Chapter 4.

4.

My wife died from a brain aneurysm, one of these ticking time bomb things. Colleen used to work at Michaels, the arts and crafts store. One minute she’s helping a schoolteacher look for glitter glue. Next thing you know, she’s down on the floor, lights out. Died in the ambulance on the way to Holy Redeemer. Thirty-six years old. A tragedy on multiple levels, when you consider all the awful stuff I’m going to tell you about. Because my wife could spot a bullshitter from a mile away. She would have seen this trouble coming long before I did.

Maggie was only ten years old when her mother passed. Right on the cusp of puberty and womanhood and at pretty much the worst age to lose a parent. I remember wishing that I had gotten the aneurysm instead of Colleen, because my wife could have raised Maggie just fine and my Teamsters pension would have provided for them. Instead I had to make do with help from my sister, Tammy. She lived six miles away and gave me a ton of help; she was always driving Maggie to doctors’ appointments and dentist visits and contact lens fittings and ob-gyn screenings and dermatology checkups and a million other things so I could pay the bills and keep food on our table. It was a stressful time of life, and I am first to admit that I made a shit ton of mistakes. You know you’ve messed up pretty bad when your only daughter stops speaking to you, when she gives you the silent treatment for three whole years. But I’ll talk about that whole situation later. Before I tell you the story of Maggie’s previous so-called boyfriend, I want to tell you about her new fiancé, and why I was instantly suspicious.

The day after her big surprise announcement, Maggie called me back with a change of plans: “We think you should come to our apartment instead. We’ll just eat here.”

She hadn’t mentioned that she and Aidan were already living together, but I wasn’t too surprised. Boston rents were brutally expensive, and Aidan probably saved a fortune by gaining a roommate. Plus, Maggie always hated her old apartment, anyway. It was a tiny, damp studio in the basement of a Victorian brownstone, and the place was overrun with silverfish—long hairy insects that looked like giant eyebrows. They fell into Maggie’s bathtub every time she took a shower, and she’d have to tap-dance around their bloated drowning bodies. My daughter claimed to spend all her weekends in the Capaciti offices just to steer clear of the dank, damp apartment. I’m sure she was thrilled to break her lease and move to Aidan’s place.

But I pushed to meet at a restaurant, anyway. “This is a special occasion. I don’t want you to cook.”

“I’m not cooking.”

“Aidan’s cooking?”

“We worked it out, Dad. You just need to show up.”

I thought I understood what was happening. I figured that with a big wedding on the horizon, the kids were looking at their checkbooks and cutting expenses. I’d already googled “How much do they pay art teachers?” and let me tell you something, it is not good. The median salary was forty grand, and that won’t go far in a city like Boston. Forty grand won’t get you more than a couple of cans of baked beans.

I assured Maggie that I wanted to pay for the entire meal at the restaurant of their choice. “Chinese, Italian, anything you want. Let’s splurge.”

But she insisted I come to their apartment. “It’s right off Route 93. By the Zakim Bridge.”

“You live next to a bridge?”

“Not literally next to it. But you can see it from our window.”

“And it’s safe there? My Jeep will be okay?”

“It’ll be fine, Dad. Aidan’s lived here three years and he’s never had any problems.”

She seemed to think my questions were silly, but let’s be honest: these days, you can’t turn on the radio without hearing about another homicide or carjacking or random bursts of gunfire. And “right off Route 93” didn’t sound like the best of neighborhoods. That highway was choked with traffic all day long and no one with any money would choose to live near it.

Still, I kept these concerns to myself and asked Maggie to text me the address. I was keeping an open mind. I was ready to meet my daughter anywhere.