by Freya Barker
“Ya think?” I try to make light of the situation, but something Pam said resonates. Be real. I’ll try—as much as I dare to.
“Tell me, how is your dad doing?” Ike wants to know, and I catch him up. I tell him about the recommendation by the geriatrician and about the spot that just came available at Seaside Assisted Living, where he is to be moved tomorrow morning.
“Good. I’m glad to hear that. It’s an incredible strain on loved ones when someone is suffering with dementia or Alzheimer’s, not to mention the effects of his recent stroke.”
I’m taken aback a little by his insight and the question slips out before I think. “Did you know someone?” The smile he gives me is rather wistful.
“My Gran. She was in her eighties when she started showing signs and at the time was living with my parents. She’d refused to move into a home when it became clear, running her own household was getting to be too much. Unfortunately my parents were already in their sixties and should have been enjoying their retirement. It became an almost untenable situation. In the end, after Gran finally passed at almost ninety, my mom found out that the persistent pain she’d been neglecting for too long, because she was too busy, was actually cancer.” The pain of remembering shows on his face, and I find myself burrowing deeper into his shoulder.
“She was gone not four months after Gran died. Dad couldn’t hack it. His mother and wife gone in the time span of a couple of months was too much. He’d barely survived my brother’s ...” A quick glance down at me before he continues, “Dad didn’t make the year. He was only seventy-five and had given up.”
“I’m so sorry.” I rub my face on his shoulder and place my hand on his chest. I can feel the deep thump of his heart underneath my palm. His brother, too? I try not to react, but I can tell by his look, he doesn’t want to talk about that. “When did you lose them?” I ask him softly, avoiding specifics.
“Two-thousand, and then three years ago.”
His brother first, and then the entire rest of his family. My heart aches and pressing my eyes closed, I can feel the burn of tears behind my lids.
“So. How are things with your brother?” he asks, clearly ready to shift focus.
“Nothing I can’t handle. I told him the gist of what happened. He was angry, but mostly I think he was disappointed I hadn’t come to him. We’ve been distracted with my father since, and we’ve had a few run-ins. I warned him I don’t want Mom to know. There’s no use, not now, but he’s trying to force the issue.”
“Have you talked to Gunnar? To the police?”
I bristle at his questions and start pulling away from him, but his arm keeps me firmly anchored.
“Don’t get mad. I know you probably have a handle on things, but I’ve been worried. Ever since talking to Gunnar ...” This time I shove at him hard enough and his arm slips from my shoulder.
“You talked to Gunnar? When? Why?” I’m probably overreacting again but I can’t help myself. The thought of these guys talking about me, behind my back, gets me all kinds of riled up. All I manage is to make Ike snicker with my barrage of questions.
“Easy there, tiger. First of all, I called for you but he answered the phone. Secondly, it was Thursday evening, and I called because I wanted to apologize to you.”
Okay, now I’m a little embarrassed. “Oh.” I don’t look up but keep my eyes firmly focused on my clenched hands. Damn.
He leans down and tilts his head so he can look up at me. “Yeah.” He smiles. “Oh. And just so you know—for the sake of clarity—apparently your brother called Gunnar that morning to ream him out for not telling on you. I basically told him I fucked up, when he, in turn, tore a strip off my hide and the air is now clear. At least between Gunnar and me. He knows where I stand, and I know where he’s at. And, babe?” I reluctantly lift my head to face him. “I don’t think anyone can make the mistake of thinking you’re not capable of looking after yourself, that’s not in question. The point is that those of us, whose knuckles still occasionally scrape the floor, like to take care of what they consider theirs.”
“Whatever,” I mumble, but do it through a barely concealed smile, which morphs into a glaringly obvious yawn.
“Tired?” Ike asks as he pulls me to his chest. “Let’s go to bed.”
At the mention of bed, I push back to look at him with my eyebrows raised.
“Get your mind out of the gutter, woman,” he jokes. “You need sleep, I need a snuggle, so I’m staying here.”
