by Rose Hudson
Copyright © 2016 Rose Hudson
All rights reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters businesses, places events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
Published by: Rose Hudson, March 1st, 2016
Editor: Jessica Grover
Proofreaders: Alexis Whitney and Proofreading By The Page
Formatted by: Stacey Blake, Champagne Formats
Cover Designer: CT Cover Designs
Cover Photo: Eric Battershell Photography
Cover Model: Chisel Chase Bergner
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter ONE
Chapter TWO
Chapter THREE
Chapter FOUR
Chapter FIVE
Chapter SIX
Chapter SEVEN
Chapter EIGHT
Chapter NINE
Chapter TEN
Chapter ELEVEN
Chapter TWELVE
Chapter THIRTEEN
Chapter FOURTEEN
Chapter FIFTEEN
Chapter SIXTEEN
Chapter SEVENTEEN
Chapter EIGHTEEN
Chapter NINETEEN
Chapter TWENTY
Chapter TWENTY-ONE
Chapter TWENTY-TWO
Chapter TWENTY-THREE
Chapter TWENTY-FOUR
Chapter TWENTY-FIVE
Chapter TWENTY-SIX
Acknowledgments
MOVING IS NOT SOMETHING new to me, but this time it was different. All the times before, I knew it was temporary. Another move to another city, from one Army base to the next. Hotels and month-to-month apartments. Years of never having a place to call my own. But this time, I knew that would change.
Packing up the last box in the kitchen, thinking about where exactly this move would lead me, I went over all of the places I’d already been. Places that seemed so pointless and empty to me now. They seemed empty and pointless to me then as well, but at the time, I had no choice but to be where I was. Having a rock star father will do that to a kid. California, New York, Texas, and Tennessee. Remembering all of the places helps put my childhood, or lack thereof, in perspective for what I ultimately want out of this move; to settle and create memories for my daughter. Something I never had much of, and want her to have in abundance. Something solid and safe, grand and joyful.
“Momma, where do you want me to put those boxes in my room?” Ruth’s voice breaks into my thoughts, pulling me back to where I stand in the kitchen.
“What baby?” tilting my head up to her, my brow furrowed.
“Those boxes…in my room?”
“Oh, just slide them into the hallway if you can. Leelan is coming by in the morning to put everything on the truck while you’re at school and I finish up at the office.” I walk around the bar, gesturing to the wall in the hallway.
“Are we almost done for the day? I’m starvin,” Ruth says pouting as she follows behind me into her room.
“Let’s just get all of the boxes into the hallway, and then I was thinking we could go to our place for one last dinner before we split town. What do you think,” I say with a grin as I wrap my arms around her shoulders, squeezing. I place a kiss to her red curls, silently apologizing that she ended up with my hair color.
“I think that idea rocks! I’ve been craving Papa Mike’s loaded cheese fries for days,” she says standing almost as tall as me, matching me squeeze for squeeze.
“Okay then. Let’s get it done and get out of here!”
Driving the short distance to Mama’s and Papa’s Junkfood and Jukebox, Ruth fills me in about the friends she plans to keep in contact with and those that didn’t quite make the cut. A wide smile spreads on my lips at how much she reminds me of her namesake. You always knew where you stood with Ruth Presley, and Ruth Abrams isn’t any different- I’m certain that my grandmother would approve.
Catching our place during the week when most normal families were having dinner around their own dining room tables was key. It allowed Ruth and myself to kick back, pig out and let loose in the place that we considered to be ours. Mama Vic and Papa Mike had always treated us as if that were true, and I loved feeling at home and seeing that my daughter felt the same. With no family members in her life, other than myself, it was important for us to make relationships that at least resembled that of a family. Pulling into one of the many vacant parking spots, I cut the engine and look over at Ruth, gently grabbing her arm before she can make her usually quick exit from the car.
