by Catori, Ava
Out the door, I hopped on my bike, secured my helmet, and took off. I had just enough time to stop for coffee. I was due at the boat docks shortly. With the sun barely in the sky, the air was still warming. It was chilly at night, but the afternoons were perfect. I rode to the local diner, Dash and Dine.
It had changed owners and names over the years, but this last variation stuck for a while. You had to love the work. Ocean Crest businesses were hardly money havens. After parking, I climbed the four steps that led to the entrance and made my way to the counter. On seeing Joanne eye me like a tasty treat, I groaned. She wasn't one to take a hint.
"Hey, big boy," she said. She stuck out her chest and licked her lips, her not so subtle approach always so transparent. Her grin was tight, but sun and cigarettes had played havoc on her skin, aging her faster than she probably would have liked. Her bleached hair took on the appearance of straw, but she didn't seem to notice time had been less than kind. Her calling card, what she'd relied on since high school was big, dangling earrings. Chandeliers, hoops, it didn't matter; she always chose the gaudiest of pieces, and the bigger the better.
I nodded. I'd been avoiding her for the last few, I don't know, years. Bad choice on my part... I was drunk and gave in one time. The girl always thought there could be more. How? Why? I didn't have a clue. She was just weird like that. Some girls weren't made to be one-night stands, they got too attached too fast, and I wasn't a commitment kind of guy. Every freaking time I saw her, she'd paste on her false charm. I'd rather eat a split of firewood than share a bed with that one again. I placed my order and hoped for a quick escape. "I'll have a large, black coffee to go."
"You should call me sometime," she said before turning her back to pour the coffee into a big Styrofoam cup. She capped it with a plastic lid and waited for my response, holding my coffee hostage.
"Yeah, I'll keep you in mind," I said to ease my way out of the conversation. We both knew I was lying.
She stared at me a few moments longer and finally handed me my coffee. I went to the register to pay, passing a booth with some curvy chick eating an egg white omelette. Next to it was a large chocolate shake. I shook my head. I took pride in my body. Some people ... Let it go. Not my business.
I headed to the docks to meet my customer. We'd bartered over a few beers, but now it was time to pay up. I had set my Friday aside to work on it. He showed me what needed to be done and where, and let me get on with it. We'd go out fishing tomorrow. It was tight quarters doing the work, but it would be worth it to see the look on my dad's face. It's not like I could afford to charter a full day out fishing for a couple of people on a regular basis. Sure, on a cheaper boat, but I wanted to do it right. I couldn't afford the offshore fishing cost, but inshore would work just fine. It was still a deep chunk of change for a single day.
Saturday morning, bright and early, I called up my dad. I'd told him to keep his Saturday open for me. Sixty freakin' years old; he didn't look a day over fifty-nine. Eh, he'd had some hard years after Mom died, and while he was rough on me sometimes, he just wanted to make sure I had a good set of standards. I got it now that I was older.
I left my bike at home and jumped into my truck. It was a little weathered, but she ran like a dream. I kept it tuned-up and detailed her every year. She was due for a new paint job, but it just never seemed like a priority. After I picked up my father, we headed to the marina.
He looked around and then asked, "What are we doing here?"
"We're going charter fishing today, Pops." I puffed out my chest proudly. "Eight hours on the Widow's Wave Breaker."
"Wait, what? You can't...you shouldn't...it's too much." He stumbled over his words.
"Don't worry, I bartered work. It's all good. Happy birthday, Dad."
"Are you kidding me? You and me, eight hours?"
"Inshore, couldn't quite pull off the price of offshore."
"Wow, this is great, Ryder. Thanks," he said. "I wish your brother was here to join us."
Once we got on the water, I knew it was the right choice. I hadn't seen my father smile that much in years. He was a good old boy, but sometimes took life a little too seriously.
"Look out!" the captain shouted.