For the first time in what seems forever, I throw my head back and laugh. Hard. “You’re a nut,” I say, standing up and pulling him up with me. “Good thing I’m partial to them.”
Without another word, we make our way into my bedroom where, to my dismay, the better half of my closet is strewn over furniture and floor. The only thing to do is, with one wipe of my arm, at least clear the bed. I swing around, daring Ike to say something.
“Interesting decor,” he dares, but quickly pulls his shirt over his head and I’m instantly distracted by the faint dusting of hair on a fine, fine chest. Didn’t have the time to check the wares, so to speak, last time he got naked. His soft chuckle brings me to my senses. With a fake dirty look, I disappear into the bathroom to brush my teeth. After me, Ike takes a turn with the new toothbrush I left out on the counter for him. By the time he comes back to the bedroom, I’m already in my sleep shirt, snuggled under the covers, facing the edge of the bed. I can feel the other side dipping behind me when he gets in.
“Night,” I say softly when I feel his arm come around and yank me to the middle of the bed, plumb against his delicious chest.
“You get to sleep, but I still need my snuggle,” he says with his nose pressed in the crook of my neck, breathing in deep.
“Are you sniffing me?”
“Hush, you need to rest.”
With a smile on my face I slowly give into the draw of sleep. His deep voice in my hair is the last I hear before I drift off.
“You give good snuggle.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ike
“Hey. Fancy meeting you here.”
I’m in line to grab lunch on my break when Ben shoves my shoulder, almost making me drop my damn tray. It’s been at least a week since I’ve last seen him. My brother and I have both been assigned orders to the USS Cole earlier in the year, only two months apart in fact. But working on opposite schedules, Ben’s on nights, we don’t bump into each other a lot.
“Lunch break for me. What about you? Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”
“Nah. I had a couple of hours, can’t seem to get back to sleep. Besides, there’s a bug running through the operations room and half the guys are sick. We’re kind of short-staffed, so I thought I’d grab something and head in.” Bold as can be, Ben grabs a tray and pushes in line beside me, instigating a chorus of swearing behind me. As usual, Ben is oblivious to insult, living his life on the half-full side. He lets everything slide off his broad back. His yin to my yang, Mom always says. I’m the pessimist. The deep thinker, broody, and much darker than my light-haired and light-hearted brother.
“Meatloaf and mashed potatoes for breakfast?” I note as I watch him load up his plate. He shrugs his shoulders and throws me one of his big smiles. I just shake my head, and take my tray over to a couple of empty seats on the far side of the galley.
“Fuck. Forgot my drink,” I curse, just sitting down.
“Shit. Me too. Hang on, I’ll get them.” Always the helpful kid, Ben plops his tray in front of the empty seat beside me and heads over to the counter, where a new flood of cursing greets him as I see him jump line again. I knew he’d do that, which is why I didn’t get the drinks myself. He charms his way through every obstacle.
An ear-shattering explosion lifts me right out of my seat, and slams me into the wall. Noise, I can’t even process, surrounds me before it turns eerily quiet. A persistent groaning of metal has me raise my head, and I’m surprised to see daylight flood in through a massive hole
in the hull where the counter used to be. The water is starting to stream in. My eyes immediately start searching for Ben when chaos ensues. I’m frantically pushing mangled steel and debris off me and crawl over bodies, some screaming, some all too quiet, to search for my brother.
-
Jesus!
With a gasp I sit up in bed, looking around in confusion.
Slowly I remember last night, Viv’s apartment, and most importantly Viv, who when I look over, is still lying beside me, quietly observing me from under heavy eyelids.
“You okay?” Her smoky voice sounds even hoarser with sleep.
I drop my head in my hands. I haven’t had one of these since the night of the brawl, but I’m guessing last night’s confessions brought it on. Shouldn’t be surprised: I’d never quite been able to rid myself of them, despite some counseling.
“Yeah,” I answer, laying back down and curving my arm around her, tugging her close. She doesn’t resist.