“You make sure and hug Vic and Mike’s neck before we leave here tonight, Okay?” Confused she replies,
“Of course Momma. Plus, I’ve got to get Mama Vic’s email address so I can keep her up on all the gossip,” she says with a conspiratorial smile that I know all too well.
“Well, you can get her email address, but we’ll keep the gossip to a minimum,” countering, I match her grin.
We all but race each other up the stairs and through the door, keeping up our tradition that whoever is first through the door gets first pick on the huge old-fashion jukebox. Vic and Mike kept it up-to-date with the best new and classic music, covering both mine and Ruth’s favorites. There was never any contest though, I always checked up right before we reached the door, letting Ruth win.
Hearing Ruth’s excited yelp as we enter the restaurant, Vic turned from whatever it was she was doing to smile at us, her long silver hair catching the light, looking as if threads of glitter had been perfectly placed throughout.
“Well good lord, it’s about time y’all got here! I’ve bugged Mike to death makin’ sure I hadn’t missed y’all this week!” She walks around the old-timey soda fountain bar with plush red swivel stools, and made her way to us. First, hugging Ruth with extra fervor, then putting her arm around my shoulders, giving a gentle squeeze and walking me to the bar. Ruth strode over to make her two dollars’ worth of music selections and suddenly I wish I would’ve given her much less than that. At twenty-five cents per song, we’d probably be listening to a lot of Taylor Swift for the next hour. I guess it could be worse, but I’m more of a classic rock lover. Surviving that much tween music in such a short period of time was going to be…interesting. I have to give her credit, though, she knows her way around music history. Being my father’s daughter and growing up around nothing but music, I had no choice but to absorb it all. There is always music playing in the kitchen when I cook, or music on the stereo in the living room on Sundays when I clean house. There is definitely never a moment without it in the car. In a lot of ways, I guess it has become a part of me, unwilling or not, and has rubbed off on Ruth as a result.
“Make sure you pick one for me stingy,” my voice carries across the bar as I sit on one of the plush swivel stools. In typical pre-teen fashion, I received a wave of recognition instead of a verbal response. Pre-teen. My eyes squeeze shut for a split second at the word. God please slow time just a little.
Grabbing a menu from the surface of the bar, I attempt to make a few mouthwatering selections, but Vic is quick to snatch it from me saying,
“Oh no you don’t! Mike’s got this under control tonight!” She turns and looks through the small service window to the kitchen, yelling out to get
his attention. “Mike, the girls are here and ready to eat!” A few seconds later Mike’s kind eyes peek back at us, spotting me, he plasters on a huge smile.
“I was beginning to wonder if y’all were gonna’ show or not! I’ve got a small feast planned for you two, so you better just go ahead and get cUsually based on climate or available resources for hobbies and family roots- we all have our preferencesomfortable!” I return the smile and give him a thumbs up to let him know that I had indeed come to feast. Having seen me eat here hundreds of times before, I’m sure he already knows that, though. I have never been a size zero, so with my love of food comes the knowledge that in order to have my cake and eat it too, an active lifestyle is a must. With big boobs and a big butt, I can’t have one without the other. But I do love me some good southern food.
“So, I’m guessing you girls have worked up quite the appetite with all this moving nonsense,” Vic says with a look of agitation to match her tone. She has let me know on more than one occasion that she was not enthused about my decision to follow my boss south to the Alabama coast. I will be opening and managing her knew clothing store while she gets her clothing and textiles factory up and running. But Vic has always had a poorly hidden dislike for Chanin; a dislike that I have never found the need to question, and she hadn’t felt the need to elaborate on.
“Most definitely! And we couldn’t leave town without having one more of Papa Mike’s signature feasts.” I place my hand atop Vic’s on the bar and she half halfheartedly smiles. I scan the room, spotting Ruth talking to another girl that looks to be her age, as she and a woman that I assume is her mother stand from their table to leave.
“How does Ruth feel about this move? Has she talked to you about it anymore?”
