Cruel Water (Portland, ME, novels Book 2)

by Freya Barker

  “Who’s up front?” I ask, looking from Syd to Gunnar, who cautiously look at each other. Gunnar answers, “Matt and a new girl, she’s full-time. One of Pam’s women. Hired her Monday.”

  Really. As manager, it’s always been on me to hire full-time staff. Occasionally, Gunnar or Syd would take on a part-timer for the busy season, but full-time, year-round staff is my job. Syd must’ve noticed my reaction, because she reaches across the table and grabs my hand. “Viv, she’s had a rough few years, been staying at Florence House since March. You know how hard it is to find a place to start. We thought you’d be all over it.”

  I’m an idiot, a self-absorbed, insecure idiot. A flush of embarrassment heats my face. “Of course. Absolutely,” I say quickly. I know what it’s like to be given that first chance at climbing out of the hole. I’ve been paying it forward since I got my shot; pulling Syd into the pub when she was destitute, volunteering as much as I can at the shelter. Syd and Gunnar had simply done what they knew I would’ve, had I been around. “Look, I’m sorry my hours have been messed up lately. So much has dropped in your laps.”

  “Couple of things,” Gunnar starts, but is stopped by the kitchen phone ringing. Before Dino can get to it, the ringing stops. Matt must’ve picked it up and turning back to me, Gunnar continues. “Syd being pregnant, I don’t want her on her feet long hours.” From the glare she throws her husband, I can tell Syd is not necessarily in agreement with that decision. Gunnar ignores her. “You having a man, the stuff you’ve been dealing with—all of that plays into it, too. Business has been good. We all benefit from another pair of hands and Ruby is working out well. Syd needs more time to focus on the baby and her foundation work, and you need to have a life.”

  Syd had come into some money a few years ago, which she used to start up a foundation to aid families with devastatingly ill children. She organizes regular fundraisers to raise monies and has been written up a few times in various newspapers around Maine. Tragically, the applications far outnumber the families the foundation is able to ensure appropriate medical care to. So although Syd has chosen not to be involved with vetting the applications, a board was set in place for that, she does take on the responsibility of fundraising. A full-time job in itself, which this summer, she hasn’t been able to do much work on. For the most part because she was covering my shifts at the pub.

  That’s why I choose not to get my hackles up at Gunnar’s comment that I need a life, because even if I’m not ready to admit to that, his reasoning on Syd’s behalf is valid. More than valid. But before I have a chance to say anything, an out of breath, short, rounded woman of obvious Latin descent rushes into the kitchen. This must be Ruby.

  “It’s urgent,” she says to Gunnar, who pushes out of his chair immediately. “I’m sorry, he said he was looking for Viv?” Her dark brown eyes scan the kitchen table and land on me where they stay.

  Ike

  I watch Viv get up from the table and tentatively grab the kitchen phone off the hook. “Hello? Yes, this is Vivian Lestar.”

  I don’t even realize getting up until I find myself standing right behind her. Her shoulders are pulled up and her head is hanging down as she listens to whoever is talking on the other end.

  “What the hell?” She whips around, suddenly face to face with me. “Dorian needs me to come get him from jail,” she informs me, disbelief in her eyes when she hands the phone over to me.

  “Dorian?”

  “Shit. Shit. Shit. Ike, man, I’m glad you’re there, I tried calling your cell, but it kept going to voicemail. Can you come instead?” That’s probably because I still have it powered off in my pocket.

  “What happened?” I ask, ignoring his question.

  “Jesus, look, I’ll tell you when you get here. I’m in a holding cell where they just handed me the phone after dialing for me. I’m not exactly alone.”

  “Where are you?”

  “The main one, on Middle Street.”

  “Give me fifteen minutes,” I tell him before hanging up. When I turn around I see a kitchen full of people, but no Viv. “Where’d she go?” I want to know, but the answer comes with the slam of the back door. Son of a bitch.

  I ignore the questions thrown at me and take after her on a run. By the time I get through the door and past the dumpster, I can see her hoofing it down the cobblestones in the alley. Fuck, she’s moving.

