by Freya Barker
“Well, don’t just stand there,” she says, waving Neil in. “Come on in. You can be our guinea pig. Mak and I are teaching Stacie to bake.” She slips out from under my arm and leads toward the kitchen
“Should I be worried?” Neil asks under his breath as he passes me.
“My sister’s kitchen skills are killer.” I try hard to keep a straight face, but Neil’s worried expression is too much, and I’m laughing as I follow him inside.
Stacie flinches when she sees the unexpected guest walk into the kitchen, but kudos to Neil for not reacting to her dramatically changed appearance from last time he saw her. He simply leans down and kisses her cheek, as he does with Mak. Easy as the guy himself.
My sister has become quite comfortable around us in the last weeks, no longer trying to hide her scars. I contribute it to my niece and Isla, who treat Stacie no different than they would’ve before. I’m the one who’s having a harder time treating her as before. I’ve been more protective, more careful of her feelings, and most of the time it just seems easier to avoid interaction at all.
Until a couple of days ago, when the girls were talking about the wedding. Our wedding.
I was prepared to haul Isla off to Vegas to do the deed. No muss, no fuss. So when Isla asked Stacie to be her maid of honor, my ears perked up and my protective instincts jumped to attention.
“I would love to be your maid of honor,” I heard my sister exclaim.
“Perfect!” Isla clapped her hands. “Mak and I were looking online yesterday and we found the perfect dress for you. If you like it of course,” she quickly adds.
“She doesn’t have to wear a dress,” I jumped in. “Why doesn’t everyone just wear what they feel comfortable in? We don’t need to get all gussied up, do we?”
Three pairs of eyes turned in my direction, all burning holes through me.
“What? Since when do we stand on protocol?” I defended myself.
“Since your wife-to-be and my daughter clearly know me well enough to realize that I wouldn’t pass up on a chance to wear a pretty dress. Unless, perhaps, you think I shouldn’t?” Stacie snapped and I wanted to sink down a hole when I saw the hurt in her eyes.
Fuck me. My forty-ninth birthday just weeks away and I still hadn’t learned a goddamn thing.
In two steps I stood in front of her, pulled her out of the chair and wrapped her gingerly in my arms.
“I think you should do whatever makes you happy. You’re always beautiful, but when you’re happy, you are breathtaking.”
“Good save,” Isla stage whispered, making Makenna giggle.
Clearly I’ve been dramatically outnumbered, which is why I don’t mind at all throwing another set of balls in the vice that has been firmly clamped over mine. Namely Neil’s.
“Neil came to sample your baking,” I say with a grin in my sister’s direction, who immediately narrows her eyes, before diving down to pull a fine-looking pie from the oven.
Now, I’ve learned not to get fooled by looks alone, but in contrast to previous experiences with Stacie’s pies, this one actually smells good.
She cuts a healthy wedge, and hands it to Neil who, with his puppy dog enthusiasm, dives right in. I wait for the inevitable grab for a glass of water or something to wash the taste down, but to my surprise, he forks another piece in his mouth. And then another.
“Hot dang, this is good pie,” he says around a mouthful. “And I should know, I lived in Gus’s guest house for a while and his wife, Emma, is a master pie baker. For a while, I was their resident taste tester. Best job ever,” he mutters, as he shoves in another forkful.
The smile on my sister’s face is big as she turns to me with an eyebrow raised.
“Fine,” I say, my hands up defensively. “I’ll have a taste.” Stacie’s mouth falls open and Mak busts out laughing.
“Are you shitting me?” my perfect little sister slings at me. “You give me grief over my cooking and baking for years, but now that someone else likes what I have to offer, you suddenly want to have some? Forget it.”
With determination, she cuts the remaining pie into four pieces, loads another slice on Neil’s plate, hands a plate to Mak and one to Isla, keeping the last one for herself. She demonstratively shoves half of her slice in her mouth at once.
“You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?” I tell my sister with a roll of my eyes.
“Well, I hope so,” she counters with a half grin, crumbs falling from her mouth. “I work hard enough at it.”
