by Freya Barker
That’s why her reaction tickles my funny bone, it’s so out of character. I throw my head back and laugh through the tears that have been threatening. She chuckles as she gets up to refill our teacups; something so warmly familiar, like the feel of the kitchen around me.
Since my own stay at Florence House, I’ve been working off and on here in a volunteer capacity, as much as my work schedule allows. Another secret I had guarded close, until Syd came along last year. I recognized the pain she was carrying around and put her in touch with Pam, who was crucial in her journey back. Syd now volunteers as well, as do most of the Florence House former residents. At least those who still live in the Portland area.
Setting my refilled mug in front of me on the kitchen table, Pam looks me deep in the eyes. “Here is my take. I know you’ve been resistant all these years to sharing your experience as an abuse survivor, despite my strong suggestions you share with your family. I understand your reasoning for it. I just don’t and never did agree.” She waves her hand in my direction. “This? What’s happening right now? Is what I’ve feared. It’s blindsided you, and you are scrambling to regain your so-called control, when you know just as well as I do, that your idea of controlling the situation is really the situation controlling you.” The somber look on the face of the woman across from me fills me with trepidation, and I catch myself wringing my hands clasped on the table. “I don’t think there is a way back—only forward. No way to get the lid back on the can, my dear, you must forge ahead.” She leans in to cover my hands with hers. “And you are strong enough.”
The dreaded tears seem to have won the battle as I consider what Pam is saying. She’s right, I knew it before I came here but needed to hear it, I guess. I am strong. At least as far as my relationship with Frank goes. I’m not so sure about the rest. Time has not erased the memories, and now it would appear, it isn’t even my memories that are the problem.
Pam doesn’t let the silence hang for too long before she tackles a subject of her choosing. “So tell me about this Ike,” she prompts, a big grin on her face.
-
“I think it’s best we keep your husband, and father, here until we can find him placement in a full-time care facility. This new tendency to violence is not something your mother is equipped to handle.” The geriatrician, who has taken over my father’s care, addresses the last to us. With Dorian still out west and Nolan kept up to date by phone, it’s just Aaron, Owen, and me in attendance. “And I’m sure with everyone’s help, we could find a full-time licensed nurse for home-care, but a full-time facility, in this case, would be the safer option,” he continues.
Poor Mom is crying softly, her world changing so much and so rapidly, I’m sure she isn’t ready for this. She looks over at each of us and carefully considers her words. “I’ve never lived alone. Married Fergus right out of my parents’ house and there haven’t even been many nights I’ve slept alone. But I’ve never felt so frightened and vulnerable as I did last night. Not even when Fergus had his stroke. It was terrifying to see the man who’s always been the stronghold of our family, always so emotionally contained, be completely out of control.”
“Mom ...” Owen grabs her hand. “I think it’s the right thing to do. For him and for you. Let’s face it, since his stroke, you haven’t been able to leave the house. Haven’t had a chance to meet up with your friends for your games of euchre, haven’t even had your hands free long enough to go for your daily walk. You have a life yet to live, Mom. After almost fifty years of looking after us, after Dad, I think you deserve it.”
Mom’s eyes meet mine and I smile through my tears and nod, my emotions too confusing to express with words. Aaron simply smiles at her and shrugs his shoulders. “You know what to do, Mom. We don’t need to tell you.”
With that, she straightens her slumped shoulders, lifts her chin, and faces the doctor. “If that is the best way to care for him, then that’s what we’ll do.”
One of the strongest women I know, my mom, which makes my mixed feelings of pride, love, and anger, even more difficult to understand.
“Very well,” the man interrupts my musings. “We have some paperwork for you to go over and sign, so we can expedite his placement.”
It’s already four-thirty when I finally walk out of the hospital and hail a cab. I’ve been missing in action from The Skipper for the past three hours and need to get back. I’ll deal with the car tomorrow. The vague feeling of emptiness, when thoughts of last night surface, has nothing to do with the man with eyes the color of the gray sky after a storm. At least that’s what I tell myself.
