From Dust

by Freya Barker

  I know I’m falling in love with Dex and Emmy and it scares me to death because I can tell they’re falling for me too. Kids are easy to read. These two carry scars already, which makes trusting for them even harder, yet they started opening up to me. I both love and hate it, as afraid for them as I am for me. They’ve already been abandoned once and I—I’ve been ground down by my loss; Only a collection of particles that threaten to be blown apart and scattered by a strong wind. I’ve only just begun to gather myself from dust. Another blow would surely decimate me.

  I promised myself not to let fear paralyze me, and the fact Viv and Gunnar were looking for me should be enough to feel cared for, and I do. I’m just not sure that I would ever survive if the full extent of my past came out. For now, I’ll give them as much as I think they can handle, or better yet, as much as I’m able to handle. But the children? I don’t know how to hold back with them.

  “You’re back!” Small arms wrap around me from behind and I can’t help the smile that settles on my lips when I turn around and look down into Dex’s bright, open face.

  “I’m back,” I say simply, but when I look up, I see Emmy standing hesitantly in the doorway.

  “How’s your family?” she asks. Confused, I turn to Viv who is sending signals with her eyes, but I’m not really computing.

  “Yeah,” Dex pipes up. “I thought you were gone for good.” He buries his face in my belly and my hand strokes his head. I get it and I feel like shit. I have a choice. I can perpetuate whatever lie they’ve told them to explain my sudden absence, or I can tell them the truth because I can already see that Emmy is too smart to fall for lies. I can’t do that to her, regardless.

  “Come sit for a minute.” I indicate for Emmy to come sit at the table too, but she just stands behind a chair, waiting. “I made a mistake yesterday. I was upset over something I didn’t really understand, and instead of asking for an explanation, I got scared and ran.”

  I turn to Dex when he tugs on my shirt. “Why were you scared?”

  Jeez. How to explain that. “I was afraid to get hurt. You know how the people you care about most can also hurt you the worst?” Dex nods and looking up at Emmy, I see her swallow hard. Yeah. These kids know all about that and it rips me up to think I almost hurt them to save myself some pain. “Well, that’s what I was scared of.”

  Dex snuggles into my side and Emmy pulls out the chair and sits down on the other side of the table.

  “Did that happen to you before?” Emmy wants to know and this time, it’s my turn to swallow.

  “Yes, it did,” I say simply. It seems to be enough for Emmy who nods thoughtfully, but not for Dex.

  “Who hurt you?”

  I lean down and kiss his forehead. “It happened a very long time ago and they can’t hurt me now, and that’s all that’s important. Now, who wants some cookies and milk?”

  The enthusiastic yes from both instantly lifts the atmosphere in the kitchen and when I look up to find Gunnar in the doorway looking at me, it goes straight to electric.

  Gunnar

  “Dad, look! Syd’s back.” Dexter spots me, jumps up and runs through the kitchen to jump into my arms. I look at my boy before lifting my eyes back to her. Without breaking eye contact, I set him back on his feet.

  “Can see that, kiddo.”

  Oh, I see her all right, and now I not only can’t get her big liquid blue eyes out of my head, but her smell, her taste, and the feel of her in my arms as well. By the way she’s biting her lip and her eyes turn a dark blue, she remembers it too.

  Viv tried to stop me from rushing upstairs when I came in with the kids earlier, but the moment Viv mentioned Syd was up there, I had to go see for myself. I lost the battle to keep my distance. Yes, not knowing anything about her except her first name—or at least what she calls herself—bothers me, but now I’m determined to get to the bottom of it. This intense attraction that only seems to flare hotter after kissing her is not something I’ve experienced before.

  “Uh, you guys have any homework? I missed yesterday so I don’t know what you got done.” Syd asks and I notice I’m still staring at her, but I’m not the only one noticing. Viv’s turned her back to the stove and has her arms crossed, flicking her eyes back and forth between the two of us. Even Emmy has an eyebrow raised as she looks in my direction. Right.