  “Viv, hold up!” I yell after her, but all she does is throw a quick glance over her shoulder. It’s not until I call out, “You don’t even know where he’s at,” that she slows down, allowing me to catch up with her. “Jesus, babe,” I groan, Dino’s pulled pork sandwich sloshing around in my stomach. “My bike is back there.” I point to where it is parked behind the pub.

  “Can’t fit him on there with us. Let’s go, my car is in the garage.” Before she can take off again, I snag her hand, making sure she keeps a more reasonable pace.

  “Thought you were taking off without me,” I note, working hard at suppressing my irritation.

  “Nope,” she says popping her lips. “Was just getting the car. I’m pissed at my brother—I needed fresh air.”

  She looks pissed, walking at a decent clip beside me, her shoulders still pulled up tight. But it’s not until we are in her car, which I insist on driving given her agitated state, plus the fact that I know where we’re going, that I break the silence.

  “We don’t know what happened yet, babe. Maybe it’s a bit premature to be pissed at him,” I suggest carefully.

  “If that was why I’m pissed, I’d agree with you. But that would not be the reason. I’m fuming, because he counts on me being there for him, they all do, without thinking.”

  It takes me a minute, but then I clue in. He knew she’d come running, no questions asked. Trusted on it. Yet that’s not something that’s been afforded her. She’s right. I wasn’t pissed before as much as curious, but now I’m pissed too.

  Viv is not happy to be relegated by the desk sergeant to sit in the waiting area and is virtually bouncing in her chair. Sitting down beside her, I take her hand in mine, holding it firmly when she tries to pull it free. “Settle,” I tell her softly, to which she glares at me.

  “I can’t settle. You heard her,” she says, tilting her head in the direction of the officer. “He was picked up for drunk and disorderly after getting kicked out of a bar for fighting last night. What the hell is wrong with him?”

  I have to clench my jaw, so I don’t make the mistake of pointing out to her that she had thrown herself into the middle of a bar brawl not that long ago.

  Despite my efforts, she must be picking up on my thoughts because she says, “Not the same, Ike. That is so not the same.”

  At that moment, the door beside the front desk opens and another officer comes through with a rough-looking Dorian right behind. Shirt bloodied, a cut on his cheek, and that whole side of his face swollen, he looks like he got as good as he gave.

  “Shit, man, you brought her?” is the first thing out of his mouth, and I feel rather than see, Viv steam up beside me.

  “More like she brought me. You should know your sister better than that.”

  It wasn’t intended to have a double meaning, but from the wince on Dorian’s face, it was received as such. I don’t feel sorry. If he chooses to read something more than was intended into my words, that’s his problem.

  “He’s all yours,” the officer says, handing Dorian a slip of paper.

  “Viv,” he says when he stops in front of her, but he gets a hand stuck in his face.

  “Not a fucking word, Dorian. Not even one. Not now.” With that she turns on her heels and leads the way out of the police station, the two of us following behind. Dorian meekly and me not just a little amused.

  Viv gets in the front, without a word, leaving Dorian to fold his big body in the backseat. We’re about halfway home when she suddenly blurts out as she twists in her seat, “Are you out of your skull? Getting drunk and fighting? What the hell, Dorian?�
��

  “Fuck, Viv. I was missing Kyle, dealing with our ... family shit, and I just went over to The King’s Head for a drink. Escaping for a couple of hours. How was I to know it’s Aaron’s favorite hang out? Didn’t waste time getting in my face either.”

  “Aaron? You were fighting with Aaron?” Viv’s voice rises to a level distinctly uncomfortable for the confines of a car, but I can’t blame her. I lift my eyes to the rearview mirror, where I can see Dorian grimace before answering.

  “We had a difference of opinion that got a little out of hand,” he confesses. “I lost my cool, shoved him when he got up in my space, and he tripped over a stool. I felt bad right away, reached out my hand to pull him up, and he repaid me with a fist in my face.”

