors, and especially his customers. David was so talented at identifying opportunities and developing trusted relationships with the right people at the prospective customer that he “blew out” his revenue quota quarter after quarter after quarter. He was promoted to Senior Sales Rep, to District Sales Manager, and to Area Manager faster than anyone in company history and he was now the Divisional Vice President of Sales for Eastern US and Canada. Kevin was now working for David, which he had no issues at all with because he respected David’s intelligence, incredible work ethic, and ability to win business.

            Kevin stepped into David’s spacious corner office furnished with a beautiful cherry wood desk, a meeting table, and an area with a sofa and leather chairs. There were views of Beacon Hill, Boston Common and the Gardens from other sides of the building, but David liked seeing Fenway where the Red Sox played baseball from early April to September. Kevin sat down on one of the comfortable chairs and looked up at a photograph of the clubhouse porch at The Country Club in Brookline. Kevin pointed to the framed photo. “That was a great day, wasn’t it, DJ?” The photo was a shot of eight of the top sales executives at IMS. Kevin Walsh, Billy O’Connell, Michael Shea, Patrick Harrigan, Sean Quigley, Kenny O’Donnell, Brendan O’Neill, and David were all standing on the porch of the elite clubhouse built in 1882. It had been a fun day of golf, followed by an evening of drinks and dinner on the losers and gloating by the winners of that year’s annual tournament.

David, replied without hesitation, “It was a great day for the winners. I’m glad you enjoyed it too, but you’ll have your chance again next week, Walshy.”  

In his thick Boston accent, Kevin said, “We will, and we’re not lettin’ Mickey cheat for you again this year. Ya know, I can recall feeling on top of the world that day. We made more money than our wildest dreams could’ve imagined. We bought homes and cars we always wanted without flinchin’ at the cost. We’ve seen the world on first-class trips, attracted the most incredibly beautiful women lookin’ for the best time money can buy, and we’re looked up to as something better.”  

            David looked inquisitive. “What are you getting at, Kev?”

Kevin was looking down through the glass coffee table top at the Oriental rug below. “Ya know, you and I were on a plane flying to a customer call in Atlanta, just two weeks after that day of golf, watchin’ those planes slam into one of the Twin Towers. We were just sittin’ there and watchin’ it happen in slow motion like it was a damn movie, and I’m thinkin’ ‘holy crap, we’re goin’ down too.’  Nothin’ I owned–money, cars, boats, my home on the water in Dennis–or could own, was worth anythin’ at that moment. No power or position I had here mattered because I felt powerless. You remember when we landed, and I was in shock?”

David interjected, “Everyone was in shock, Kev. I don’t think anyone wasn’t on 9/11 or for days afterward.”

 “Really?  You seemed to be pretty even-keeled afterward. Not that you didn’t care, but you seemed calm and thinkin’ about how everyone on our team could keep moving forward. I keep going back and forth in my mind thinkin’ about what’s the point of my life.”  

David leaned over to put his hand on Kevin’s left shoulder, and said in a slightly softer voice, “Do you need some time off to sort things out?  Is there something I can do to help?”

Kevin kept looking down. “I really don’t know, but I don’t want to drag you down. I’ll be fine. I probably just need to keep busier and think less.”

As Kevin stood up to leave, David reached out and patted him on the back. “Take care of yourself, Kev. Let me know if you want to go out after work for a drink or something.”

            The rest of David’s day was full of meetings and calls with his sales teams and customers. Izzie kept his calendar moving and prioritized who could sneak in to see him. He wouldn’t run into Jillian today since she worked out of the Newton office, which was ten miles out of town. They had planned on dinner on Tuesday night in town, and she was getting exposed to restaurants and special dining rooms she did not know even existed before seeing David. He never put on airs, but knew how to move with ease around the inside track of the upper echelon where many of his customer’s decisions were made. He left work around seven thirty, making sure he said “good night” to the younger employees that were still working hard, and headed first to the gym for a workout and then home to make a late dinner and sit on the rooftop to relax and review proposals for the next day.

While David was an expert at compartmentalizing his feelings, his brief conversation with Kevin Walsh kept creeping into his thoughts. He vividly remembered experiencing that same sense of fear and the inability to control the situation as he helplessly watched those two planes, which had also flown out of the same Logan Airport as he and Kevin, explode into flames as they crashed into the towers. It opened up the vulnerability he felt when his oldest brother died and his family was turned upside down forever. To help put these feelings back in storage, he dressed and went out for a quick run through the Common while listening to an Aerosmith lineup of songs on his iPod before walking back home and back in control of his emotions.

Chapter 3

The next day was a typically busy day, and he found getting back into the routine helping to silence the uncomfortable feelings that continued to haunt him.

Midafternoon, Jillian texted him. Are we still on for dinner?

David texted back: Dinner is just the start of the evening I have planned.

Jillian texted him a smile.

When she arrived at his apartment, she had no idea of what was planned for the evening, so she brought her overnight bag and a change of clothes, a red dress that was a little more date-worthy. As she reached the door, Trooper growled until David told him that Jillian was a friend. David held both of her hands and stepped back to admire her. “You look absolutely beautiful. Might you be interested in a night on the town with a desperate man?”

“I only date the most handsome, intelligent, successful, generous, and non-desperate men I happen to bump into.”

David introduced Jillian to Trooper, and she squatted down to pat Trooper’s head, rubbing his fur and looking into his brown eyes. “I didn’t know you had a handsome roommate,” said Jillian playfully, as she continued petting him.

