From Dust

by Freya Barker

  An inadvertent glimpse in the mirror shows me an absolute stranger; one that smells faintly like the bottle of shampoo I used to wash my hair. My hair is now so long that it reaches past my waist. I’ve always been a dark, strawberry blonde, but I can’t recall my hair ever being this wavy, even wet. My blueish-grey eyes staring back at me are familiar, but not the dark circles around them, nor the hollowed out face. My almost skeletal body is so unlike my rather plump one, I can’t even find one familiar part to it, except perhaps... Low on the stomach, between my prominent hipbones where there is a scar. I know that scar well because it’s one that evokes memories I am quick to suppress.

  A knock on the door jolts me out of my musings and I quickly wrap the towel around myself.

  “You okay in there?”

  “Almost done,” I assure Viv, making quick work of pulling on the jeans and T-shirt sitting on the hamper. The shirt is big enough to hide the fact that the jeans are falling off my ass. Jesus. With a last, wistful look at the pile of dirty rags on the ground next to the hamper, I open the door to face what might well be my restoration.

  “If you finish washing glassware, I’ll jump into the kitchen to start on prep. Come find me after.”

  “Okay.”

  Viv smiles and leaves me behind the bar with my hands in delicious warm water.

  After the first time my jeans started slipping off my hips, Viv produced a length of rope that was now holding them up securely. A bit embarrassed about my now scrawny body, I was quickly assured that I’d have some padding and muscle to fill out my frame soon enough. She would see to it.

  After walking me through my job duties and showing me where to find the cleaning supplies, she has us start out cleaning the washrooms before taking on the pub. Every morning she wants the glassware washed. The perfunctory rinses they get when the doors are open are not enough to her liking. So, while Viv wipes surfaces and sweeps the floors, I’m relegated to dish duty, and I don’t mind one bit. The warmth of the water is slowly making its way into my bones and I feel such utter contentment in that moment, until a sound from behind me has me turning. Two sets of curious eyes are facing me and it’s all I can do not to crawl under the bar right now.

  “Hey, what happened to Maria?” The tall, pretty-faced man asks. Searching the place as he stands there, I can only assume that he’s looking for the missing Maria. Still not comfortable speaking, I just shrug. The gorgeous girl standing beside him tilts her head to the side as she observes me. She’s pretty and polished with shiny, dark straight hair that flows down to her shoulders, and a perfectly made up face. I feel like yesterday’s garbage in comparison. How apropos. I am yesterday’s garbage, quite literally.

  “Can you talk?” The edge is clear in her voice as she continues to regard me through slitted eyes. “You look damn familiar.”

  Her last words have me trying to shrink in on myself. The shame of being noticed as someone living off the streets is something rather new and harsh. I’m a little surprised I care where I was so without care before. Not sure what to say, I’m rescued by Viv, who comes in from the kitchen.

  “Great, you guys are here. I can introduce you to Syd. She’s here replacing Maria. Syd, this is Matt and Denise. Denise generally works the bar and Matt serves with me, but we sometimes switch it up.”

  “Nice to meet you, Syd.” Matt reaches out and with a quick glance to Viv for reassurance, I place my hand in his, receiving a small squeeze.

  “You too,” I mumble.

  “I’m sure I know you from somewhere,” Denise says with her head still tilted to the side and her hands firmly on her hips. Not knowing what to say to that, I simply shrug my shoulders. Once again, Viv seems to know to jump in.

  “Wouldn’t be surprised. Syd lives pretty close, don’t you Syd?”

  Picking up on the fact that Viv won’t speak about my living conditions, I finally open my mouth. “Not far at all. In fact, I have a view of Holyoke Wharf from my window.” From the corner of my eye, I see a little smirk on Viv’s face, which encourages me to look at Denise straight on.

  “The apartments at the end of the dock? That’s where you live? Wow, those are hard to come by. Been there long?”

  “Just about a year or so.” I don’t confirm or deny her assumption and feel justified in that I’ve not told a lie.

  Viv claps her hands. “Come on guys, we’re wasting time here. Let’s get to work. Syd, you almost done there?”

