Cruel Water (Portland, ME, novels Book 2)

by Freya Barker

  “Have you made your decision?” Our server steps up to the table drawing my attention, but not before Viv catches me looking at her. I nod at her to go ahead. I’m grateful to find out she is not one of those salad-only women when she orders the prime rib, which happens to be my choice as well. The girl takes our menus and promises to be back with our orders shortly, leaving us to stare at each other across the table.

  “I don’t ...”

  “I think ...” Both of us chuckle when we start talking at the same time. “You first,” I suggest, but Viv shakes her head.

  “No. You go.”

  Okay. Still nervous obviously.

  “I was going to say that I think we started off backwards.” I watch closely for her reaction, which is the slightest lift to an eyebrow, before charging on. “We seem to have bypassed all the usual, tentative explorations and went for the payoff, right off the bat. Don’t get me wrong,” I quickly add, when I see her face turn guarded. “It was a phenomenal payoff, but I’m afraid it’s not enough.”

  “Not sure what you mean. It was a one-night stand, a quick fuck. I wasn’t and am not looking for anything more. And I thought it was the same for you.”

  I figure she’s purposely using bold language to put me off, but she only manages the opposite. I find it refreshing and honest. “It was. And then it wasn’t—isn’t. I just want a chance to get to know you. Something about you had me return to the pub, and then seeing you in action ... Let’s just say you’re getting under my skin.” There. I’ve laid my cards on the table as directly as I know how. She’ll either engage or give me my walking papers. Once again an assortment of emotions plays out on her face. She really is quite transparent. The fiddling with her napkin starts up again, but this time I don’t stop her, so much for finesse. I guess her dismissal of our night together as a simple fuck, nothing more than getting our rocks off, stings.

  “I don’t know what to do with that,” she finally says honestly. “I’m not really in the market for anything else.”

  “I appreciate that. Even though your body language doesn’t seem to be in sync with that statement,” I observe, noticing her bristles go up again immediately. “Be that as it may, for now, I’m only interested in getting to know you. Talk. That’s all. Let it play out however it plays out.”

  I can tell she’s nowhere near convinced, but the arrival of our server with a basket of bread seems well timed. A reprieve of sorts, as Viv takes her time slathering butter on a chunk of the fresh bread. The sight of her small white teeth ripping off a bite shouldn’t be erotic, but I’ll be damned if it doesn’t turn me on. I shift inconspicuously in my seat and try to focus away from her long, slim neck moving as she swallows. I’m so fucked.

  “So what exactly do you do?”

  Her question surprises me. My reaction must be visible, because a deep chuckle escapes her, making me smile in response.

  “You did say we’re getting to know each other, right?” The glint in her eyes tells me she’s teasing, and I like it.

  For the next forty-five minutes or so, we talk. Our work, our pastimes, and we tentatively broach our families. It seems that’s where both of us hold back. For me it’s my lack of one, but all I want to say at this point is that both my parents died of health-related issues not too long ago. My brother’s death is something I can’t talk about. As for Viv, she seems happy to discuss her brothers with me, even going so far as to tell me her youngest brother is gay but still firmly in the closet. I’m not sure what she expects from the way she’s scrutinizing my reaction, but I’ve never had an issue with another person’s sexual preferences, and I don’t hesitate telling her that.

  “Men, women, little green men from Mars, it doesn’t matter to me. The only thing I draw a line in the sand on is messing with children. That’s something that is never acceptable.”

  The silence at the table is deafening. Viv’s face a blank mask as she slowly folds her napkin. Something happened here. I feel it, and I know for sure at her next words. “Thank you so much for a lovely dinner, but I have to get going. My father has not been well and Mom needs my help.”

  With that she simply gets up, smiles that blank smile at me again, and walks to the exit before I can even get my head around what’s happening. What the fuck did I miss?

  I get the bill paid in record time, despite the fact I’m sure she’ll be long gone by the time I get outside. To my surprise, her car is still sitting in the lot, with Viv behind the wheel staring straight ahead at the windshield where a piece of paper is tucked under her wipers.

