Cruel Water (Portland, ME, novels Book 2)

by Freya Barker

Mom’s voice, pitched higher than normal with anxiety, comes from behind my father, who is sitting in his wheelchair rather forlorn in the hallway of my parents’ house.

  I arrived ten minutes ago, my arms overloaded with baked goods. Just having finished finding those a home in the kitchen, I was making a pot of coffee when I heard the front door open.

  My father looks like a stranger: his face drooping on one side, his body slumped to one side in the chair, and a blank look on his face. It’s obvious that nobody’s home right now.

  Mom fusses with his coat when behind her, Dorian and Owen walk in the door.

  “Where’s Aaron?” I want to know.

  “Late for a meeting, he just took off,” Owen says. “Do I smell coffee?”

  Glad for the distraction, I turn back into the kitchen to prepare a tray, trying not to look at my mom wiping some drool off my father’s chin, while Dorian hangs up his coat.

  By the time I walk into the room, coffee pot and mugs precariously perched on a tray in my hands, the boys have moved my father from his wheelchair to his favorite chair, and Mom is fussing with a plaid blanket over his knees that he keeps knocking off.

  “Fergus,” Mom exclaims. “Would you leave it alone? There’s a chill in the air today, can’t have you catching a cold.”

  The age-old dispute apparently hasn’t diminished despite my father’s confusion. Mom is still perpetually cold, summer or winter, and my father still grumbles at the near tropic temperatures in the house. Dorian starts snickering and before you know it, Owen and I join in a burst of laughter. Mom makes sure to give each of us the stink eye, but it’s my father’s intense gaze on me that wipes the smile off my face.

  “Vivvy?”

  “I’m right here,” I say, squirming under his scrutiny. So much so, Mom turns to put a soothing hand on his arm.

  “Fergus, you know Viv doesn’t go by that name anymore.”

  He lifts his eyes to her. “No?”

  “No,” she says firmly and turns to take charge of the coffee, giving me an excuse to disappear to the kitchen to grab the pastries.

  -

  After half an hour of random chitchat, mostly with Dorian on the hot seat, since he lives farthest away, Owen helps my father to the bedroom, so he can rest. When he returns, he pulls out a proposed schedule of care. Typed out, we each get a copy.

  “I gave Aaron his, and he said he’d look it over tonight. Let me know if this works for you, but with a nurse visiting daily, as well as the physical therapist, I think most of our focus should be on relieving Mom at night as long as she needs it.”

  Mom of course makes the appropriate sounds of protest, but I suspect she is secretly relieved not to have to tackle this alone. I bite down on my reservations when I see the two over-night shifts Owen’s pencilled me in for. Since I’m not on the schedule until Monday night, four days away, I have some time to get used to the idea.

  “I’m good for the meals three times a week. I actually brought in a pasta bake for tonight. We were prepping it for today’s special anyway, and it’s easy to reheat.”

  “You didn’t need to do that,” Mom objects, but I quickly shut her down.

  “Mom, it’s not a big deal to make extra for two people when we’re cooking for the masses.”

  It’s the least of my problems, preparing some meals for them. That’s not what has my stomach in knots.

  “You okay for the other stuff on there?” Owen asks.

  “Sure thing,” I assure him with a painfully fake smile that makes him scowl. I quickly get up and lean over to kiss Mom, before grabbing my bag and heading for the door. “Gotta go back to work, guys, I’ll be back tomorrow around three with food. If there’s anything before that, you know where to find me.” Without waiting for a response, I slip on my hoodie and hightail it out the door, back to the safety of The Skipper’s kitchen.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Ike

  “Morning, Mr. Hawkes,” the receptionist at Maine Maritime Designs chirps. Her name is Pamela, I think. I keep forgetting, despite her continued attempts to get my attention. “So good to have you back. How was your trip?”

  “Fine, thanks,” I mumble as I slip past her to my office, more interested in my morning dose of caffeine than some idle chat with the much too young blonde. I’m about to shut the door behind me when David’s voice stops me.

  “Ike—a minute?” he asks, standing in the doorway of his much bigger office across the hall, fitting his position as VP of operations and my boss.

