by Freya Barker
“Sleeping right here...” she mumbles before I lose her to sleep.
It takes a bit to get her off the floor and in one of my shirts in bed, but I finally manage and with a quick trip to the bathroom to take care of business, I slide in behind her, pulling her tight against my chest.
Nothing better than waking up with the smell of coffee and bacon up your nose. I have both this morning. Taking a deep whiff of the smells coming from the kitchen downstairs, I roll over to check the alarm clock on the nightstand and shoot out of bed when I discover it’s already ten thirty in the morning. Fuck! The kids. Grabbing some sweats and a shirt from the drawer, I have them on in no time and quickly head to the kids’ rooms to get them going. When I find both rooms empty, my next logical move is the kitchen. Two favorite things in my kids’ lives right now is sleep and food. One day—hopefully thirty years down the road—they’ll add sex to that list.
In the kitchen, there is no sign of my kids, only Syd who is humming something while cracking eggs in a pan.
“Where are the kids?” I jump right in. Syd turns around with one eyebrow raised.
“Good morning to you too. The kids are in school, where you’d expect them to be.” There’s a little bite I detect in her voice.
“How—?” I try, but Syd beats me to it.
“I drove them,” she states matter-of-factly before turning around and tries to pretend something momentous didn’t just occur.
In all honesty, it takes me a moment to appreciate its impact before I clue in that Syd doesn’t drive. She never gets behind the wheel, not since...
“You didn’t...” I state incredulously, making Syd turn with a little smirk on her lips. Fuck me. She did.
“How?”
“Turning the key in the ignition, backing out of the dri—”
My hand slapping her butt stops her mid-sentence, when it’s her turn to look at me disbelieving as I drag her into my arms.
“That’s not what I mean and you know it, smartass.” I growl at her.
She shrugs her shoulders. “You were sleeping. The keys were right there and the kids were ready to go. I couldn’t find any good reason why I shouldn’t let you sleep some more and just drive the kids where they needed to go.” Again with the shoulder shrug, implying it wasn’t a big deal, when we both know it is.
“I’m so proud of you. Were you okay?” I ask cautiously.
Syd looks at me with a big smile on her face before responding.
“I was fucking terrified...”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Syd
“Hey Syd? Where’s Dad? I’m ready to go to Tasha’s.”
“Mowing the lawn, honey. Go tell him to get cleaned up.”
Today is the first day of the kid’s summer break and just like that, the weather has changed from wet and miserable to scorching hot within a week. First thing this morning, Gunnar went out to mow the lawn, which was about ankle high. Shirtless and with just a pair of old cargo shorts and sneakers, he’s been outside, trying to get an early start.
The summer has been planned out for the kids. Emmy was invited to go on a two-week camping trip to Martha’s Vineyard with Tasha and her family, and Dex is leaving for a wilderness camp in Vermont for the same amount of time. After that, we get them back for a week before Gunnar’s mom comes out of the summer heat of Arizona to stay with us. Gunnar has planned it so that we spend time as a family—his words, not mine—during the days and then around four o’clock, the two of us will go into work while his mom stays home with the kids.
The kids will have one week at a sailing camp near Acadia Park, up the coast towards the end of their break and will spend the last week at home with us, getting ready for school.
I have mixed feelings about it. About all of it. First of all, the idea of not having the kids around for a two week stretch is gonna be so hard. I love them. They keep me securely invested in the here and now with their easy acceptance of me in their lives. I’ll miss the morning snuggles with Dex, when he climbs into bed with us, even though he makes us swear not to tell anyone, him being ten and all. And his incessant chatter, which after the more quiet version of him I met first, is amusing ... most of the time. He loves me back without reserve, showing it as easily as his father does.
Emmy’s opened up lately. Ever since she got her period last week and I found her trying to scrub her stained underwear in the laundry tub. Embarrassed at first, I simply showed her how I handle bloodstains when she insisted on washing them herself. Then there’ve been little things at school she started talking to me about. A boy she likes at school, a teacher being too strict, and a fight she had with Tasha. Little things to show me she’s starting to trust me.
