On The Road with Danny Concannon '04-'05: Lansing, Michigan
"The Other Danny, Part 1"
Companion Piece: In the Room
Special guest star Jane Kaczmarek as Linda.
The car door opened and Danny Concannon stepped out into the quiet suburban street. At almost five in the morning, the street was like a ghost town as commuters and day workers slept their nights away. The driver handed Danny a large shoulder bag and his carry-on from the trunk. Danny paid the man and as Danny put the carry-on over his shoulder, the driver drove off down the street. Danny looked up at the house, a house he remembered with fondness from his childhood. It still looked the same.
Danny approached the house and slowly walked up its stone steps. The porch light flicked on at his presence. Just as he reached the porch with a creak, Danny heard rustling and the door slowly opened. A hand pushed aside the screen door.
"Danny," a tired woman's voice was heard, as the source of the sound emerged from the house. Dressed in a flannel nightgown, and about the same age as Danny, she emerged from the darkness to greet him, her arms holding her robe close to her to warm her body.
"Hey, Linda," Danny said with bittersweet sadness, not to mention tiredness from the flight and his last twenty-four hours. But before Danny could even drop his bags or finish another sentence, he felt the woman's arms around him. She was in need of comfort, but she pulled away quickly.
"I'm so glad you came." She said as tears spilled from her eyes.
"How could I not?" He said softly.
"Come inside." She said looking him in the eyes and motioning with her hand.
Danny followed Linda into what seemed like a guest room, lit only by a small light next to the bed.
"This is where Dan's mother used to stay when---" She looked down as she spoke.
"It's fine." Danny set his bags down.
"Good." She looked at him and then back at the bed. "There's an extra afghan on the bed—well, I guess you see that—how silly of me—of course, you'd see that—" Danny saw her fluster, but didn't know how to react as his heart bled for her. "There's linens in the closet if you need more--"
"I'm sure I'll be fine—"
"Bathroom's down the hall if you don't remember, but I guess you know the place so well from when you and Dan were kids…hasn't changed—Dan's mother would never have that…." she looked at Danny. "He would have loved that you came, Danny—so much—he talked about you all the time—I'm so glad you're here—" She finally lost it and her full emotions came through like a waterfall breaking the dam. Linda made her way to the bed to shield her emotions from Danny.
"Linda." Danny dove for her, and sat down next to her, holding her to his chest.
"No, no—I'm good—I'm good—" She broke away. "Ahh." She wiped under her eyes. "I'm good. I'm good."
"Okay." Danny knew she would talk when she needed to. They sat in silence for a moment at the foot of the bed.
"You good?" Danny tried to smile half-way, to make her laugh
"Yeah." She nodded her head. "I'm good."
"Okay."
They sat in silence for a moment.
"Linda?" Danny spoke up.
"Yeah?"
"You good?"
"No… Not doing so well, Danny." She looked at him and laughed. "Thank you." She said taking hold of Danny's hand. "You know, it's just so weird not having him around?" She spoke looking out into the room, still holding Danny's hand.
"Yeah." He knew she just needed to talk.
"I mean the little things—I turn over in bed wanting to ask him a question—or tell him something about the kids—just ask him what the weather is and he's just---" She sucked in her emotions. "Well." She stood. "We can talk in the morning—you need your sleep and I need to drive Lindsey to get her driver's license tomorrow—she failed the first time—it takes three months to reschedule." She turned to walk away still holding Danny's hand. As she slipped his hand from hers, Linda looked back at Danny. "And I need to stop by the funeral parlor—would you come with me?"
"Yeah." Danny didn't have to be asked.
"Okay." She turned for the door, but stopped again. "I'm just so glad—" She turned to Danny. "I'm just so glad you're here, Danny."
"He…" Danny was choked up for a moment himself. "He was my best friend." Linda nodded her head and half smiled to Danny before walking out of the room. Danny was left alone again.
Danny wasn't sure what time he woke up, but it felt like he had slept way too much. He ran his hand through his nappy hair and yawned. The door was slightly ajar and he could hear noises in the hallway and downstairs.
"Mom, where's the peanut butter?" Danny heard the voice of a mature child as he walked down the stairs into the kitchen.
"Behind the can of Fluff?" Linda yelled from another room.
"Hey." The redheaded girl of about sixteen said to Danny in a high-school monotone.
"Hey?" Danny wasn't sure who the girl was. She had to be Lindsey, but it had been so long since he'd seen her.
"Hi," said the soft voice of a boy about ten, sitting at the center counter top, playing with trading cards, his hair as brown as his mother's.
