The Father's Son Read online

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

  At her front stoop, he put his hand tenderly to Jillian’s cheek, gazed into her 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 glanced up at the moon through the leaves of the elm tree above 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.

  Chapter 4

  At 5:00 a.m., David woke to the tune of Simon and Garfunkel’s “The Boxer.” He remembered listening to the song on the album Bridge Over Troubled Water, which he had played on his turntable over and over when he was young. The words echoed in his head as he recalled feeling beaten and abandoned by his family when he was a young boy. After all these years, this was the first time he noticed the line about a man hearing what he wanted to and disregarding the rest.

  He laced up his running shoes. He remembered how difficult it was to sort everything out; surviving the unwelcoming kids in the new neighborhood his mother moved them to, understanding his mother’s personality transformation, her distance when he needed her most, coping with losing his brother and father, and the overwhelming sense that everything was too much for him.

  As he pulled on his favorite running shirt and the ballad continued to play, he envisioned himself still standing in the ring, despite being knocked down so often as a young boy. The fighter still remained.

  Two hours later, showered and changed, David headed out the door for breakfast. His usual Eastside stop was unexpectedly closed for a few weeks due to underground electrical repairs, so he went to the Cafe Incontrare, one block over. When he asked the waiter what he recommended, the middle-aged Italian disappeared and came back a few minutes later with a cappuccino decorated on the top with an impressive design in the foam and a small plate with what he called a Sicilian-style Strata–a rustic mix of eggs, prosciutto, tomatoes, olives, parsley and scallions—and a glass bowl of fresh fruit. It was perfect.

  As he raised the fork to his mouth, he glanced up and noticed a man in sweats and basketball shoes getting out of his beat-up, old Honda. The man opened the hatchback and took out several boxes and crates of food, some overloaded with vegetables and fruits, and others with wrapped meats and containers of milk and eggs.

  For some reason, David was intrigued more by the man than what he was doing as he hoisted the first heavy crate into his arms and thumped with his foot against the door of the old brick building. The man was in good physical shape, probably in his late thirties, and about six feet tall, if not slightly taller than David. He was a good-looking man and seemed to be more than just a delivery man. A short, heavy black man with a dark beard and receding hairline opened the door and smiled with delight to see who had been banging. The man came back out with a friendly arm around another younger man who was wearing an old, worn apron on top of his jeans and tee-shirt. They both grabbed crates and boxes and brought them in until the car was empty.

  After several minutes, the man in sweats came back out and picked up some trash lying on the sidewalk in front of the building. Then he walked over to a homeless man who was wearing a tattered trench coat, worn work shoes, an old Red Sox hat and a beard that hadn’t been cut or groomed for some time. He put his hands on his shoulders as he spoke to him. Then he reached into the pockets of his sweats, pulled out a few bills and put them in the man’s hand before waving goodbye. David thought the homeless man would probably waste whatever amount he was just given at the first pub or liquor store that would let him in. After finishing his breakfast and cappuccino, he left enough to cover the bill and a generous tip under his cup and walked the last short leg to the office. Passing by the mystery building, above the door he noticed a painted sign read: My Brother’s Table, Food Pantry Hours 11:30-1:00, 4:30-6:00.

  As David entered the Pru, he noticed his secretary, Izzie, standing inside the elevator with her large bags and a big smile on her face as she let the doors close before he could reach it. He laughed it off as he waited for the next elevator. He knew Izzie had an inexplicable need to beat him to the office every morning. As he passed her workstation, he heard her mumble, “Late evening last night, Mr. Kelly?”

  “As a matter of fact, it was an early evening, if you’re really interested.”

  He’d barely settled at his desk when his phone rang. It was his ex-wife, Kathleen. “David, why didn’t you tell me your mother passed away? We should’ve been there. Are you doing all right?”

  “I know. I know. It was a bad decision. I just wasn’t thinking straight. I’m okay.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I am, Kat. I’m really okay and I appreciate you calling. I’m sorry about not telling you, but I need to run to a meeting. Say hello to the kids for me.”

  David hung up the phone, tapped his pen on his desk for a full minute while he stared blankly out the plate glass windows at the white clouds in the sky, then shrugged away the conflicting emotions. He turned to the business at hand. First, a series of meetings, then a lunch conference call with all his area sales managers to review the top deals on the table.

  By midafternoon, he was buried in a four-hour working session to prepare for customer negotiations on a two-hundred-million-dollar multi-year disaster recovery deal that would take up the next several days and possibly the weekend in Virginia.

  In the end, the work spilled over into Monday night and he didn’t arrive back in Boston until mid-day Tuesday. He worked from home for the rest of that day and called Jillian to ask if she wanted to get together that evening. There was no hesitation on the other end of the line until David said to bring her “boating gear.”

  David ushered Jillian into his house, his gaze lingering on how her capri pants hugged her before noticing the elastic band in her hair that gave her an aura of innocence. They walked up the stairs to the kitchen, and he took her in his arms and gave her a long kiss.

