A Montauk Daisy

It turned out that Finn wasn’t an easy guy to like. I didn’t really understand it, but most guys just tolerated him, instead of becoming friends. He was one of those people that was sort of closed off. Nice enough to everyone, but not really open. Worse, he was good at pretty much everything he did. That pissed some people off. 

Not me, though. I’d known him for more than ten years and we got along great. We were sort of opposites. If someone was a stranger to me when they arrived, chances are that we’d probably be friends by the time I left. I always liked people. They’re endlessly fascinating. Who they are, what makes them tick, I want to know everything. 

I drove a cab to pay for college, in spite of being able to work for my dad’s business. The pay was horrible and some of the conditions sucked, but it let me meet new people all the time. I know it’s weird, but I want to know everyone’s story. Besides, waiting for a fare at the airport gave me plenty of time to study.

I met Finn through his sister, Siobhan. I didn’t know what it was about her, but I couldn’t pull myself from her orbit. She was attractive, but not the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. With blonde hair and a lithe body, she was a mix of strength and beauty. Siobhan had that thing where you couldn’t take your eyes off her. It’s a weird magnetism that’s separate from a physical attraction, and as we grew up, that inability to avoid her just became part of me.

She was two years younger than I was, and we spent most of our teenage years together, either studying or hanging out. It was never romantic, but she was always one of my three closest friends. The other two would rotate as things changed, but Siobhan was always there for me and I was there for her. Whenever life threw a curveball at one of us, we’d be on the phone calling the other. 

I think things started to change between us when Siobhan’s grandfather wanted to retire and sell his bookstores. The two of them were thick as thieves. She was a daddy’s girl and she beguiled all the men in her family, maybe because her paternal grandparents only had boys. She was the apple of her father’s eye; her other grandfather was a retired bigwig for the Suffolk County Police Department and she had him tied around her finger as well. The men adored her and treated her like a princess. 

Her grandfather was smart as a whip but needed some help with his plans to sell the stores. Valuation, tax implications, name brand recognition, and a thousand other things had to be considered. I had experience from working with my family after I stopped driving the taxi. Dad didn’t need an almost MBA to handle payroll, taxes and the rest of what I did, but my mom and cousin also worked there and it was a family business, so I was happy to pitch in. To be honest, I wasn’t the most ambitious guy around. 

I was happy to lend a hand, and Siobhan’s grandfather offered me a small percentage of the profit from the sale, a very small percentage. Sort of tiny, but he was a nice old man and had always treated me well, so I was in. Besides, I knew that if we were there together for hours every day, he’d have some great stories of how he built the business and tales of his wife and Siobhan’s mom. I did make him pay for lunch every day. 

Siobhan was recruited to help catalog every book, piece of furniture, fixture, and piece of equipment. We grew closer that summer and I started to think about her a bit differently. I realized it at a conscious level one day when she leaned past me to grab a rare book on a shelf behind me and grabbed my shoulder to steady herself. Goosebumps broke out on my arms. That had never happened before, and we’d had plenty of physical contact in the past. 

The next day I walked into the store with my usual cry of “Morning, Red!” Her grandfather came out from the back of the bookstore, a tome open in one hand, glasses perched on the end of his nose, and looked at me with a smile. 

“Why do you do that? A nickname for everyone?” 

“Uhhh, I don’t know. Sorry. Is Mr. O’Shaughnessy better? I didn’t mean any…”

He smiled. “No, with hair like mine, Red is understandable. I was just wondering. Why is Siobhan called Daisy?” 

“You don’t see it? Well, she’s older now I guess. The first day that she walked into my dad’s she was there with Mr. Corrigan. It’s a little weird that the first time I saw her I was with my dad and she was with hers. Anyway, she was about twelve or thirteen. She still had that almost yellow color hair, and her face was more rounded, still some baby fat. I greeted them and asked Mr. Corrigan how I could help him and his wife. Stupid joke, but I was fifteen.”

I grinned, vividly remembering that day. “So, she just freaking lit up and had this huge smile like it was the funniest thing she ever heard, that she could be someone’s wife. It was like the sun came out. I immediately thought of the Montauk Daisy, she became Daisy, and that was it. She stayed for a few hours until they had to leave to pick up Finn at the aquarium.”

