Bed Of Roses (The Five Senses Series Book 4)

by Gemma Brocato

  “I saw her daughter. Gabriella. Lookin’ so damned much like Harriet when we firsh married. So beautiful.” His voice was rough, a curious mixture of despair, anguish, and alcohol. “I came to the shop the day after she moved here. Saw her through the window talking with young Chloe. The girl smiled at somethin’, and I thought my heart would esplode.”

  “Why?” She was certain she knew the answer, but the glutton for punishment that resided deep in her soul made her ask anyway.

  “Your mom’s smile brightened the room. Fasht and happy, that’s what it was. After our first anniversary, she stopped smiling that way. It never reached her eyes the way it ussh to.” Dad shivered and rubbed his hands together, as if to warm them. “It killed me to shee how unhappy she was. I tried sho hard to put that light back into her, but nothing worked. Nothin’ could bring her back. Now, I’ll never have the opportunity to try again. I thought I could win her back.” A loud belch overshadowed his sad tone.

  “Dad, we didn’t need her. We were okay. She left—”

  His hand flew in the air, stopping the rest of her words. “You never needed her. But I did. I wanted her.”

  Anger spiked, sharp and hot. “I tried as hard as you did to put a smile on her face. But she was the broken one, not us. We should have been enough for each other, Dad. But you couldn’t let her go. She moved on, but we were lashed in place by ropes only visible to us. The more the bonds tightened, the more you drank, and I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t put the happy back in you, either. Why was that?”

  “I needed her the way a flower needs the sun, girlie.”

  Breath whooshed out between her tense lips, and Mal dropped her chin to her chest.

  Dad’s shoulders heaved with the sobs he struggled to contain. His anguish oozed out, a shrill keening sound that released his grief to the world. Mal rose to sit next to him on the bench and put her arms around him. Battling her own tears, she rocked him the way she’d rock a child in distress. That’s what her dad really was, just a child, lost and frightened. The only person he wanted in his life was gone, and he’d compounded his torment by trying to drown it in a bottle of Jameson. This had to stop.

  She summoned the resolve she needed and forced steel into her voice. “Dad, you need help. I can’t do this anymore. I have to live my own life. I have responsibilities with the shop, and now with Gaby. I don’t have time to be in charge of you anymore. You get help, or you get out of my life.” The words tasted bitter in her mouth.

  “What are you saying, girlie?” Surprise and hurt clouded his expression when he pushed her arms away and scooted across the bench, putting physical space between them to rival the emotional distance she’d created with her warning.

  “I’m saying you either get back into rehab and dry out, or I shut you out of my world completely. I’d be pretty damn good at that. I learned how to do it properly from Harriet.” She flinched against the sharpness of the jab. But it had to be said. Dad needed help she couldn’t give.

  Dad jumped off the bench, stumbled a bit, then leaned down and got right in her face. “Are you giving me an ultimatum? How dare you!”

  She turned her head from the spittle flying from his drink-slackened lips. “I don’t know what else to do, Dad.”

  Dad propped his fisted hands on his hips and tried to stare her down. His uncontrollable swaying concerned Mal. She braced herself to grab him if he pitched over. She glanced toward the parking area behind the store, relieved to discover his old station wagon wasn’t there. At least he hadn’t driven. He was that odd combination of a responsible and functional drunk.

  “Come on, Dad. Let me take you home and put you to bed. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? A nice hot shower, a little food, and a good night’s sleep. What do you say?”

  “No! I want to go back to Red’s Tavern.”

  “A snowball has a better shot at survival in hell than you do of going back to a bar, Dad.’ She stood up and took his arm, as if to lead him inside. “Let’s go.”

  He jerked away from her. The shift in his momentum proved to be too much, and he crashed to the ground, landing on his backside. His yelp of pain echoed off the bricks of the buildings surrounding them.

  “Dad!” She lunged forward to help him, only to be knocked backward when he flailed his arms to ward her off. She skidded on a spot made slick by snow and hit the ground with a thud next to him. Pain arced from her elbow to her shoulder, tingling wickedly.

  “Malin!”

  Oh shit, just what she needed. Gunnar showed an uncanny sense of timing. So much for hiding this side of her dad.