I sigh, nodding. “Honestly, she seems to be okay with it all. I don’t know if it’s just because it’s what she knows, or if she believes me when I tell her that it’s really going to be better for us in the long run.” Vic’s look is appraising.
“Do you believe it will be better in the long run?” I consider her question, picking at my cuticles, a nervous tick that seemed I would never outgrow.
“Yes, I do believe that. I’ve thought long and hard about this Vic. I turned Chanin down a year ago when she first brought it up, and when she decided to prolong the move to give me more time to think about it, I realized she considers me a valuable asset to the company. So much so that she would put off expanding her label in order for me to be at her side.”
Vic scoffs, “Erin, Chanin Grace has never put someone else’s value above her own. You don’t need to make any decision based off what you think your value is to her. If you want to move because you know it's what’s best for you and that girl, that’s one thing. But making such a life altering decision because you think you’re a so-called asset to Chanin? Well, I can tell you, that is a mistake.”
“That was a very small part. You know that I will always put Ruth’s best interest first, no matter what.”
“I know that sugar. I just hate to think that woman has somehow swayed you. Call it being protective.”
“You’ll never know how much that means to me. You and Mike have been like family to Ruth and I over these last few years and we are going to miss you both a great deal. But I don’t want you to worry about my decision. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking and rethinking about this.”
Jumping onto the stool next to me in time to catch the end of my statement, Ruth asks, “thinking about what?” I look at Vic and then to Ruth.
“You. Always you, my love,” her forehead scrunches as I place a kiss to it. She spins around and scans over the restaurant in a panic.
“Whew, she’s gone! Gosh momma, you know I have one more day at this school! You can’t go around embarrassing me with all your hugs and kisses! I’m a young lady now!” Looking at her lopsided grin that shows just a tiny bit of unwanted approval at my kisses, flashbacks of my daughter from birth to the twelve-year-old girl sitting before me plays in my mind.
“Ruth Abigail Abrams, you will always be my baby and you will learn to be just fine with my hugs and kisses!” I turn her in circles on the stool and she giggles, struggling to grasp the bar to stop herself from spinning.
“Geez Momma, Okay!”
Pushing the kitchen door open with his foot, Mike comes out carrying two trays full of plate after plate of mine and Ruth’s favorites; homemade onion rings, Papa Mike’s monster bacon cheeseburger, beer battered chicken strips with buttermilk gravy, and last but not least, a huge plate of Ruth’s favorite, all or nothing cheese fries. Ruth squeals in pure happiness.
“Well its official! I’m gonna miss you the most Papa Mike!,” Ruth says, giving him her megawatt smile.
“Shoot, I already knew that baby girl! I know the way to your heart is through a big plate of cheese fries,” he winks and we all laugh an almost tearful round of laughs.
After eating and listening to Ruth go on and on about the new house in Point Clear, we all began exchanging emails and saying our goodbyes. Ruth gave Vic and Mike huge hugs and promised that she would email Vic regularly and keep her up-to-date on as much gossip as I would allow. After Ruth got in the car and closed the door, I hugged Mike and told him I would be back as soon as I could for another feast. He turned and headed back into the restaurant, leaving Vic and I alone in the parking lot. I turn, my eyes mirroring the same sadness as hers, and I pull her in hugging without reserve. Pulling back, I look into a face that I have grown to love.
“Vic, don’t you worry. Everything will be great there, I have a gut feeling about it.”
She gives me a small sad laugh and touches my cheek.
“As long as you remain the Erin I know and love, you will be just fine.”
We hug one last time and I open the door, stepping into the car and wave goodbye to one of the few people I could call a friend.
EVERYONE HAS A PARTICULAR geographical point of interest specific to them as an individual. Usually based on climate or available resources for hobbies and family roots- we all have our preferences. But I think I’m safe in saying that if you’ve ever had the pleasure of an ocean view, passing it up is near impossible. The breeze, the sounds, the colors that illuminate the sunset sky. Each variable possessing an equally alluring quality.