  Letting go of my door, I follow him into his office where he waves me into a chair. “Sit. I was hoping you’d be in early. I have a conference call in fifteen minutes, but I want to hear how you made out in Boston.”

  “Good. The engine rebuild is back on track and should be ready for the scheduled launch in New Jersey, three weeks from now.”

  “You going to be there?”

  “Sure. If you want me to,” I respond, shrugging my shoulders. The frequent traveling for my work has always been part of the attraction for me, but somehow the thought of it now bugs me. My house is finished and last night, after striking out at The Skipper, I was finally able to enjoy a shower in my custom designed bathroom. The fifty-year-old, two-story home had way too many small rooms that were in dire need of upgrading. After pretty much gutting the interior, the main floor was made into an open concept large room, housing both sitting and dining areas, and the single remaining wall was partially halved, to open up the dining area to the kitchen. The upstairs that housed four small bedrooms and a bathroom was reconfigured into a sizable master with en suite bath, as well as a small study and one spare bedroom. What used to be a full height basement, now has a proper stairway and is completely finished, with laundry room and cold storage. My weight bench and treadmill are down there, but the rest is still empty. I spent last night sitting on the bottom step of the stairs, considering what to do with the space. Seems contradictory but even with drywall dust and paint fumes still lingering in the air, the house finally felt like home—familiar. Something I’d never really felt before; it’d just been a place to park myself between projects. Now, even after only one night, I find I like the idea of going home later.

  “You seem decidedly non-enthused with the prospect.” David pulls me from my thoughts, and when I look up his head is tilted and he wears a grin. “Something happen I should know about?”

  “Nah. House is finally done, and I actually like spending time there now.”

  “Taken a long fucking time for you to grow some roots, man. About time,” he chuckles. He may be four years younger, but ever since marrying his wife last year, after only three months of dating, David has been pushing this settling down business on me, like it’s the answer to all of life’s questions. Maybe it is, but I’ll limit it to staying a bit closer to home when I can. No plans to rush into anything more, although it’s difficult to ignore the face that immediately pops into my mind. Dammit.

  -

  “Again?”

  I slip onto the stool at the end of the bar, opposite from where Gunnar was wiping its surface. Now his almost-scowl is directed at me.

  “Draft, please,” I say, just shrugging my shoulders. When he slides the glass in front of me, he stays leaning on the edge of the bar.

  “Thought I told you she was dealing with shit, man. Why are you pushing this?” His voice is quiet but holds a clear threat, and if I hadn’t seen the pretty strawberry blonde he identified as his wife the other night, I might’ve thought he had a claim on Viv. As it is, I’m at a bit of a loss why he’s so insistent I leave her alone. “What do you want from her?”

  “Honestly? Not sure myself.” I hesitate, thinking hard on that question, but all I come up with is that she’s not one I particularly want to walk away from, and that’s pretty fucking unsettling. Repeat engagements are rare for me, under the best of circumstances, meaning in those cases I’ve actually exchanged names with a woman. I never even got that far with this woman. “I just can’t
seem to stay away.”

  For a few moments, Gunnar stares at me hard before lifting his eyes to the ceiling. “She’d kill me if she knew I told you, she’s like a fucking sister to me, but you seem like a decent enough guy. If you’re really interested, you’ll go easy. She’s had enough asswipes try to stake their claim forcefully, and let me tell you—that shit won’t fly. Not with me. Not with her four older brothers, and most definitely not with Viv. She’s been there and has the T-shirt.”

  The mention of four older brothers is interesting, as is the information that Gunnar seems to be throwing in as a fifth one. What has the hair on my neck stand on end is the implication of his words. It sounds like maybe someone wasn’t so gentle with Viv, at a certain point in time. Despite the fact that it is obviously a thing of the past, it still makes me feel oddly violent.

  Still, I face Gunnar calmly. “That is not going to be an issue.”

  “If you’re smart, it won’t be.” A rap of his knuckles on the wood of the bar, and he turns to leave through the door at the other end.