Isla
I don’t know why I’m nervous.
Maybe it’s because I’m wearing a dress. Not just my only secondhand sundress, but an actual girly dress with three-quarter sleeves of lace. Lace!
If not for Stacie pointing out how perfect it would look with my brand new, baby blue Converse high tops, I probably would’ve passed on it. It’s a simple dress. The simplest we could find in the store. Technically, it’s just a strapless, Empire waisted dress of the softest flowing material. A deep scoop neck showcasing my pregnancy boobs. Something I know will make Ben happy to have on display, since I actually have some cleavage now. The skirt is gathered high, right underneath my breasts, leaving the rest flowing freely around my big baby bump and my ever-widening caboose in the back. Pear-shape anyone? The three-quarter sleeves belong to a long lace vest coat that closes with a single clasp between my breasts and falls open from there, creating the prettiest frame for my unhideable, advanced pregnancy bulge.
I let Mak go to town on my hair, with baby’s breath and what looks like dill, making my head look—and smell—like a salad. She loved it, and I didn’t have the heart to say anything other than that I do, too. Stacie tried to contain her giggles as she helped me put on some makeup. She lost that battle when Uncle Al came to get me and announced something smelled good, and was making him hungry for salmon.
But standing outside in the doorway to the front deck, which Ben and my uncle finished this past week, seeing my husband-to-be waiting for me on the lookout point, the dog by his side, I find myself suddenly nervous.
What was supposed to be a small intimate wedding has morphed into a sizable gathering. Damian is here, serving as Ben’s best man, and some of Ben’s old crew are here, too. I recognize his old boss, Joe Francisi, as well as Barnes; I just don’t remember his first name. Then of course there’s Jen who came together with Ryan DeGroot. And even our lawyer, Nicholas Flynn, who’s been leaving messages for Stacie since Ben mentioned she might be settling in town.
Then there is an entire contingent of GFI operatives with whom we’ve become quite close, who all brought their wives.
Just like that, I’ve gone from a solitary, somewhat searching soul, to someone with a home, a community—a family.
“You look beautiful,” Ben says smiling, when I finally reach him after only tripping three times on those damn long skirts. He leans in to kiss my cheek. “And you smell fucking fantastic,” he mumbles in my ear, and I can’t help myself, I burst out laughing.
The actual wedding is brief, practical. The vows we exchange are simple; yet hold every truth and emotion. The first kiss as husband and wife a scorcher, burning many a retina in the crowd. And the party that follows is the most fun I’ve had in a long time.
For the first time we reap the full benefits of the great room, easily housing the thirty some people we have here. The moment is perfect, when Ben pulls me in front of the fireplace and calls the guests to quiet, once everyone is provided with a glass of champagne. I’m holding my own glass, filled with only a single sip, so I can take part in the toast I know Ben is about to make.
“In case it’s escaped your attention,” he announces in his deep rasp, which carries surprisingly throughout the room. “We’re expecting.” Loud catcalls and whistles go up and I can’t stop a blush from heating my cheeks. “My wife and I have known for a while, but decided to wait sharing the gender with friends and family until we could officially reveal the perpetuation of a family name that see
med doomed to die with me.” He pauses for dramatic effect, even though everyone is already smiling and chuckling, before he concludes. “It’s a boy.”
The evening is a bit of a blur after that, with congratulations, hugs and kisses, lots of laughter, and the boisterous hum of life within the walls of our home.
But what will stay with me until I let go of my last breath is when, after the last guest has left, Ben grabs a quilt and leads me back outside. He sits me down on the rock, in between his legs, and wraps his arms around me, covering my belly with his big hands. His big body is curved around me as he rests his chin on my shoulder.
It’s a clear night, after a crisp but beautiful early spring day. I don’t feel the cold, not with Ben’s body and the quilt to warm me. The moonlight bounces off the water of the reservoir and stars dot the sky.