  Jillian rested her head on David’s chest and said with an exhale, “I missed you the past too many days.”

  “Are you ready for a nice evening?”

  She glanced at a small wicker picnic basket and checkered blanket sitting on top of the kitchen counter.

  Trooper brushed against her leg, so she crouched down to pat him. “Hi, Trooper. I missed you more.”

  He grabbed the basket with one hand and her much smaller hand in his other with Trooper leashed in between. “Come on, then. Let’s find out where this one leads us.” They headed out the door to a beautiful, early evening summer night, and crossed the pedestrian bridge to the bank of the Charles River. After walking for a little over ten minutes, David stopped, let go of her hand, and put down the basket to unfold and snap out the blanket with both hands, letting it gently land on the grass for an evening picnic dinner. Jillian waited to be served as David opened the well-packed basket of homemade pesto chicken sandwiches, fruit, salad, wine, and a decadent looking dessert. Behind them was the bustling city full of people trying to get home. In front of them, the pleasant evening sun shone on the Charles as sailboats and crew teams passed by.

  Jillian remarked, “As I said, I never know what to expect and—”

  “And?”

  “And no complaints here. I am completely spoiled, and I don’t feel like I deserve it—but I love every minute of it!” Jillian kissed him.

  With a mischievous smile, David replied, “I hope you don’t think the evening is over yet.”

  After enjoying their picnic, they packed up the basket and walked further down the bank of the river past the Esplanade to the Commu
nity Boats, Inc. docks with small sailboats for members to take out. The organization had begun in 1941 to encourage sailing for everyone, making it accessible and affordable to rent sailboats, take lessons and enjoy the river.

  David had become fairly proficient at it and literally showed her the ropes. It was a more-than-pleasant evening to be on the water with a gentle breeze to take them out for an experience he could tell that she and Trooper thoroughly enjoyed.

  On the walk back to David’s place, the setting sun was creating a dazzling show of red, orange and purple colors against the evening sky that was dotted at the horizon with a thin sheet of “mackerel” clouds. David felt how relaxed Jillian was as they held hands on their walk home and up to his rooftop garden to enjoy the evening transition into night. David waved towards the Jacuzzi tub, attractively set in stone and surrounded by garden roses, daylilies, and other plants to provide privacy. “Want to soak a bit?”

  “It does look very inviting, but I didn’t bring my bathing suit, and—”

  David put his arms around her to give her a kiss and she reciprocated until she obviously realized that she might not be able to stop. “—and I do have an early day tomorrow.”

  He drove Jillian home and wished her sweet dreams. She told David how much she enjoyed the evening and how good it was to be with him, but by the time he reached home, David lost the warm feelings and was numb again when he lay his head on his pillow for the night.

  Chapter 5

  The next morning, he paused by the den window, coffee in hand, staring at the leaves bobbing in the gentle breeze and the men working on the street below. He recalled looking out the window as a boy but stopped himself short, set his coffee on the nearest table, and headed to the bathroom to shave.

  David ran a different route across the bridge and through the Harvard Campus. He could always tell when he was in good shape by how good he felt at the end of his run, and today he felt great as he walked off the last yards to his door. He showered, dressed, and was off for his breakfast stop before work. The Eastside was closed again, so he went around the block to Cafe Incontrare, as he had the previous Wednesday. He liked the setup of the cafe. The interior was attractive, and the outdoor tables and plantings provided for an inviting stop as David sat at the same table as last week. The waiter recognized him with a nod and a smile and brought over a cappuccino before he had even ordered, which brought a smile to David’s face.

  As he checked out the daily menu specials, David noticed the same Honda hatchback pulling up to the My Brother’s Table building. The same man got out of the car wearing Pony basketball shoes, black sweatpants, and a jersey that looked like he was ready to play. The man opened the hatchback and lifted the first crate of fresh vegetables when a worn leather basketball bounced out and rolled down the street towards the cafe. He looked to make sure it stopped in a good spot and proceeded to knock on the door with his foot. Without thinking about it, David got up and retrieved the ball, gave it a few bounces, and walked it over to the blue Honda. He liked the feel of the ball as it reminded him of spending hours playing basketball in any available gym in the winter or on an outdoor court in the summer when he was growing up in a city north of Boston called Lynn.

  By the time David reached the car, the man in sweats had come back out. “You don’t look like you’re dressed to play, so I’m guessing you are bringing my runaway ball back? I appreciate it.” He reached out his hand. “My name is Tom.”

  David held out the ball with his left while firmly shaking Tom’s hand with his right. “Good to meet you. I’m David or DJ. I saw you here last week.”

  Tom smiled. “I normally come on Wednesdays and Thursdays, so I expect you to be here as well to guard my ball; it seems to want to escape more often than not.”

  “Do you need any help?”

  Tom replied, “That would be great. My usual helper seems to have disappeared today.” He put the ball back into the car and lifted a crate of fruit. David removed his Armani jacket, lifted a box of chicken, and followed Tom to the door now being held open by the same short-bearded man. Tom entered and turned his upper body. “Thanks. Sam, this is David or DJ.”

