Still Air
Page 28
I look at my son, who is now smiling and talking with Pam, his arm loosely around Emmy’s shoulder. Pam’s eyes come up and meet mine. Everything I see and feel is reflected there. The corner of her mouth pulls up in a little lopsided smile.
Pam
I cried yesterday.
Hell, I cried the day before, too. Sitting around a table at The Skipper with my girls on Saturday night; Viv, Syd, and Ruby. Women who have become as close as sisters to me. Women I can share everything with: worries, pain, joy, and victories. And the circle is only getting bigger. Marianne and Maria, two more victims turned survivors—two more women who wake up each day, surprised to find themselves stronger than the day before, despite the hell they had to walk through to get here. There’s Sarah, whose path has been more like a twisted mountain road, with lots of hairpin turns and deep valleys, but even she is finding her feet. Her sons now holding all of her focus. Sarah’s discovered the power of sisterhood is stronger than the hold one man can have over you. She’s even started paying it forward by being a sounding board for Jeannie; who came out of rehab only two months ago and is still struggling to get on her feet. Hers will likely be a lifelong struggle, but she’s trying hard. I’ve been in touch with her a few times; while still in rehab, and since she’s been out. Dino doesn’t know I’ve kept her informed on the well-being of the children. Something that seems to have given her a focus, too. She knows it’s up to the kids, but she wants to get well enough to maybe be in their lives again one day. I was able to help her find a halfway house; an environment where she’ll be able to start building a life of her own, yet still have the security of monitoring and support. A place to start. That’s all any of us need.
I sat there with my girls, looked at the pub full of people, who all somehow had become an important part of my life—who’d collectively pulled me from solitude and made me feel part of something bigger—and I cried.
I don’t think I’ve cried as much in my lifetime as I have in the past ten months or so. A lot of sad tears, but even more happy ones. I’ve been alive.
Even saying goodbye to Jonas was with mixed feelings.
We’d driven to Boston in two cars yesterday. Gina had gone with Jonas in his car, and Dino and I followed behind, both cars loaded full. He was staying in a residence hall his first year, something Dino had insisted on. Living with other students would give him an opportunity to make friends in a relatively safe environment. Jonas didn’t object, because it came with a place to park his car at low cost. Something that was at premium in Boston.
He had a room to himself in an old, rather ornate building, where the rooms were larger, but the downfall was shared bathroom facilities. Not that Jonas cared much, he was too excited about the gorgeous, tall bay window that allowed him a view of beautiful Chestnut Hill. The residence hall is short ride from campus on the bus that stops right in front. He doesn’t really need his car to move around Boston, in fact, it’s easier without, but having it there gives both him and Dino a sense of security. The ability for him to come home whenever he wants or needs to.
Once we have him settled into his room, we head over to Fenway Park. I’d managed to score some Red Sox tickets, with the help of Gunnar. I thought it would be good idea to end the day on a fun experience for us all. Hoping to add something positive to what would otherwise just be a pretty sad affair. I’m glad I did; we had a really good time at dinner and the whole game experience was a blast.
“I love you, Pam,” he’d whispered in my ear when we said our goodbyes out front of his dorm.
“Me too, baby. Me, too,” I sniffed before holding him at arm’s length. “Be smart, be careful, and be safe, boy. I hear anything else—remember—I know where you live.”
I carried the sound of his chuckle and the sight of his bright smile all the way back to Portland.
Damn, I’m proud of the kid; he struggled a little during the Christian Neve trial this summer, but he never wavered. He stayed on the straight and narrow. Luckily, after the guilty verdict came down on all counts, including corruption of a minor, the other two kids opted to plea to a lesser charge, as expected. We talked about the possibility of a civil suit, but for the sake of closure for all of us, we decided not to. We needed to collectively move past it. So I’m happy Jonas is doing just that, going off to college. That doesn’t mean I’m not sad he’s moving to Boston.
The house will be quiet without him. Hell, it already is.
Gina left on the school bus this morning, leaving silence in her wake. At least she’ll be home this afternoon.
“What are you doing?” Dino sits beside me on the couch, fresh from the shower.
“I’m listening.”
“To what?” he wants to know.
“Still air...” I reply, sorting my thoughts and feelings while I look at the family wall. “Before, the silence was absolute, the air thick and heavy, making it hard to breathe. Now, the house is quiet but the air is still—peaceful with the knowledge the kids are safe—and vibrant with the echo of their voices. The sound is full of promise—Hopeful.”
Dino’s arm pulls me tight to his side and his lips brush my forehead.
“You know I love you, right?” he whispers.
“I do,” I tell him, lifting my eyes so I can study his rugged face, softened with true emotion. “I hear it...I see it, and...I feel it.” I take one of his large hands and press it between my breasts. “Right here.”
THE END
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
My Portland, ME, novels have been labors of love. This fourth and final story rounds up this series and features, arguably, perhaps the strongest of the women I’ve portrayed. As with the other novels in the series, the root of the story is a true life story, but the focus is not on the tragic events, but rather on the way our heroine copes with the turmoil in her life.
