Salt Water Wounds (Oyster Cove #1)

by Jennifer Foor

  I can only assume Nick is her son. Most importantly, this woman has problems I don’t want to be involved with. I’ve got enough on my plate. “I wish I could help you, but I’m not in any position to give you advice. I hope you’ll at least tell your father that scumbag is back.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks. That will only make matters worse.”

  For a split second we catch gazes. Her full lips part like she’s about to say something. It’s a shame such a sexy woman ended up with an asshole who beat her, but it’s not my problem, nor is her lack of extra money. I’ve got enough on my plate with six kids that won’t leave the house. I can’t add someone else’s problems to the mix. “I don’t know what to tell you, Perry. You and I both know I’m not exactly a role model. Money is tight for everyone, but if it’s that important you’ll figure out a way to make it happen, because you and your son’s well being are that important.”

  I begin making my way to the door again as she replies. “Do you know anyone in this small ass town that would want to buy my bar? If I wasn’t strapped with the fifty thousand he ran up in credit card debt under my name maybe I could figure out a way to get rid of him for good.” She almost laughs. “That didn’t come out right. I meant get him out of town, not hire someone to take him out, although I wouldn’t be upset at all if he was permanently gone.”

  Speaking about wanting her ex-husband dead gets to me. Even if he is a terrible person, today isn’t the day to talk like this to me. She’s desperate, that much is obvious. I’m clearly in the wrong place at the wrong time. “Look, I’m not interested in investing my shitty afternoon in your business when I don’t have a pot to piss in myself. I’m not trying to be rude, but I need to get out of here. I hope things work out for you. I’d be pretty darn upset if my favorite bartender wasn’t around to keep me company.”

  When I walk out of the bar I’m feeling like a douche. She reached out to me, because she thought I’d be supportive after witnessing them in action.

  I can’t be what she needs.

  End of story.

  Chapter 3

  I make it to the parking lot before I recognize a truck pulling in. Instead of exiting like I planned, my legs saunter in the direction of the Red 1967 International Scout belonging to my oldest son Brantley Roth Wallace Jr., the same truck I drove when I was his age. We spent a year rebuilding her. It makes me proud every time I look at it. My son might be named after me, but we all just call him Brant. I’m at his door before he opens it to step out. “Just the man I’ve been trying to hunt down.”

  “You better have a damn good reason why you weren’t at the cemetery earlier.”

  His hands go up. “Whoa. We can’t all make our own hours. Did you forget about the extra ten bushels of crabs you guaranteed the buyer this week?”

  I had forgotten, and it’s unlike me to screw up a business deal. Every year this kind of shit happens to me. “Damn.”

  “Yeah, well don’t worry about it. I took care of it.”

  I’ve done a good job teaching my son the ways of a waterman. It’s probably the only good thing I’ve taught any of them. “I appreciate it.”

  “I figured you’d close this place out tonight, old man.” He’s referring the bar, but I strike back while the getting is good.

  “Aren’t you here for the same reason?”

  He laughs and shakes his head. “I wish. Maybe if you’d turned your phone on I wouldn’t have to hunt you down when the shit hits the fan. Bristol’s school called. She never showed up today, and I’m missing three hundred bucks from my sock drawer. Last night I overheard her telling someone on the phone that she was getting a tattoo.”

  I’m gritting my teeth as he explains this. That child is going to be the death of me. “She can’t get a tattoo on the island. There are no parlors.”

  “She got a ride, Dad. Some dude on a motorcycle.”

  I slam my hand down on the hood of his truck, realizing he’s about to shit his pants if there’s a little dent in it. Thankfully, there isn’t damage, especially since I can’t afford to repair it out of pocket and I refuse to contact the insurance company after the claims I’ve had to make from each kid learning to drive. I’m lucky they haven’t cancelled the policy.

  “Have you called her?”

  He nods. “She won’t pick up. I left her a text.”