  “Homework guys?” I prompt them and both kids start pulling books out of their bags. ”You get it done, maybe Syd will let you hang upstairs and watch some TV, but better not mess with her stuff.” With a last glance at Syd’s pink face, I turn back to my office.

  I don’t quite get there because Matt is standing in the doorway to the pub, waving me over. When I reach him, he points over his shoulder into the bar.

  “Check out the booth on the far wall.”

  Fuck me. Sitting there with a menu in his face is the guy who’s been around a few times asking questions. It’s the same guy I described to that Sergeant Winslow. Either the guy has gonads the size of basketballs, or he had nothing to do with the fire.

  I did say I’d walk up and introduce myself, so I step around Matt and without taking my eyes off the guy, walk up to the booth. “Hi. Gunnar Lucas, and you are?” He lifts his eyes off the menu and lingers on my outstretched hand for a moment before they hit my face. Reaching out, he grips my hand firmly before letting go.

  “You greet all your patrons this way?” Is the first thing out of his mouth, and already I hate his cocky attitude.

  “No,” I say sliding into the booth across from him, “only those who come around asking questions of my staff instead of manning up and asking me.” The eyes looking back at me turn dark with what I presume to be anger. The clean cut, slick looking suit has a temper it would appear. Good. People with tempers generally let things slip, so I decide to push a little more. “Any particular reason you seem to have such a hard-on for my establishment? Or is it simply my pretty face that keeps bringing you back?”

  The tick in his jaw shows me he’s losing the battle holding on to his cool. Time to bring it home. “You know, you’re welcome to ask me anything, that is unless you want me to contact Graham Bull at your corporate office directly?”

  The lift of his eyebrows is evidence that me having this knowledge is a surprise to him. I do my homework, asshole, but more than that, it’s all I need to confirm this idiot in front of me is hired by ‘Soul Filets’, the chain that apparently has their sights set on opening a restaurant right here, on Holyoke Wharf. Graham Bull was once a well-known chef who sold his soul—how appropriate—to the devil when he started branching his successful restaurant in Charlotte, and its clones have been climbing up the Eastern seaboard. It would appear Portland Maine is next, and on my wharf. I’m not afraid of competition. Hell, when you think about it, other than having fish on the menu, we deal with totally different clientele so no, having another restaurant on the wharf isn’t really a threat to my livelihood, although it might take a dent. What has me concerned is the ruthless and underhanded ways in which Graham Bull and his corporate cronies have actively tried to undermine and boycott any type food serving establishment within a mile radius of their proposed new locations. His reputation in the food industry is not a good one.

  Setting the fire in the shed seems extreme, even for their standards, so I don’t know what to think, but what I do know is that you can’t turn your back on these guys, not for a second. The location of The Skipper on the wharf is unique in that the water is visible from both sides of the pub as it’s actually on the wharf and not at the base of it, as most other establishments are, and it would seem the proposed new Soul Filet would be as well. They may very well want more than just to disable me.

  All this is playing in my mind as the suit and I are locked in a stare down, which he eventually breaks.

  “Fine. I’m on a fact gathering mission for Mr. Bull, simply collecting data, testing out the competition.”

  I push up on the table so I’m leaning over him. “There is n
o competition. He’s welcome to open up his restaurant as long as he leaves my pub alone. There’s plenty of fish for both of us, but if I find out you or your boss had any hand in that convenient fire on my property the other day, I will come after you.” At the mention of the fire, he lifts a single eyebrow. “Now that that business is out of the way, what can I get you?”

  It’s a packed Saturday night. After the kids come say goodbye when Mrs. Danzel picks them up, the place is hopping and I don’t have a moment to even think. Luckily, Frankie comes back to lend a hand so with me behind the bar and Viv and Syd helping Dino to process the orders, we do all right, but I know Frankie’s a temporary solution and somehow I have to get this staffing issue sorted. If I want to make a good case for sole custody of my children, I’ll have to start spending more time with them instead of leaving them in the hands of babysitters. So rather than one more full timer, I’d really need two.

