Anchor

by M. Mabie

Now we were getting somewhere. She’d never said that out loud to me. Sure I wanted Blake to open up about it, but I never wanted it to be like this. I never wanted her to feel forced—or cornered—by Grant to do anything ever again, but this was the game he was playing. For all he knew, she couldn’t remember and he saw it as a way out. And a way to cause some shit for Casey in the process. I imagined, in the end, it would eventually go to trial or he’d take a plea with a lesser charge.

  “That’s not right, Reggie.” The panic in her voice was unmistakable. “That’s not true. He can’t do that. Why can’t he just leave me alone?”

  “Blake, are you sure you can’t remember?”

  There was a pause. A long pause. A truth-confessing pause.

  I had three minutes to call Nora. Why did I say only ten minutes?

  “Hey, don’t stress out about it right now. Okay? Paul said Grant made his statement and asked if I could come in to make mine and answer a few more questions. I’ll be in town on Thursday.”

  “What will they do to Casey?”

  “They’ll probably call him to come in too, or they might even arrest him. I wanted to give you guys a heads-up. Paul said it would just be a formality, but it’d most likely happen in the next few days. Loverboy might want to call his lawyer, just so they’re ready. I thought maybe you’d want to tell him yourself.” It was a bad position to be in, especially since I knew she remembered some, if not all that had happened. Even I could tell, and I’d only seen her twice since she’d woken up, right before I came back to Chicago, but I’d talked to her on the phone plenty. It was in her voice. My money was to bet on her assuming Grant was in enough trouble—even without her statement or her pressing any charges—and she simply wanted to be done with him.

  “That’s … that’s so wrong though.” Sheer terror echoed in her voice.

  I hated that motherfucker for what he did to her. I didn’t know Casey all that well yet, but I kind of hated Grant for him too. The Casey I was quickly getting to know wouldn’t put up with his shit though. And despite her efforts, I didn’t think she was afraid of Casey going to jail. She knew what happened. She wouldn’t let Grant do anything to him. She was just scared of letting it all out.

  That’s the way my little sister operated. Always had been. One time when we were kids she ripped the shit out of the bottom of her foot. It got infected, but the little shit wouldn’t tell anyone until it started making her sick. That girl could hold things in like no one else I knew, but she had her tells.

  “Don’t worry, Blake. Casey will be all right.”

  “I know he will,” she said. In the span of two minutes she’d changed her tune. She didn’t sound like a victim, and that was exactly what I wanted. She’d just gotten there a lot faster than I predicted.

  “If you know anything, it’s probably a good time to talk to someone. Even if it is just Casey.” I hoped I wasn’t overestimating his control—his ability to stay calm. I also hoped that when she called him, he’d handle it with wisdom and not with emotion.

  I didn’t know though.

  Part of me thought he’d be more wrapped up in making sure she was okay. The other part worried if he heard the words we both knew were true come out of her mouth, he might snap. Fuck. I’d like to think I’d be wise and smart about it too, but Heaven only knows the reach of my control.

  “I know,” she admitted with a new edge to her voice. I had to hand it to her. She was tougher than any of us ever gave her credit for. “Reggie? Speaking of talking to someone, have you talked to Nora lately?”

  And she was a goddamned expert at turning shit around.

  “No.”

  Fuck. Ten minutes. I was breaking my own rule.

  “Blake, tell Casey to call me if he wants to know anything. I can give him Paul’s number if he has any questions. I have to go. I love you.”

  Eleven minutes.

  “I will. Thanks for letting me know. I love you too. Bye,” she said before the line went dead.

  I’d said ten minutes. I never told half-truths. I believed in all or nothing, but my finger scrolled to her number anyway.

  Fuck my rules.

  “Well, well. That was longer than ten minutes. Did you lose track of time?”

  Wasn’t she coy? Her voice was covered in sarcasm knowing that it was eating me up to be late.

  “Well, it was either not call and possibly miss you while you’re in town—or call.”

  “Look at you meeting me halfway.” Why wouldn’t she do the same?