Yesterday afternoon at the pub, before Mrs. Danzel came to pick them up, she hugged me hard in the kitchen, telling me she’d miss me the next two weeks. Girl almost had me in tears because the truth is, I’m gonna miss them too. So much.
Then not in the least is the looming arrival of Emily, Gunnar’s mom, who Emmy was named for. By all accounts she’s a wonderful lady and I have to say the few times that Gunnar’s shoved the phone in my hand when she was on the other end, she’s been nothing but friendly toward me. But still, I’ve shacked up with her only son and her grandchildren and she knows little about me. I’m just not sure if she’ll be as friendly when she finds out everything there is to know about me.
Finally there’s being alone with Gunnar for two whole weeks. I’m just scared that without the kids here, without the constant distraction they provide, he’ll see me clearly for once and it won’t be enough. I know I’m being an idiot. Pam’s told me this on more than one occasion, but it’s difficult to imagine anyone feeling about me the way I feel about him.
Hands slide around my stomach from behind, and Gunnar’s deep voice rumbles in my ear.
“I can see your mind spinning, Bird. You think too much.” Turning to see his face, I catch my breath at the broad expanse of his chest, lightly coated with greying hair, and right now, glistening sweat. I curb my instinct to want to lick him, but not with the kids. It seems that once that line is crossed, we inadvertently end up tugging each other’s clothes off. We’ve seen more of the inside of the laundry room than a few loads once a week requires.
“Better stop looking at me like I’m your next meal, Syd, or you’ll have to come have a shower with me,” he growls in warning. Tearing my eyes from his chest, I slide them up the strong column of his throat, his strong full lips, and finally come to rest on his own. The teasing sparkle there barely covers the heated passion lurking right behind and a small, but visible shudder runs down my back. “Stop,” he whispers and I swallow deeply at the almost palpable need I hear in that one word.
Right.
Turning back to the sink, I try to bring my galloping heart back under control. “So, what’s the plan?”
“Gonna have a shower, then we’ve gotta hit the road and drop off Emmy, pick up some water-shoes for Dex since he just found out he can’t fit last year’s, and then at noon we have to be at the school where the buses will be collecting the kids.”
“Okay, I’ll just—“ I start, but Gunnar cuts me off.
“You’ll just come along. It’ll be fine, babe.” And with a hard possessive kiss on my mouth that begs no discussion, he is off to have his shower.
He knows I don’t like the idea of the kids leaving, probably not all the reasons for it, but I’ve told him I’m afraid of embarrassing them. I mean, what if I cry? An irritating side effect of opening up your heart again is the amount of feeling you do, and that comes paired with rather unfamiliar tears. Now? I’m a fucking fountain. Everything and anything can get me going and I appear to have little control. According to Pam, it’s a normal adjustment to having come from a very solitary existence where I’d kept external stimulation of any kind to an absolute minimum to a very socially active one, where people seem to tear on my heartstrings on an ongoing basis. She says my emotions will find balance with time. I hope to God that�
�s so.
Well I managed to hold myself together, saying goodbye to Emmy, who isn’t one for demonstrative displays of affection and gave me a quick, barely there hug and a smile. Although I have to admit, she almost made me lose it when in the car she leaned over the seat and whispered to me, “Take care of my dad for me?”
Dexter is a different story altogether. With the inborn male Lucas protective gene, he looks up in my face earnestly, his small arms wrapped around my waist and a little frown of concern shadowing his eyes.
“You sure you’ll be okay, Syd? I’ll be back soon. Two weeks will go by in flash, you’ll see.”
Gunnar is chuckling behind me while I’m turning into a puddle in the parking lot of his school, the bus loaded and ready to leave. I won’t mention the throng of parents here to see off their respective children, most of them probably eager to see them go and have a breather. Not me. I stand out like an oddity, tears streaming down my face as Dex finally disappears up the bus steps, only to reappear in a window towards the back of the bus, waving frantically at us as it pulls out of the parking lot.
