Cruel Water (Portland, ME, novels Book 2)

by Freya Barker

  “Vivian, it’s Frank.”

  I takes me a while to process and when the penny drops in my sleep-fogged mind, I scramble up in my bed, back to the headboard. “Frank?” Fuck. Why does my voice sound so weak?

  “That’s what I said. Are you drunk?”

  “What? No! I just woke ... What do you want?” I stop myself from explaining. It’s none of his goddamn business what I’m doing. Can’t get my head around why he’d be calling me, out of the blue, after years of nothing. And in the middle of the fucking night. My eyes wander to the alarm clock on my nightstand, and I’m surprised to find it is only eleven.

  “Just checking in with you. I want to know how you’re doing.” Those are the words he uses, but the tone of his voice is clearly irritated. I know, I’ve heard it used for years when he would talk to me.

  “Do you even know what time it is?” I ask incredulously, hearing a rustling on the other end.

  “Oh, right. Sorry, still on West Coast time. Were you in bed?” He doesn’t sound sorry at all, and I’m starting to get pissed.

  “Look, I don’t know why you’re calling, and I don’t give a flying fuck. I have nothing at all to say to you, so don’t bother calling again.” I hang up the phone, turn off the ringer, and resolve to get my number changed tomorrow. I wonder if I should call Gunnar, who’d made me promise to let him know if I was ever contacted. Deciding against it, I figure I can tell him in person tomorrow.

  I crawl back under the covers and pull them high up over my ears, but just as I close my eyes, something Frank said registers. Still on West Coast time. Does that imply what I think it does? Scrambling, I flip back the covers and rush around my apartment, making sure all the doors and blinds are closed before I climb back into bed. Where I lie wide awake for hours, before finally dropping into a restless sleep when the first birds are starting to chirp outside.

  Ike

  I manage to stay away from The Skipper all weekend.

  After a restless few hours of sleep, riddled with those fucking nightmares, I found myself on the floor next to my bed on Saturday morning. It’d been a while, but apparently the events of the night before had triggered something. I dragged myself into the shower and washed the sticky layer of sweat off. A bike ride along the coast north to Bar Harbor cleared my head.

  Bar Harbor holds some good childhood memories for me. Summers spent in a cottage on the coast, my parents watching my brother and me clambering over slick rocks to see who could catch the most crabs. Evenings spent around a fire pit with Frenchman Bay in the background. Good times. Bittersweet memories.

  By the time I stopped for a bite of lunch, in the quaint center of town, my ass needed a break. Nowhere is the lobster as fresh as in Maine and the moment my teeth sank into that lobster bun, I groaned. Fucking phenomenal.

  That brought my thoughts right back to Viv. Jesus. The woman is like a virus. I can’t seem to get her out of my system. After lunch, I wandered around the town center, surprised at how little it had changed. Looking in the window of a small art shop, something caught my eye, and without thinking, I pushed the door open and went in. A small statuette had caught my eye: an intricately crafted mermaid, entirely made of sea glass, sitting on a rock. A siren. I ended up taking the fast way back to Portland, the fragile package tucked away safely in my saddlebag.

  The rest of the weekend I spent tinkering around the house. Hanging blinds, a few pictures, and making a list of shit I discovered needing. No more nightmares. Maybe it was the little glass siren sitting on the nightstand.

  -

  When I push open the door to the pub, I tell myself I’m only there for a well-deserved drink after two busy days at work. Still, my eyes immediately zoom in on the bar, where instead of a blonde, I see a smiling redhead.

  “Hey,” she greets me, as I sidle up to the bar.

  “How are ya, Syd?”

  “Good. Was wondering how long it would take you.” There’s a teasing glint in her eyes when she tilts her head in question. Not quite sure what to say, I simply shrug. “She’s in the kitchen, in case you were wondering. Doesn’t want people gawking at her face,” Syd continues, assuming I know who she’s talking about. Of course I fucking know.

  “She doing okay?” I ask, as much as admitting Syd’s take on things is on point.

  “Nothing stops Viv. Not even a knock-out punch.”

  I nod when she raises an empty beer glass my way and watch as she draws a brew from the keg with considerable skill.