  “What good will that do?” I question. Honestly, I don’t know I bother paying for her to have a phone, because she never answers when someone is trying to reach her, even when she’s not in any trouble.

  “I’m just letting you know, when I find her little ass I’m going to make sure she pays me back. This is the third time she’s stolen from me this month.”

  My hand runs through my hair. The more I try to keep a handle on my daughter, the harder she tries to disobey me. “I’ll make sure she pays it back, and if that child comes home with ink on her body someone is going to be losing a license for tattooing a minor.”

  “Good luck with that. I’m going in for a drink.”

  I stop him before he makes it a few steps away. “Sorry about your luck, but the bar is closed. Perry had something come up.”

  “What the hell?” He kicks some gravel and begins to climb into his truck. “I guess I’ll find somewhere else to drink.”

  “Grab a case and just come home. We’ll sit outside and barbeque. There’s no sense of you spending all your money on beer if you can drink at home for half the cost.”

  “You don’t have room to talk. How many have you had today?”

  “Not nearly enough.”

  As Brant climbs in his restored historic vehicle, I see the remaining patrons followed by Perry coming from the bar. I wave to my son as he begins backing up out of the parking spot, and turn my attention to a very distraught woman walking toward the moped parked next to my truck.

  Our island maybe has a five mile radius. Most residents either ride bicycles or mopeds around town. Perry has a large basket on the back of hers to carry her purse and possibly a few bags of groceries. She’s a sobbing mess as she takes a helmet and lifts it on her head. It’s not until she’s ready to start it that she notices me standing close. “I figured you’d be gone by now.”

  I shrug. “My son stopped by. Are you sure you should be driving in your condition?”

  Maybe it’s wrong of me to ask, but I feel like Layla would be disappointed if I didn’t show a little compassion to the upset woman.

  She takes off the helmet and wipes her tears. “I’m scared shitless. I called school. Nick is going to ride the bus to his friend’s house and stay there until I can arrange to pick him up. My car is at the house.”

  “That’s good right?”

  “I hope. What if his father is at the school waiting in the parking lot? I need to be there, but I also know I have to pack up some of our things and find a place to stay tonight.”

  I sigh and watch as the other customers pull away, leaving the two of us alone. “Do you have any friends he doesn’t know about?”

  “He doesn’t know you, well not really,” she mumbles.

  “That’s not a good idea, Perry. I’ve got enough shit on my plate.”

  “It’s one night. I don’t have friends here anymore. My schedule is too busy to socialize. By the time I close the bar I’m exhausted, and then I have to repeat the process on the next day. If I wasn’t closed on Sunday and Monday I’d get nothing done at home.”

  “What about your employees? Can you stay with any of them?”

  “Jack lives on his boat with his girlfriend and a dog. Twiggy still lives with her parents. Neither of them can help, and even if they offered, it wouldn’t be right of me to take advantage of them. This is my problem. Maybe I can check us into a motel for a couple nights. I’ll park my moped on another road and hope he doesn’t hunt me down.”

  “Do you think he’ll leave town?”

  Her hands motion in the air. “I have no idea what he’ll do. He’s spent years thinking of ways to ruin my l
ife.”

  My house isn’t anything fancy. We bought it twenty years ago, and haven’t done much as far as improvements. We’ve gone through several appliances, and probably more furniture. The hardwood floors are scratched up from years of wear and tear as well as a few dogs running around. The three bathrooms are still original to the house, and the tiles are starting to pop up in each. I can’t remember the last time the sheets were changed, or the area rugs cleaned. The sight may make her want to vomit, not to mention how crowded it is when we’re all home. “I don’t have the room,” I reply.

  “We can sleep on the floor. Come on, Buck. He’s never going to go to Oyster Cove to look for me.”