  “That’s not what this is and you know it.” The women in my life never went easy on me.

  “Our place?” she asked.

  “Ten minutes.”

  “Don’t be late this time.” Then she hung up and there was no chance in hell I’d be late twice.

  Monday, June 14, 2010

  “ALL RIGHT, MAN. WHAT do you think of the place?”

  The new Bay Brewing satellite branch was still a ways out from up and running, but it had the promise of being a great location. The building was in a thriving part of town and the fucker was huge. The equipment it could hold was awesome. Since we’d just expanded the San Fran branch into a neighboring building, we were getting the kettles and other brewing machinery from the same manufacturer we’d used before. For now, we had a few guys from California cleaning the empty space to prepare for the large equipment.

  There was a lot to be done, but we’d get there.

  “It’s great,” he said, wide eyes looking around. The big brick building was impressive, and since there was nothing inside, it seemed to go on and on.

  “We’ve talked about putting in a small bar/retail area and having tours here in the future.”

  “Yeah, you’ve got the space for it.” He chuckled. “Shit. You’re really doing it, dude. This is great.”

  “Where’s your poker face? You're supposed to make me beg you to work for me.”

  “Nah, I’m in. I’ve been wanting something a little more stable and what you’ve done—I can’t say I’m not a little jealous.”

  Pride swelled in my chest. I’d worked hard and this was the result. It wasn’t mine alone, but I owned my fair share. Troy would be a solid, permanent addition.

  “So what are you thinking? Sales, management, shipping and receiving? What are you interested in doing here?” It was time to cut the shit and find out what he was into. I wasn’t a manager by nature, but it wasn’t that different from sales. Give someone what they want and they’ll be happy. Happy workers make happy beer. Or some shit like that.

  “I don’t want to travel like you do. I’m ready to work nine-to-five, Casey. You know how I grew up. I’m ready to put my roots down. But management?” He was skeptical.

  “Yeah, management. I’m not a fool. This isn’t some ‘Hey, let my bro run my shit into the ground’ kind of thing. I trust you. I know you’ll call me if you need something, but mostly I need someone to be here when I’m not. Make sure orders are entered. Make sure trucks leave full and get where they’re going. Keep the peace.” And as much as it sounded like bullshit, anyone who could manage having six different jobs at the same time for as long as he did—well, fuck if that wasn’t qualification enough. I needed a juggler and one that everyone would like.

  “You’ll be the ground control; I’ll be Major Tom. I’m not throwing you to the sharks, Troy.”

  I’d known him my whole life and I could trust the guy with anything. That was something you couldn’t interview for. He could do it. He was ready.

  “I’m here for whatever you need,” he confirmed with a nod, letting it all sink in. I doubted anyone had ever just handed him responsibility like that. I was excited to see what he’d do with it. A shit-eating grin spread across his face. “So, let’s talk dollars.”

  I laughed. “I’ll get you drunk, and then we’ll talk numbers.”

  We’d walked through the whole facility and ended on the docks where Rhett and Eric, up from San Francisco, were taking a break.

 
“You guys have gotten a lot done in the last week,” I commented, giving Rhett a quick handshake.

  “Yeah, well you’ve been out of our hair,” he joked.

  The original plan was I’d be here helping. Pulling out remnants of the last occupant and getting it up to food and beverage standards for our permits and licenses.

  That had all changed on a dime, but they didn’t let that slow them down. “Sorry about that, guys.”

  Eric scoffed. “Don’t worry about it. How’s everything going? She feeling better?”

  They didn’t know everything, but I’d worked with them in some capacity for the past six years. I wasn’t sure what Marc told them, and it didn’t bother me that they knew some of the situation.

  “A little better every day,” I said. “Thanks for asking.”

  Troy gave me a knowing look, but I left it at that.

  “So what do you think, Troy? You ready to do this?” Rhett asked. The six-foot-tall ginger had pretty much the same job at the home branch as I’d just offered Troy. I’m sure one of them would have taken the job, but the move would be much easier for someone who was willing to pick up and relocate to a city where they only knew two people. Well three, if you counted Audrey.

