Shelter from the Storm

by Molly Wens

  "Mind yourself, boy. You ain't so big your old pap can't whoop ya. You're going to get cleaned up before you start harassing that girl and that's final."

  Since he was a youngster, Bryce knew when his father's voice took on that tone not to argue with him. It did not make sense to the younger Matheney. No matter how much grooming he did, he would still look as if someone had driven over his face, and in the meantime, he would not know how Carissa was doing or if she needed help.

  The little sleep he had gotten the night before was immersed in dreams of unfathomable verdant eyes clouded with distress. It was all he could do not to put his foot down and insist that they spend every moment searching the central Illinois town until he found her.

  "So,” a resigned Bryce asked, “what's in the bag?"

  Donnan grinned as he pulled the slightly dented Cadillac out of the parking lot and back onto Dirksen Parkway, heading south. “Gifts."

  "Gifts?” Bryce blurted, incredulous. “We haven't even found her yet and already you're buying her gifts?"

  "You may be an idiot, son, but it didn't come from my side. I have no intention of meeting my future daughter-in-law—this close to Christmas—empty-handed. And I got a few things for her kids, too. It's sure going to be fun having children in the family again."

  "Dad,” Bryce interrupted. “I wish you wouldn't get your hopes up. I'd hate to see you be disappointed. There's no guarantee that she'll even talk to me."

  "That may be, but she's still carrying my grandchild. And I didn't abandon her. I'm sure she'll like me just fine."

  Bryce was not at all sure that he liked the satisfied grin he saw on his father's face. The man was having entirely too much fun with all of this. “Would you like me to get a box of salt for you to rub into the wound, Pop? I'm sure you could milk just a little more guilt out of me, if you try."

  Donnan guffawed loudly, recovering briefly to answer, “You did this to yourself, boy. Don't complain to me."

  Twenty-five minutes later, the pair was sitting next to each other in barber chairs at the Laketown Barber Shop. Every time that Donnan chanced a glance at his son, he found himself snickering all over again at the impatient resignation on the younger man's face. Bryce, for his part, was not having nearly as much fun as a mascara-wearing young man pawed his head, telling him how “fabulous” his hair was, in a decidedly effeminate inflection.

  "Just cut the stuff so I can get out of here,” Bryce commanded.

  The barber offered a mock shudder and exclaimed, “Ooh, so forceful!” before doing his job.

  Donnan snorted out another laugh, watching as his son, who had only so recently returned to civilization, stare bullets at him in the wall mirror. The older man was enjoying immensely the indignation his son was experiencing at being clipped and curried; the sort of thing a father enforced upon his teenage son, not a man of thirty-three years.

  Once his hair was cut, the back of Bryce's chair was lowered abruptly, causing his head to flop backwards, bouncing against the neck-rest. His irritated eyes fixed upon the smiling face of the man who called himself a barber, wishing it were legal to choke the life out of the imbecile.

  "Just what the hell do you think you're doing?” he growled.

  The prissy little man retreated, cowering as he stared into the glittering, dark eyes. “Only what I'm told,” he squeaked, his nasal whine grating on Bryce's nerves. “That other man said I was to cut your hair and give you a shave."

  A sudden vision of Carissa flashed into Bryce's mind; her eyes alight with merriment as she dangled the straight razor in front of him. He remembered how it felt, being so close to her, her hands touching him so softly, while her sweet voice filled the kitchen of his cabin with warmth. Her scent came to him, even now, from the recesses of his mind, and mingled with the desire to touch her rounded curves and kiss her succulent lips. He had never considered himself homophobic, but there was no way that he was going to allow this person to perform so intimate a task on him, not after his memories had stirred in him all the longing he had been trying to keep at bay.

  Bryce tore the barber cape from around his neck, tossing it to the side while sitting up. “No, thank you,” he grumbled as he stood. Then, turning to his father, he said, “You ready, Dad?” He tossed a few bills onto the counter by the door on the way out, not waiting to see if Donnan was following.