  I barely have time to think before the object of our conversation walks through that same door, freezing on the spot when she sees me. Not sure what emotions are flitting over her face, but it’s a mixed bag. Hesitantly she moves closer, her eyes never leaving mine until a patron calls her over for a refill. The front door swings open and along with a strong gust of wind, a group of men comes stumbling in.

  “Hey! Close the door, you guys,” Viv yells from behind me. “You’re putting whitecaps on the beer.”

  Snickering, the men make their way over to the bar, while one of them shuts the wind out. It’s cold enough to drop the temperature in the bar by a couple of degrees. A spring storm is making its way up the Eastern Seaboard according to the forecast.

  When I turn to the bar, I notice Viv still staring at the door, the color slowly draining from her face. I whip my head back around just to see the silhouette of a man moving past the window and out of sight. I look back at Viv to see her blink a few times before the beer orders shouted out by the new customers appear to penetrate. She wipes her hands on her apron and starts filling them. She still hasn’t been near me.

  I finally catch her eye about half an hour later and lift my empty glass. With only a nod, she fills another, places it in front of me and grabs for the empty one, but I’m a bit faster. My fingers curl around her wrist where I can find the rapid pulse of her heartbeat. She looks almost panicked, her crystal blue eyes wide open.

  “Viv ...” Her name sounds strangely hoarse from my lips. It’s the first time I’ve used it. I clear my throat and try again. “Viv, my name is Isaac—Ike for short.”

  “I know,” she says, gently pulling her arm from my hand.

  Before she has a chance to move away, I quickly ask, “Can we talk?” I follow her gaze as she takes in the crowd at the bar before she faces me with a shrug. “Sometime?” I find myself almost pleading.

  I’ll take the small smile she gives me for a yes. What can I say, I’m an optimist. It could just as well have been a pity-filled no. I have no idea what I’m doing, or what I actually would talk about if I did get her alone, but I’m trying to go with the flow. Or flying by the seat of my pants. Either one works.

  “Need anything else?” She’s poised to head over to the other side of the bar where someone is waving her down.

  “Food. Have a menu for me?”

  She reaches under the bar and pulls out a binder. “Pasta bake is the special for today and it comes with a house salad and fresh-baked bread. The rest is per the menu.”

  I shove the menu back in her direction. “Pasta bake it is.”

  She smiles before walking over to the computer screen on the sideboard and types in my order. I don’t see her for the next fifteen minutes, as she’s kept busy filling orders. I’m lost in a dart game on the other side of the bar, when a mouth-watering smell hits my nose. By the time I turn around, Viv has already moved away, but throws a little smile in my direction. Without delay because I’m starving, I dig into the steaming dish of cheesy goodness. Fuck me, it’s been a while since I’ve had something this wholesome. Better than the usual quick meals, mostly ordered in or picked up at a drive-through window.

  Within minutes I find myself mopping up the remnants of the spicy tomato sauce with the chunk of bread, still warm from the oven.

  “You were hungry.”

  I look up at Viv, who’s made her way back over here and stands with her hands on her hips, a smirk on her pretty lips. “Starving,” I admit, making her chuckle.

  “I can tell. Gotta be some kind of record, the speed at which you finished that,” she says, indicating the now empty dish in front of me.

  “Well, it was damn good—and a long time since I’ve had a meal like that. Compliments to the chef.”

  A blush creeps up Viv’s cheeks as she avoids my eyes.

  “You?” I ask with an eyebrow raised. Her response is a slight shrug of her shoulders before she grabs the dishes, turns on her heels, and disappears through the door behind the bar. Leaving me with a satisfied smile on my face, lifting my beer to my lips.

  “Looking way too fucking smug.” A slap on my back accompanies Tim’s voice behind me.

  “Whatever,” is my intelligent response, as I turn to face him, still sporting that dumb-ass grin on my face. I’m feeling fucking great and no amount of heckling is going to bring me down. Tim pulls up a stool beside me.

  “Not gonna elaborate?” he asks.

  “Fuck no. Leave it at the good food. I just had the special.”