  Walking over, I snatch up the paper and look at it closely.

  I STILL HOLD ALL THE CARDS

  Viv doesn’t move at all, not even when I pull open her door and crouch down in the opening. “Honey?” I try, reaching over to cover the hands she has clasped in her lap. When she turns her head, she seems startled to find me there. “What’s going on?” I show her the note and see her shiver in response. “Do you want me to call the cops?”

  “No. Please don’t. It’s just ... it’s nothing. Really. Just a prank, I’m sure.”

  I can tell she knows I’m aware she’s lying through her teeth, because her eyes plead with me not to push it. Feeling how on edge she is, I give in, but only because I’ve already made up my mind to mention it to Gunnar. I bailed on the ball game tonight, but know he’ll be at The Skipper later.

  “Okay. Why don’t I follow you to your parents’ house, though. Just in case.” I stand up to get my bike when her voice stops me.

  “I can’t.” Her voice wavers a little before her eyes lift to meet mine. “My car won’t start.”

  After I get her to pop the hood, the problem is immediately obvious. Her entire battery is missing. What the hell? This is no joke. When I close the hood, I see Viv has stepped out of the car and is looking at me expectantly.

  “Where is the spare key to your car, babe?”

  “Why?” she wants to know, uncertainty on her face.

  “Because someone took your battery and the only way to pop the trunk is with the inside lever. Was your car door locked when you came out?” I ask, leaning past her to grab her purse from the passenger seat. She’s coming with me.

  “I popped the locks with the remote, walking up. I don’t have a spare set anymore. Never got it replaced.”

  “What happened to the first set?”

  Just like that, I see her eyes fill with tears. Stepping in, I fold her in my arms. “Could this in any way be related to the reason you have a good friend who runs a shelter? Or why Gunnar is so damn protective of you? Talk to me, honey.” I stroke her back, waiting her out.

  “My ex,” is all she says, her voice muffled by my shirt, but it’s a start.

  “How long ago?” I prod gently.

  “About four years. I was thirty-five when I finally left him.” Her voice is so quiet, I have to strain to listen but at least she is talking.

  “Good for you.”

  She pushes her face even harder into my chest before she speaks again. “Hardly, considering I was just twenty-three when I met him.”

  Twelve years. I’m reeling with that bit of information. Hard to fit that with the strong, hard-nosed woman I’ve had a chance to observe a few times, not only standing up for herself, but others as well. “You figure it’s him?” I still ask, even though my gut tells me it is.

  “Pretty sure,” she responds before she steps out of my arms. “I was gonna tell Gunnar, because I promised him I would if anything like this ever happened, but when morning came I thought maybe I’d overreacted.”

  I shake my head confused. “What do you mean, when morning came?”

  “Frank has never contacted me since moving to the other side of the country, right after I left him. Until Saturday early morning, or technically Friday night I guess, when he called me out of the blue. I shut him down quickly, but it bothered me that he pointed out he was ‘still on West Coast time.’ The night we had the bar brawl? I thought it was him standing o
utside the pub, but I’d dismissed that too. Now I’m thinking maybe it was him. Maybe he moved back.”

  I feel a surge of anger and frustration but suck it down when I see how forlorn she looks. Instead I hold out my hand. “Give me the keys and I’ll lock up. You can hop on the back of my bike, and we’ll sort your car tomorrow morning.”

  Within minutes we’re on the road, Viv tucked in close behind me, her arms holding on tight. Reminiscent of the first night we met, but a hell of a lot less carefree. She directs me to her parents’ place, and I pull into the driveway, just as Viv’s phone starts to ring in her purse. Hopping off, she digs it up, checking the caller before tucking it back in her purse.

  “Was that him?” I ask, perhaps a bit sharply.

  “Mom,” she says, pointing over her shoulder at the house. “Guess she’s wondering where I am. I better go in and talk to her.”

