“Better not just be interested in legs, she comes with a plus one.” He chuckles.
I drop onto the cracked step beside him. “I knew her before she became a mama, never did get the timing right. I'm thinking that was a damn good thing, I wasn't ready for all she had to offer,” and she wasn't ready then either, I think, but do not say. “But now she's got even more to offer and so do I.”
That earns me a look. “Never had kids, always wanted them, but if you’re looking for fatherly advice, be forewarned, I’m not really prepared for that. We've skipped a few steps.”
I nod toward the building behind us. “What did this place look like back then? When you and your wife bought it. Before everything got split up.”
He leans back a little, eyes on the stoop across the street like he’s watching ghosts take shape. “It was a beauty, Deacon. She had it shining. Wood polished every week, curtains always open to catch the morning light. She filled it with flowers—vases on every table, window boxes out front here, lilac bushes bloomed every spring so the whole street smelled like them. She said a house needed to breathe, so she’d open the windows no matter how cold it was when they bloomed. You could hear her singing from the top floor clear down to the street. It felt alive, you know? Like the walls were part of it.”
He goes quiet for a second, thumb tracing the rim of his cup.
“When she passed, it got too quiet. I couldn’t stand the stillness. So, I split it up—let a few of the guys move in. Friends from the neighborhood who suffered the same fate. A couple of cops, a couple of old musicians, even a retired teacher who played poker better than all of us combined. We had a good run. There was always noise—someone cooking, someone laughing, someone snoring with the TV still on. It wasn’t pretty, but it was home.”
He pauses, glancing up at the windows. “They were my family, those guys. Then they got older, moved out, and passed on. Now it’s just me and the walls.”
I follow his gaze. The place looks tired, yeah, but it’s still got that kind of dignity that doesn’t fade. Brick darkened by time, ivy climbing too high, but solid. Unshakable.
“And how do you see it now?” I ask quietly.
He thinks about that for a long time before answering. “I see what it was, and what it could still be if someone gave a damn. Doesn’t have to be fancy. Just fixed up, cared for. Maybe somepaint, some new windows. A place that feels like people again. Music, laughter, warmth. I want it to matter.”
I nod, the air between us softening. “It could, Paul. It still can.”
He looks at me sideways, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “You sound like you mean that.”
“I do,” I say. “I’ve got a retiree from the planning board ready to come over unofficially and check things out, make sure it’s safe. If the bones are good, maybe we can bring her back to life a bit.”
Paul’s quiet again, but this time the silence feels lighter.
“She’d like that,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “My wife would rest easier if this place were shining again.”
I look up at the old brownstone, sunlight catching on the glass just right, and for a second, I swear I can see what he sees—the version that lives in his memory, the one that still hums beneath the dust.
“Then we’ll make it shine,” I tell him.
“Can't depend on any of these new-age contractors, they've let me down every step. Bastards, the window guy, the contractor that blows insulation, both paid, but never showed back up.” His lip curls a bit. “Don't plan on getting the same respect you have now when you get to be my age, kid, these bastards all forget about you.”
“There's no fucking way they forgot about Paul Bronski. I think you forgot about him; we're going to change that.”
He nudges me with his elbow, “Aw, shucks, kid, you do care.” He chuckles again. “I'll take it even though I know it's not about me and it's all about the girl with the mile high legs and that sweet little baby.”
“If it weren't for that girl with the mile high legs and that sweet little baby, I would have never known the man, the myth, the legend Paul Bronski was even still around. This house isgetting a comeback, I'll bust my ass to make it happen, but you've got to do something for me too.”
“I don't like the sound of that.”
FOURTEEN
Waterfront
Claudia
I knewbefore it even happened that my hormonal changes during pregnancy were just the tip of the proverbial iceberg, a lead into what it would feel like after I gave birth to my beautiful little girl. But nothing could have prepared me for what is going on in the past week.
As if Kyle playing whatever game he is playing with my daughter wasn't enough, I was cutting up fruit this morning when Nalani’s boyfriend came back into the apartment, washed his hands, and turned, holding them out, asking, “Mind if I hold her?” I must have hesitated because he continued, “I've held a few in my day. I promise she'll be safe.”
It has always been very difficult for me to trust my gut, but by allowing myself to lean into theology, I have decided that gut feeling is the voice of a higher power.
As he’s holding my daughter, he says, “Hey, Savvy girl, I'm your auntie Nalani’s man, and she told me last night, your momand Paul have been added to the list of people she considers her true family. The other two were Sofie and Noelle.”