  "Wait up, Bryce,” Donnan called as he jogged outside after him. He was still laughing at the scene of fear and confusion that Bryce had left in his wake. “Just hang on, now. I'll drive."

  "Get me back to the hotel. As soon as I'm showered I want to get over to that TV station and see what we can find out."

  "All right, son,” Donnan laughed. “Just take it easy. We'll find her, so set your mind at ease.” He climbed behind the wheel, still grinning at his son, thinking how good it was to see that the boy cared about something—better still—someone again.

  * * * *

  "I don't understand. You can't seriously mean it!” Carissa yelled at the man sitting opposite her. How she hated him and the arrogant smirk he wore while pretending to show concern and sympathy. She wanted to slap that twisted smile off his face, to make him regret what he was doing to her.

  "It's what's best for everyone, Carissa. I know that once you calm down you'll agree. Now,” he simpered, holding a pen and a neatly-typed document in front of her, “all you need do is sign this and we can put all this unpleasantness behind us."

  "You bastard,” she hissed, her voice low and menacing. Standing to lean over the massive desk that separated them; she struggled to keep herself from screaming. “I won't sign anything. This is bullshit and you know it. You're just pissed because I won't let you use my family and my misfortune to boost your ratings. I told you off but good that day at the airport and it really sticks in your craw. You'll not get another damned thing out of me, including my signature."

  "Carissa,” Tom Mavis said, his own irritation rising. “I want you to calm down."

  "I have a good idea, Mavis. Why don't you shit in one hand and want in the other and see which one fills up first.” She whirled around, yanking the door open so hard that it crashed against the wall, the noise reverberating through the building. She stalked down the hall without a second glance, knowing Mavis stared after her in triumph.

  It had been strangely nice to be back in the station again when she had first arrived after that mystifying phone call. When Betty, Tom's assistant, had called her, she had no way of knowing that this would be the outcome of the meeting.

  She walked into what was now her former office and took a good look around. An overwhelming urge to scream nearly took possession of her as the reality of her situation was only just beginning to sink in. She had just lost her job.

  No job meant an even worse outcome in family court. The thought hit her hard, causing her to feel as if her children were already slipping away. She looked at the crumpled document in her hand, her copy of the settlement agreement that the egotistical station manager had devised. The deal offered the equivalent of a half-day's pay for each month she had worked for the company, and nowhere near enough to cover the expenses of rearing two children while paying a mortgage and utilities. After seven years of employment, the tally worked out to just over two-month's pay.

  She would have to find another job fast and who was going to hire a pregnant woman? Working in Human Resources for as long as she had, she knew that the law was supposed to protect women from such discrimination, but she also lived in the real world. In the real world, women were lucky if they got half the consideration afforded to men.

  All of that aside, what really rankled was that Mavis had done this to her family at Christmas time. How did the man sleep at night, knowing he was capable of effecting the destruction of whole families?

  Carissa fought against the sadness that was trying to form in her heart. She had made so many friends through the station; so many people worked there that she would miss. There had been too many changes
in her life of late, with the ill-fated trip, falling for a man who had tossed her aside and the new life that grew in her womb. Now she had to contend with unemployment, leaving her feeling as if her life had been turned completely upside-down.

  Reminding herself that she was a practical person, she shoved all those thoughts aside as she turned to go in search of boxes in which to stuff her belongings. In her rush to get the distasteful task of packing done, she ran straight into Christopher Davidson, who was just entering the room.

  "Whoa,” he said, a big smile on his face as he reached out a steadying hand. “You okay? How are you? I heard you were back. It's great to see you."

  Carissa's initial feeling of shock after the impact turned to one of fury. She wrenched her shoulder free of his grasp, glaring at the tall man with glittering, accusing eyes.

  "I see you're still mad at me. Carissa, you had to know that I didn't want to be at that airport anymore than you wanted me there. Tom was hell-bent that we get the exclusive on your story. I told him you wouldn't like it.” When she continued to glare at him, her body quivering in rage, he realized that something else was at the root of her anger. “What is it? What's happened?"