-
“Hey, momma,” I say softly, as I walk into the kitchen of The Skipper to find Syd alone, stirring something on the stove. She swings around with a big smile on her face and accepts my hug.
“He told you? That man—we’d agreed to keep it to ourselves until we passed the first trimester safely. Given my age, there are a few more risks to this pregnancy than with my first one, so I’m being monitored closely. I shouldn’t be surprised Gunnar couldn’t keep it from you.”
She looks absolutely radiant. So far removed from the beaten down, barely existing shadow of a woman I met that first time. Seeing as she’d lost her first child, a boy, in a horrible accident years ago, I can understand why she’d want to be extra careful.
Emotion sits heavy on my chest and clogs my throat when I finally manage to speak. “You have no idea how happy I am for you. You guys ... you so deserve this, and that little one is lucky having you as parents. Not to mention a big sister and brother to dote on him—or her,” I quickly add referring to Gunnar’s two children from a previous marriage: Dexter and Emmy. I can’t help the tiny pang of longing for a family of my own, but I forcefully push it down, knowing that’s not something that is likely to happen.
Still, a persistent sliver of hope flares when my mind conjures up a little boy with a killer smile and beautiful light gray eyes.
CHAPTER TEN
Ike
The blare of a car horn nearly blows my eardrums as I struggle to keep my bike from flying out from under me.
I should’ve stayed the night in the hotel and left tomorrow morning, but I got on my bike the minute I was able to leave the project to the local crew, anyway. Which is why, at ten o’clock at night, I’m fighting the strong winds of another storm creeping up the Eastern Seaboard. The Maine Turnpike is surprisingly busy for a Sunday night. An unexpected wind gust almost blows me into the path of a van. Not sure what my hurry is tonight, but I’m eager to get home.
Adjusting my speed to the weather, I manage to make the rest of the trip without risking life and limb. It’s almost midnight by the time I hit Portland. Can’t wait to fucking get home, so I can take a much needed whiz. Instead of steering home, I find myself driving down to the wharf, where the wind is even stronger. Rather than park in the parking lot, I ease the bike down the alley, parking it by the dumpster in the back of The Skipper. I’ve barely lifted my leg over the seat and the back door opens. Although I can’t see the face of the person backlit by the light from the hallway beyond, I’m quite familiar with the shape of that body.
“I owe you,” the smoky, rich voice says, the moment I take off my helmet.
“How is that?” I ask, not moving from my spot.
Without answering, Viv walks over to the dumpster, two large garbage bags in her hands that she carelessly tosses inside before turning to me. Now that I can see her face, which is showing no signs of anger, I slowly make my way over to her.
“Got a call Thursday. A guy named Mike. Said he worked for Cumberland Avenue Garage. Said my car was in his shop.”
“Uh-huh,” is my wordless response.
“You had my car fixed,” she says, tilting her head as she squints her eyes.
“I did,” I tell her, inching closer so our toes are almost touching.
“Brand new battery and new locks. With a spare set of keys.” She closes the space and puts her hands on my chest, and m
y mouth twitches into a half smile. This could’ve gone either way, and by the looks of it, I’m catching a lucky break.
“You don’t say.” I slip my arms around her waist and rest my hands on her lower back. With her head back to look at me, I can see fatigue on her face, but it doesn’t dim the sparkle in her eyes.
“Thank you,” she says simply, before her brows pull together in a frown. “But you know I’m gonna have to pay you back, right? Mike wouldn’t take my card—said it was taken care of. You realize I can’t accept that. My car—my responsibility.”
Tugging her in a little closer, I slide my hands lower, feeling the upper curve of her fine ass in my hands. “Figure it’s mine, actually. You see, I’ve got a vested interest in keeping you mobile and in one piece.”
“Is that so?” She raises an incredulous eyebrow, but amusement dances in her eyes.