He pushed the glasses back up where they belonged and closed the book. “You know, she doesn’t let anyone else call her that. Most people it’s Siobhan. Family and a few friends, it’s Shiv. Daisy is for you only.”

Being caught speechless was new to me. I grinned and stood there for a minute, inordinately happy for some reason. 

Finn often invited me over to his house to go fishing off his pier, hang out and do some grilling or to watch European soccer games. I think they were European. They didn’t speak English and I only knew a smattering of Japanese and Portuguese. We had the NFL and baseball available all season. Who the heck watches soccer? I think that he might have picked it up from the guys he worked with on fishing boats when he was growing up. 

I’d take him up on maybe every fifth offer or so. After that day at the bookstore with Siobhan, I joined him as often as possible. If Finn was cooking, sure as the sun rises, Siobhan would be there eating. That woman had to have her grandfather’s metabolism. Since I greeted everyone who walked through the doors in the bookstore’s final days, they came to me with all their questions. I made it a point to always check with Siobhan for the answers. 

I think her grandfather knew what was going on. He’d often send her with me on errands. He’d poke his head in the back where she was checking inventory, his mane of red hair preceding him into the room. “Siobhan, dear, take Tommy over to my accountant’s and get me all of the information for 2003. Oh, and sweetheart, stop at Sip ‘N Soda and get me a large sundae and a patty-melt with extra onions.” He’d reach into his pocket and hand her a hodge-podge of wrinkled bills: tens, twenties, whatever, and off we would go. The man was a black hole. He couldn’t weigh more than 140 pounds, but he never stopped eating. 

It felt silly and a little cliched, but it was a magical summer. Siobhan had to pull me away from the cashier at whatever place her grandfather sent us. I’d ask him about his classes or any upcoming store specials. She was never upset, always laughing, saying I was friendlier to strangers than her brother’s dog, Dink, and that dog is a mush. It seemed that we were always together if I wasn’t taking care of something for my family’s business or she wasn’t studying. 

Her grandfather bought her college text books and other books that he thought would help in her classes. He felt it was his domain and wouldn’t take no for an answer. It was sort of sweet, as Siobhan’s aunt was a freaking billionaire. No,literally a billionaire. 

Yeah, that summer was great. The fall? Not so much. 

Buyers were in place; the sale was finalized, and Grandpa O’Shaughnessy suffered a fatal heart attack. 

Siobhan was inconsolable. Finn became even more closed off. I tried to be there for both of them, but it was difficult. He wasn’t my grandfather, but I admired and liked the man. That was the worst holiday season I could remember. Things slowly got back on track in the spring, and then Jennifer seemed to appear out of nowhere. 

Finn dropped back out of my life but for a good reason this time. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that he had it bad for Jennifer. I was happy for him and so was Siobhan. We started to get a bit more serious. Some casual dating and more obvious flirtation. It was clear that something had changed in our relationship and then the next monkey wrench was thrown in the middle of our lives. 

Her aunt, the billionaire, became seriously ill. 

I’d known them so long that even I called her Aunt Cynthia. I wasn’t told what was wrong, perhaps because I wasn’t family, but it turned out that Finn and Siobhan didn’t know either. Cynthia was undergoing some serious treatments for something but refused to talk about it. She passed away in early October, and Finn married Jen the following spring. 

My dad’s business grew to 22 locations and was thriving. I think it was mostly due to the growing interest in MMA. Finn and Jennifer had a son that was just everyone’s pride and joy. He really was a beautiful kid. Siobhan and I grew closer and I was considering asking her to move in when our world was destroyed. 

Someone tried to kill and then abduct her nephew, or maybe abduct him twice. I don’t know. What I do know is that I lost Siobhan for a long time. Somehow, she dealt with the threat and then disappeared. 

I spent time with Finn and helped Jennifer run Finn’s oyster farm. Whatever had happened with their son resulted in Finn being in a wheelchair. They had more money than they could ever spend, but Finn felt an attachment to his business and an obligation to his long-term customers. He scaled back a bit, and we made it work. 

A little more than seven months after Siobhan disappeared, she was back. She had changed. More like Finn now, she was reserved and guarded. While she was gone she sent a few emails to her parents, Skyped with Finn’s son William once in a while, and never communicated with me aside from gifts that showed up about once a week. I’d get a book on Krav Maga or a shirt from an Israeli tailor. They were the most eclectic array of gifts you could imagine.