  “Just a few more,” I tell her.

  “Why don’t you let Denise finish up now she’s here and give me a hand in the kitchen.” Without another word, she turns on her heels and disappears into the hallway. I grab for the towel and dry my hands, feeling eyes on me the entire time. When I look up, Denise is already working at the sink, but Matt is standing by the doorway, eyeing me up and down. Ignoring the invasive looks, I slip past him and hurry to join Viv in the kitchen.

  “Never mind Denise. She always behaves like that around other females ... like she needs to establish her rank in the pack.”

  I can’t stop the snort that escapes when I get the implication of Viv’s words. Yeah, Denise does seem like a bit of a bitch. Viv has one side of her mouth lifted and shoots me a wink.

  “Let’s get these vegetables chopped. You okay with a knife?” I nod when she hands over a large chef’s knife and gestures to the huge cutting board, the size of half a door, piled high with onions, peppers and other assorted produce. She spends the next ten minutes showing me how she wants them all sliced and diced before leaving me to do something by the stove.

  “You cook too?” I ask, watching her stirring in the various pots and pans on the large industrial stove.

  “I do, but we have a cook coming in at noon for the lunch crowd. I usually serve the lunch crowd and most of the time Gunnar is here to tend bar in the evenings, so Denise and Matt serve the dinner crowd. We also have a few part-time employees who are scheduled on weekends, days off, or when one of us gets sick, which is practically never. I get to cook in the evenings and I do the morning prep. It’s what I love to do. What about you? You like cooking?” she throws a look over her shoulder.

  “I used to,” I say carefully, not wanting to think back to the times I would prepare entire gourmet meals without blinking an eye. I’m determined to move forward and not look back.

  Apparently, getting my reluctance to part with more information, Viv simply says, “Good. We’ll just have to make sure you will again.”

  I’m not holding in the smile that is forming on my face. If I leave the past and focus on the now and the path ahead—like is so often suggested—I feel good ... content. It feels like a milestone of sorts.

  “So what do you think?” Viv is scrutinizing the piles of chopped and sliced vegetables I’ve created over the last hour or so on the cutting board.

  “I’m happy with what I see, but are you up for this? Working here five hours a day?” Her gaze now lands on my face, trying to gauge my response.

  “I think so. I don’t want to disappoint you; not after all you’ve done for me.”

  A spontaneous laugh bursts from Viv. “I haven’t done anything that wasn’t at some point done for me. And I have a feeling that I may come out of this with a new friend; something that hasn’t come easy for me over the years. You’ll do fine.” She looks at me with warmth in her eyes.

  “I’d really like that. I’ve not had a friend in so long, though, I might’ve forgotten how to be one,” I tell her with a shrug.

  “How to be a friend? There’s absolutely nothing wrong with being just who you are.”

  I feel a lump forming in my throat and work hard to swallow it down. Noticing my struggle for composure, Viv suddenly turns businesslike. “All right then. Your hours will be 11 a.m. to 4 p.m., Tuesday through Saturday. Sundays and Mondays, you’ll have off. I’ll start you at $8 an hour for the first month and after that, we’ll go up to $8.50. Do you have a bank account?”

  I slowly shake my head, the implications of
working again finally hitting me. I’ve worked so hard staying off the grid, not wanting to be connected to my past, that I’ve let everything go. I’m afraid if I open a new account or get registered anywhere, my past will find me one way or another.

  “You running, Syd?” Viv asks me with some concern.

  “Only from my past,” is my simple answer.

  “Okay then, I’ll try to keep you off the books and pay you cash for now. Every second Friday is payday, but this is something that we may have to contend with at some point.”

  “Th...thank you,” I stammer, relieved that this isn’t a deal breaker. Not yet, anyway.

  “We’ll work it out. Now before you go every day, I would need you to wipe down the bathrooms again. They won’t be as bad as in the mornings, but we try to get a fresh start for the evening crowd.”

  I nod in response, depositing the mounds of vegetables in the bins Viv has placed on the counter.