"Hi." Danny said with his boyish grin.
"You guys remember Danny?" Linda said with enthusiasm as came into the room and ran her hands around the her son's shoulders.
"Yeah, hi." The girl said, and turned for another cabinet. The boy said "hi" and couldn't keep his eyes off Danny.
"Danny, your father, and I—went to high-school together—he was your father's best friend in the whole world—" She said in an over enthusiastic voice for her children. They didn't seem to care. "I'm sure he can tell you wonderful stories about your father." At those words, the boy jumped off the stool he was sitting on and walked into the other room.
"Patrick!" Linda yelled after him. She smiled at Danny, pretending she wasn't upset.
"Lindsey—Danny's your godfather—I don't think you've seen him since you were… thirteen was it?" She looked over at Danny
"Yeah." Lindsey looked at Danny. "Hey." Lindsey took an apple off the center counter top and walked out of the kitchen.
"Those are my kids." Linda said with sarcasm. "Dan was sick for so long I don't know if it's set in with them yet."
"It's okay." Danny walked into the kitchen as Linda started to clean up.
"I know—I know—I just want them—I thought…..they could get to know you, while you're here."
"That's my fault."
"No—no. You were busy—it's fine—"
"What time is it?"
"I let you sleep—don't worry—what'd ya want to eat?"
"No—I said I'd go with you—"
"It's done---I did it—you needed to sleep—you needed to rest—so." Her voice perked up. "What 'd you wanna eat?"
"I'm fine—I'll go find a diner somewhere—"
"No, no—I'm sure you haven't eaten a home cooked meal in a long time---"
"What are you, my mother?"
"Closest thing." Linda sassed him back and leaned on her hip.
"Linda."
"Shut up—Daniel Concannon, I'm cooking you food—go in the other room, read the paper—watch CSPAN---I got you the Washington Post—it's on the coffee table in the living room." She motioned toward the living room for him to scurry on away.
Danny again wanted to protest, but Linda had already given him her back so he did what he was told. Danny walked across the foyer, over the brown parquet and into the brown and tan living room. He found the paper on the coffee table next to the remote control. He ran his eyes over the headline: "Bartlet: no comment" and made his way down toward the fold to find the smaller headline, right above the fold, "Vinnick announced today."
"I knew it." Danny scolded to himself and the air. He hated being scooped, even if it was small potatoes.
Danny lifted the remote and switched the channels until it hit CSPAN and he decided to leave it on for a while as he drifted through the paper. Danny picked up the front page, perusing the flag story, which he was sick of reading about, and found another article to dig into. When he was done with the front page, he opened the paper to the inside cover. He was half way through reading the second page when he felt the distant feeling he was being watched. Danny peeled the paper to its side to find a small, female, child about twelve, brunette, standing in front of him.
"Hi," the girl said.
"Hi?"
"You're Danny?"
"Yeah?"
"That's my dad's name."
"Yeah?" Danny didn't understand why he was being questioned.
"You don't seem so sure?"
"Don't know why you're askin'?"
"Doing some recognizance."
"I see." Danny was impressed by how smart the girl was.
"I have a very large vocabulary."
"I see."
"You're a reporter?" she prodded.
"Yeah."
"So am I."
"Danny Concannon, Washington Post." He put his hand out.
"Petra Sullivan, Mohawk Lane Press." She shook his hand.
"Pleasure."
"Likewise." She nodded her head.
"We're starting in a few small markets—my mother's kitchen—my aunt's beauty shop—but were trying to move into larger circulation."
"I see."
"I have to go now."
"Okay."
And Petra walked off. She looked back one more time to check Danny out and then walked off again.
Danny found himself feeling like a stranger in his own home town, even in a house he used to spend all his time in as a child—the house his best friend grew up in. He spent the day with the family he might have had if things had been different. After dinner, Linda looked worn and Danny, ever the trooper, told her to go to bed, he'd take care of the mess. It was what he had been doing all day. Always the one who helped others, Danny was the rock people needed when they needed a rock. And no matter what, Danny always played the part.
Once the dishes were all set away, and all was done for the night, Danny walked into the living room. He walked through the living room and through the house, past the pictures on wall units and shelves, diplomas on the walls, and out the back porch. Danny sat down on the back step and ran his hand over the back of his head looking out at the dark sky, feeling so far away from everything, and he cried. It started in spurts at first, as the grown man tried to hold his emotions in with his hand, but it couldn't be helped, and soon Danny Concannon sobbed, alone, on the back pouch.