  “She’s cooking tonight, you know,” Syd mentions, when she slides the glass in front of me. “Seafood chowder and biscuits.”

  If I hadn’t been thinking of food, I would be now. My stomach responds for me by growling loudly, making Syd laugh. “Shall I put in an order?”

  “Please.”

  Syd walks out the back, and I turn around to survey the pub for any familiar faces. My eyes are caught by a young couple sitting in one of the booths, in the middle of what looks to be a heated argument. The girl seems to be near tears, as the angry looking guy stands up and leans over the table to get in her face. His voice is getting louder and drawing more attention, and the girl backs away but is trapped in the booth. She looks scared. I slide off my stool, ready to intervene when I hear a familiar voice behind me. “Fuck!” Before I even have a chance to react, Viv barrels past me, dropping a tray on an empty table. My dinner, I guess, watching the content of the bowl splash over the sides. I take off after her, but she’s already up in the kid’s face when I get there.

  “Feel like a big guy? Huh? Real nice, bud, yelling at your girl ... scaring her.” Viv has firmly wedged herself between the angry dude and the cowering girl. “I think you should take a hike. Cool off.”

  “None of your business, bitch,” he bites off. Dumb kid.

  I can’t help the grin on my face when Viv steps closer to him, poking her finger in his chest. “Guess what, Einstein? You just made it my business. My place, my rules. Get out, right now!”

  “Or what?” The kid apparently has a death wish.

  Her hand drops down and Viv leans in closely. “Or you’ll be singing soprano in the next boy band.”

  His eyes go big and for a second he looks like he’s going to fight her. But with her hand holding his balls in a death grip, and his eyes flicking over her shoulder to spot me with my arms crossed, he throws up his hands.

  “Fine,” he grits out between clenched teeth, and steps back from Viv gingerly, as she releases his jewels. With one last, very dirty look at the softly crying girl, he takes off.

  “Thanks,” Viv says softly, turning to face me. I’m surprised she even knew I was here. My eyes track her face, taking in the dramatic discoloration, even though the swelling has gone down quite a bit.

  “Wanted to make sure I could step in before punches were thrown. This time.”

  “I know. I could sense you.”

  With that rather interesting remark, she turns toward the girl and slides into the booth beside her, mumbling softly. Dismissed, I saunter back to my stool at the bar, where a fresh bowl of chowder is steaming. Courtesy of a stern-looking Gunnar, who is watching me closely.

  “Thanks,” I mumble when I sit down, picking up the spoon.

  “You were looking out for her,” he says, as I have my first little taste of heaven. Damn, that woman can cook. “Yup,” is my monosyllabic answer, not sure where this is going.

  He surprises me with his next words. “Finally, someone who doesn’t feel the need to jump in and take over.”

  I look up with my eyebrows raised. “How do you figure?”

  Gunnar shrugs and looks over my head to where Viv is still huddled with the young girl. “You stood at her back, while letting her take care of things. Offered your support without interfering. It’s rare. Especially for her, growing up with all the chest-pounding males in the house. Not to mention that idiot ...” His voice drifts off. He shakes his head, picks up a dishrag, and starts wiping down the bar.

  He never
quite finishes that sentence. Doesn’t need to, I figure his reference to an idiot may have something to do with the shit he mentioned Viv was dealing with.

  I eat my chowder in silence, using my biscuit to mop the remnants from the bowl. It’s that good. When I throw a glance over my shoulder, I see that Viv is just coming this way.

  “She okay?” I ask, tilting my head in the girl’s direction when she gets close enough.

  “No, but she will be,” she says as she disappears through the door, only to come back through a minute later, holding a purse. I watch her dig through the contents and come up with what looks like a card. Waving it triumphantly, she walks over to the girl, now waiting by the front door, and hands her the piece of paper, before giving her a hug, and opening the door for her.

  This time when she passes me to go behind the bar, her eyes stay on the floor in front of her. I reach out and loosely grasp her wrist, stopping her in her tracks.

  “Hey,” I try gently, and she looks up at me. Those crystal blue eyes stormy like a churning ocean.