  “Why don’t you go see about them now. It’s getting close to two o’clock already.”

  I wash my hands at the sink and am about to leave the kitchen when her voice halts me. “There’s laundry upstairs. If you want to wash your clothes while you work, you’re more than welcome to. And until you get on your feet, I don’t see why you can’t come in here at ten in the morning, which is when I’m usually here, and have a quick shower before you start. Only if you want to.”

  “Thank you,” I mutter again, and without turning around, I head over to the closet where the cleaning stuff is stored.

  I’ve just finished the ladies’ room and I’m on my knees picking up the paper hand towels that landed under the sink instead of in the garbage when the door behind me opens. Before I have a chance to turn around, a deep, rumbling voice comes from behind me, freezing me on the spot.

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  The question is launched with such force, it has me scrambling to the far wall on my hands and knees before turning around to face whoever is so pissed.

  The man before me is massive. His thick thighs are encased in jeans, and the size of his shoulders would not be out of place on a lumberjack. In fact, he looks like one with his flannel shirt, not unlike the one I have, but oh my God, the face scowling back at me is the most intimidating thing about him. Disheveled salt and pepper hair, a few day’s dark growth on his square jaw, and the deep set of dark eyes are enough to have me cower further into the wall at my back. He is much more impressive up close than he is riding his motorcycle at a safe distance.

  “Gunnar!” I can hear Viv’s voice from behind him. “The fuck are you doing scaring the shit out of Syd?”

  So, this is Gunnar.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Gunnar

  I hear Viv yelling at me, but can’t take my eyes of that scrawny pile of bones with the biggest eyes and gorgeous copper-colored mane of hair, sitting on my washroom floor.

  I need to piss like you wouldn’t believe and I’m this close to fucking wetting my pants like a child. Tearing my eyes away from whoever she is, I stalk past her and relieve myself in the first stall, not bothering to close the door. No time. A groan escapes me when I can finally let go. Fuck, that feels good, and I don’t give a damn that I’m standing here pissing with an audience behind me. I’ve been on the road for a long fucking time and haven’t been able to hit a washroom since the plane I was taking back to Boston from Phoenix hit a pocket of turbulence halfway through the flight. That nasty ass stewardess—or flight attendant it is these days—was blocking the damn door and sent me back to my seat. Probably because I didn’t care for her obvious come-ons. But who the fuck makes suggestive remarks to a guy who is obviously traveling with two kids? A skank. The moment we landed, we got stuck in a flow of people and I don’t particularly like leaving the kids unsupervised outside an airport bathroom. Figured I could hold out ‘til we were on the road but decided to just hoof it to the bar, first dropping off my guys at their mom’s. Of course she picked that moment to start bitching about dumping the kids on her when we had already agreed on this schedule change weeks ago via e-mail. I’ve been gone for a week with them, visiting my mom, and told Cindy I’d drop them off around 3 p.m. because I’d need to check on the pub. I trust Viv, but it’s a lot to take on my shift as well, and for an entire week at that.

  “Jesus, Gunnar. Close the door, will you? You’re gonna have Syd here quit on her first day!” Viv yells as she slams the stall door closed. Some mumbling and shuffling of feet follow and I’m glad to hear the washroom door slam shut as well.

  Syd? That little things name is Syd? What kind of fucking name is that for a girl? My stream downgrades to a trickle. I shake off and tuck my business away, zipping up as I push open the door to get my hands washed. The washroom is empty. Seems Viv has taken her new charge out of here and is probably somewhere, trying to calm the little bird down. Christ, she looked like she was terrified. Feel kinda bad about that but holy shit, my bladder was bursting and I find some weird chick on the floor of the men’s room.

  I splash some water on my face in an attempt to rinse away some of the travel fatigue etched on my face. I’m getting fucking old at forty-four.