“You’re a mess,” Gunnar points out the obvious, amusement clear in his voice.
“Well, thanks,” I bite off, adding, “I can’t believe you’re finding this funny!” My resistance is futile as he pulls me in the shelter of his arms, hiding my embarrassment from the curious eyes of a few parents walking past us to their cars.
“You’re forgetting I’ve had time to get used to sending the kids off for weeks at a time, knowing that every time they go, they’ll come back. I promise you’ll get used to it.” The rumble of his voice soothes me, as it usually does.
“I don’t know that I want to get used to saying goodbye to them,” I mumble into his shirt.
“And that, right there, is what I love about you. Come on, sad girl. Let’s get some work done today.”
With a kiss to my forehead, he grabs my hand, walking us to the car.
Gunnar
“You bawled?”
“Shut up. Gunnar has a big mouth.”
Viv chuckles and gives me a wink over Syd’s head. Not hard, since she’s about a head taller than her.
“You were eager enough for that mouth this morning,” I can’t help but tease, and then have to duck out of the way of a half-peeled potato Syd whips at me.
“I cannot believe you just said that,” she says, her mouth open in indignant surprise at my words, or her own reaction. Maybe it’s both, cracking Viv up in the process.
Picking up the potato, I dump it in the green bin before saying with a wink, “Well, I know when I’m not wanted.”
Back in my office, I boot up the computer to look at sales from the last few weeks, which Syd put into a graph chart for me. By the looks of it, we haven’t lost any substantial business as a result of the attempts at negative press on The Skipper. In fact, as of last week, and the press release prepared by Matthew, Syd’s new lawyer for the foundation, business has been picking up and is currently over and above last year’s for the same time. Given that last year was a record year, that makes me feel pretty damn good.
With Cindy admitted into a drug and alcohol treatment facility in Florida, as per her phone call last week, and the kids officially in my custody, I feel a huge pressure taken off my shoulders.
Having Syd to myself for the next two weeks in a house where there are no little ears to consider, I’d say I’m pretty fantastic. Of course, I feel the trepidation coming off her in waves. I know she’ll miss the kids and is anxious about meeting mom face to face, but I plan to make her forget all about that. Other than that, she’s settled in better than I could’ve imagined when I virtually forced her to move in on a permanent basis. She’s confident in managing my kids and their daily lives, as well as the way she gives in to the easy banter and teasing with Viv and Dino here at the pub. She’s still a little shy around Matt and the guys from the team, but it usually only takes a few minutes for her to relax in their presence. Still, there are things that remain unresolved for her. Most of them I can’t do anything about. All I can do is wait for her to take the lead, but there is one thing I’ve looked into that I’m hoping to do with her sometime these next couple of weeks.
Yeah, nothing wrong with my life the way it is now, but having learned a thing or two, I realize things can change on a dime, and they often do.
A knock reveals Tim standing in the door opening, a big smile on his face and holding a bottle of Dalwhinnie, my favorite aged single malt Scotch, and two tumblers in his hand. “My guess is you’re either here to butter me up over your unpaid bar tab, or you have some lurid confessions to make,” I offer at the sight of him.
“You’d be off on both counts, my friend,” he counters. “I come bearing news.”
“And gifts? Must be good news then.”
I make room on my desk for the glasses as Tim unseals the bottle—the fragrant scent of the twenty-five year old Scotch filling my nostrils. With two fingers carefully poured into the tumblers, he hands me one and raises the other.
“May those who live, truly always be believed, and those who deceive us, be always deceived.”
Tim’s attempt at a Scottish brogue is nothing short of funny with his ‘Boston’ showing through. “I’ll say amen to that, but what’s the occasion?”
“Thought it was appropriate, given the libation I brought and the cause I’m here to celebrate,” he says with a shrug of his shoulders and a sip of his Scotch.
“Come on, man, don’t leave me hanging. I’d like to know what I’m toasting to,” I try to urge him to get to the point.