“That seemed pretty intense,” she says with a little too much concern.
“Just a dream. We all get those from time to time, right?” I play it off. Not something I want to drag up in the early hours of the morning. Not something I discuss at all. Ever.
“I don’t dream,” she says resolutely, her lips tight and a blank look on her face.
“Everyone does.”
“Not me. Not since I turned fifteen.”
With that, she slips out of my hold and goes to the bathroom, where I hear the toilet flush and the tap turn on. Huh. That was a pretty clear do-not-enter sign, if there ever was one. No dreams for over twenty years? Seems pretty significant, but since I’m not sharing, I can’t fault her for doing the same. Avoiding.
I lie in bed, waiting for her to return, when I hear the water shut off. A minute or two passes and still she hasn’t come out, so I go to investigate. Need a piss myself. The bathroom is empty but the door to the hallway is open, and I can hear some noises come from the other end. If I had any hopes for some more quality cuddle time, they were definitely killed off when I smell coffee brewing. This night has apparently officially been declared over. Pulling on last night’s clothes, that I discarded on the floor beside the bed, I make my way to the kitchen. A quick glance at the clock on the stove tells me it’s only five-thirty. Way too little sleep and too damn early to get up. Viv’s sitting on one of the cow-stools with her legs tucked underneath, her head bent over a paperback. Totally engrossed.
“What are you reading?”
The sound of my voice obviously startles her, because I barely manage to keep her and the damn stool from toppling over. She feels warm and soft under my hands, and I can’t resist sliding my arms all the way around to her front, where the weight of her breasts casually rests on my hands. “You’re not breathing,” I whisper behind her, prompting her to take a deep breath in.
“Just a book,” she mumbles, slipping off the stool and thus from my arms, making her way to the other side of the counter.
“Romance?” I ask, flipping the abandoned paperback over to look at the cover before looking up at her.
She shrugs her shoulder, a slight blush on her cheeks. “Pam told me to try. She lent me that one.”
“Who’s Pam?”
A quick flick of her eyes tells me she’d rather not answer. She does anyway. “Pam is my therapist. She helped me a lot a few years back. We became friends.”
I suddenly recall the scene in the bar a while ago, when Viv jumped in for a girl whose boyfriend was yelling at her. “She’s the one who runs the shelter?” It earns me a tiny smile.
“Surprised you remember that. Yes she is, she runs Florence House. I spent some time there a few years ago, after ... you know.” I nod, even though I don’t really know. I know she’s talking about when she left her douche bag ex, but I don’t know the whole story. Yet. I’m sure there’s a reason why she opted for a shelter, and not the safety and security of her own family, who live right here in Portland. Yet, until I spilled the beans last week, they had no idea she’d even had problems.
“Still see her when I need a little ... tweaking.” She laughs nervously when I round the counter and stalk up to her. “A lot has happened, these past few weeks,” she says by way of explanation. Not that I need any. I was there for some of it. “She’s the one who told me to give this ... thing with you a chance.”
“Did she? I’ll have to thank her at some point.” I wipe a few wild strands of hair off her forehead, before leaning in to take her lips in a soft kiss. “Morning,” I mumble against her mouth.
“Morning,” she returns, never letting her lips lose touch with mine. “Hmmm,” she hums when she ends the contact. “I was gonna make some breakfast—you interested?”
I rub my nose along hers before answering. “Bring it on. If you’re cooking it, I’m game.” I take a seat on the stool, prop my elbows on the counter, and watch her pull supplies from the fridge and the cupboards.
“Hope you can handle a bit of heat,” she quips, waving a few jalapeño peppers at me.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” I wink at her, simply glad I’m not out on my ass. Yet.
Viv
When the persistent groaning, from the other side of the bed, woke me this morning, I’d been momentarily alarmed. Not for long though, because the moment the mattress shifted and I cracked my eyes, I immediately recognized Ike’s shape sitting up straight in bed. He seemed distressed and disoriented, yet when I’d spoken up, he’d passed it off as just a dream.