  “Hey, Viv!” he yells out beside me, just as she walks through the door with another steaming plate. Her head turns toward the sound, and the bright familiar smile on her face for Tim, leaves a sudden bitter taste in my mouth.

  “Right with ya!” she yells back, as she slides dinner in front of a patron sitting in one of the booths.

  “Just get me one of those when you’ve got a minute,” he says, indicating the dish she just dropped off.

  I follow her across the bar with my eyes when I sense Tim staring at me. “What?”

  “Interesting,” he says, leaning in. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were interested in my good friend, Viv.”

  “How good of a friend?” I bite out, rising to the bait.

  “Good enough to know you don’t stand a chance. Viv isn’t interested. At least not in anything remotely serious.”

  I stare him down. Don’t like the feeling he knows a little too much about Viv’s preferences. Part of me wants to tell him I’ve already had a taste—a smorgasbord would be more accurate—but something tells me to suck that back. Good thing too, because next thing I know Viv’s sexy voice pipes up. “Another brew?”

  “Sure,” I tell her, holding up my empty glass.

  “Tim? Regular?” She’s looking at him, but I can tell she’s keeping an eye on me. She seems uncomfortable.

  “You bet, sugar,” Tim answers way too enthusiastically. With a last nervous flick of her eyes in my direction, she turns her back.

  Viv

  Son-of-a-bitch.

  Don’t know whether the churning in my stomach is butterflies, nerves, or dread.

  Seeing Ike sitting at the bar earlier sent me into a tailspin of emotions. Part of me was thrilled, the intense way his eyes followed me around a turn on, and I admit I was playing coy. The moment that group of guys walked in, and my attention was drawn to the door, the blood froze in my veins. The eyes staring at me through the window instantly filled me with panic. The contact so brief, I was already questioning what I thought I’d seen the instant the person walked out of view.

  Now Tim has joined Ike at the far end of the bar. The tension at that end is palpable, and I don’t even know what they’re talking about, but I’m afraid it might be about me.

  “Watch it!”

  My head down, deep in thought, I don’t see Matt coming out of the kitchen, a large serving tray on his shoulder. He’s serving t
onight, while I tend bar. Something we regularly mix up to keep everyone on their toes.

  “Sorry,” I offer, raising my hands apologetically, before slipping around him and into the kitchen.

  “Can I have one more special?”

  “Stuff is flying out of here tonight.” Dino turns to me with a broad smile on his face. “Thinking of adding this one permanently to the menu.”

  I shrug my shoulders, feigning indifference although I’m secretly tickled.

  “You’ve been quiet these past few weeks, everything okay at home?” he asks with concern on his face. Dino has always been the quiet but intuitive one. Maybe long-term marriage and a house full of kids does that to you, but it’s like he has some kind of radar.

  “My father just got home today. Seems weird, to see him so helpless. He’s always seemed larger than life, especially at home. To see him shuffling around, confused look in his eyes is a bit disconcerting. Very unlike him. I guess it’s the new reality.”

  Dino nods while opening the oven door to pull out my order. “It’s just been two weeks though, right? He probably still has a lengthy road ahead. Give him a chance to recover,” he says. I manage to disguise the slight shiver his words cause by turning away and prepping my tray with cutlery and bread.

  “Maybe,” I say a little weakly.

  Dino lets the oven dish slide from his gloved hand on the tray and pins me with his stare. Uncomfortable with the intense scrutiny, I mumble a quick, “Thanks,” grab the tray, and hurry out of the kitchen before he has a chance to dig down.

  I can hear the commotion from the other end of the hallway and rush into the bar, almost bumping into Gunnar, who comes rushing out of his office.

  “What the fuck?” he bellows, as he passes through the doorway ahead of me into what looks to be a brawl. Slipping through behind him, the first thing that draws my attention is the sound of breaking glass to my left, where one of the young guys from earlier is now swinging around a broken bottle. I don’t think, just set the tray down, grab the steel pipe we have hidden under the bar, and head over there to intervene. All around the bar fights seem to have broken out, and Gunnar is already elbow-deep, pulling bodies off each other.