Page 51 of Considering Us

Given everything that had happened that day, I couldn’t have imagined a better choice of words. “You are correct, sir.” I took another sip. “Your name’s really Charlie?” I thought back to my mother crowing about sons, about how her son Charlie wouldn’t have ever complained about taking out the trash and why she shouldn’t have to do it after a day of disposing of other people’s garbage. Maybe she was right—I probably should’ve just done it—but I wasn’t so sure a son named Charlie would’ve been so eager to take out the trash, either.

“Yes, Charlie Donelan from Charlestown, Massachusetts. That’s a neighborhood of Boston. Did you detect the accent?”

“You’re from Boston,” I said, not even asking the question. It was a statement. Because I should have just known—this was the guy I needed to talk to that night.

“Yes, I moved here two years ago when my partner Connor passed away. It was time for a change—couldn’t be more different from Boston! Where do you live, Devon?”

“Up until late August, it was Boston. For thirteen years! I’m sure we crossed paths at some point. I worked in a number of restaurants for a while there. Did you bartend? And I’m sorry about your partner.”

“He was sick for a long time,” Charlie replied. “Thank you. Without him, Boston wasn’t Boston for me anymore. I was abartender for Barbara Lynch, Lydia Shire, Jamie Bissonnette, and many of the greats. Where were you?”

“Gosh, Minx, Bee’s Knees, Cardamom. And then I was a private chef. We definitely overlapped as guests in each other’s establishments, no doubt.” I sighed. “And now I run dining services at a boarding school called Rockwood on St. George’s Island near Portsmouth. Adjacent to New Castle if you know the area.”

“We used to go to Wentworth by the Sea for our anniversary each year,” Charlie said, mixing a Manhattan for an order that a waiter handed him. “Connor liked to play golf by the ocean, and I liked to drink by it.”

“Perfect place to go then.”

“Are you hungry, Devon? Would you like some dinner?” Once again, Charlie wasn’t someone taking my order. There was a concern, an eagerness to take care of me that I couldn’t put my finger on.

“Yes, actually, I’ve been up since four East Coast time. So, that would be like one in the morning LA time.” I yawned as if by suggestion. “I know this is the Ritz, and I’m sure there are amazing things on your menu, but do you, by chance, have a burger?”

“Of course we do,” he replied. “Is there anything you would like on it? Caramelized onion jam? That’s my favorite.”

“That would be lovely.” I thought back to the morning after with Kyle over fifteen years earlier. “Could you add some bacon?”

“I think that would go so well with the jam. I’ll have to try that next time. Coming right up.”

Digging into the juiciest, most flavorful hamburger perhaps of my life, I realized that I couldn’t remember the last time I had eaten something that I hadn’t cooked or had at least been part of the production. Those tacos with Tam and Plum, maybe?But this was simple enjoyment of someone else nourishing me, and it tasted great. “Thanks so much, Charlie,” I said, my mouth probably way too full to be talking in a place like the Ritz.

“So, Devon, do you mind me asking what you’re in town for? You’re far from New Hampshire.”

“I work for a player on the Celtics in a very part-time capacity,” I answered. “I typically feed him once a week, and his mom usually joins him for road games, but she has a medical conference she needs to attend. She’s a doctor in Atlanta. So, I occasionally help out on the road.” I realized I had probably said too much; I never knew where the line was when talking to others about David. There was something about Charlie that made me want to spill it all out and tell him every detail about my life and,even more so, for him to tell me what the hell to do about all of it.

“David Anders,” Charlie replied. “I remember some buzz about his mom being at his away games from some commentators, but there was no way Anders was going to give any information about anything to the media,” he said with a laugh. “I’m sure he’s different in private.”

“He is,” I agreed. “He’s a lovely person.” I ate a perfectly crispy French fry and sighed. I was enjoying this food so much; maybe I was just so overtired that I was delirious, but it was good. “Do you watch a lot of basketball? You must, if know about David’s surliness with reporters.”

“I used to go to a lot of Celtics games at the Garden,” he said. “I don’t get to see them much anymore since they are rarely in town, and the tickets are always so expensive when a good team like them comes here.”

“Are you going tomorrow night? Or do you have to work?” I asked, taking the last bite of the burger. It had been huge, and I ate it all.

“No, I’ll probably watch it at a local bar, but I bet I’m one of the only Boston fans there,” he said with a wink.

“Want to go? I can get you a ticket.” David’s mom always reminded me that I should let her know if I had a friend who wanted to see a game, and I rarely took her up on the offer. This would be the time to do it. Charlie was a quality human being.

“Are you sure?”

“You bet. Charlie Donelan, right? I’ll send David’s mom an email right now. It’s late in Atlanta, or else I’d text her.”

“That’s so kind of you, Devon.”

“You have been very good to me tonight, Charlie. I can’t tell you how much it’s meant to me.” I examined my empty plate. “And obviously, I needed someone to take care of me. Your ticket will be at Will Call.”

“Can I get you some dessert? Ice cream?”

“How’d you know?”

“A guess. Sounds like I made the right one.”

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