  She twisted around and spied the man striding toward her while Gaby lurked in the open door to the shop.

  He was at her side in three long strides and crouched next to her, his hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay? God, you went down hard.”

  Batting his hand aside, she looked at Dad. His eyes wide, his mouth open in a slack circle. He moaned softly. Cradling her arm, she returned her gaze to Gunnar. The concern on his face shifted her anger and pain to embarrassment. Heat flashed into her cheeks. “Can you help me get him up? I have to... I’m not big enough. I can’t do it by myself.”

  “You guys okay?” Gaby stood over Gunnar’s shoulder with horror in her eyes. “Malin, are you crying?”

  Mal put her hand to her cheek and felt moisture there. Frustration and pain had won the day. “I’m fine. Gaby, please go inside and mind the shop. Gunnar, can you help? Please?”

  Reaching out, Gunnar wiped her tears away with his thumb, his eyes steady and compassionate. Each soft brush just brought additional moisture she had to blink away. He wrapped his hand around her upper arm and helped her to her feet. After steadying her, he inspected the wet sleeve of her jacket. She rubbed the spot, hoping to ease the pain and, at the same time, hide her embarrassment. Dad thrashed his legs as if attempting to stand. Gaby shuffled away, muttering under her breath. The dejected slump of Gaby’s shoulders bothered Mal. Distress circled in her belly. “Gaby, wait. My arm... We could use your help, if you don’t mind. It won’t take long.”

  Gunnar flashed Mal a grin before squatting next to Dad. He thrust his hand out. “Mr. Eckert? Hey, it’s Gunnar. Gunnar Sims? Remember me? We met a couple of months ago. Can I help you up, sir?”

  “How’d I end up on the ground? My assh is wet and it’s cold.”

  Gaby sniggered. Dad grasped the hand Gunnar had extended and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

  Once Gunnar had relinquished his grip on Dad’s arm, Dad gawped at Gaby. “You look just like your mother. I’m sorry for your loss, little girl.”

  Gaby’s smile was sad and gentle. She glanced at Mal before she said, “I’m sorry for all of our losses, Mr. Eckert.”

  “Och, now. No need t’be formal. Call me Ben. Or Dad, like your sister does.”

  The teen’s expression hardened and her brow lowered like storm clouds on the horizon. “You’re not my dad. I better go check on the store.” She turned on her heel and all but ran into the building.

  “What’d I shay?” Dad asked, bewilderment flooding his eyes. “What’d I do wrong?”

  “Nothing, Dad. Let’s get you inside.”

  She took his arm and led him to the door. Gunnar followed and reached around Mal to open the door for her. His arm brushed her shoulder and, in spite of the layers of clothing between them, a small thrill pattered between her legs.

  She shook it away to focus on the mess with her father. Once they were in the warmth of the workroom, she helped him onto the stool. “Dad, where did you leave your car?”

  “That damned Red at the tavern took my keysh from me. I tol’ him I wash fine to drive.”

  “Why didn’t he call me? He always calls me when he does that.”

  Mal accepted the paper cup of water Gunnar had poured from the dispenser in the corner and handed it to her dad. His hand shook when he accepted it.

  Dad took a deep drink before he scowled and answered her question. “I tol’ him n
ot to call. It’s just a short walk.”

  He crumpled his empty cup and squinted one eye. He looked like Popeye when he threw it toward the metal can in the corner, missing the target by at least a yard. He scowled and squished his lips into a grimace. The only thing needed to complete the cartoonish picture was a corncob pipe.

  Gunnar walked over, picked up the cup, and deposited it in the can. “Daisy Mae, I can stay if you want me to help. I don’t want to intrude, so I’ll leave if you’d prefer.”

  “Who the hell ish Daisy Mae?” Dad demanded.

  Lord, Gunnar was trying to soften the tension in the room. And he’d offered to help. In the past, other friends had fled the area like crooks abandoning the scene of the crime when her dad got liquored up. Not Gunnar. When she looked into his eyes, her heart fluttered, trembling like Dad’s hands. Mal nodded. “Thanks, I could use some help getting him to his house. Listen, Dad. Chloe should be back from her delivery soon. I’m going to let her close up the shop so I can take you home.”