  Sam patted David’s shoulder. “I will call you Mr. David or DJ.”

  David shook his head and carried his box into a large industrial kitchen, laying it on the metal island. Through the kitchen wall opening, he could see people setting up the serving stations and someone wet-mopping the floors around the tables with upside-down chairs on top. There was a sign above the opening that read: Whatever you did for one of the least of these, you did for me.

  Tom was already back out to the car, and David quickly followed him, grabbing the next box. “That’s quite an operation in there.”

  “Sam’s done a great job putting a team together that gets what it’s about. Can you grab the box with the meats to get them in the fridge?”

  “Sure.” By the time they had cleared out all the boxes and crates from the car and filled the kitchen, David was surprised by how much food had fit into Tom’s old Honda. “It looks like enough food to feed an army.”

  Tom frowned. “Unfortunately, we need it.”

  As they walked outside, Sam reached his hand out. “Thank you, Mr. David or DJ. Many hands make light work, and it’s much appreciated since Ari didn’t show up this morning.” Tom and David were left outside after Sam closed the door.

  Tom reached into the back of the Honda to grab the basketball with one hand and turned to David. “David, thanks for helping out on the spur of the moment. I’m sure it wasn’t part of your plans on your way to work. I really appreciate it.”

  David noticed something different in Tom’s eyes and demeanor. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it intrigued him.

  Tom flipped the ball up and down. “Do you play?”

  “I love the game, but as you said, I am on my way to work right now.”

  “I just thought I would take advantage of playing you in those dress shoes. I usually try to play down at the Back Bay Fens courts around four thirty on Wednesdays if you’re interested. I’d be curious to see what you’ve got.”

  David was not one to ignore a challenge and hadn’t run into anyone for a while who talked to him with such initial ease. “It was my pleasure to help out. Maybe I’ll surprise you someday.”

  Tom got back into the car and rolled down his window. “I think you could beat me—maybe one out of ten games,” smiled and drove down the road past the working sewer crew until he was out of sight.

  David shook his head and walked back to his cold cappuccino, left a ten-dollar bill on the table, and headed to work on an empty stomach.

  The unexpected morning side trip had assured that Izzie beat David into the office again. She stared down at the papers she was working on. “Late night, Mr. Kelly?”

  “As a matter of fact, it was another early night.”

  He poked his head back out of his office. “Would you mind getting me a coffee and something to eat from your secret source?”

  She nodded and returned with coffee, fruit, a scone, and yogurt, which she placed on David’s desk, along with a printout of his schedule for the day. David already knew the most important agenda item was a three to five o’clock meeting in Cambridge with a large, potential Bio-gen customer. He thrived on staying busy and being the main driver of decision-making during his day. He knew his instincts were good, and it felt good to be highly regarded and the center of attention in an area he could control and wasn’t personal.

  At two o’clock, he had a driver take him back to his house to pick up his car to drive to the meeting and then to dinner with the sales team and prospective customer in Cambridge. On his way across the bridge, his phone rang.

  Izzie prattled into his ear. “—and he apologizes for needing to postpone until next week.”

  As he shoved the phone back into his suit pocket, he decided that since he was already this far across town, he’d work from home the rest of the day to keep Trooper compa
ny.

  Changing into more casual clothes, he thought about Tom’s invitation. Or was it a challenge? He looked at the clock. Three-thirty.

  Why not? His meeting was canceled, and he needed a breather. Besides, he was curious about this guy. He changed into shorts, basketball sneakers and the faded blue tee-shirt he liked to wear when he played and headed out the door to the Back Bay Fens courts.

  Chapter 6

  The Back Bay Fens Park was part of the greenway “Emerald Necklace” and was less than a ten-minute run for David from his house. He was there a little early and noticed a three-on-three game being played on one court and a few people shooting around at the end of the other court. He started his routine of shooting by beginning with close layups and moving out until he was hitting three-pointers with consistent swishes. It always felt good when the ball went through the chain nets as opposed to the clang of a brick shot off the front of the rim. As he pulled up for a jump shot at the top of the key, another ball from behind him swished right through the net, making him miss. He heard a familiar voice from behind say, “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to interrupt your shooting rhythm, but I am glad you dropped by, David.”

  As David’s ball bounced and rolled off to the side, he turned to see Tom standing in shorts, a basketball tee-shirt with the number thirteen and the name of the team sponsor J.C. and Co. printed on it, and the Pony basketball sneakers David had seen him wearing that morning.

  David responded, “This morning, I think you said you could beat me nine out of ten games, and I wanted to come by to actually see that. Let’s get those Ponys in gear and see what they can do.”

  Tom laughed. “Well, I did hit my shot to take the ball out first, but, since you seem a bit rusty, why don’t you shoot first.” He picked up his leather ball and handed it to David. “Game to eleven by two?”