  “What?”

  “Are you okay?” I ask, letting go of her wrist, and instead reaching up to brush the blue lock of hair off her forehead. The move startles her a bit and seems to soothe the storm in her eyes.

  “I’m good now.” Her smoky voice stirs my blood. “I gave her my friend’s card. She’s a counselor,” she says by way of explanation. “She runs a shelter for battered women. She’ll be able to help her.”

  Her gentle smile about floors me. She’s said more to me, just now, than at any other time, and I don’t just mean in words. Whether I’m meant to or not, I hear her story underneath. Not in detail, but the gist of it is becoming much clearer.

  I should probably leave right now. I’ve had my beer and my dinner, I should just head home. I’m really not looking to get involved with, nor am I equipped to deal with, a woman who comes with obvious complications. Yet despite the thoughts in my head, my mouth has a different plan. “I’d like to take you out.”

  Something flickers in her eyes before she shakes her head and looks down at her hands. “Don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Actually—” I sit up straighter, suddenly determined to get her to agree. “You already said yes.” I hold back a chuckle that wants out when I see her frown in confusion.

  “I did? When was that?”

  “You agreed to talk to me, so that’s what we’ll do: talk over dinner.” I try for a disarming grin, afraid I’m botching it up and making myself look slightly deranged.

  She presses her lips together, but amusement sparkles in those eyes. “Didn’t know you were talking about a date, nor can I remember saying yes to anything.” She left that door wide open, and I’ll be damned if I don’t go barging in.

  Leaning closer I pin her with my eyes. “I fondly remember a time you were saying yes to everything.”

  When the meaning of my words register, her eyes darken, and she sharply takes in a breath. “No fair,” she whispers.

  “I know,” I whisper back, never losing eye contact.

  A war wages on her face before she finally concedes on a sigh.

  “Oh, fine.”

  Despite the grudging response, the words are music to my ears. It’s only later, when I finally do leave the pub to go home, that I remember my earlier resolve to steer clear of complications.

  Well, so much for that.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Viv

  “Oh my God, Syd, what am I doing?”

  My best friend rolls back on the bed and laughs at me. “I’ve seriously never heard you whine this much, Viv,” she snickers. “You sound like you’re being dragged, kicking and screaming, in front of an altar tonight. It’s just a date, for God’s sake.” She leans up on an elbow and regards me pensively, a slight smile still on her face. “Really, honey, just go and enjoy yourself.”

  “You don’t understand,” I plead, looking around me at the outfits discarded all over my bedroom. I don’t have any date clothes. At least none that I want to be wearing. I’ve gotten used to my daily garb of jeans and either some comfy top or a “Skipper” T-shirt. The only dressy stuff I have dates back to a time I’d rather forget and should’ve thrown out a long time ago. “I don’t date. Haven’t since ... well, you know, since Frank. Hell, I don’t even fuck and run, at least I didn’t until ... well, you know that, too.” Syd knows everything. Almost everything. Back when I met her, I had to open up to her in order to get her to open up to me. It worked and we hold each other’s secrets close. I’ve told her more about my days with Frank than even Gunnar knows, and she’s assured me it’s not her place to tell him. I trust her, which is why I’m not afraid to behave like an infant. “And I have nothing to wear!” I slap my hands over my face and sink down on the bed beside my friend laughing her ass off. “Thanks,” I mumble, making her laugh even harder.

  “You’re a nut. You’re gorgeous, and I’m pretty sure he’ll be thrilled for you just to show up. He’s not gonna care one bit about what you’re gonna be wearing, and you know it.” She sits up and slips her arm around my shoulders, tugging me into her. “Now why don’t you tell me what’s really bugging you?”

  I want to. I really want to tell her how I didn’t sleep a wink two nights ago at my parents’ house. How it took everything for me to help Mom get my father ready for bed. How although he seems to be getting better, remembering more, he still reverts to calling me, “Vivvy,” every so often and it makes me cringe. I wish I could just let it all out, but I’m afraid even a single word will make me come apart at the seams. As it is, I’m hanging on by a thread to keep an even front. My father’s use of that old nickname, a couple of weeks ago, has pulled on a scab and pus that had been collecting underneath is seeping from my skin, a flow already barely containable.

