Raine's Haven

by Shari J. Ryan

  "Raine, if there's anything I can say or do to make this better—?"

  "The damage is done," he says with a shrug.

  Swallowing hard against my dry throat, I try my best not to look upset or pained by the truth, but I don't know how else to prove how sorry I am, and I'm beginning to see that there aren't enough apologizing methods in this world to fix what I've done.

  I unlock the car and open the door. "Thanks again for helping me today. I know you didn't have to."

  He shifts his weight from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable with what I'm saying. "I wasn't going to let you die. I'm not the bad guy here, Haven."

  Am I? "I know," I tell him. "That would be me, I guess."

  Raine clears his throat and walks around to my door, holding it open so I can slide in. "You're not the bad guy," he says. "Your father, on the other hand—" an angered quiet laugh rumbles in his throat as he stares right through me. "Now he's something else."

  I question him, wondering what he knows beyond what I told him years ago. "Yeah, he is," I agree, feeling hesitant to say much more.

  "You know," Raine adds in, "remind me to tell you an interesting fact you may not know about your father. Another time, though." He closes my door as I watch the combination of both hate and excitement play through his eyes after teasing me with an unknown fact. Instinctually, I have no problem driving away from the bait because I already know too much, and I'm not sure I can handle any more loose facts about Dad. I have a hard enough time looking him in the eyes as it is. Our relationship is strained to the point of wishing I didn't have a family at all; yet I have remained loyal to an extent, that extent being…I've kept my mouth shut for way too long.

  23

  Raine

  I am so sorry for your loss, Raine… Our thoughts and condolences are with you during this difficult time... We'll keep you in our prayers…

  Can no one think of anything original to say?

  A cold hand wraps around my arm, tugging me out of the communal area of our small church where we gathered around Granddad's urn.

  By the time I look around to see whose hand is on me, we're outside. "Lenore, I didn't see you come in," I tell her, focusing on her washed-out complexion and the redness coating her aging sapphire eyes.

  "You honestly think I wouldn't be here?" she says, somehow appearing even more hurt than she was a moment ago.

  "I don't know what to think today," I tell her, honestly.

  She runs her hand up and down my back soothingly, like a mother would comfort a child. Lenore, while only our housekeeper, is the closest thing to a mother I'll have ever had. "Can I tell you something, Raine?"

  "Anything," I say.

  "You're seventeen—almost a man. I'm sure you know what it's like to have feelings for someone, right?" This feels like the first time she's spoken to me on a level other than me being the child.

  "Sure, I guess." I've dated, but I don’t know if I could consider any of those girls worthy of having real feelings for. I know about it, though.

  "I loved your granddad," she admits. I just don't know why she's admitting something I've known most of my life. I asked Granddad why he didn't want to marry Lenore on so many occasions, but his loyalty to Gran was like nothing I'd ever seen. I admired it, but at the same time, it bothered me to think about how lonely he would be when I left for college. I guess at some point, I should have considered how lonely I would be if he were to leave me first.

  "I know you loved him, and he loved you too," I offer, hoping it gives her peace of mind.

  "I know he never wanted anything more because of your Gran, and I admired that attribute of his more than anything else. It just always made me wonder what could have been."

  I don't have words to make Lenore feel better, and I can't imagine what it must feel like to spend almost fifteen years with a person you love and can't have—a person who continually chooses someone else over you. I wrap my arms around Lenore, trying to give her the only type of condolence I can. I know her pain is different than mine, but the degree is probably similar. "This sucks," I tell her.

  Lenore exhales heavily and places her hands over her heart. "So, I've been thinking," she says, pulling away and resting her hands on my shoulders. "Until we get everything sorted out with the will—the house and finances—and you turn eighteen next Summer, I want you to come and stay with Lauren and me. I know your granddad wanted it this way, but I need you to know how much I honestly do too." A faint smile pokes through the grimness on Lenore's face as she sweeps my hair off my forehead. "I love you as if you were my own son, Raine, and I would do anything for you, not just because it was a request left behind in a will." Her words break me. We never discussed our feelings. We never had to. She was there, filling a role without a word about it, and we lived that way. Now, our relationship needs a definition because the division has become a little clearer since my granddad, our one connection, passed away, leaving her without a job and me without a guardian.