  There are voices coming from the kitchen so I stick my head in to find the little bird sitting on a chair and Viv fussing over her. Better get this apology shit over with since I know Viv well enough to know she’ll make my life hell if I don’t. One reason why she handles all hires and fires is ‘cause I don’t have ‘people-skills,’ apparently. My people-skills work well enough when I pour drinks. Plenty of women appreciate my people-skills too. At least, I think they do, although it’s not in my nature to check up with them after I leave ‘em well-fucked in their beds. Never mind. Don’t bring that shit home ... not ever. My kids are with me every other week and that house is as much theirs as mine. My eyes turn back to take in that fantastic hair falling over the creeped out chick’s back. Streaks of blonde in different shades, but the overall effect is of burnished copper. Amazing for someone looking so gaunt everywhere else to have such bright bluish pools for eyes and a mass of shiny hair.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I move into the kitchen. Viv lifts her head when she sees me approach and throws me a cautionary glance. The little bird, or Syd—whatever her name is—picks up on it and slowly turns around. The moment she looks me straight in the eyes, I have to suck in another deep breath. She must’ve been a knock out once, but the dark circles around those expressive eyes and the prominent cheekbones and sharp chin are evidence of a hard life. Damn. What has Viv dragged in now?

  “Ahem. So... I guess I should apologize for barking at ya.” I tell her, noticing the long waves framing her face. She flicks her eyes down and seems to disappear into herself without saying a word. “I’d just been on the road—long trip. I didn’t expect to find a woman crawling around in the men’s room. Sorry if I scared you.”

  It’s becoming increasingly uncomfortable talking to this little person sitting frozen in front of me, refusing to meet my eyes again. I glance at Viv, who gives me a little smile of encouragement. Jesus.

  “So, yeah ... Syd, is it? Welcome to The Skipper. I’m Gunnar, but I guess you probably heard Viv call me that already. Anyway,” slowly her head comes up as she focuses her eyes on me again, “glad to have you on board.” I stick out my hand and she tentatively slips her tiny one in mine. A little squeeze and she pulls right back, but not before I feel the hair on my arms stand up from the charge that comes with touching her.

  “Thanks.”

  Her voice is like rough sandpaper—so unexpected from a petite frame like hers.

  “Right. Gonna check on the pub. Meet me in my office in half an hour?” The last I direct at Viv, whose smile has morphed into a smirk. Smartass. She can probably tell I can’t wait to get out of here. With one last nod at Syd, I turn on my heels and make myself scarce.

  Denise is standing behind the bar, chatting up some young guys having a beer. Must be tourists; I’ve never seen them in here. Doesn’t take long
for her to spot me.

  “Yay! You’re back!” Damn, girl’s almost jumping up and down.

  “Yup.” I do my best not to engage with her too much. I know she has some kind of fixation on me, but that shit will never happen. Hell no. The thought sends shivers down my back. She’s technically young enough to be my daughter, but a damn good employee. I can’t argue that.

  “How are things up here?”

  “Just great. No problems at all,” she says in a breathy voice, while stepping in too close to me. I’m relieved to see Matt walk up with a simple wave and I use the distraction to reclaim a healthy distance from Denise.

  “S’up, boss? Have a good trip?”

  “Not bad. Phoenix is nice and hot. Bloody freezing when we got back to Boston, though. Took half the drive to Portland to get the damn car warmed up. Everything quiet here?”

  A look is exchanged between the two of them before Matt answers.

  “Pretty quiet. We had the baseball team come in for drinks Wednesday and they were pretty rowdy with their captain away.” He nods at me. The boys of the Anchors, my beer-league ball team, make it a habit to come in every week, even outside of the season. Wednesday is our regular game night, but it’ll be another month before we actually start playing again. Doesn’t stop them from showing up every other Wednesday of the year as well. It’s a good group of guys, but damn noisy.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah—but Viv told ‘em off good. We had a few families still here eating and the guys weren’t minding their language. Viv threatened to ban them for life if they didn’t mind their manners. That scared them straight; no one wants to mess with Viv.” He grins.

  I chuckle. Smart move not to mess with that woman. She may look all soft and girly, but she’s got more brass and bigger balls than most men I know. Not to mention a mean left hook. I know, I’ve been on the receiving end of it.