  “Wait,” I call out, reaching for her and pulling her close. She gives me a little resistance but not too convincing. “Let me have a little taste.” Before she can answer, my mouth is on hers. Just as her body softens against me, and I can kiss her more deeply; a loud shattering of glass breaking has both of us swing toward the house. The big bay front window is gone, with only a few large shards hanging precariously from the top of the frame. Some piece of furniture is lying on the porch outside, looks like a folding table or something. From inside, a loud voice is calling.

  “Vivvy! Vivvy!”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Viv

  I stand cemented to the spot.

  Ike steps around me and runs toward the house, his long legs taking the steps to the porch in one. The moment he disappears in the house, I become dislodged and run after him. The sound of my father’s voice, still repeating my name at the top of his lungs, leading the way. On the porch, I have to side step to avoid the glass and the TV table we’ve used to slide in front of my father’s chair for dinner. Charging through the door, I run into Ike’s broad back, who is blocking the doorway to the living room.

  “Stay back, babe,” he says in a soft voice, and I notice his hands up in a defensive manner. Like hell I’ll stay back. I slip under one of his raised arms to take in the scene before me. My father is on his knees by the broken window with blood on his hands. When his wild eyes come to rest on me, he calms instantly.

  “Vivvy,” he breathes, and I can’t help the soft shudder that runs through me. When my eyes roam the room, I find Mom on the other side of the dining room table, with a gun in her hand, aimed at Ike. Fuck.

  “Mom? What happened?” I slowly walk toward her, stepping in front of the gun, making sure she focuses on me and not on Ike, who swears under his breath behind me.

  Confusion mars her face, and she looks from me, over my head at Ike. “Oh, honey,” she sobs, dropping the gun on the dining room table, and I wince at the impact against the wood. “I ... Dad ... he’s been ... the window.” By the time her tears start flowing in earnest, I’ve reached her and slip my arm around her, holding her tight while she cries. Behind me I can hear rustling and the low timbre of Ike’s voice. He’s looking after my father. I barely know the man, but I gladly leave that task to him. Don’t know what that says about me as a daughter, but my mom deserves my attention. Gently, I guide her into a dining chair, fetch her a glass of water before kneeling in front of her chair, running my hands over her face and body to make sure she’s not hurt.

  “I’m fine,” she hiccups. “Your father started asking for you a while ago. Was persistent, even though I’d told him several times already that you would come after dinner. I got tired of explaining, so I went into the kitchen, tried calling you, and when you didn’t answer I took a minute to wash some dishes in the kitchen. That’s when I heard the window shatter.”

  I grab her hands, which are shaking so hard she can’t even bring the water to her lips. After taking a sip, she can continue. “He was yelling your name, and I didn’t know what happened, so I grabbed the phone and the gun from the top of the fridge.” The guilt for ignoring her call, just now, in favor of kissing Ike is sharp and bitter. Mom continues without noticing my wince. “When I came in, he was sitting on the floor by the window, with blood all over. Then this man walks in, and ... I thought ...”

  “Shhh. It’s okay, Mom. That’s Ike, he was my date tonight, he was just bringing me home. I think Dad broke the window, his TV tray is outside on the porch.” I try to keep my voice calm, but my insides are shaking as hard as Mom’s hands. “You thought Ike—?”

  She nods. “I hadn’t had a chance to take it all in, and then he comes walking in, and I thought we were being robbed. Or invaded, like you hear about from time to time on the news.” Her eyes travel over my shoulder to where I can still hear Ike’s calming voice, before coming back to me. “I’m so sorry,” she says, and the crying starts all over again.

  “Babe?”

  I turn to look at Ike, who has my father up in his chair and is holding on tightly to his wrists. Large shards of glass are clenched in each of my father’s hands and blood is dripping on either side of his chair.

  “Need a hand, Viv,” he says, his eyes communicating calm.

  Right.

  Standing up, I pull Mom out of her chair. “Mom, can you get the first aid kit from the bathroom and grab some towels, please? Dad has a cut.” It’s probably the understatement of the year, given the amount of blood collecting on the carpet, but I can’t panic. Not now. I try to block as much of her view as I can and guide her into the hallway. Once she slips into the bathroom, I run to take some bottled water from the fridge, a few kitchen towels, and grab the phone off the table, before racing to Ike’s side.