As I sit on the dock, listening to waves crash in and birds fly overhead, I’m reminded that living on this beautiful coast is the only place I can experience this level of peace. When I originally made the decision to move from my home state of Louisiana more than a decade ago, I had no expectations of peace. Making that decision was out of pure necessity, so the peace that has developed over time has been a welcome gift.
Out of the very few memories I’ve held on to, most are centered around the shore. The sound of distant boats signaling their approach always drew my attention. Watching them drop anchor when the destination of my Uncle’s boat dock was reached. Witnessing the exchange between him and an unknown fisherman seeking his reputable help. Spending a big portion of my childhood under his wing, holding on to every bit of information I could consume. My heart felt at home on these coastal waters even when I had no real place to call home. I’m one of the few who can say they love their job, and I have him to thank for that. The decision to follow in his footsteps and work on boats wasn’t even a choice, it was a given.
Feeling the vibration of my phone, I’m forced to sit the beer I was just about to open on the dock to retrieve it from my pocket. I shake my head as Dawson’s name splays across the screen.
“Hello?” I answer with notable disinterest.
“Hey fucker, what the hell is taking you so long?,” my friend and employee Dawson replies, with a fair amount of slurring I might add.
Working with another person on a daily basis wasn’t part of the original plan when opening my boat shop, but after word got around that my skills and turnaround time for repairs set the bar fairly high, business started pouring in and I was unable to keep up with demand on my own. I unwi
llingly posted a help wanted add on a popular gulf jobs website, and the first application that came in was Dawson’s. After reading page after page of Naval experience as an Engine Mechanic, and talking to only a few of the references listed on his application, I took down the ad and called him immediately. He came walking in, towering over me at 6’5,” long shaggy hair on top of his head that he kept slicked back, and a carefree goofy smile plastered on his face through a mountain man beard. I’m not one to believe in fate, but he showed up two days later and saved my ass. With his incessant drinking and pot smoking for his ‘anxiety’, I have to remind myself of that on a daily basis to keep from throttling him. Sometimes, you just have to take the good with the bad- apparently.
“Let me guess, you’re at Charlie’s,” I knowingly question his whereabouts.
“Not just Charlie’s dude, Good Time Charlie’s! You know…for people who actually want to have a good time instead of sitting on a damn boat dock drinking alone?”
I scoff, “Fun huh? I don’t think that’s the word I would use, and if there were fun worth having at Charlie’s, then I wouldn’t be sitting on this boat dock.”
He quickly fires back, “Then I guess you wouldn’t be interested in the twins from Kentucky that I’m currently schooling in pool, you know, since there is no fun to be had.”
My underused dick twitches at the word “twins”, cause let’s face it, I’ve been experiencing a bit of a dry spell. My sex life leaves a lot to be desired and few opportunities to rectify the situation, so I was out of my chair at the word “Kentucky”.
“I’ll be there in 30.”
Dawson was well on his way to wasted when I talked to him, so I know my time is limited before the twins lose interest and search for fun elsewhere. With five minutes to spare, I throw the truck in park and prepare myself to go inside. Being desperate for some action is one thing, letting them know I’m desperate is completely different. I’m man enough to admit it’s been a while, but I wasn’t going to advertise it to potential hook-ups. Daphne is a tourist town, and my decision to abstain from fucking even the hottest local, meant pickings were slim and seasonal to say the least. I blow out a calming breath, gaining my composure as I walk through the double doors of the bar. Taking a quick look around, or more like a listen considering Dawson is usually louder than everyone else in the bar, I spot him. Seeing twins sitting on either side of him at the table, I say a quick thank you to the gods for helping him keep his shit together long enough for me to get here. When he spots me he raises his hand in recognition, sending the attention of the girls my way and giving me a clear view of their faces. I was immediately thankful for Kentucky, a state that apparently doesn’t get enough credit judging by the beauties sitting before me.