  "Thank you for offering," I tell her. "You're all I have and—thank you, again."

  "Mr. Carson," a man's voice interrupts us from behind. I turn to find who it is, only recognizing him slightly. I don't know his name or how he knows Granddad, but I've seen him before.

  "Yes, sir?"

  He places his hand on my shoulder and squeezes firmly. "I wanted to offer my condolences," he says.

  Still studying him, trying to piece together how and where I know him from, it hits me. "You used to mow our lawn for a while, right?" I ask him.

  "That's right, I was the gardener at your house for many years." A tight-lipped smile grows across his face from cheek to cheek before he reaches out his hand for me to shake. "I'm Frederick Leigh, a good friend of your granddad's. That man was a saint," he laments. "Do you know he put me through law school?" I'm listening, taking in his words, but at the same time, questioning why Granddad never mentioned anything about him in this way. "As a matter of fact, he is the man responsible for helping me start my own family law practice."

  It shouldn't be a shock that Granddad did something so generous for a man who only mowed our lawn; he constantly thought more about others than himself. I remember him saying, "The key to becoming rich in life, whether it is with money or not, is kindness. Good deeds will always bring you more."

  "I'm not surprised to hear this," I tell Mr. Leigh.

  "Neither am I," Lenore says, making her presence in the conversation known.

  "I don't believe we've met," Mr. Leigh says, extending his hand to Lenore.

  "I'm Lenore. I was Mr. Carson’s housekeeper for fifteen years." She's scrutinizing him suspiciously as if she doesn't trust him. I wonder if she knows something that I don't.

  "Well, I guess we have something in common then, don't we, Lenore?" Mr. Leigh says with a certain smugness.

  "Not quite. Raine will be staying in my care for the time being," she says in a cool manner.

  "Well then, I'm not sure I can top that gesture. Good for you. I know Mr. Carson hired good help when he saw it, so he must have seen something special in you." The conversation is uncomfortable, awkward even. I want this man to leave because he's pissing me off. "Anyway, once again, please accept my condolences, and when you're ready to discuss the details of your granddad's will, come see me so we can hash out the details." Mr. Leigh hands me a business card, but Lenore snatches it before I have a chance to take it.

  "You have possession of his will?" Lenore asks.

  "Well, of course. Mr. Carson wanted to be my first client after investing so much into my education and practice. You can't blame the man for wanting to reap what he sowed. Am I right?"

  "I do suppose," Lenore says, placing her arm around my shoulders. "Well, we will be in touch after the dust settles. Thank you for your kindness." Lenore is purely speaking with pre-programmed words. It's easy to tell she doesn't mean any of it.

  The moment Mr. Leigh walks away; Lenore pulls me to the side of the building. "That man is trouble. We can
't trust him for a second. Your granddad, rest his soul...his greatest weakness was seeing the good in everyone, even those who don't have a good bone in their body."

  I've never been behind this bar, but I've sat in front of it more times than my liver can thank me for. "Do you know anything about mixing drinks?" Crow asks.

  "Well, I've watched your sorry ass spill a million of them. Can't be that hard."

  "Funny," he groans. "Here's a cheat sheet. I'll post it below the tap in case you need it."

  "Got it," I tell him.

  "We moved the girls into our bedroom today so you can have the extra room. I don't want you having to sleep on the couch every night after being behind bars for so long." Crow looks uncomfortable while saying this, like he's leaving something out of his explanation.

  "You sure you don't have a problem with me staying with you?" I ask, grabbing a couple of the wet glasses from the crate.

  "I don't have a problem…" he says, leaving me to wonder what he isn’t saying.

  "But Kacee does," I finish it for him.