“You gave me this,” he says, his breath caressing my cheek. “A place on top of the world. A beautiful view that goes on forever. A future I can hold in my hands. And a life I want to grow old in.”
EPILOGUE
Ben
Last week of May
“I think we should head to the hospital.”
As she did the previous three times I made that suggestion, Isla waves me off impatiently.
It’s just after four in the morning, and my wife has been puking her guts out for the past two hours. Every time I’ve tried to pick her up off the floor to try and get her in bed, a new wave surges up, and she’s bent over the toilet again.
“It’s just the flu,” she says. Again.
Sure, Stacie mentioned that Mak had been down with a stomach bug for a couple of days this week, but we haven’t seen them since we were over at their new place, down in Dolores, the week before last. I doubt a stomach bug would incubate that long.
Again, Isla lifts up on her knees and bends herself over the toilet bowl. By now all she’s bringing up is bile. I wet the washcloth under the tap and wipe her mouth and face.
“Oops,” she says, looking down where I can feel warm liquid touching my knees.
“Was that...?”
“My water,” she says, looking a bit sheepish.
“Dammit, Pixie,” I growl. “Could’ve been at the hospital already.” I get to my feet, and grabbing the trashcan, I toss the lid aside and shove it in Isla’s hands. “Hold on to that. I’ve gotta get some clothes on you.”
Five minutes later I have Atsa locked in the house and my wife bundled up in the SUV. I dial my sister on handsfree as Isla sticks her head in the trashcan again.
“It’s time?” is the first thing out of Stacie’s mouth. Poor Isla retches in response.
“Water broke a couple of minutes ago, can you call Al? He’s going to want to catch a flight. And I locked Atsa in the house, depending on how long this is going to take, could you make sure someone lets him out at some point?”
“Got it. Good luck, guys! We’ll see you soon.”
“Not fair.” Isla’s voice echoes around the inside of the trashcan. “You’re not even flustered,” she tells me.
Little does she know that I’m so terrified right now, I’m afraid I’m going to shit my pants. Fine pair we make.
“You’ve got this,” I encourage her when she starts gagging again, this time ending on a deep moan, but she seems beyond speech now.
Every now and then I flick my gaze to where she is now slumped in the passenger seat, groaning with every bump in the road we hit. I’m doing my best not to get us in an accident as I barrel down the road to Cortez.
“Isla?” She doesn’t even respond to her name, as she starts tugging on the sweats I just put on her at home. “Babe, what are you doing?”
We’re almost in the hospital parking lot and my wife is stripping off her pants, grunting like something primeval.
I don’t even look at her now; I just focus on not hitting the portico over the emergency entrance of the hospital. I slam the car in park, unclip my belt and lean over, just in time to catch my son, who comes shooting out of Isla like a goddamn projectile.
Isla screams, the baby screams, and I’m pretty fucking sure I’m screaming too as I pound my free hand on the car horn for help.
-
“Oh my God,” Stacie gushes as she storms into the room, Mak right on her heels, and zooms right in on the bundle in my arms. “He’s so precious. Gimme,” she says, holding out her arms and wiggling her fingers.
“Buzz off,” I growl, not ready yet to let go. Not sure I’ll ever be.
“Ignore him,” Isla says from the bed. She’s way too damn perky after giving me a goddamn heart attack. “He’s grumpy because I birthed all over his precious car. Oh, and I might’ve spilled a bucket of puke on his leather seats, too,” she snickers, the other two girls falling right in with her, giggling away.
“See, bud?” I tell my boy; counting my blessings he’s got the right set of chromosomes. “That’s why we have to stick close, you and me.”
“What’s his name?” Mak asks, sitting down on the armrest of the chair. I can’t resist the reverent look on her face as she takes in her little cousin.
“You ask the right question,” I tell her, throwing a dirty look at my sister, who responds by sticking out her tongue. “Why don’t you sit here?” I get up off the chair and wait for Mak to settle in properly. Then I put the baby in her waiting arms.
“His name is Noah James Albert Gustafson,” Isla says, tears in her eyes as she watches Mak press a little kiss to Noah’s forehead. Mine are getting cloudy, too.