“Yeah. I’ve got plans.” The moment she opens her mouth to respond, I slip my mouth over hers and slide my tongue inside. She tastes like a cool drink on a hot day and despite a slight initial stiffening, she soon has her fingers clawing at my shirt. The tangle of our tongues, Viv gives as good as she gets, quickly cranks the heat and my hands squeeze down on the globes of her ass. I reluctantly let go of her mouth, fighting the urge to take her up against the damn dumpster. My cock is straining against the fly of my jeans, and my bladder is about to blow. One of her hands slides into my hair, tugging at it to pull me back down. Instead of going in for another taste, I rest my forehead against hers. “Slow down, baby. That was a much better welcome home than expected. Doesn’t mean we don’t have to talk. But first, I had a long ride home and I’m gonna need to use the facilities before I have problems.”
She doesn’t say anything, just nods, but by the look on her face, I’m thinking she might be a bit worried about our talk. I follow her inside where she points me to the men’s room, while I try to wrestle my hard-on in the right direction. By the time I walk into the bar, Viv is already slinging drinks for final call. The Skipper closes at one a.m. Long days, if you start at lunch time.
Taking a stool, at what is becoming my favorite side of the bar, I observe Viv interacting with what I assume are some of the regulars. At least, I’ve seen them here the few other times I’ve been in. Even the older guy, who almost had a broken bottle shoved in his face, was back in the same spot.
Viv walks up and slides a pint in front of me. “From Arnie.” She nods in the direction of the guy I just recognized. “Says he never thanked you.” I pick up the glass and raise it to him before taking a sip. It’s good—not as good as that taste of Viv I just had, but refreshing all the same.
“Hungry?” The object of my thoughts is leaning across the bar. “I can whip you up something, you know.”
I’m about to say no, when my stomach disagrees. “Yes. But let me do it. I know where the kitchen is. You finish doing what you’re doing.” The look of surprise on her face is pretty cute.
“Okay, fine. There’s some leftover meatloaf and mashed potatoes in the small fridge. Seemed a waste to throw out along with the rest of the leftovers,” she says shrugging her shoulders, having obviously intended to take it home.
I slip behind the bar, tugging her to me for a quick hard kiss, sending a chorus of whoops and hollers through the remaining patrons and putting a blush on her cheeks. With a satisfied smirk, I make my way down the hall to where I saw the kitchen earlier.
Bladder empty and belly full, I spend the next hour or so watching Viv do her spiel behind the bar. At some point, Arnie sidles over to me, and I have a chance to buy him back a drink while shooting the shit. Somehow it comes up in conversation Arnie is a Vietnam vet, and I identify myself as a vet as well, albeit more recently than Vietnam. The last fifteen minutes fly by while we talk shop. The minute Viv starts shooing some stragglers out and gives Arnie a pointed look, he pushes off the bar with a smile.
“That’s my cue,” he says, tilting his head in Viv’s direction. “You know I’ve had a chance to observe that one. Friendly and cheerful as all get out, but she’s carrying a load. You want dibs on that, you’d better come heavily armed.”
Not sure how to respond, I simply nod and shake his hand when he offers his. Viv lets him out and closes up behind him.
-
I watch as Viv shuts and locks the back door to the pub and turns tentatively toward me.
My leg is already over the seat and my helmet is in my hands when I call out to her. “You coming?”
Viv
Just like that, the nerves are back.
I never expected him to show up tonight, but I can’t say I wasn’t secretly wishing he would, at some point. The thought he drove his bike straight here from Boston, in a pretty decent storm, created a niggle of hope in the pit of my stomach. Of course, the first thing I blurt out is confrontational. That seems to be my style and I wince at the impression I might’ve thrown off. Seeming to take it all in stride, he made short work of my misgivings around the car, cutting off my protests with a kiss that about burned my top layer of skin off. I’d been about to suggest a talk, but he beat me to it. Coming from him it sounded almost ominous, yet his behavior was anything but.
I’ve seen Pam once more since Thursday, and she relentlessly pushed me to give this thing with Ike a try. Said that since he’s friends with Tim, and appears to have been invited to join Gunnar’s ball team, he obviously has their stamp of approval. Not that I am looking for that, but it is nice to know. Safe.