  Crow grumbles something I can’t decipher, and moves across the main area of the bar, straightening each stool out. "Look, you were put in prison for rape," he says.

  "Statutory," I correct him. It's a big fucking difference. “And, it wasn’t exactly my fault.”

  "Yeah, that's what I meant. In any case, the whole idea freaked Kacee out a bit. We have two little girls, as you know."

  "Yeah, your kids are three and four, Crow. Jesus. I was only five years older than that girl."

  "I get it. I do," Crow says as he slips his hands into his back pockets. "The wife made me say something, that's all."

  "I understand," I tell him. I'd like to turn down his offer to let me stay with him, but winter is coming. The temps are going to drop, and I can't be sleeping outside like I used to. "Whatever makes you feel comfortable works for me."

  "Thanks, man. I appreciate it your understanding. You know I don't think anything less of you, right?" I didn't do anything wrong. I was lied to. These accusations are worse than being behind those goddamn bars.

  The night passes by in a blur filled with beer and smoke. The stress of figuring out some of the mixed drink recipes keeps me on my toes, and after a little practice, I think I remember most of the popular ones now. Even still, most people just order beer, which is simple to handle. I found my rhythm about an hour before closing, so tomorrow will go a little smoother.

  "Dude, you made some good tips tonight," Crow says, handing me a hundred bucks in a wad of tens.

  "For real? I made all that?" I ask, a little shocked, considering the place was only half full most of the night. I don't think I've held this much money in my hands since I was seventeen years old. My hand is shaking as I take the money, scared I might wake up from a dream, only to find out I'm still behind bars—or worse.

  "The regulars take good care of us, and most of the guys in here are regulars, so it's all good."

  At this rate, I won't have to be living with Crow forever, so that's a plus. It feels good to be doing something too. It kept my mind off every little thing I needed to put into the back of my head for a bit. "That's great. Thanks again for the job," I tell him.

  "I should be thanking you," Crow says. "You ready to hit the road?"

  I watch as Crow locks up the bar, and we head into the parking lot and over to his truck. Just as I'm climbing inside, something catches my attention from the corner of my eye. A woman is sitting on the steps of the motel and her gold, flat shoes look exactly like the ones Haven had on earlier today. She wouldn't be sitting out here alone, though.

  The woman lifts her head as if she sensed me staring, and the light from the street lamp fills her face. "Shit," I say out loud.

  "What?" Crow asks.

  "I know that chick," I tell him, pointing over at Haven.

  Crow squints as he follows the direction I'm pointing in. "Isn't that—?"

  "Yeah," I huff.

  "Dude, have you talked to her since you've been out?" He grips at the steering wheel while blazing his glare against the side of my face.

  "It wasn't on purpose. We keep crossing paths," I tell Crow.

  "Crossing paths, or is she looking for you?" he corrects me.

  "I'm not too sure, honestly." She wasn’t looking for me earlier today when she almost drowned, and I didn’t mention I’d be working here tonight.

  "Well, she's clearly got trouble tattooed on her forehead. I would stay away. I mean, why would Mayor Leigh's daughter, of all people, be sitting on the steps of this shit-hole motel in Sutter? If she needed a place to stay, wouldn't she be at the upscale B&B in her own town?

  "I don't know," I tell him. All the questions Crow just asked have been running through my head too. "I should go check on her."

  "Dude…” he stalls for a second. “I feel like you're asking for it.”

  “Yeah, I probably am, but I can’t just leave her there.” I sound like a moron. He knows what she put me through.

  “You can’t just leave her there? She put you in prison for seven years, bro.”

  “Just...give me a quick minute,” I tell him.

  “Whatever, man.”

  I hop out of the truck and make my way over to Haven before sitting down on the step beside her. "Care to explain?" I ask.

  Haven sniffles and turns her head to me. "I don't know what I've done," she says. Her eyes are filled with tears, and I don't think I've ever seen her cry before. She may not have always made smart decisions, but this girl is as tough as nails.