  The moment the kitchen closes at ten, things start slowing down. The pub’s still full, but now it’s mostly drinkers, not eaters, and I can leave Matt behind the bar. Walking into the kitchen, I find Dino’s already gone, with Syd and Viv cleaning up. With tomorrow being Sunday, these two are supposed to be off, but with the changes lately, our regular schedules are screwed up.

  “Guys, give me a hand here.” Both of them turn around when they hear my voice. I sit down at the large table and indicate for them to do the same. “We’re gonna need some serious help. With Cindy in the wind, I have the kids. Make no mistake, I wouldn’t want it any other way, but it complicates the schedule and I really need to have some time to spend with them.”

  Viv pipes up immediately. “Take tomorrow. I’ll be here and call Frankie again.” I shake my head.

  “Viv, you’ve been double-shifting it already—both opening and closing half the time—and I’m not gonna have you work six or seven days of that. Something’s gotta give. Frankie’s all set for tomorrow, he’s gonna be here at noon as long as we need him. I’m gonna work up a schedule for next week and call in some more summer temps to fill the holes, but we’re gonna need more full-time. Mrs. Danzel’s set to mind the kids at home leaving me free to come in.”

  “No.”

  I’m surprised at the forceful tone coming from Syd who’s shaking her head.

  “I have nowhere else to be and I like being here. I’ll come in.” She suddenly looks a little shy and starts rambling. “That is if you trust me. Dino will be here, and Matt too. I can do the morning prep and Dino comes in earlier on Sundays anyway, right? I can shuttle the food orders and do cleanup and with Matt and Frankie up front, so we should be okay?”

  It’s more of a question than a statement and the insecure pink blush on her cheeks is pretty cute.

  “Trust is not an issue, Syd, but you need rest too,” I gently remind her. Surprisingly, she reaches over and grabs my hand and I see Viv’s eyes widen.

  “The kids ... they need you to spend some time with them. Please?”

  I’ll be damned. Now the little bird is going to bat for my kids. My eyes move to Viv who looks back, smirks with one eyebrow raised and shrugs her shoulders. “Don’t look at me. I’m with her,” she says, cocking her head in Syd’s direction, who promptly releases the hand she was still holding.

  “You sure?” I have to dip down my head to catch her eyes. She’s kept them downcast since dropping my hand. At my question, they bug open and she smiles big.

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  Since Syd will be working tomorrow, I send her upstairs to get some rest, leaving Viv to finish cleaning while I retreat to my office to try and bring some order to my chaos.

  Syd

  I lean my forehead against the tile, letting the hot water run down my neck and back, indulging in the luxury. My thoughts are on Gunnar. Small things, like the feel of the coarse hairs on the back of his hand or the sound of his deep rumble when he talks. The way his normally dark face can transform into something beautiful with just the lift of his mouth, and the touch of his lips on mine that seem to have sparked an almost constant state of arousal since. I didn’t need to feel his long erection pressed to my center when he stepped between my legs to bring my body to life, his taste alone did that.

  But the memory of that hard length between my legs has me sliding my hand over my body. Reacquainting myself with shallow dips and rises and finding harder edges than I’m used to. The tingling in my lower belly and between my legs is vaguely familiar and with the image of the broad, callused hand I was holding earlier in my mind’s eye, I trail my fingers through the curls at the apex of my thighs in search of relief. The instant my fingertip encounters my swollen clit—prominent from between my lips—my languid pace becomes frantic. Panting with my mouth wide open, my cheek plastered against the shower wall, I need one hand to keep me standing while the other pumps two fingers into my cunt.

  Not hard enough. Not nearly hard enough.

  I slide down the wall and lay back at the bottom of the tub with my legs spread up and wide, my second hand now adding much needed pressure and friction on my clit. With my eyes rolled back in my head and involuntary sounds escaping my mouth, I finally tip over the crest and shatter apart on a loud yell.

  Fuck! I immediately scramble from the tub and turn off the water, wrapping myself in a towel. Would somebody have heard me?

  I stand without moving with my ear to the bathroom door for minutes before realizing that given the volume of the music downstairs, there’s no way someone would’ve heard.