  “I’m not ready,” I sob on her shoulder.

  “Nonsense,” Syd declares firmly. “It’s been years since that asshole, and you clawed your way out of that situation. Don’t tell me you’re not ready, when I know damn well, you’ve got googly eyes for the guy.”

  I snicker through my tears at her word choice. “Googly eyes, Syd?” I laugh harder when she dramatically rolls her eyes.

  “Whatever, you know what I mean. Now wipe the damn tears and throw something on. Anything will do at this point.” She gets up, starts grabbing random clothes, and throws them at me. Picking through the pile, I find a pair of nice dark jeans and a bohemian-looking, flowing tunic in a turquoise paisley. Once dressed, I pull out an old shoebox that holds my jewelry and pull out some big hoop earrings and a silver bracelet with big solid links. I slip on my favorite tube ring and a couple of knuckle rings and turn to Syd for approval.

  “Perfect,” she coos, digging through her purse. “All you need is a touch of ...”

  Shaking my head sharply, interrupting her, “No. No make-up. You know I don’t wear that shit. He’ll take me as is or not take me at all.”

  “All right, all right. Just thought I’d give it a shot. Better get your ass in gear, if you don’t wanna keep him waiting. Why is it again you won’t let him pick you up here or at the bar?”

  When Ike told me, before he left last night, that he would pick me up tonight, I insisted on meeting him in the parking lot of the small bistro downtown he was taking me to. He didn’t like it much but conceded.

  “It’s because I have overnight duty again at my parents. I’ll have to go there straight from dinner, since they’re expecting me at nine.”

  “Sneaky. Let me guess, you didn’t tell Ike this, did you?” She eyes me, shaking her head slightly.

  “Let it go,” I tell her, grabbing my purse and my overnight bag, and head to the door, Syd following behind me, grumbling.

  -

  I pull into the parking lot of the restaurant and see Ike already there, leaning on his bike. His eyes follow me as I park the car in a vacant spot. He’s already opening the door before I have a chance to stuff my cell phone in my purse.

 
“Hey.” His gruff voice is a low rumble as he looks me up and down. “Nice,” he says, in a tone that clearly indicates his appreciation, and I feel a blush heating my cheeks. I’m glad I opted for casual, given he’s in dark jeans and a henley. It’s mild out and there is no need for coats. Even the gusty winds, which have been blowing almost the entire week now, seem to have lost their chill.

  “Hi.” I cautiously smile back, gingerly grabbing the hand he reaches out to me. He doesn’t let go when we walk over to the restaurant, squeezing a little in reassurance when I try to pull my hand back.

  “Hawkes,” he says to the hostess, who greets us at the small counter at the entrance. I’m surprised he’s thought to make a reservation somewhere between last night and now.

  “Right this way,” she says, grabbing a few menus and leading the way to a small table by the window, on the far side of the restaurant. “Your server will be right with you.” She smiles and returns to her station.

  Ike pulls out my chair, like a real gentleman, and for some reason it makes me giggle. Nerves I guess. I have no idea what to do with my hands once Ike sits down across from me. I am mangling my napkin until our server shows up, introduces herself, and takes our drink orders. The moment she leaves, Ike covers my hands with his big one. When my eyes look up, I find amusement dancing in his.

  “Nervous?” he voices. Slightly mortified, I try to yank my hands back, only to have him hold on tight. “My kick-ass, take-no-prisoners, princess warrior? Say it ain’t so.”

  The ridiculous comment has me giggle inadvertently and immediately lifts some of the tension. I feel like a fucking teenager on her first date, when his rugged face cracks a smile, a combination of butterflies and mild nausea. Following his lead, I open one of the menus to consider my choices.

  Ike

  Damn. She’s skittish as a newborn calf.

  I quietly observe her from behind my menu, even though I’ve already made my selection. The tightness I noticed around her mouth, the moment I opened her car door, is still there. I know I have to tread carefully to make sure she doesn’t bolt; finesse not particularly my strong-suit. All I can do is my best to see if she’ll open up.