“That’s quite the mouthful for such a little guy,” Stacie says, doing a bit of sniffling herself.
“Eight pounds eleven ounces,” I announce proudly.
“Ouch,” my sister says, looking sympathetically at Isla, who winces at the memory.
Part of me is happy I was too busy trying not to get us killed, so I was spared watching my wife expel our bruiser of a boy from her body.
“Your dad, my uncle, and his own name,” Isla explains to Stacie.
“It’s perfect,” she answers.
“He’s perfect,” Mak whispers.
This is perfect, I think.
Isla
First week of August
It’s hot as a whorehouse on dollar day.
The campground is packed. I’m carting around in the golf cart with Noah in a harness on my chest, since Ben won’t let me drive my ATV with the baby, and I have three more washrooms to stock with TP.
I would love to have a shower sometime this century, but between a perpetually hungry baby who is rapidly depleting the extra boobage I gained in pregnancy, and the height of season for vacationers, I truly don’t even have time to fart.
And I was so looking forward to today.
I’ve finally convinced Stacie to let me photograph her. She’d been skeptical at first, when I talked to her about maybe doing a book for the Children’s Burn Foundation. I showed her the royalty report Jen sent me on the sales of my coffee table book and it went a long way in convincing her. It was selling and the income I was generating from that and the website, was turning out to make for a nice little nest egg.
I’m proud of Stacie, of how she’s been able to adjust to living with the visible scars of violence. I’m especially proud of the way she’s used her experience as a jumping board to get involved with the Children’s Burn Foundation. And I’m not adverse to playing up to her sense of pride, in order to get what I want; a chance to show the world, but Stacie herself in particular, that true beauty can’t hide behind scars and deformations.
By the time I get back to the storage shed by our old trailer, Ben is waiting for me.
“Give me my boy,” he growls, sticking his face in little Noah’s neck, and blowing loud raspberries on the soft skin. All to Noah’s great hilarity. I may be handy to have around for nutritional value, but Daddy is the cat’s meow. Noah never smiles bigger than when Ben walks into view.
“I don’t have time,” I tell him. “I have to try and feed him, and get him down for
a nap. Would love to at least drag a wet wash cloth over all my dingy spots, and stuff a banana in my face, all before your sister shows for her shoot.” I lean my weary forehead to Ben’s sticky chest. His large hand wraps around the back of my head as I listen to the rumble of his voice.
“I’ll take him now. I’ll feed him a bottle from the fridge and get him down for a nap, while you eat the sandwich I made you, and have a shower while you pump. In that order,” he instructs me.
I lift my face and smile in teary gratitude.
“Love you,” I whisper.
“Back atcha.” He winks, dropping a kiss on my mouth. “Go on. Get yourself together before you make my sister look like the beautiful creature she is.”
~~THE END ~~
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:
First of all, I’d like to thank my fabulous co-author KT Dove, who actually provided the inspiration for Freeze Frame after getting a taste of Shutter Speed. Her ideas were so fabulous, we decided to collaborate on this project. Love you, lady!!
Next I’d like to thank Joanne Thompson and Karen Hrdlicka who were invaluable in the process of getting this book ready for the readers. There isn’t an editor more ‘in tune’, or a proofreader sharper. Love you, my lovelies!
My PA Natalie Weston who works her tush off every day to keep me sane and get the word out there. I love you hard, Nat!
Our fabulous betas; Sam, Pam, Catherine, Deb, Nancy, Debbie and Chris—thank you so much for taking the time to make sure our words flow and our story makes sense. Love all of you!
The Barks & Bites group, in particular January and Rachel, who pimp and promote like crazy! You know I adore you!!
The bloggers who spend so much time out of their day promoting and reviewing. Especially those bloggers who are willing to give everyone a chance to shine. You are at the core of this Indie industry and we appreciate you so much!
A big loving thanks our families who put up with us while we disappear into our stories and forget about real life playing out around us.