With that in mind, I climb on the bike behind him and wrap my arms around his waist.
“Your place or mine?” he asks over the whistle of the wind.
“Mine. It’s the apartment building at the other side of the parking lot.” It takes me less than a second to consider the options, but with it being so late already and not wanting to end up at his place without transportation, just in case, the decision isn’t hard. I try not to think about the fact that other than Gunnar and my brothers, no man has ever been in my apartment. I promised Pam I’d try.
Much too soon I find myself standing opposite Ike in the elevator. Neither of us say anything, which only ratchets up the tension. The moment the elevator doors start sliding open, I rush out. I’m at my door, fitting the damn key in the lock, when the heat of his body presses against my back.
“Relax. We’re just talking.” The rough sound of his voice sends shivers down my spine. So much promise there, yet so much to fear. Little does he know, I’d be a shitload less nervous if he were here just to fuck. We seemed to do fine on that front the night we met. It’s the rest of it: the talking, the sharing, the trusting. Those are what has my stomach churning.
Flicking on the lights I take in my place the way a newcomer would see it. An old couch, picked up from Goodwill and covered with old quilts and random burgundy pillows. The sunflower yellow paint on my walls that always makes me feel like I’m walking into sunshine. An old trunk that serves as a coffee table and second-hand barstools that I recovered in faux cowhide myself, just about rounds out my decor. Other than the wall-sized shelving unit that houses a small TV and my treasured book collection, there isn’t much more. The kitchen is relatively tidy, which is a good thing, since its open concept is visible from the doorway, but I can’t say the same for my bedroom. The only room, other than the bathroom, that has a door and can be hidden from view.
“Nice,” Ike mumbles behind me. An innocuous remark that nevertheless warms me. This is my haven—my sanctuary. To have him approve of it gives me unexpected pleasure.
“Thank you,” I turn, walking into the kitchen. “Want a drink?” I ask over my shoulder, trying to play off a casual attitude.
“Wouldn’t mind a beer, if you have it.”
Armed with two bottles, I round the small island to find him seated in the corner of my couch. He’s tossed the pillows on the other end and has his arm up along the backrest. I hand him his beer, and sink down on the opposite end. Beer in one hand and the other clutching a pillow in my lap,
I take a leap into the deep end.
“Why did you come tonight?”
A smile slowly tugs at the corners of his mouth before taking a slug of his beer and swallowing. “The project in Boston, the one I was working on? They ran into some trouble earlier in the week, and with the launch coming up, I needed to get out there to get it sorted.” He looks down at the bottle in his hand before his eyes meet mine again. “I’m lying,” he says, surprising me. “I could’ve sent someone else, but I chose to go myself. After what happened Wednesday, I wanted to get as far as possible.” What he says stings, and I’m sure he can see the wince I can’t hold back. Reaching out with his fingertips he runs them slightly over my shoulder before continuing. “But even halfway down to Boston, I was regretting my decision. You see, I keep trying to distance myself, but it never lasts. I keep wanting to return to you. You’re like my siren. Even tonight, after almost killing myself on the road, and with an empty stomach and a full bladder, I was all set to go straight home. But I didn’t. I had to see you.”
I swallow hard. Part of me wants to fight the way his words are like a balm to my battered soul, but I can’t. They overwhelm me. They also make me feel so much worse about the way I treated him that night.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, blinking fast to stave off the guilt that is threatening to manifest itself in tears.
“So am I,” his voice rumbles, settling in my bones. Leaning over, he plucks the forgotten bottle from my fingers and sets it on the table. Then he grabs my hand and pulls me over to his side of the couch where he tucks me under his arm. “I had no right to throw that at your brother. And I should’ve stayed.”
“I overreacted,” I admit. “I realized later there was no way you could’ve known I’d never told my family. Any normal person would have.” His arm tightens around my shoulders and he presses a kiss in my hair.
“Doesn’t matter. It wasn’t my place, and I certainly didn’t mean to cause any more trouble for you. Seems you have enough on your plate as it is.” That draws a chuckle from me.