  Viv twists herself back to face the front, pulling on her hair, and mumbling under her breath. “I can’t believe this, I can’t fucking believe this.”

  Knowing I am risking possible physical harm with her wired so tight, I count on the fact that I’m driving to work in my favor as I reach over with one hand to still hers. The moment I touch her, she drops her hands and turns her eyes on me. “Do I even want to know what they were arguing about?” Her voice carries the sound of defeat. I don’t like hearing that.

  “First bump, beautiful. We knew there’d be some. Hang in there.” Next I address Dorian. “You gonna need medical care?” I meet his eyes in the rearview mirror. He shakes his head.

  “EMT looked me over at the police station. He superglued the cut. I’m good.”

  Just as I pull into the underground garage of Viv’s building, she turns back to her brother. “Does Aaron look anything like you?”

  “I may have returned fire a time or two.”

  “Jesus.”

  The moment I turn off the engine, Viv is out of the car and marching to the elevator. Dorian and I follow a little slower. Glad to see she’s holding the elevator for us, even though she doesn’t look at Dorian once.

  The phone is ringing when we walk in and Viv rushes to get it. She barely gets her hello out before her face goes completely blank and her back shoots straight. Both of us move to her side, but Dorian gets there before me, snatching the phone from her hand and putting it to his ear. I put my hands on Viv’s shoulders and turn her to me. “Who is it?” I ask, just as she does a face plant in my chest, but the answer doesn’t come from her.

  “Mom!” Dorian yells in the phone. “Yes, I know you thought you were talking to Viv, and now I know why she’s upset. I can’t believe you, Mom. I’m the one who got into it with Aaron. Viv has shit to do with that. I’m telling you right now, you keep this crap up, just like you’ve been doing all week, and you won’t just alienate Viv, but Nolan, Owen, and me too. Yes, Mom, them too. We talked—Nolan saw him, Mom. Coming out of her room, he’s always suspected. No, that’s not what happened, Mom, and you fucking well know it. Owen overheard Dad in the hospital. You wanna try and convince us all that his hands are clean? That your daughter is making this shit up? Think hard, Ma, think real hard.” With that, Dorian slams the phone down. “Son of a fucking bitch!”

  During his tirade, Viv’s hands have been digging into my back, and I’ve mumbled nonsense in her ear. I’m glad Dorian took a stand, and did it loudly. “Babe,” I lean back and tilt my head to the side to catch Viv’s eyes. When she lifts her face I see unspilled tears shimmering in her eyes, but she surprises me by snorting loudly.

  “How’s that for a dysfunctional family?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Viv

  “Want me to stop at Standard? Pick up some pain au chocolat?”

  “Dor, you can stop buying my good graces with pastries already, I’m gonna end up twice my size.”

  Dorian is on his way over for dinner. It’s been two weeks since we got back from Bar Harbor and our tumultuous homecoming. Ike will be home tonight after a three-day trip and Dor offered to man the BBQ. My brother already redeemed himself by a mile, but seems insistent on making up with me. I’ve seen him a couple of times. He’s come in to The Skipper, every time with a bag of something fresh-baked and delicious. Then he sits at the end of the bar, chatting up Arnie while waiting for me to speak to him. I relented the second time he appeared. Tonight will be the first time he comes to Ike’s place, where I’ve been staying all this time. Something Ike brought up again last night, when he called me from his hotel room. He wants me staying with him to be a more permanent arrangement.

  Two weeks ago, after my semi-hysterical burst of laughter, I left Ike and my brother in the living room, escaping before the tears would come. The moment I walked into the bedroom, where my brother had made himself at home, I decided I’d done enough crying. Enough. That’s why, when I walked back into the living room fifteen minutes later, my bags in hand, both of them looked up in surprise.

  “Where are you going?” Dorian asked, pointing at the bags in my hands.

  “Ike’s,” I told him. “If he’ll have me a bit longer, that is,” I added, suddenly a bit insecure. The big smile behind his beard quickly dissolved any concerns I might have had. “Don’t know how long you’ll be staying, after ... well, after today, but I feel the need for some distance. From everyone,” I throw in for clarification.