A wave runner was going too fast and the driver didn't have control. At the last minute, the Jet Ski veered off, narrowly missing us. The wakes it caused had the boat rocking. I must have a damn target on my back lately. Other than the near miss, we had a good day. Dad caught some fish, smiled a little more than usual, and brought in his sixtieth birthday on a fancier boat than either of us had been on before.
We stopped for grub at a little seafood place. If you wanted fancy, you had to go somewhere else, but if you wanted the best New England Chowder and a bowl full of steamers, Watson's Seafood Shack was the place to go. Locals swarmed the place, but this little gem was non-existent to out-of-towners. We liked it that way; more chowder for us.
CHAPTER FOUR
Opening my eyes in my childhood bedroom caused an incredible adrenaline rush. For a second I imagined I had traveled in time. No! I couldn't be back in high school. I sat up, legs dangling on the edge of my bed, my heart beating like a wounded animal in my chest. And then I remembered. I remembered why I had returned and guilt struck. Guilt for coming to tear the town apart, guilt for not having returned more often when my mother was alive.
I stretched and yelped in pain. I was sore all over. What had possessed me to think I could clear my bedroom of all its furniture by myself? Bad idea. By the time I had taken the old mattress down the steps I was exhausted. I barely had enough strength left to throw the inflatable mattress I bought on top of the old frame and make my bed with fresh sheets. The second my head hit the pillow I was gone.
I needed to make a list of things to do but I couldn't do it on an empty stomach. Breakfast would come first. A sweat suit, my bag with a pad and a pen, and I was on my way. Almost on automatic pilot, I drove to my mother's favorite old diner. This was a strange trip down memory lane. They used to have the best chocolate milkshakes ever and my mother would treat me to one on special occasions.
Parking across the street, I looked at the beat up facade. A semi-new flashing neon announced the place had been re-baptized “Dash and Dine.” When the lights came on, it was possible to read some of the old letters through the bad paint job "ddy's Diner."
I smiled as I pulled the old door open, imagining a retired Eddy or Freddy enjoying a hard earned rest away from this godforsaken place in a warmer climate. Who wouldn't run given half a chance?
The place hadn't changed and was deserted except for an older man nursing a cup of coffee at the counter. The waitress babbling on her phone waved for me to pick any place I wanted. I thanked her with a nod and sat in the first booth. Still on the phone, she dropped a menu on my table.
"Holler when you know what you want," she said without looking at me.
"Thank you, Joanne." If not for the name embroidered on her uniform, I would probably not have recognized her. We were in school together and she was actually halfway decent to me.
She paused for an instant to take a second look at me. She squinted, frowned, and then noticed my eyes on her name tag. She shrugged and walked away, her attention back to whomever was on the other end of the line.
After a brief look at the menu, I pulled out my pad and began two lists. The first was stuff I needed to do for the house, like find someone to move the crap I wanted thrown out, the second, work related.
I was still making notes when Joanne ended her phone conversation and returned to my booth.
"What will it be, honey?" she asked squinting again. The woman needed glasses but then chances were the job at Dash and Dine didn't provide medical coverage.
I looked up at her. "I'll have the egg white omelette, please."
In addition to glasses, she also needed a total make-over. Not that I was an authority on looks but seriously who wears so much make up on a Saturday morning? And what had she done to her hair
? I remembered a luscious mass in a warm chestnut color and now it was a bleached out mess that probably felt like straw!
"Coffee with that?" Chewing on her pencil, she looked away as a couple of people walked in.
I hesitated and then figured I could as well try. "How's the chocolate shake?" I asked.
She raised her eyebrows and gave me the patented look skinny chicks give fat girls when they order food they crave but never touch. Pursing her lips Joanne said, "Okay, I guess."
"Then I'll have one instead of coffee, please."
Shaking her head as if to tell me I should know better, she left me to my work and returned a couple of minutes later with my order. Service was fast.
I ate half my omelette which was nothing to write home about and then tasted the shake. I didn't spit it out but I wanted to. It was bad, too sweet, too chocolatey. Either they didn't use the same products or my standards had evolved more than I realized during the last decade.