  Only then had it dawned on me. He’d be here to look out for her when we weren’t. The situation just got better and better.

  It was shaping up to be a good fucking day.

  “You guys have a lot more to do today?” I asked them. “We’ll help you finish up and then you guys can come with us for a few cold ones.” I owed them. What they’d accomplished in the last week was a huge fucking job for three grown men, and they’d done just about all of it with only two.

  “Not much. We’re just waiting on a truck bringing some shit we need to get this place clean. Then we’re good for the day,” Rhett said with a thirsty grin.

  “What time are you guys starting in the morning?” Troy inquired.

  By the look on Eric’s face, he was impressed Troy would step up so fast. He answered, “Probably about six. You coming?”

  “Damn right. Sooner we get this place running, the better.”

  “Day one and already improving productivity,” I cracked.

  It was great to catch up with some men. Like dudes, you know? Men who had their shit together, and were just living life day-by-day. We had some good guys on our team and everyone had great stuff going on. Things I’d never considered. Starting a family. Making a home.

  As beers flowed at a pub only a few blocks from the new Bay location, we shot the shit. Eric had a ton of kids and one on the way. He texted his wife nothing short of three times from the bar to check up on her. Rhett had just bought a house and he was talking about the demo project he was doing.

  Hearing how happy these guys were made me eager to get started on our life. Mine and Blake’s.

  Troy listened, interested, and I could see some of those things appealed to him, just like they did me.

  “So you gonna put a ring on that girl’s finger, Casey?” Eric asked.

  “Fucking right I am. I’ve been waiting a long time to make her mine and the time is up.” I laughed, but then thought—a ring. I needed to work on that. I’d need major help. I didn’t know jack-shit about jewelry.

  “He’s been hot after that girl for years,” Troy told them. Then he insisted on telling them how I was wrapped around her finger from the word go and how I’d rigged meeting up with her at trade shows.

  He was cracking them up. The way he told the story was far different from how it had felt at times, but it gave me a chance to shoot a quick text to Reggie.

  Me: What’s your mom’s number?

  It took him a few minutes to reply.

  Reggie: Why? What’s wrong? Should I be worried?

  Me: No. Nothing like that. I need her help.

  He sent her number, and then followed it up with a message that was evidence the Warren sense of humor was hereditary.

  Reggie: My dad will kick your ass if you put the move on his woman. He already told me he had an eye on you.

  Their dad didn’t have anything to worry about. I had eyes for one woman, and one alone.

  Me: LOL He told me that too.

  I’d call her mom on the way back to the apartment to see if she could meet me sometime that week and help me find a ring. Honeybee wasn’t going to wait long, and I didn’t want her to.

  After an hour or so, Eric and Rhett said they needed to go. They were catching a ball game that night. I was thankful because, even though I knew she was okay, I was ready to get back to my girl.

  The thing that surprised me most about the past week, being with her night and day? It still wasn’t enough. I’d never tire of seeing or talking to her. Taking out the trash, or having meals together. Even though I’d fallen in love with her, never getting to experience so many firsts, each day felt like it was full of them now.

  Since I’d only had two beers, I offered to drive. I told Troy we’d pick up the rental car the next day. I didn’t think Blake would mind, but I kind of offered her small spare room to him—at least for the night. Besides, he mentioned he was eager to find a place of his own.

  If Blake moves in with me, he could have her place.

  Thoughts like that ran wild through my mind. Was there such a thing as too fast for us anymore? Not to me.

  “Honeybee, I’m home,” I sang as we walked through the front door. No knocking. No waiting for her to let me in. Our spaces were already becoming shared. Naturally. Oh, and I had a key.

  She’d kept the door locked, which made me think too much.

  Was she afraid?

  Did she always do that?

  Would he come here?