Soon after that day in her grandfather’s bookstore, we became intimate. There was never a formal conversation about what we meant to each other; we just sort of segued into a new stage of our relationship. Her lack of contact aside from the gifts hurt. Deeply. When she returned we spent most of that spring getting comfortable with each other again. Summer started, and another stumbling block entered our lives. 

His name was Everett Sinclair. Yup, Everett Sinclair. It was as if at birth his parents were making a solemn vow to the world, “Yes, our beloved son is going to grow up to be a pretentious douche.” It sounds like a name you’d find in a romance novel. 

Unfortunately for me, he looked like he’d stepped off the cover of that novel. Tall, thin with chiseled features and movie star looks, he was an acquaintance of Siobhan’s and just seemed to slip into our lives. Well, I guess her life, really. 

Every other sentence out of his mouth had a reference to ‘the company’ or ‘the farm’ or ‘Langley’. We get it, jack-ass. You’re in the CIA. 

So, here’s this globe-travelling, model-looking superspy going after Siobhan and here’s me. Hair prematurely thin. Glasses needed if I want to see anything beyond three feet away. Not hideous, but not swoon-worthy. 

My life sucked. 

* * * * *

FINN

My office was next to my son’s room on the second floor. It didn’t make much sense. I should have taken Jenn’s office next to the kitchen and let her have mine. I had to use the electric chair thing to get up the steps. It did, however, allow me to look in on my son when I needed a break from the tedium of work. 

Mornings were spent taking calls and exchanging emails with people that had information for me. Reporters in every D.C. outlet and in every state capital knew that if they had a strong, verifiable story that was killed by an editor for being too salacious, I’d pay top dollar. My purview was a bit wider than that and our efforts helped steer the authorities to seven high level operatives for other governments who were engaged in espionage and we pushed the right people in the direction of possible terrorists a few times. 

After my last call for the morning, I went through my routine for when we were expecting people over. I guess I’m a hypocrite since I have nothing but disdain for self-help gurus and advocates for visualizing success and yet that’s exactly what I do before interacting with groups. I was always a bit of a loner and that grew more intense after a huge embarrassment in high school and then went off the charts after what happened to my son. 

Taking over for Aunt Cynthia, I have no choice but to be functional in groups. I use parties at our home to try to get used to socializing. I lay down and picture the day and how I want it to go. I think about what people might say and how I would respond. There’d be intense bouts of self-loathing before I was done. I envied people like Tommy who made it seem effortless.

Cynthia had been a behind the scenes political power broker. To no small extent, she was a kingmaker and had been for decades. She knew more secrets than the FBI and caused or squelched too many scandals to count. With her gone, that role was now mine. 

Looking out the window, I could see some guests arriving, so I slowly made the trek back downstairs. 

It was one of those halcyon days of summer where you felt immortal and invincible. After what my family has gone through, that’s saying something. The temperature was in the mid-eighties and a cool breeze was coming off the water. The humidity was incredibly low and the aromas wafting off the grills were attracting the guests, as well as the security we now employed on a permanent basis. 

I had a trench dug a year ago and we sunk two Big Green Eggs and a Weber Kettle down a foot, so they would be easier to access from the wheelchair. I was using the tongs to move the bacon-wrapped jalapenos to make room for the Oysters Ala Finn. The cream cheese filling kept falling out of the jalapenos as they shifted, but this wasn’t fine detailed work, it was grilling. A bit of a mess was part of the enchantment.

I hated that Jennifer loved these oysters so much. She originally had them when Steve made them for her at Rouge Cochon. Effing Steve. That SOB flirted with her right in front of me, then tried to hit on her a week before our wedding. Ass. He’s a good cook but a lousy human being; it’s almost disappointing how good the oysters are.

Sliding the aluminum pan with the oysters on the grate, I paused and looked around my backyard. My son was playing with our dog. Dink would run up to William, bump him with his huge head and run a few feet away until William chased him on his chubby toddler legs. Jennifer was sitting with my parents, drinking something that was likely popular in the seventies like a Harvey Wallbanger or something. She’s probably telling them about Seinfeld, an amazing new show she just discovered. 

