Cruel Water (Portland, ME, novels Book 2)

by Freya Barker

  “Dorian and Kyle are flying down next weekend. Together,” she says meaningfully, before chuckling. “Dor figures now is the best time to drop his own bomb. I’m not sure how that’s going fly, but I figure at this point, why the hell not?”

  “So he’s coming out of the closet? That’s good, baby,” I tell her warmly, meaning every word. “No word yet from any of the others?” Throwing a quick look beside me, I catch the sadness hit her eyes.

  “Nothing,” she sighs. “I thought for sure ...” Her voice trails off, and I lift a hand off the wheel to give her hand a squeeze.

  “They’ll come around. Just like Dorian has. I venture to bet the way they feel is similar to what he described: that it’s not so much about believing you but not being able to believe what their father would be capable of. You’ve always known the perfect family was a farce—they’ve only just discovered it. It takes time to process.” I’m afraid I come across as defending them, but I’m reassured when I see the soft smile on her face as she turns to me.

  Lacing her fingers with mine, we finish the rest of the drive in silence, Viv holding my hand tightly in hers. Turning onto the 295 through Portland, I turn to her. “Where do you want to go? My house or would you rather head to your apartment?”

  “Actually, I’d really love to unpack, have a shower, give Pam a call, and take a nap. In that order. Just some time to decompress and regenerate. Would you mind if I dropped you at your place and we meet up for dinner at The Skipper later? I’ve missed my family there.” She looks at me, a bit contrite.

  “Sounds good to me,” I ease her mind. “Gives me a chance to do the same. Catch up with my boss and give him a report on the launch.”

  Viv claps her hand over her mouth. “Oh good grief, I haven’t even asked you about the launch. I’m so sorry. I suck at this relationship stuff.”

  I throw my head back and laugh. “Babe, seriously? You’re the best serious girlfriend I’ve ever had.” That evokes a loud snort from her.

  “I’m the only serious girlfriend you’ve ever had,” she says with a smile.

  “Same difference.”

  Viv

  After dropping Ike off at his place, and with a full-body tingle from the scorching kiss we shared in his driveway, I make my way home. I still wear the smile at Ike’s promise to finish what we started tonight, at my place.

  Traffic is light, even for a Sunday afternoon, but with the mid-day sun baking down, I would imagine most people have sought out air conditioning or a spot near the water. It’s tempting—it’s been so long since I’ve actually gone to the beach, I can’t even remember the last time. But I think I’ll stick with air conditioning for now. I really do need to get some rest. I haven’t had much sleep all weekend.

  Dorian’s birthday party on Friday night was an absolute blast. A small group, but the perfect size for Cards Against Humanity, the game Kyle pulled out. It’s been ages since I’ve laughed so hard that my stomach muscles still ached the next day. Ten bottles of wine and hours of hilarity later, I rolled into the guest bed at their house. I think it may have been close to five in the morning. I’m too old for nights like that.

  Saturday Kyle dragged me out of bed at ten, after way too few hours of sleep, and the two of them took me to Fisherman’s Wharf. Funny to suddenly be looking out at another ocean, clear across the country. A little bit surreal. Of course, Fisherman’s Wharf is far more developed than Holyoke Wharf in Portland is. It’s one of San Fran’s big tourist draws with a large variety of museums, restaurants, an aquarium, a sea lion center, and a whole host of amusement park type attractions. I’d never been there before, and the guys and I spent the afternoon trying to squeeze everything there was to see and do into a few hours. Later, Kyle surprised us with dinner at the Blue Mermaid, a chowder house and bar with the most interesting and eclectic aged nautical decor. The food was amazing and we didn’t get home until after eleven. By the time I got to bed, it was once again early morning hours, because the alcohol consumed over dinner had loosened my tongue. In my semi-sloshed state I revealed far more of the abuse I had endured than I ever would’ve sober. It was painful, it was tearful, but it was also very cathartic. I’m finding the more I talk about it, the easier it is to breathe.