  I shook off the curveball thoughts my mind threw at me and, instead of treading through bullshit, chose to find my girl and get my fucking lips some satisfaction. It had only been a few hours, but those demanding fuckers needed what they needed.

  “Hi,” she greeted me with a smile from the kitchen. She was busy in her element. “Hey, Troy. How’d you like the new building?”

  “It’s damn big, but it’ll fill up fast. How are you feeling?” he asked, walking around the counter to give her a hug. He was gentle, knowing what she’d been through.

  When she gave him a kiss on the cheek, he teased, “Oh, keep going. Casey. Dude. Fuck off. We need a minute. She needs to see what a real man is like.” He pretended like he was ravaging her neck and she laughed easily as he playfully nuzzled her.

  I felt no jealousy. None. In fact, I liked seeing how well she fit into my life and how my people loved her as much as I did. Her presence wasn’t through telling my friends and family about her, finally they saw her magic firsthand. Of course they loved her like I did; she was magnificent.

  And when it came to her laughs, in those days, I wasn’t picky. I’d take hearing her giggle, no matter where it came from or who was making her happy. Watching her come back to life was something I wouldn’t take for granted.

  “I’m feeling good. You were right though,” she said to me, waving him away. “I’m getting a little worn out.” She chuckled and fanned herself, conceding to what I’d told her earlier.

  “Well, I’m here now. Put me to work, Chef.” There were ribs marinating in something that smelled smoky and sweet. She’d made guacamole and a pasta salad. On a separate platter there were vegetables skewered and seasoned, prepped for the grill.

  “It’s all ready to go. I’m just waiting for it to heat up and then the ribs can go on.”

  I opened the refrigerator to grab three beers for us as Troy carried the trays outside for Blake. She’d found Bay beer somewhere.

  God, I fucking loved her.

  It was the perfect time of night. The sun was behind the trees giving the small backyard shade as we cooked and talked about Seattle and music and normal things. There was nothing spoken about beatings or divorces or dicks who needed to be shot.

  “So where’s Audrey?” Troy asked.

  My ar
ms were wrapped around Blake’s waist as she checked the ribs one last time. They smelled like fucking heaven.

  Blake answered, “I said I’d send her a message when the food was done. She’s working on this incredible sculpture thing.”

  To that he replied, “That smells about done. Oh hell, I’ll go get her.” He jumped up from his seat at the patio table. “Besides, you two are ruining my appetite.”

  I waited until I heard the door shut and Blake had the last rib on the platter before I turned her around in my arms and took a few steps away from the heat of the grill.

  “Hear that? We’re making people sick,” I said conspiratorially.

  Her pretty brown eyes lit up. The past week’s medication haze had cleared. They were brighter. More focused and all on me.

  “What a shame,” she teased, playing along.

  “Fuck ’em. I’ve waited too fucking long for the days when I could put my hands on you whenever I wanted. There ain’t no stopping me now.” There never would be again. I was joking and messing around, but the undertone was still there. I think we were both getting used to being open about how we felt around others. We’d trained ourselves to starve when everyone around us feasted on love. It was our time to binge.

  My hands found her cheeks, and I held her face still as I took my time looking at her. The swelling and bruising was nearly gone and the cut on her lip was healing. She leaned into me for a kiss and before our mouths met she murmured, “I love you.”

  She tasted like forever.

  Monday, June 14, 2010

  OH MY GOD. MY stomach.

  I was hungry and smelling the barbeque floating through my open windows didn’t help. Familiar aromas and faint sounds swam through my apartment. I knew he was close.

  I sat at my table, same as I had all day. Not working on the heart, just looking at it. I’d been there for hours. Examining the piece. Scrutinizing it. Looking for what was missing. There were two hearts at my table and neither mine nor the one made of the expensive polymer clay had what they needed.

  Depth.

  Emotion.

  Love.

  Most of my art flourished out of feelings, but this piece was different. When I began, I thought it was my heart¸ but it wasn’t. It was his. As the concept took shape in my head, I realized it was a heart I could never reach. One I’d never quite touch. One that not many ever would.