Jennifer came into our lives after an experiment that was part of the Montauk Project swept her through time from 1968 to 2018. Yeah, I’m knee deep in the bizarre and strange. She’s been adapting and learning but has been enthralled by fifty years of pop culture. 

When I saw Tommy rounding the corner of the house, I waved, turned the wheelchair and rolled over in his direction. He stopped to talk to my folks, an act of mercy on his part. It gave them a break from Jen’s revelations. He’s the only one who can pretend to be fascinated whenever Jennifer starts telling us about something she recently came across that’s been popular for decades. Hell, maybe he was fascinated. He’s the most people-person I’ve ever met. 

Rather than getting himself a chair, Tommy sat on the grass next to Mom. I slowed down and ‘walked the walk’ of the condemned as I heard his question. She’s going to be on this topic for hours. 

“Hey,” Tommy said, nudging Mom’s leg with his knee. “your movie was just starting when I left the apartment. So, what’s so great about The Quiet Man? Siobhan’s mentioned how you guys always watch it on St. Patrick’s Day. Is that the one with Sean Connery about leprechauns?” 

My mother looked aghast. That movie was like a holy text in our home when we were growing up, to be treated with reverence and love. Take the most die-hard anglophiles you could find but shift their obsession from England to Ireland, and that’s my parents. That’s how my sister and I got our names. Growing up, Siobhan would have given her left arm to have been named Mary or Susan. 

I slowly turned the wheelchair around and made my way back to the grills. Tommy was going to be stuck for hours. 

While prepping the tomahawk steaks for the Big Green Eggs, I saw Siobhan at the edge of the pier showing Everett the oyster farm. I looked over at Tommy and realized he saw them as well. He looked curious but not upset and turned his attention back to Mom. Strangely, he truly seemed interested. Man, Mom loves talking about John Wayne and Maureen O’Hara. He was in for an epic lecture.

Tommy is in love with Siobhan. I think that everyone knows it except the two of them. They’ve been a couple since Grandpa passed, but neither one of them acknowledges it. And Everett? Well, he’s Everett. Effortlessly charming, panty-dropping handsome, cultured New England accent, obvious wealth and mysterious background. 

The afternoon seemed to fly by. I fed everyone, Siobhan showed Everett the Cabin Cruiser and the clammer, my mother relished the opportunity presented by a willing audience, and Tommy kept looking over at Everett. 

Eventually, Tommy walked over as I was grilling some pineapple chunks after soaking them in rum and vanilla and sprinkling them with cinnamon and brown sugar. A diabetics nightmare, but he’d die happy. 

He tried to be nonchalant. “So, who’s the guy with Siobhan?”

I looked up, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. “His name’s Everett. He was in a training class with Shiv down in Virginia. He’s in town, so she invited him over.”

“Decent guy?”

I hesitated. “I guess. I don’t really know him. I don’t think she knows him that well either. They had lunch down there, he gave her a call when he was in town and here he is.”

“Huh. Okay. Need a hand with the pineapple?”

Jennifer scooped up William to get him ready for bed. Losing his pal, Dink came running over to us. He nearly barreled into Tommy, pushing my friend’s leg with his head. Everyone likes Tommy. It’s part of who he is, but he cheats outrageously with Dink. 

Siobhan is the wannabe spy in our family, but even I’m observant enough to notice Tommy surreptitiously pulling some crispy bacon from a Ziploc and slipping it to Dink. My dog is a bacon whore. Tommy was the center of his attention for the rest of the night. 

Tommy scooped a bunch of pineapple chunks onto a platter and toothpicked them before walking around. He seemed to be taking a deliberate route. First my parents, then Father Jesse, over to Grandpa, some for Jennifer who came out with William in his jammies, and then deliberately and in a direct line to Siobhan and Everett. 

I could see them chatting as Shiv introduced them. Everett squared his body as he shook Tommy’s hand, his left hand going to Tommy’s bicep in that awkward alpha-male dominance move. Nothing too aggressive, but clearly paternal and diminunizing. 

Tommy gestured to the equipment bay for the oyster farms and continued chatting, Shiv jumped into the discussion and Everett was keeping a small smile in place that seemed, from my position, a bit perturbed.