  Despite the very rocky start, I’m so fucking grateful Kyle pushed this. I feel, for the first time in twenty-five years, that I might have a chance of finding that sweet spot back—that special connection that Dorian and I used to share.

  When I drive down into the parking garage under my building, I’m glad to see my spot open. Slipping my car in, I turn off the engine, and grab my purse. Walking around the car to get my carry-on from the trunk, I hear a noise that stops me in my tracks. What the hell? Whirling around, I scan the garage, but I can’t see a thing. It sounded like a scraping or dragging of something over the concrete floor. I stand there for a few seconds, listening and looking, but I don’t hear anything else. With a little more urgency, I pull my suitcase from the trunk and head for the elevator. A familiar rattling of the garage door opening breaks the silence, and looking over my shoulder I see one of my neighbors pull in. That makes me feel a little better. I was getting a little jumpy there.

  I’m in luck, the elevator is already here. I step inside and press my floor number, already looking forward to a long shower and nap as the doors close. At the last minute, a foot wedges between the doors, stopping them from closing all the way. Jesus. Jumping back I trip over my carry-on and land on my ass, never taking my eyes off the doors that are slowly being pulled open.

  “Are you okay?”

  My neighbor from down the hall steps in and helps me to my feet.

  “Jeff! Holy shit, yes I’m fine. Just a little ... fuck, that’s embarrassing,” I ramble, rubbing my hands over my ass, which is definitely going to have bruises. “I heard something earlier, and then ... Well, you scared me,” I finish on a sheepish smile. I mean, not that I’ve ever been interested, the guy may be built like a Mack truck and have a face that makes Chris Hemsworth look like yesterday’s leftovers, but he is dumb as a rock. No, the embarrassment is mostly for making a fool of myself, not that he’d probably notice, concern is written all over his face.

  “Want me to go look?” he asks, indicating the garage, which is just visible between the closing elevator doors.

  “No. No need. Guess I’m just tired, I’m hearing things.”

  An uneventful, albeit slightly uncomfortable elevator ride later, Jeff insists on carrying my suitcase and delivering me to my door. I don’t have the heart to tell him the thing has wheels.

  -

  “Quit laughing. You’re an awful friend and a worse therapist!”

  Pam doesn’t care, her rich, full-bodied laugh rings through the phone. “Then don’t tell funny stories,” is her retort.

  I just finished telling her about my weekend, ending with my little adventure in the garage. Apparently my description of my encounter with my neighbor, Jeff, mainly me staring up from where my ass had landed on the elevator floor, was cause for great hilarity.

  “You should at least be concerned for me, shouldn’t you?” I complain, but it falls to deaf ears.

  “Well, I’m glad you got yourself home in one piece,” she says when she calms down. “And I mean that both emotionally and physically.”

  “Horrible friend,” I mutter, as she starts laughing again.

  “All joking aside, girl. You did pretty good. Dealing head on with the cops and the DA’s office, discussing things that only a month or so ago would have you curling up and sucking your thumb. Not to mention the confrontation with Dorian, where I’m sure you were put through the emotional wringer again. Really—I’m proud of you,” she says warmly.

  “Yeah. I’m kind of proud of me too.” I smile. “What I don’t get is why, despite my greatest fear coming true, I still can feel such a sense of lightness?”

  “Not sure what you mean? Your greatest fear?”

  “It was hammered into me that if I ever sa
id anything, I would lose my family because they would never believe me. How ironic that it happened just like that. They didn’t believe me and I did lose them, but it doesn’t feel like the devastation I expected. It doesn’t feel hopeless. In a weird way, I even feel a little ... vindicated, if that’s even the right word.”

  “Listen, first of all you are an adult, you’ve lived through hell and survived. You are not the same insecure teenager that believed what she was told. You are not in a position anymore where all you know is dependency on your family. You’ve learned to take care of yourself, you don’t need anybody. Which brings me to my next point.” I can hear the smile in her voice. “You don’t need anyone, but you sure as hell have found yourself someone. There is nothing as powerful as the feeling of having someone at your back, no matter what happens. You may not need Ike to be strong, but he makes you stronger anyway.”