  Tired, clean, and sated, I crawl into bed where I promptly fall asleep.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Syd

  The sun is gorgeous and bold, rising up on the horizon. The sky has an orange hue and gives off the impression of warmth, even though the morning temperatures are far from it. It’s going to be a gorgeous day.

  There are no people milling around on the dock when I sit down in my favourite spot, dressed for the chill and a cup of coffee warming my hands. Other than the regular morning exodus of fishing trawlers, there isn’t a lot of human activity. Just the way I like it.

  This right here is what attracted me to Holyoke Wharf to begin with. One morning, probably a year or so ago, after waking up with a street grade, ‘high gravity’ hangover, I found myself lying at the end of this dock. A sunrise, much the same as this morning’s, was slowly warming my chilled and shivering body. I just didn’t know whether I wanted to be warmed. The cold in my bones matched the frost on my heart and I crawled to the edge, peeking over the side. The kind of pain I was enduring needed to end, and the cold water below seemed to offer the solution. I was ready. About to heave myself over the edge, I noticed a fishing boat heading out, a flock of seagulls swirling around the trawler and in its wake. I remember thinking how beautiful a sight it made against the backdrop of the rising sun and the thought stopped me. If I could still find beauty in this pit of despair, maybe I wasn’t ready to leave life after all. That was the last time I drank. It was also when the wharf became my sanctuary.

  The memories come flooding back, each one further back in time, and rather than stomp them down, I allow them to flow over me, bringing with them the emotions I’ve worked so hard to suppress. Safe in the sun and at my favorite spot, I cry. For the first time since ending up on the street with nothing but the clothes on my back, I cry for what I’d allowed my life to become.

  It’s cleansing.

  I can feel my will to move away from the past strengthening with each tear, and when the sounds of activity around me filter into my awareness, I get up and walk back; back to where my future begins.

  “Mornin’.”

  Dino’s deep bass sounds from behind me and I turn to face him.

  “Morning.” I smile back at him.

  “Early start, I see?” He indicates the counter lined with bins of chopped vegetables.

  I’m almost done with prep and it isn’t even ten thirty yet. I shrug my shoulders at him and he just shakes his head.

  “Want to
do the special today?” he asks, wrapping the chef’s apron around his hips. “Figure you probably have some ideas—might as well put whatever fire you got going on this morning to good use.”

  I do. I have a fire in me today. I can feel it. I also have ideas and immediately blurt out, “King Edward skillet!”

  Dino turns around with a blank look. “King what?” I quickly explain the basic recipe and hearing the combination of grated potatoes, onions, peppers, and bacon, seasoned with cayenne and cumin, then topped off with cheese, Dino is on board.

  “Don’t have skillets big enough, though.”

  “Sheet pan will do too, as long as we grease it good,” I suggest.

  The warm fragrant smell of the skillet in the oven is already filling the kitchen when Matt comes in sniffing the air.

  “Mmmm, smells fucking great in here. Watcha cooking?”

  I promise him a piece to taste when it’s done and he heads down to the pub to get it ready for opening. Frankie comes in ten minutes later, much the same. Another piece of skillet promised and with Dino setting up for the standard menu fare, I’m off to get my bucket and mop to tackle the washrooms.

  The day is busy, but we manage well between the four of us. I’m told Sundays are often ‘lunch-heavy’ in terms of patrons, Sunday dinners often being a family affair. I remember those.

  “But my parents will be here soon. Can’t it wait until Monday?”

  I’ve been in the kitchen most of the day, preparing a full out gourmet dinner with Daniel sitting in his high chair because Jacob thought it would be a good idea to have a ‘family dinner’, only to announce at eleven o’clock this morning he’s got work to do at the office. I don’t even want my parents here to be honest. It’ll just be another reason for my mom to point out my shortcomings and my dad will have an opinion about the way I parent Daniel, which is too soft according to him. Boys need to be taught to be tough, and in his opinion, I ‘baby’ him too much. How can you ‘baby’ a fourteen-month old baby too much?