“Sorry about the barking. He’s very protective, but now I think I have a little competition for your attention.”

Jillian stood back. “I think you’ve already lost that competition.”

They drove only a mile and a half down Beacon Street to a restaurant called FuGaKyu, an older style Japanese restaurant where they removed their shoes. David bowed in greeting to the sushi chef and politely asked, “What fish is freshest?  We would like to dine omakase tonight.”

Jillian politely lowered herself to sit on the chairs with no legs and sat with her legs slightly sideways. “David, what is dining omakase?”

“The chef I spoke with is called the itamae or a highly skilled sushi chef. Greeting the itamae is a sign of respect and requesting omakase dining is a compliment to the chef since it gives him permission to serve us anything he chooses, but it assures us only the best and freshest sushi.”  He warned her not to insult the chef by ordering wine that would mask the taste of the sushi.

Jillian, looking slightly apprehensive but intrigued, said, “I will have to warn you that this is my first real sushi experience, outside of your supermarket California veggie roll, of course.”   

After dinner, as they walked towards the car, Jillian playfully nudged her shoulder against David’s. “Next time, let’s splurge a wee bit and go to a place where they cook your food too. I have never, ever eaten raw fish before, but I will have to say I was pleasantly surprised.”

“I’m glad you like surprises,” he said with a grin as opened the car door for her.

 A few turns toward downtown Boston, he pulled up in front of a building with an illuminated sign that read Dante’s. There was a line outside, which surprised Jillian on a Tuesday night. A valet approached the car and opened the door for her before taking the keys from David.

Jillian took David’s arm as they cruised past the line and into the nightclub entrance. A woman at the desk greeted them. “Good evening, Mr. Kelly. It’s good to see you tonight.” David returned the greeting, and Jillian turned her head a little looking at him with inquisitive eyes. He looked ahead into the spacious dance floor jammed with hundreds of attractive people dancing to an infectious beat of an Italian nightclub sound. Jillian loved to dance, and her shoulders were already moving as she took in the layout of the place, the meeting areas and bars with engaging staff keeping people served and happy in between dances. Jillian pulled David onto the floor and was impressed that he did not hesitate and knew how to move on the floor as did she.

When they finally took a short break, Jillian said, “So—?”

 “So what?”

“Sew buttons. You know darn well what I mean. How did you just walk in the front door without hesitation, and everybody knew who you were, Mr. Kelly—that what?”

David just laughed, “It’s either my natural charm or that they work for me and my partners in this small venture.”

Jillian’s eyes popped. “You own a nightclub!  And this isn’t just any dance hall by the looks of it.”  She noticed the neon sign over the main dance floor they were standing read Purgatory and then looked up and down at the levels above and below them.

David said, “Yes, they are called—.”  

“—Heaven and Hell?” guessed Jillian.

David shook his head as the music played louder. “Close. Paradise and Inferno. Do you have a preference?”  

“I think I’ll stay here in the middle and enjoy. Can you tell me if it’s okay to drink wine here or will we insult the chef?”  David ordered Jillian a tall glass of expensive wine he thought she would appreciate and a glass of bourbon on-the-rocks for himself.

David knew staying too late at the club was not good for being up for early morning meetings or for romance, so after an hour, he was ready to leave. “Let me know when it’s getting late for you on a school night.” She put on a disappointed look and said goodbye to people she had met on the dance floor.

As David drove back home, Jillian said, “David, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but do you think we could call it a night? I think I’m beginning to like you quite a bit, but I would like to think our evening was enough to be a great date. Am I making any sense?” 

David mentally adjusted his expectations of a summer evening rooftop experience in the Jacuzzi under the stars. “Sure it makes sense. We both have work early in the morning, and we did have a really nice evening, didn’t we?  Do you want to pick up your things or would you like me to take you home and get them later?”

“Maybe home would be best if you are okay with that.”

 “Home it is, fair maiden.”

Without traffic, Jillian lived only about twenty minutes away, across the Charles River in an apartment in Watertown.

“David, how have you been doing since coming back from Maine?”

David offered no more personal insights. “Thanks for asking but I’m doing fine.”

They pulled up in front of the two-family house on a quiet street perpendicular to the Charles River. He opened the door for her and reached out his hand to help her get out of the low sports car seat. When she stood up, she looked up into his eyes in a way he had only seen once before in his life. It was a gaze that looked deep into his eyes. He put his arms around her and gave her a very long and enjoyable kiss. It was such a pleasant evening out that they strolled, arm in arm, onto the bridge over the river. The moon was overhead, and they could see its shimmering reflection jumping back and forth on the moving water as they embraced and kissed again.

Jillian caressed his face. “I need to go home.”

At her front stoop, he put his hand tenderly to Jillian’s cheek, looked into her gazing eyes, and gave her another lengthy kiss.

“David, thank you for such a wonderful evening, and for being so understanding and a gentleman in every way.”

“Good night, Jill, and sleep well. At least I do get to dream about you tonight.” He watched her open the door to her apartment, safely get inside, and turn the light on before he looked up at the moon and breathed in the fresh summer breeze. As he got back to his car to head home to sleep and start his routine in the morning, he realized he was enamored with Jillian, but wasn’t sure where their future was headed. He shrugged the thought away to concentrate on tomorrow’s schedule of meetings and business appointments.