  “Good girl,” he mumbles, and I throw him a fierce look.

  “Don’t say that,” I bite off. I don’t wait to see his reaction but instead look at my father. “Dad, is it okay if I take the glass out of your hands? I’d like to put it somewhere safe,” I try.

  His unfocused gaze lands on me and slowly recognition dawns. “Viv?”

  “Yeah, Dad. I’m here. Listen, you seem to have cut yourself, can you let Ike and me have a look?”

  He never looks away from my face but slowly opens his hands, letting the shards fall to the ground. Holy Christ. His hands are pretty cut up. Just then Mom comes in, her arms piled with towels and the much too small first aid kit teetering on top. She almost drops the lot when she sees his injuries.

  “Crimeny! Fergus, good Lord.” Handing the contents of her arms to Ike, who’s let go of my father’s wrists, she sits down on the coffee table. For once, I’m glad for all the shit my brothers put her through. She’s seen worse. Still, she wasn’t seventy-three at the time.

  While she distracts my father with questions, Ike starts rinsing the blood off his hands and arms so we can see the damage. In the meantime, I grab the phone and call Owen, who simply says he’s on his way. He lives only five minutes away from our parents, and by the time we have wrapped the wounds in the measly little sterile wraps and then towels, he comes barreling in the front door, with Aaron closely on his heels.

  “It’s like a fucking bloodbath in here!” This from Aaron, who immediately gets scolded by Mom for his language. Aaron is the perpetual bad boy, and I suspect Mom secretly likes it. Especially when he plays coy with her, like now, leaning down and pulling her in a quick hug. “You okay, love?” When she smiles at him, he turns to look at the injured party. “Dammit, Pops. Did a number on those shovels of yours, huh?”

  Owen just looks at Ike. “Who’s he?” he barks, getting my back up right away, and I scramble to my feet. “Owen! That’s Ike, he’s with me. Try to be civil.”

  “Yeah, Owen, behave.” Aaron, gives our older brother a punch in the arm, trying to make light of an already tense situation.

  “By the way,” I ask him, “how did you get here? Owen call you?”

  “Nah. I was at his place. Red Sox game on Owen’s sixty-inch tiny dick compensation.” That earns him a slap to the back of his head. I swear, my brot
hers, in their forties, are no different than they were as teenagers.

  “Shut up, moron.”

  “Boys!” The deep baritone of my father’s voice stops everyone. He was always good at restoring order with just that one word. “Think you can stop that for a minute? I think I may need some stitches.” I’m sure everyone in the room is as stunned as I am to hear him talk lucidly and to the point. Mom appears to be the first to recover from the shock and jumps up to grab her purse.

  “Well, come on, kids. You heard your father. Viv, Owen, see what you can do to clean up here first. Find something to board up that window. Aaron, grab the keys for Dad’s car from the kitchen counter? You’re driving.”

  This is my parents at their best. Taking control during chaos, and believe me, there was plenty of chaos in this house growing up. Aaron does as he’s told, and helps Mom get our father to the car, while Owen continues to throw dirty looks at Ike. He is still on his knees, calmly trying to mop up the blood with a towel, as if he’s done nothing else for years. In fact, he hasn’t said much at all, just calmly does what needed doing without a word. I feel guilty for dragging him into this mess, and also ashamed, especially ashamed. This was a bad idea. This whole date thing: I should never have let him talk me into it. Hearing my father go on like that, getting a gun pointed at him for trying to help, while I’m still standing outside paralyzed. It’s too much. Too close.

  “I think you can go now.” God, I sound like a bitch. I watch him slowly raise his head and look at me.

  “When we’re done here,” he says slowly and deliberately.

  I’m not sure what to do with that, and I don’t want to make what is already a messed-up scene, an even bigger one. Owen, however, has no issue starting something.

  “She said for you to leave.”

  Ike turns his head slowly to Owen, and I can feel the tension ratchet up. “Not what I heard and frankly, given the anger coming from you, I don’t know if I’d leave her alone with you.”