  The fact that she knows the house by the name my wife gave it humbles me. I can’t begin to understand why this touches me, but it causes me to reconsider. She’s right. My house is way off the beaten path. Located down a long dirt and gravel road, the five-acre property sits in between a canal and the bay. Since the island is below sea level, the home is lifted and on large wooden support posts that were built to withstand floods and coastal hurricanes. Tall grasses surround the rear of the home, while thick trees keep the private road hidden and hard to find.

  “I wouldn’t recommend sleeping on the floor. You might end up with fleas or a flesh eating disease.”

  She cringes, but refuses to take no for an answer. “One night. Let me get my head on straight and we’ll be gone in the morning.”

  I shake my head as I speak and open the driver’s side door to my pickup. “Suit yourself. Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

  She captures my arm before I can move away. “Buck, I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t scared. We’ll stay out of your way. I just need a place where I can make calls and figure out what to do next. It’s nothing more.” She pauses and seems to struggle to continue. “You must think I’m a mess, and I apologize for that, but I have to do something.”

  “Go pick up your son from school. Get a bag from your place and head to my house. I’m sure we can find a room for you to sleep in tonight. Dane hasn’t been home in awhile. He’s got a studio apartment, and the twins have somehow managed to convert the old shed into a makeshift tiny house, if you can imagine two beds in a non-insulated structure with three outlets and an old hanging fluorescent light.”

  “Seriously?”

  I let out an air-filled laugh. “It’s a work in progress. They want freedom, but can’t seem to save a dime to move out. It’s where they take girls when they want privacy, though I can’t imagine that being a turn on. This might be as close to moving out as they ever get.”

  My cackle is matched. “You have your hands full, Buck Wallace.”

  “Another reason why you should head to your parent’s house instead of mine. You’re a good woman, Perry. No sense in hanging out with us.”

  “Trust me, your drama will keep me entertained enough to where I won’t have a nervous breakdown. I’m not asking you to get involved with my problems. Whatever happened between us in the past has nothing to do with this. I need your help keeping my son safe, Buck. I don’t give a shit what happens to me as long as Nick is with me. I don’t know what I’d do if he wanted to go with his father. It would break me.”

  I can see the fear in her eyes, the desperate plea of a mother without options. I can’t turn my back on that, no matter how reluctant I feel. “Like I said, we’ll make the room.”

  When I pull away I’m having mixed feelings. Bristol is missing, probably destroying her body at some illegal tattoo parlor, and I know when she gets home she’ll have hell to pay for her recent actions. This isn’t the environment I’d want anyone to witness, but I can’t exactly turn a blind eye on Perry, not when I know she’ll be safe at Oyster Cove, at least for the night. If she keeps refusing, I’ll be forced to contact her parents, because I know damn well if this guy wants to get to her, his threats aren’t going to stop. Our community is too tight knit to let some jackass come in and destroy the lives of my neighbors. No matter how full my place is, I’ll do what I can to help. Besides, the two oldest never stay here anymore.

  When I arrive back at the house, I scan the room and realize it’s worse than I realized. Shoes are scattered across the living room floor. There’s two bowls with remnants of food on the coffee table, four empty cans of beer, some crumbled up napkins, and one of the cushions is almost coming off the sofa. The dogs, two labs, are looking at me with guilty eyes, and then I get a whiff of shit and start looking around for the pile I know has to be somewhere close. There is one near the bathroom, and another few drops on the bathmat. I’m gagging while fetching the roll of toilet paper that never gets put on the roller, and begin taking wads in order to pick up the feces and flush it.

  Next I head to the kitchen to locate something I can spray around to hide the pungent odor. I find empty bottles in the cabinet, so I grab some fabric softener and dump it in one of them, adding some water before shaking it and spraying it around like a desperate madman. Then I pick up as much of the stuff off the floor that doesn’t belong and toss it in an already filled closet. I’m not one to care what people think, but it’s kind of embarrassing that my kids don’t pick up after themselves.