  "You knew, you bastard!” she ground out, her jaw clenched against the need to scream at the top of her lungs. “You knew and you didn't have the decency to pick up the phone. Some friend you are. Get the hell out of my way."

  Chris refused to move, kicking his foot against the door, propelling it shut with a firm click of the latch. He leaned toward her, looking squarely into her eyes, trying to fathom what she was going on about. “Knew what? What're you talking about?"

  "Don't you dare act innocent with me. You know everything that goes on around here. You and Mavis are always in cahoots."

  The news director thought she looked as rigid and cold as ice, as if a single tap against her brittle body would cause her to shatter into a million pieces. “I honestly don't have a clue what you're talking about, Carissa. What happened?"

  "Bullshit,” she spat. Snatching the rumpled document off her former desk, she shoved it at him, slapping him squarely in the chest with it and her fist, not waiting for him to grab it before she withdrew her hand. “How do you people live with yourselves?"

  The harsh silence that followed stretched into long moments as Chris scanned the pages, his face changing expressions in degrees. When he was confident that he understood the words, he glanced sharply at her, his grimace one of disbelief. “Fired? That son of a ... He fired you?"

  Her eyes narrowed, the anger like two daggers stabbing out at him. “Oh, don't give me that."

  Chris’ own anger was becoming evident, as he felt unjustly accused. “This is the first I've heard of it,” he said, his voice cold and calm.

  Carissa watched his face closely, noting the sincerity in his voice. “He didn't tell you?"

  "No, goddammit!” he nearly yelled, tossing the termination agreement on the nearby table. “You know I would have told you straight out. We've been friends a long time, Carissa."

  Her anger ebbed away from this man, funneling into an impotent hole at the center of her being. She felt her legs quaking and found it necessary to sit, taking the nearest chair and sinking unsteadily into it. Clasping her shaking hands in her lap, she wondered if she would lose control, something she hated to do.

  "I'm sorry, Chris."

  Chris sat opposite her, taking up the agreement again and studying the pages more closely. “He cites the morals clause in your contract. This is absolutely the lowest.” He slammed the papers down with a thud on the surface of the table. “I can't believe he's doing this."

  Carissa slowly looked up, drawing him into the glassy green depths of her eyes. “I'm fucked, Chris. He just destroyed what's left of my life,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “I'm going to lose my kids. I've lost so much already...” she let her quivering voice trail off as she fought to keep herself together.

  "No. No. No!” he exclaimed. “No, you won't, CJ. They can't take your kids because you lost your job."

  A tiny smile that did not reach her forlorn eyes played at the corners of her lips. “In case you haven't heard, news man, I'm about to be brought up on charges of homicide, and the whole world thinks I'm a whore. I'm pregnant by a man that doesn't want me, two men are dead and John is telling everyone that I went up to that mountain for a lover's tryst. I'm fucked and we both know it.” Her chin began to tremble as she added, “I can't live without my babies, Chris. They're all I have left to go on."

  He reached out, patting the icy fingers that lay in her lap. “No, Carissa. You went there on company business. We were all at the meeting that day when you were selected to go. I'll stand in court and say so. So will the others. John's just grasping at straws, and no one will take it seriously."

  "They're taking it serious enough to put it out on the national news,” she whispered harshly. “Claire-Smith is taking it seriously enough to let that shithead fire me under the morals clause. I was beaten and nearly raped by two men who as much as said they were going to kill me when they were done. I was left to die in the heart of a hostile wilderness, and nearly froze to death. I have the ugly scars to prove it. And then I nearly died from disease and injury. I was taken from my family for two months; my mother nearly worried herself into an early grave—all for this fucking company that just tossed me out.” Her voice dropped even lower, the pain so thick she could barely speak. “Just like he did. When he was finished with me, he threw me away. Bryce, my job, and now I might just lose my sanity."