  "What did you do?" I ask.

  "I ran away from my life, Raine. You already know that."

  "So what?" At least you had a life.

  "I like to make decisions without thinking them through first," she begins.

  "Are you informing or reminding me of this?" I know I'm a dick, but I can't help blaming her for the tears she's shedding. These were all her decisions. She's twenty-three now, capable of making her own way. Instead, she was in the process of becoming someone else's property.

  "I went from one controlling life to another because Bennett felt familiar I guess." She lets her head hang forward and wraps her hands behind her neck. “I really screwed up.”

  "Well, money will offer a false sense of comfort," I tell her, not knowing what else to say. She did screw up. She’s messed up a lot.

  "Money doesn't give me comfort or happiness, but it has put a roof over my head all of these years," she continues. "I tried to get all my stuff out of the house before Bennett came home today, but he showed up a lot earlier than he normally does. I think part of him was hoping I just needed a break to think things through and that I wasn't leaving for good. It was just one battle after another, and during the whole time we were fighting, I could only see the arguments my parents had in the hallways of our house when they didn't think I was watching or listening." She pauses, sounding as if she needs to catch her breath, and I hold my tongue, knowing she's got more to say. "God, money doesn't bring happiness, because it causes people to become ugly and selfish. I was so scared of turning out like that, and today, I was my mother and Bennett was my father. It was so disgusting, Raine. I couldn't take it."

  I'd love to say I knew all of this would happen, but that won't help her right now. "So, what did you do?" I assume she ran like a bat out of hell, considering he isn't here with her right now.

  "I tried to get into my packed car, but he took the keys, reminding me that he owned the car. So, I took a small bag," she nods her head to the step behind her where a leather duffle bag is sitting in a pile of smoked butts, "and walked here. I went to reserve a room, and the woman told me all my credit cards and my debit card were declined. Bennett owned all of that too. He didn't want me to work. I was to be his stay-at-home wife who would kiss him goodbye on the steps of our front porch in the mornings and be waiting right there like a goddamn dog when he came home at night."

  She's telling me she's poor. She has nothing. Everything has
been taken from her. This was the life she once wanted, and it's taking everything inside of me not to remind her of that. "Well, what about your parents?" I offer as a solution.

  "I'd rather sleep on this step," she tells me while looking up with her tear-ridden eyes.

  "This step isn't comfortable enough to sleep on. Trust me, I've tried it. What about your friend, Mary something?"

  "Maryanne?" she corrects me, along with a sarcastic laugh. "No. Besides the dozen reasons I could give you, her husband is best friends with Bennett. I can't go there. Bennett will know he won. He'll know I desperately went and asked someone to let me sleep there for a night because I had no other options."

  I fold my hands between my knees and drop my head. "Why do you care so damn much about what other people think? You never did before."

  "I don't know how not to now." She looks ashamed while saying this. The Haven I remember would never be sitting here like this. Someone or more than one person broke her down into this person she has become.

  "I'm sorry you're going through this, Haven." I reach into my back pocket and pull out the wad of cash Crow just gave me from my tips. I look over at the lit-up motel sign, seeing that the nightly cost has gone up to seventy bucks a night. Counting out the tens in my hand, I give her eighty. "Here. Go get yourself a room for the night."

  "I can't take this from you," she says. "You probably have nothing right now."

  "I have a place to sleep tonight. You don't. Take it," I insist.

  "I should sleep out here, learn the lesson I deserve," she says.

  "Yeah, maybe you should, but you tried that once, and you obviously didn't learn much from it."

  She looks up at me, and the whites of her eyes clear from the tears as if an understanding has come over her. "I just keep making the same mistake," she says.

  "Sometimes it takes a few kicks in the head before you finally see things clearly," I tell her. "Besides, you shouldn't sleep out here with that wound on your leg. Go get a room. Get some rest. Then tomorrow, maybe start looking for a job. You should take it one step at a time. Trust me."