  I’d had enough. I never thought I would hear my mother spout garbage at me like she did. It shocked me. So much for easing into my reality. It fucking smacked me in the face. First with my brothers getting into a fucking fight over me, and then mommy dearest. Jesus. Dorian having my back with my mother, leaving no room for doubt as to where his loyalty lay, went a long way to soothe my initial anger. But my God, what a hot mess. It’s enough to make me want to head right back to Bar Harbor, but Ike’s house will have to do.

  So I talked to Dor on his second time to the pub, and a bit more the third. That was last weekend. Tuesday Ike had to go to Norfolk, Virginia, to put together a local crew for work on his new design. He didn’t want to go, felt it was too soon, but I convinced him that as long as he was fine having me stay here, I would be fine by myself. The fact that Pam promised to pop in on Wednesday night, went a long way to settling it as well. That was the first time he brought up me moving in permanently, giving up my apartment. I’d hauled over the stuff I’d need daily, but I was missing my things. That, and the fact we haven’t known each other that long, has held me back from jumping in with both feet. Because, truth be told, I love Ike’s house. It doesn’t have my view, but it does have a nice backyard with a deck, perfect for having morning coffee. I can still hear the gulls and the fishing boats leave in the morning, and when the wind is right, I can even hear the water.

  “So, is that a yes or a no?” Dorian pushes.

  “Okay, fine, bring the damn chocolate croissants.”

  “So easy,” I hear him tease as he hangs up the phone.

  Just as I put mine down on the counter to finish the potato salad I’m making, it rings again.

  “Dor—just the croissants, nothing else,” I say, assuming it’s my brother calling back. It is, but not that brother.

  “Viv? Nolan here. Look, I’m driving up from Boston and staying the weekend. Any chance I can see you when I get into town?”

  I don’t say anything right away. Not quite sure what to say to be honest. I wish Ike was here so I could bounce it off him. Am I ready? Is he expecting a serious talk or is this just a visit? I could do a visit, I’m pretty sure I could manage that. Not so sure I’m ready for a heart-to-heart.

  “Viv? If you need more time, I understand. We’ll try for next time I come down.”

  That decides it. Hearing that he’s not planning to give up on me, regardless of my answer, prompts me to say, “No. I mean, no, I don’t need more time. I’m not at home though, I’m staying at Ike’s.”

  Nolan chuckles. “I know, Dor told me, gave me his address too. Talked to him not ten minutes ago.”

  Dorian is a pain in my ass. I’m onto his game now, buttering me up with pastries just to smooth the ride for Nolan.

  “Okay,
but just so you know, I’m not sure I’m ready for a heart-to-heart,” I admit.

  “No worries, Sis. Hadn’t planned on one, I just want to see you. Be there in thirty,” he says softly, which makes me melt a little inside.

  “Okay.”

  The dead air in my ear tells me he’s hung up, and I snatch some paper towels to dab at my eyes. For fuck’s sake.

  Half an hour later, Dorian arrives, toting not one brown bakery bag, but four.

  “Geeze, Dor. I thought you were bringing me a chocolate croissant, not the entire contents of the display case.”

  “Oh hush. Nothing wrong with a little sweet from time to time,” he huffs past me and deposits his bags on the kitchen counter. “Whatever doesn’t get eaten can be frozen. Or eaten for breakfast, that always works for me.”

  I’m still standing with the door open when another car pulls into the driveway. Nolan gets out, comes up to me, and saying nothing, pulls me in to hug me tight, before setting me back and also disappearing to the kitchen. Amazing how my brothers can’t find a pair of clean socks to save their lives, but put them in a strange house and they easily find the kitchen.

  I close the door and join them. Already they’re pulling back the plastic wrap on just about everything I have set out on the counter and dipping their fingers in. “Hey, guys!” I warn before doling out a few well-aimed slaps on hands. “Back away from the potato salad and get out of my kitchen.”

  “Your kitchen, Sissy?” Dorian teases.