  Chris stood, deep concern evident on his face as he reached a hand to her. “We need to get you out of here. You need to go home. Let me drive you. I'll get one of the guys to drive your car."

  His words triggered something in the back of her mind: a need to be self-sufficient, to not rely on anyone. She pulled herself up a little taller and stood without assistance. “No. I'm going to pack my things. I don't want to have to come back here. I'll take everything out today."

  Seeing the determination in her eyes, he jumped into action. “I'll go scrounge up some boxes. Be right back."

  Carissa did not wait for him to leave before she began cleaning out drawers and cabinets, carelessly pulling down pictures and mementos of her family and friends and the happy times she had known with her fellow employees. She tossed everything into a large heap on the conference table, going to the computer and downloading contact information and anything of a personal nature onto a jump drive that she kept in the desk.

  She was just tucking her downloaded files into her purse when Chris returned with several empty boxes. He helped her to pack everything, being careful with the items while she shoved and crammed without thought.

  "Give me your keys,” he said, extending an open palm. “I'll take a load to your car and come back for the rest. You wait here."

  She tossed her car keys at him before taking time to do a final check for anything she might have missed. Satisfied that she had gotten everything, she put the remaining items into the last box, her hands shaking at the disaster that her life had become. Seven years was a long time in the process of accumulating things, and the boxes totaled four. It was a sad moment when she realized that the part of her life spent here would be held within those boxes.

  Chris returned after depositing the first two in the back of her Saturn, eyeing her to assure himself that she was steady on her feet. “The hallway's empty. Now's a good time to leave,” he offered, reaching for the boxes.

  "I'll take this one,” she returned, pulling the smaller box toward herself. “It's got the breakables in it.” Stuffing the detestable termination papers into it, Carissa lifted the container. “Let's go."

  The duo had only traveled partway down the long hallway when Darla, the traffic and sales assistant, waddled into their path. Planting her hands on her ample hips and tossing her over-bleached hair, she fixed them with a curious stare. “What's going on here? Where you going, Carissa? Did you quit?"
<
br />   Carissa cringed inwardly; loathe to face the company gossip with the shock of her circumstances still turning her blood cold. Chris leaned close to his friend's ear and hissed, “Go.” He immediately turned to Darla, running interference while Carissa made good her escape.

  Carissa, nearly running, made it to the lobby, headed for the front door and the relative safety of the parking lot. As she passed the front desk, the receptionist spoke to her, distracting her from her objective. Looking over her shoulder, she opened her mouth to say something to the woman without faltering a step. The non-committal farewell was lost in a sharp grunt as she was hurled backward, the box and its contents scattering across the floor while Carissa fought to stay on her feet.

  A vicious growl of frustration erupted from her throat as she snatched the box from the floor near the enormous feet of the person she had crashed into. She did not look up or offer any apology when she crouched down to retrieve her possessions and stuff them back into the damaged container. Having the presence of mind not to cut herself on the broken glass of a picture frame, she didn't notice when the person bent down in front of her until his massive hand covered hers on the floor.

  Carissa froze, her heart leaping into her throat as she stared at the huge, masculine paw that completely swallowed and lifted hers. The man was so near that she could feel his heat, detect his scent that was so familiar and haunted what little sleep she had been able to get. His other hand reached under her chin, prying her face gently upward, forcing her to look at his face.

  That face—so handsome in its angular lines, those scars that crawled along the left side to make him only more appealing in her eyes—held an expression so tender that it made her heart stop. She felt herself drawn in by the heat of that secret fire that burned behind his eyes, smoldering in their mysterious, gray depths. Her mind went numb, robbing her of any logical thought as she lost herself in the touch of his hands and the intensity of his gaze.

  "Bryce.” The single word left her lips on the scant breath of air she had been holding. The world stopped for her, time and space standing still as he slowly pulled her to her feet. From somewhere unnamed, the realization that his hand cupped her cheek came to her as she instinctively pressed her face against its heat. She said it again, “Bryce."