  “I can get home myself. I don’t need your help.” Dad’s voice was belligerent.

  Hell no, that wasn’t happening. There were two bars between the shop and his house. She couldn’t take the chance he’d stop at one or both of them on his way home. Plus, knowing Dad, there was booze secreted all over his house. “It’s cold out, Dad. I’ll drive you home. I have to go check on Gaby. Will you stay here?”

  A lopsided grin lit his face, and he pounded his hand on Gunnar’s arm. “Sure, you can leave me with my babysitter here. We’ll get better acquainted, won’t we, fella?”

  Gunnar shrugged, then smiled at her. “I’ll watch him.”

  “Thanks,” she said as she moved away.

  Knowing Dad was in good hands and that Gunnar wouldn’t let him walk out the door started to thaw the ice that had encased her when she learned Dad was drunk in the garden. Glancing at the pair of them over her shoulder, Gunnar’s reassuring smile further melted her heart. She couldn’t help it. She was falling for him, and that was the least intelligent thing she could do.

  As she entered the front section of the shop, she drew a deep breath. She couldn’t believe her father had told Gaby to call him Dad. Being drunk was no excuse for being insensitive. Stupid, maybe, but not heartless. She was certain she’d find Gaby nursing justifiably hard feelings about Ben Eckert.

  She paused to let the scents of The Secret Garden work their calming magic. The smell of roses, hyacinths, carnations, and daisies perfumed the air of the shop. Earth smells from the potted plants accented it. Mal summoned her frustration with Dad and Gaby, along with her overwhelming attraction to a man she shouldn’t be interested in, and blew it all out in one breath. She located Gaby behind the cash register, blankly staring out the window. Thankfully, there weren’t any customers in the store. With Valentine’s Day less than two weeks away, foot traffic in the store would really pick up soon.

  Mal glided over to the cash wrap. She stayed on the customer side of the counter. Gaby wouldn’t meet her gaze. “I’m sorry about what my dad said. It’s no excuse, but he’s been drinking and doesn’t always think before he speaks.”

  “Duh.” Gaby lifted her head sharply and pinned Mal with eyes filled with hurt and animosity. Mal curled her fingers against her palm to keep from reaching out, certain any sisterly gesture of comfort wouldn’t be welcome.

  “He still loves her, you know. Your mother. He’s never stopped.”

  The corners of Gaby’s lips turned down. “Is that why he drinks? Because she’s permanently unattainable?”

  It was perceptive of the girl to identify the reason. “They had a difficult marriage from the start. My birth made matters worse. It devastated him when she left. I think she might have stayed if it hadn’t been for me. Somehow, he managed to make her stay until I was twelve. I think he thought she’d actually stay for good. He was crushed when he came home from work one night and found she’d packed up and left.”

  Painful memories threatened to swamp her, but she shoved them away. Mal had discovered the note Harriet had left for him when she’d gotten home from school. The envelope had taunted her, etching itself onto her soul like a bad tattoo. Reliving the inglorious past sucked.

  Mal shrugged. “He used to hide his drinking from me. When Harriet first left, he’d wait until after I went to bed, then he’d get his bottle and have a few drinks. Always at home. He’d never go out and leave me alone.”

  “That was responsible of him.” Sarcasm greased Gaby’s voice.

  Mal shook her head, dismissing Gaby’s ire before continuing. “As I got older, he became more careless about it. And two drinks became four, then six. Alcohol numbed his pain, but it intensified mine.”

  “He hit you when he drank?” Horror filled Gaby’s eyes.

  “No, he was never like that. I meant, the deeper he buried his sorrow in the bottle, the more it hurt me that he couldn’t or wouldn’t stay sober. No matter how much I begged.”

  Gaby flattened her hands on the counter. “I’m glad he wasn’t abusive.”

  Dad was a maudlin drunk but never an angry one. Malin lowered the zipper on her coat, grateful for the cool air against her upper chest. “Once I could drive, bar owners would call me to come pick him up. It was either me or the police. Maybe I should have let him go to jail once or twice. It might have helped.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  Good question. Why hadn’t she let him experience jail and all its glory? Would he have stayed sober if she had? “Fear, I guess. I’d already lost my mother. If my dad were in prison or rehab, I’d lose him, too. I’d be alone. I don’t expect you to understand.”