Well, maybe not all aspects of my standards ... because when Ryder Bishop strolled into the place with a lovely smile on his face, he still took my breath away. He had aged, of course, but time had been kind to him. His hairline was a little higher but his eyes still crinkled in the sexiest way.
Joanne seemed to share my opinion. "Hey, big boy," she purred when he got close to the counter. She stood straighter and threw her shoulders back as if wanting to call his attention to her boobs.
He just nodded at her and asked for his order. His tone clearly expressed his lack of interest but she didn't get it.
"You should call me sometime." I felt sorry for her. Withholding the cup of coffee while waiting for her answer, she dug her grave a bit deeper.
"Yeah, I'll keep you in mind."
He would call her when hell froze over. Ryder Bishop hadn't changed at all. What puzzled me was how a fuck-them-and-leave-them kinda guy managed to find fresh meat. I would have thought by now he would have either moved to a fresh hunting ground or settled with someone.
Ryder walked passed by my booth and frowned. For a second I thought he recognized me but no; gals like me were still transparent to guys like him.
CHAPTER FIVE
Nothing out of the ordinary, and the day started out well enough. I went through my usual routine, but something circled through my mind. It was that chick, the one from the diner, with the milkshake. Did I know her? No clue why I had a moment of recognition, but as soon as it started, it passed. I figured she just looked like someone I used to know. I couldn't remember her name. Either way, I decided it wasn't the girl I was thinking of and went on with my day.
The thing was it wasn't common for strangers to wander around these parts. This was the kind of town most drivers avoided or drove past. The cracks in the façade, the overgrown grass in too many empty lots, the roads that seemed forgotten by the paving crews, yeah, this wasn't the place people came to hang out for no reason. It was hardly the jewel along the ocean. If beachgoers were looking for a day trip, this was not the shoreline they picked out. They'd go farther north and enjoy swanky homes or south for a boardwalk that offered amusements. The only thing Ocean Crest offered was a beach and quiet place to hang. Most people didn't trust the area though; it had been through its share of problems.
Earlier in the morning, Dad rang me up and asked if I could run an errand for him. It's not like I was loaded down with work. I had a couple of car inspections to do, but not much else. I glanced at my watch and hopped into my truck. My bike wouldn't be much help in carrying bags and boxes.
I pulled into one of the slanted parking spaces outside Pandora's Lunch Box. It was a local eatery and deli that had been a staple in town. The chimes on the door jingled as I went inside. Pete, the owner, was an older guy who had been part of Ocean Crest for as long as I could remember. He bellowed out a hello, his voice deep and full of gravel.
"Hey, Pete, I'm here to pick up my dad's order. He called it in earlier. How's your elbow doing?" I liked Pete. He was a simple guy, talked a good game, and wasn't too nosy. He was good for small talk and never delved into politics or anything uncomfortable.
"Makes it harder to work every day," he groaned. He couldn't afford to stop work and close up shop. It was the only way he knew to feed his family. He'd had the delicatessen for the better part of thirty years. He knew everybody, and everybody knew him. Pete turned and picked up a couple of brown bags off the stainless counter. He read off a list near the register, “Bagels, donuts, two sandwiches, and a container of cream cheese,” he finished. "Tell your pops I threw in some extras, and thanks for the business."
"Will do," I said. I settled the bill and picked up the bags now next to the register. "Hope the elbow heals up soon."
"You and me both," he said.
Outside, about to climb into my truck, I waved as Tony passed by in his cop car. I didn't have time to play chase with him. I needed to run this stuff to my dad, so instead I drove down the boulevard and turned toward the factory. That plant was the lifeblood of the town. There wasn't much business left.
Some days, I wondered what life would be like outside of here, but usually I just pushed those thoughts away. My brother worked in a cubicle in California and flipped homes on the side. I guess he couldn't run any farther, going from the Atlantic to the Pacific coastline. I didn't blame him; Ocean Crest wasn't a basket full of good memories after my mom died.