  I check the old grandfather clock we inherited from my parents. I’ve been home for nearly fifteen minutes. She’s liable to show up any time, so I break out the vacuum and roll it around a couple times, hoping to pick up the dog hair. I feed them, and let them out to go to the bathroom, while looking around the kitchen in dismay. It’s a wreck. Dishes are in both sides of the double sink. The counters are covered in food, crumbs, and miscellaneous items. Someone has opened the mail and left the ripped paper on the table in a pile. I start on the dishes, washing them and piling them to the side. I’m halfway through when I hear the sound of a vehicle coming down the driveway. After turning off the faucet, I make my way to the front door and see Perry getting out of a little car. A teenage boy climbs out the passenger side throwing a duffle bag over his shoulder. There’s no time to attempt a last ditch effort for first impressions. I push the screen door open and see her trekking her way onto the porch. “I almost missed the turn.”

  “You wanted hidden,” I remind. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”

  “It’s one damn night, Buck. I’m not asking you to share your bed with me.”

  I see her son giving me an inquisitive stare. He obviously wants to know why his mother has brought him here. I walk over and pull Perry to the side. “Did you tell him what’s going on?”

  She doesn’t have to answer with words. The truth is written all over her face. “I couldn’t. He probably thinks you’re someone I’ve been seeing.” We stop walking and look at each other. “I think he’s the person who told his father where he could find us. There’s no other way. My business license is in another name. My house is rented the same way. It’s one of my father’s neighbor’s rental properties. I pay in cash by the month. My address is listed as a post office box. He had to know where to look. He walked in the bar like he’d been there a dozen times.” She’s starting to cry. I stand in front of her and watch as she does her best to keep composure. My hands remain in my pockets at first, but soon come out to pull her into a comforting embrace. We’re friends, and this is causing me to feel terrible for her situation. I’ve never seen Perry this bewildered and fearful. She needs to know she’s safe with me. The last thing I want is some broad’s drama, especially her psycho ex-husband, but this is somehow different. She gets to me.

  She begins to sulk. “This was a mistake. We should go somewhere else. I know I’m a bother.”

  I quickly take her by the right arm to prevent her from walking away from me. “Hold up a minute. I never said you had to leave. You’re not the only one having a bad day.”

  Those eyes meet mine again. “God, you’re right. I’m being insensitive and selfish. Are you okay, Buck?”

  I turn around and look at the teenage boy I’m going to have to keep a leash on when Bristol finally shows up. Now that they’
re on my doorstep, I feel obligated to let them inside and keep them there for the night so they can be safe. “How do you feel about chicken?”

  “What?” She’s puzzled.

  “Chicken. I thawed some early this morning. I’ll cook on the grill since it’s nice out. Your boy can put his things in the twin’s room for the night. There are two beds. I’ll get some clean sheets out of the linen closet, because I’m not really sure if they’ve been changed in years. I’ll put you in Dane’s room. It’s cleaner.”

  She cackles through a new bout of tears. “Are you sure it’s okay?”

  “Yeah. It’s probably better if I’m not alone tonight. I can use the distraction, so I don’t go insane when my daughter arrives. She brings out the worst in me.”

  “Thank you, Buck.”

  I’m disgraced when we get in the front door and she gets her first inkling of how we live. My cheeks feel hot and I don’t know if it’s me, but I swear I can still smell dog shit. On top of that, Bristol comes rolling up the driveway on the back of a motorcycle. A fucking motorcycle.

  I look at Perry, my teeth gritting as I do my best to render a positive welcoming smile when all hell is about to break loose in front of them. “It’s about to get ugly.”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen worse.” She drives her attention to the tattooed biker kissing my seventeen year old daughter. “Point me in the direction of the linen closet and bedroom. I’ll take care of the sheets. I can see you’re about to have your hands full.”

  She has no idea how bad it’s about to get.

  This is where I need my wife. I need her to hold me back from killing some punk for putting his hands on my daughter. I need her to take control of the situation before things become disastrous.

  I inhale and close my eyes to prepare for this confrontation. If this continues with my youngest, I’ll be joining my wife in the grave very soon.