  It’s true. I’d like to think that I would’ve come to a point where I was able to confront and process the trauma in my life. But the truth is, I don’t know if I would have if Ike hadn’t come along and knocked some life into my heart.

  “One last thing,” Pam points out. “Thinking in absolutes is something a teenager does. It’s either up or down, good or bad, and nothing in between. You know better now, so don’t talk about losing your family just yet. That’s an absolute and given the outcome of this weekend with Dorian, I’d venture to say that is way too premature a conclusion.”

  Food for thought, I think as I end the call with Pam. I’ve perhaps been a bit passive, waiting for my brothers to come to me. From what Dorian’s given me to understand, learning what happened to me at the hands of our father, has significantly tilted their world on its axis. Nothing happens in isolation, and as much as I was a victim, they are too, in a sense. I’ve had a chance to survive. They haven’t even started.

  With those thoughts going through my mind, I grab some clothes for tonight and head for the bathroom. I never made it to the shower when I first came in. Exhaustion hit me hard and other than tucking my carry-on in the closet and tossing my purse onto the chair, I did nothing but collapse on top of my fully made bed—courtesy of Ike—and fall into a deep sleep.

  One of the things I love about my short hair is how fast showers are. I used to have long hair, it’s what Frank liked, and I hated it. It would take forever to get ready. As an act of defiance I chopped it off first chance I had, and I’ve kept it relatively short ever since. It literally takes me two minutes with the blow-dryer to whip it into shape. Since I don’t wear more than maybe mascara and some lip gloss for make-up, it takes me no more than ten minutes to get ready.

  A good thing, because by the time I got off the phone with Pam, I was already going to run late meeting up with Ike. Snatching my purse off the chair where I’d dropped it, I hustle out the door, eager to get to The Skipper and Ike.

  Since that big storm passed through, the weather has been calm, hardly any wind, but hot and humid. The moment I pull the door shut on my apartment, I can feel the shirt sticking to my back. Each apartment has its own thermostat, but the hallways and lobby of the building are always either too cold in the winter or too hot in the summer. Trying to save a buck, I guess. It’s a little better outside, a cool, soft breeze coming from the water hits me the moment I open the door. Walking across the parking lot to get to the alley, I hear footsteps behind me. I turn around, but can’t see anything. The moment I stop, the sound stops as well. I’m being paranoid. Shaking my head, I set off walking again, but this time at a faster pace. I tell myself it’s because I’m late, but I’m listening with half an ear for any sound behind me.

  When I reach the head of the alley, I relax a bit. From here I can see the pub’s dumpster at the far end and the back end of Ike’s bike sticking out from behind it. Suddenly the hair on my neck stands on end, just as the sound of steps picks up again. This time closer and moving fast.

  Like a bat out of hell, I start running with the blood roaring in my ears. I don’t hear anything but my own feet hitting the ground. I don’t even take the time to look behind me. My eyes stay focused on that familiar bike, as I barrel down the alley.

  I reach the dumpster, put my hand on the edge and am about to round it, when I’m suddenly yanked back. A large hand slaps over my mouth before I even have a chance to make a sound; the arm around my waist, pinning my arms, lifts me clear off the ground.

  I can smell him. An unpleasant, yet familiar combination of sweat and Old Spice. Bastard. I try to bite the hand over my face, but I can’t even open my mouth, he has it clamped so tightly. Struggling to get free, my legs kick out ineffectively.

  “Did you really think you could escape me?” his dreaded voice mocks in my ear. “You were lucky your neighbor showed up when he did, but your luck has run out. You bitch ...” The last is said with such vehemence, I feel the spittle hit my cheek. “... I know all about your little visit to California. What did you think? That I’d let you walk away from that? That I wouldn’t make you pay? Surely you know me better,” he growls in my ear, and I know as sure as the sun rising in the morning, that I won’t walk away from this. My struggles don’t accomplish much as he starts backing me away from the safety of the pub, into the shadows of the alley.