  “My dad was like that. He drank a lot. I don’t know if he was an alcoholic like your dad. Mom constantly badgered him to quit, but he wouldn’t. He died in a car accident after he’d been drinking at a business dinner. Just like what happened to my mom. He was over the legal limit and chose to drive instead of calling a cab.” Gaby crossed her arms over her chest and hunched her shoulders. “At least your dad never hurt you. My dad could say some really ugly things when he’d been drinking.”

  Shock rippled through Malin. She couldn’t believe Gaby had shared this information with her. It wasn’t like they were as close as...well, as sisters.

  “Oh, Gaby. I didn’t know. That’s why you got mad when my father said you could call him Dad.”

  For the first time, Gaby made full eye contact and tapped her nose, a gesture their mom used to make when Mal got an answer correct. “I didn’t like my dad when he was boozing it up. I do not need another dad like that.” Gaby grimaced. “After the accident, Mom kept it all pretty quiet. She didn’t want his reputation tarnished. I think she was ashamed of being relieved that he’d only killed himself and no one else in the accident. She was depressed and angry for a long time after he died. Xanax was her constant companion.”

  Seemed they had more in common than either of them knew. “I don’t like my dad when he’s drinking either. He quit for a long time and stayed sober. But he stopped fighting the urge last week. After he heard about your mom.”

  “Shit.” Gaby’s quiet, one word epithet summed it up.

  “I’ll second that.” Mal shifted from one leg to the other and dipped her hand in her pocket. “We are a messed up family, aren’t we?”

  Dark humor invaded Gaby’s eyes. She laughed, the sound bitter. “For sure. At least we have each other.”

  But did they? Gaby continued to hold Mal at arm’s length, even when confessing her dad’s secret. And Mal wasn’t ready to let go of her resentment over Gaby being the child Harriet had stayed for. They had a long way to go before a peaceful existence could occur. But with any luck, their similar experiences could be a bonding factor.

  “As soon as Chloe returns from her delivery, I’m going to take Dad home. I’ll have to stop at Red’s Tavern to get Dad’s keys first, so let’s order you some food. I’ll pick it up on the way back from Dad’s and bring it to you.”

  G
aby’s expression turned hard. “Going to leave me home alone again?”

  A long, long way to go, apparently. “It’s only for an hour. I want to get Dad settled and clear his house of all the bottles he hides.”

  The door to the street opened, admitting cold air and Chloe at the same time. She shoved the door closed with her backside, then leaned against it and grinned. “Damn, it’s cold outside. Hey, Gaby. How was the last day of school?”

  “It sucked.”

  The pleasantness of Gaby’s tone belied her words. Mal suspected that in the midst of all the changes going on in Gaby’s life, leaving her old school and classmates might have been the easiest to handle.

  Mal addressed Chloe. “Dad’s drunk, and I have to take him home. I’m sorry to ask, but would you stay an extra hour to lock up?”

  Sympathy flashed over Chloe’s face, and she grunted. “Poor Ben. Poor you. Of course, I’ll stay. It’s Friday, and with me between boyfriends, I don’t have any reason to race home.”

  “Can I stay with Chloe? She can keep training me and show me how to lock up.” Gaby leaned forward over the counter with a hopeful expression, her voice pleading. “Please? I don’t want to stay at your house by myself.”

  Mal trusted Chloe and, in spite of the age difference between the two girls, they seemed to have hit it off. She looked at Chloe, who nodded. “Okay. Maybe you two can get dinner somewhere after you lock up. My treat.”

  “Sweet,” said Chloe as she hopscotched her way over to the cash wrap. “We’ll go to the Corner Deli. That’s where all the high school kids used to hang out. Give Gaby a chance to scope out her new classmates without them aware of who she is.”

  “I’ll get my wallet.” Mal left the two with their heads knocked together, talking about the menu and what to expect at the restaurant.

  When she walked through the door, she found Dad hunched over on the stool at her design table, his face buried in his arms. Gunnar had dragged another stool over from the corner and sat next to him, texting on his cell. He looked up and smiled as she approached.