As daughters, mothers, partners, and/or wives, women tend to carry not only the weight of their own demons on their shoulders, but those of loved ones around them as well. We have a tendency to repress our own pain, identity, grief, struggles, and end up placing others’ needs above our own. That struggle is real, as it is for Pam, our heroine. Caring for others becomes our purpose, our reason for being, and is often our coping mechanism.
I’ve personally gone through a struggle like that, although I thankfully have never had to grieve the loss of a child. For me, it was my health that started to fail, making it impossible for me to continue working and costing me my mobility. I found myself at a loss; my children grown and no longer in need of my care, and I was no longer ‘productive’ or needed. It took me three years of wrestling with depression to find some foothold again. It required digging deep to figure out what my purpose was—who I was.
I needed to reinvent myself many times over, every time I lost the ability to continue on the path I was on, but I found me. Not better, not worse, just different. And I’m happy where I find myself; not despite of all that went before, but in large part because of it.
Strength.
We all have an infinite supply of strength that sometimes needs new and creative ways to access. In the end, though, we’re all still standing, a little worse for wear, but never more secure or confident with our place in the world.
Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, ambition inspired, and success achieved.
(Helen Keller)
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:
As always my readers come first! I am so grateful to all of you who’ve either read my books from the beginning, or have only just discovered my writing. I love connecting with you via social media, email, messages and most of all, at one of the many signings I’ve attended. Your feedback is always amazing and inspires me to do more...and better!
I’m privileged to have a phenomenal group of people who offer their continuous support in my Barks & Bites. You lift me up, you cheer me on and you have my back. All the damn time! I love you guys!
My amazing beta-readers who are not afraid to speak their mind, set me straight, and press me for better. You are indispensable. Joanne Thompson, Chris Alderson Kovacich, Debbie Bishop, Nancy Huddleston, Pam Buchanan, Sam Price, Deb Blake, Lena Konstantinos, Catherine Scott, Kerry-Ann Bell, Tracy Meighan, and Rebecca Stacy. I love you all.
My amazing editor, Karen Hrdlicka, who always makes me look so damn good! A brilliant brain I can always count on to bounce my ideas off. There are few I trust to guide me as much as I do you. I’m so blessed to have you by my side, and look forward to our future projects! Love you to bits!
My agent, Stephanie DeLamater Phillips, who is perhaps not always immediately visible, but who has quietly managed to garnish me a fabulous contract with EverAfter Romance for all my currently published works. Thank you for all you do behind the scenes, my lovely! I love your face!
I have to thank all the awesome blogs who pimp, promote, push and review my books. Your time, your enthusiasm, your support, is absolutely imperative. I adore you all and hope you know how much I appreciate all of you!
Dana Hook; what can I say about this woman? She is an advocate for upcoming authors. She is my talented partner in Rebel, Edit & Design. But more than that, she is my own personal “Asshat” and I love her like a sister. You’ve put up with me for five weeks, and held my hand through three signings, electronic mishaps, and seven seasons of SOA. I love you Opie! And asshat! So hard, it’s not even funny.
My family rocks. They put up with my erratic schedule and my frequent absences when I travel. The house is still here, every time I come home, and everyone (and the dog!) is well taken care of. Mark, Sanne, Stijn, Justin, Nicole, thank you all for allowing me to evolve, the way you have. I love you so much.
Mom, you are the best and most supportive person in my life. You read every word I write, and never hesitate to tell me how much you enjoy it. Love you, Mama.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Freya Barker craved reading about 'real' people, those who are perhaps less than perfect, but just as deserving of romance, hot monkey sex and some thrills and chills in their lives – So she decided to write about them.
Always creative, from an early age on she danced and sang, doodled, created, cooked, baked, quilted and crafted. Her latest creative outlets were influenced by an ever-present love for reading. First through blogging, then cover art and design, and finally writing.
Born and raised in the Netherlands, she packed her two toddlers, and eight suitcases filled with toys to move to Canada. No stranger to new beginnings, she thrives on them.
With the kids grown and out in the world, Freya is at the ‘prime’ of her life. The body might be a bit ramshackle, but the spirit is high and as adventurous as ever. Something you may see reflected here and there in some of her heroines ... none of who will likely be wilting flowers.
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or mailto:freyabarker.writes@gmail.com
ALSO BY FREYA BARKER
PORTLAND, ME, NOVELS:
Book #1
FROM DUST
Book #2
CRUEL WATER
Book #3
THROUGH FIRE
Book #4
STILL AIR
CEDAR TREE SERIES
Book #1
SLIM TO NONE
Book #2
HUNDRED TO ONE
Book #3
AGAINST ME
Book #4
CLEAN LINES
Book #5
UPPER HAND
Book #6
LIKE ARROWS
Book #7
HEAD START