“Permit’s been revoked. It would appear that someone put a bug in Portland’s City Councils ears about a certain shark circling the waters of Casco Bay. Last Council meeting yesterday, a vote was passed to revoke the building permit granted for a certain nefarious former chef turned restaurateur.” Tim has a big-ass smug smile on his face as he offers me the dressed up bit of news.
“You’re fucking kidding me?”
“Not fucking anything much right now, but no, I’m not kidding. Bull and his wimpy sidekick have lifted their heels and have left Portland in their rear-view mirror. Not that the cops won’t be keeping close tabs on them, but for all intents and purposes, the cook has flown the coop.”
“Holy shit. That’s good damn news,” I smile back and raise my glass before tilting it to my lips, the rich flavor a great accompaniment to the release of tension I didn’t realize I was still holding.
Slowly sipping our drinks, we bounce back and forth some ideas around Syd’s foundation plans. I guess our foundation, since Syd’s insisted only wanting to go ahead if I am involved. Fuck. There’s no way I wouldn’t be. The thought of being able to do something for the Winslow family and families like theirs, falling apart around a desperately ill child, has lifted me right out of my funk. Be good to give something back to a community that has supported The Skipper for decades.
In talking to mom this past week, she made it clear she wanted to be involved as well, and immediately offered her time and connections. She suggested she’d start making phone calls to people she’d stayed in touch with in Portland over the years to round up some support before we were even off the ground. Made me chuckle. For years after my folks handed over the pub to me, she’d been going through the motions of retirement, but it never quite seemed suited to her. The renewed sense of purpose seemed to energize her and I was seeing more of the active mother I grew up with, even at almost seventy years old. With a smile on my face, I’m thinking she’s gonna be a dynamo when she gets here.
“Boss,” Viv pokes her head in the door. “You may wanna come out here.” The concern lacing her voice has me out of my chair in a heartbeat. I follow her to the doorway to the pub, where she halts me with a hand on my chest.
“Keep your cool, but the guy at the end of the bar says he needs to speak to his wife.”
At my confused headshake she clarifies, “Syd. He’s talking about our Syd, Gunnar.”
One look at the perfectly groomed and distinguished looking asshole who’s eyeing the pub with obvious distaste, has me fighting every instinct to go over there, pull him off the barstool and wipe the derision off his face. This is not going to be pretty.
Taking Viv’s hand off my chest, I give it a little squeeze to assure her I’m in control, or at least pretending to be. Although, in all reality, I know it won’t take much for me to snap.
“Keep Syd busy in the kitchen,” I tell Viv softly. She eyes me with some trepidation, but finally nods and walks back into the hallway. Tim comes out of the office and walks up to me.
“Everything okay?” he asks with a hand on my shoulder.
“I knew this day would fucking come after those articles in the newspaper, dammit. Syd’s ex is here.”
“Oh shit,” Tim so acutely points out.
“Shit is right. Up to Syd to share her story sometime, but I’ll tell you now, that man sitting there has put my woman through a certain kind of hell.”
“Right. Well, all I can say is don’t kill him outright. Too many witnesses.” With a supportive clap on my shoulder, he slips past me into the bar and takes a seat at the opposite end. A slight nod confirms he has my back, no words needed.
I take a deep breath in and make my way over to where the douche is sitting, wondering how what should’ve been a great day could tank so fast.
“Can I help you?” I ask the man who’s been watching my approach with a look of distaste on his face. Fucker.
“Like I mentioned to the barmaid,” he waves his manicured hand for emphasis. “I’m looking for my wife, Sydney Webster, although I believe she’s using her maiden name, Donner, now. I believe she works here.” He actually winces when he clarifies, as if the fact of her employment here causes him discomfort. I’ll fucking show him and his sissy-assed name discomfort. Already the sound of his cultured voice grates on my last nerve.
“First of all, that—what did you call her? A barmaid?—is my manager and secondly, I can’t help you.”