  Without warning, the back door on the other end of the dumpster slams open and suddenly I find my face shoved into its dirty wall. Here we’re hidden from whoever is on the other side, dumping garbage over the edge. This is perhaps my one shot—my only chance to get away.

  With every last bit of strength I use my legs to shove off the solid wall of the dumpster in front of me. In his struggle to keep his balance, his hand slips off my mouth for a second and the arm that was holding mine pinned to my side loosens slightly, but it’s all I need.

  “IKE!” I scream at the top of my lungs, as I manage to get a foothold on the ground and push myself back against him, swinging my elbow as hard as I can into his ribs.

  Already off-balance, he trips back, falling and pulling me down with him.

  “Help me!” I yell, but instead of one of the guys, Syd’s head shows around the container. “Get help—GO!”

  My one second of respite as my attacker catches his breath is up, and I am fighting with all I have to keep him from rolling me to the bottom.

  “Let me go, you fucking whore!” With a massive shove, he throws me off him, scrambling to his feet. It’s then that I realize he’s trying to get away. Unfortunately for him, his leg got hurt when he fell, and he hobbles rather than runs away. Without thinking, I take off after him. With the sound of heavy footfalls coming up behind me, I know I’ll have some back up. Which is why, without a moment’s hesitation, I launch myself forward, jumping onto his back. I wrap one arm around and shove my fingers into his eye sockets.

  “This ends now, you fucking son of a bitch,” I screech, barely registering his howls of pain.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Ike

  “Where’s Viv?” Syd slides a fresh beer onto the bar in front of me. “I’m surprised she’s not with you.”

  “She should be here any minute.” I check my watch. She’d suggested meeting here at seven for a bite, it’s seven-twenty now.

  “How was she when you picked her up? Did everything go okay with her brother?” Syd’s obviously been worried. Not really my story to tell, but I want to put her mind at ease at least.

  “By the sounds of it, things went well, but I’m sure she’s dying to tell you herself.” I smile at her, hoping that was diplomatic enough.

  When the door to the pub opens, I turn to the sound, but instead of Viv, who’d probably not come in that way I immediately realize, Tim walks in. He spots me and walks over to join me.

  “Hey,” Syd fills the silence that stretches between us since he sat down. “Can you get yourself a beer, Tim? I just have to get the garbage, it’s overflowing.”

  “Sure thing,” he responds, getting up and rounding the bar. Syd dives under the bar and comes up with two large bins. />
  “Want me to take care of that?” I offer her, as Tim busies himself drawing a beer from the tap.

  “No need. I’ve got it,” Syd throws over her shoulder as she carries her load out the back. “Just gonna round up the washrooms, as well.”

  Armed with a pint, Tim sits down beside me again.

  “I just want—”

  “I had no idea—” We start at the same time.

  “You first.” I nod at him.

  Taking a deep breath in, he starts again. “Was gonna say, I just want to apologize. Viv ...” He shakes his head as his voice trails off. “I thought maybe there was something there. She didn’t hesitate to make it clear, after ... well, you know ... it was a mistake. Still, I thought maybe one day.” He slowly turns his head to face me. “It was an asshole thing to do, throwing it in your face. I can see the way she looks at you.”

  I let him finish before I respond. “Wasn’t news to me. I’d suspected as much from some things she said, and after I had a chance to see you with her, I knew. I’m sorry I didn’t see it before, but I won’t lie and say that I would’ve kept my distance. Not for long anyway,” I admit.

  There’s a tug on the side of his mouth that doesn’t quite make it into a smile. “It’s like that, is it? Fuck, I never thought I’d see the day.”

  I shrug my shoulders. “You’re not the only one.”

  I take a sip of my beer, thinking about the truth of that statement. Never thought I’d allow myself to get so invested in someone, but I simply had no choice in the matter. I’ve fallen like a load of bricks.

  “She’s something else,” Tim mumbles beside me, and instead of jealousy, I feel a pang of sadness for my friend.

  “That she is,” I agree.