Just a dream, my foot.
Concern for him almost had me tripping up—saying more than I was ready to admit to. Even to myself. Denial is a beautiful thing, as long as I can keep a handle on knee-jerk responses, like the one this morning. In an attempt to avoid any further questioning of my enigmatic slip-up, I’d rushed into the bathroom. Deciding I felt more in control vertically than I had horizontally, going back to bed was not an option.
I’m lucky he didn’t pursue, although he did catch me off guard when I tried losing myself in the small-town romance novel Pam had shoved in my hands. I’ve always been a fan of thrillers and suspense. Have looked down on romance most of my life, but I have to admit, this book sucked me in right from the first page. Not the bodice ripper I expected, and the heroine is far from a whimpering, helpless damsel in distress. I’ve used every spare minute, since I first cracked the spine, to read. Best way to divert focus from the hot mess my life is in. With my head already fully engaged with the storyline, I almost jumped out of my skin when I heard his voice. And another little piece of myself dropped out of my mouth before I had a chance to check it for content. Damn him. And damn Pam, for pushing me to be real, whatever that means. It’s hard when you’ve spent years creating a personality that suits everyone yet hides everything. Only a few see the cracks in the armor. Syd was actually the first and I willingly let her see them, but only so she would see my kindred soul. Gunnar, although he’d already proven a better friend than I could ever have imagined growing up, was tentatively allowed in a little further too. But Ike, with eyes that were way too keen, seeing altogether too much, seemed to barge through almost every defense. Getting to see more of me in a much shorter time than anyone else ever had.
Food is always an excellent distraction, and already aware that his stomach is a soft spot, I don’t hesitate a second before I wave it around, drawing his attention right away.
Huevos rancheros, otherwise known as the big guns when it comes to any breakfast I cook. I stir the wooden spoon through the beans I’m refrying, tossing in a dollop of sour cream to help break down and smooth out the beans. The smell of chili powder tickles my nose as I season the chopped onions and jalapeño peppers softening in the other pan. A can of tomatoes goes in my big blender, followed by some cilantro and the onion blend and with a few quick pulses, I have the base for my sauce. I almost forget about the man, whose eyes seem to be following everything I do, while sipping the coffee I slid in front of him. Almost, but not quite.
&
nbsp; A quick fry of the corn tortillas in the pan before I lay those out on a plate. Topped with a layer of the heated through tomato sauce, slices of avocado and a few spoonfuls of the beans, they’re ready for the eggs. Sunny side up, with the yolk still a bit runny. When I slide the plates on the counter in front of Ike, he has a big smile on his face. “Damn, babe. That smells phenomenal.”
“Hang on,” I say when he gets ready to shove his rolled up tortilla into his mouth, and shove some paper towels his way. “This tends to get messy.”
Sure enough, first bite results in tomato sauce and egg yolk dripping down his hands but he just happily chews and swallows. “Best damn breakfast I’ve ever had,” he mumbles, already going in for the next bite.
Smiling at myself, I have my own first taste. Not so bad: breakfast the morning after.
-
Ike offers to clean up so I can grab a shower first, but I remind him he’s the one who has to be in to work early. Mondays are easy days for me. During the winter months we usually close on Mondays, but during the summer we capitalize on the warmer weather, like anyone else making a living in a coastal town tries to do. But Mondays we don’t open until three in the afternoon. Deliveries are scheduled in the morning and lucky for me, that’s Dino’s job. He takes in and checks all the produce and meat that’s delivered and I don’t show up until one or two. We used to have both food and liquor delivery on the same day but we’ve since split it up. Works better this way, and I get the bonus of a morning off.
I’m humming with my hands in the warm suds, while listening to the water run in the shower. My earlier spot of anxiety long gone, I actually feel quite content. When the doorbell rings, I almost ignore it, but when I hear my brother yelling my name in the hallway, I quickly wipe my hands on a towel and rush to open up.
“What the hell, Dorian? Way to wake up the neighborhood. When did you get back?”