I pulled into the parking lot of the plant and grabbed the bags I took notice of a white car that looked out of place and stopped in my tracks. What was that doing here? I stared at the white BMW that had almost run into me. My stomach twisted. Maybe one of the big wigs was visiting. That's probably why Dad wanted the food for the meeting. He probably felt the need to impress the big boys, maybe keep them at bay a little while longer. The wolves were knocking at the door, and he was buying time. His father knew the factory's numbers were down, but did his best to do what he could with what he had. That plant was his life. He'd given everything to it.
I shook my head and went inside. In search of my father, I found him just outside his office. The woman, I knew her. She was the one from the diner. Her shoulders were squared and tense. She meant business, there was no denying her stance. I heard slight whispers before he ushered her into his office.
"Dad," I called out, trying to stop whatever was going on. I could see his posture shifting with his mood. I didn't say anything, just eyed up the woman, and handed off the bags when he turned. "Call me, later."
I saw it in his eyes. Dad wore dread on his face. His eyes were almost expressionless, except for the bits of pain he couldn't hide from me.
The woman stood her ground, her hands now on her hips, irritated at having been interrupted. I tried not to notice the way her skirt held snug to her hips. She was bigger than most women, but she wore her business suit well. She wasn't too bad close up, except for the fierceness that said she'd snap off a lion's head if it looked at her the wrong way. That woman had control issues. I felt bad for whomever had to tame her ass in bed.
I hoped my dad could salvage something good out of the meeting.
CHAPTER SIX
Monday morning, I worked from home, sending out the report I needed to file about my last mission and drove to the factory a little before lunch.
Getting out of my car, I tugged on the skirt of my suit, ran my fingers through my hair and took a deep breath. I could do this and I could do it well. It was not going to be pleasant, but it was the way to climb a new step on my ladder.
To delay the inevitable for a few more minutes, I walked around the building. The construction was sturdy. It had weathered well with the years. After studying the blueprint, I knew the structure was supported by the outside walls and could be totally gutted and converted into just about anything. That wouldn't be a problem, what would be was finding something to convert it into.
Pushing the main door conjured memories of childhood I'd worked hard to chase from my mind. It reminded me how terrified I was when I was called up h
ere. Mr. Bishop would always try to break the news gently, but I knew. The only reason he called or sent for me was because my mother passed out during operating hours.
Despite the noise of the machines, two workers raised their heads when the door slammed shut behind me. Two women, slightly older than me. Thankfully no one I recognized. I smiled at them and they eyed me suspiciously. Even if they didn’t know my suit’s price, they could see it was expensive. It was clear I was not here to apply for a job.
I passed a few unoccupied machines to reach the foreman's office. His back to the glass partition, Dylan Bishop studied a ledger. Poor man, his entire hierarchy had been let go and he was never trained for the jobs piled on him. I knocked on the door, and he waved without turning around or raising his head.
Even after I'd stepped in and closed the door behind me, he kept looking at his work. I cleared my throat and said, "Mr. Bishop." The sound of my voice startled him and made him turn to look at me.
"Mr. Bishop, I'm Barbara Johnson. The New York office must have called you to let you know I would be here today."
He removed his reading glass and stood, holding out a hand to me. "Ms. Johnson, nice to meet you." He tried to be gracious, but I’m sure it was difficult. He knew my presence meant his universe was going to be rocked.
Shaking his hand, I hesitated to tell him I'd known him for as long as I could remember, but decided against it. It was not the moment to take a stroll down memory lane.
"You know why I'm here," I said.
"You're gonna close us down?" he asked trying to conceal a defeated expression.
"Well, the final decision has yet to be made but there's a growing concern about the lack of profitability of this entire operation," I stated with a gesture encompassing the entire building. "I won't lie to you, though, I'm not very optimistic about the future of this place."
