by R. K. Ryals
Placing a pair of large headphones over his ears, Uncle Marley blocked us out as he stared at the TV, his tongue clucking at the images. Roman sat up on the couch, his hand holding the rag against his forehead as he moaned.
“Your father isn’t a musician,” Roman blurted out suddenly.
Haven froze, her hand over the skillet, her shoulders slumping.
“Do you think we’ll judge you if you tell us the truth?” Roman asked.
My brother had always been blunt, but there was something frantic about his tone, as if he needed her answer, as if he needed to know how her mind worked.
Haven must have sensed this because she put the ham on a plate before turning to face him, her eyes sad.
“You don’t need the drugs,” she whispered. “I promise it makes you feel stronger dealing with problems without them.”
Roman stared at her. “Where is your father?”
Haven’s hand went to the counter, her fingers gripping it until her knuckles were white.
“He is somewhere in the north part of the state married to his fourth wife. He’s an alcoholic addicted to gambling.”
Roman’s eyes slid from hers. “That’s harsh,” he murmured.
Haven shrugged, letting go of the counter to slip the food onto plates. She slid one to me, and I ate, my eyes on her face, my pulse quickening. Her mouth was still red and swollen from where I’d kissed her.
She chewed her lower lip, and I shifted in my seat. “What about your mother?” she asked us.
I didn’t look at Roman, but I could hear him as he leaned back on the couch.
“Dead,” Roman muttered.
My gaze met Haven’s. “She had a heart condition. She’d had problems with it all of her life, but after having two kids, the strain was too much. She was on a transplant list, but died before she ever got a new heart.”
Haven’s eyes filled with compassion. “I’m sorry.”
I shrugged. “It was a long time ago, and we really do have a great step-mom.”
Roman snorted from the couch, and I could hear the humor in it. Marissa was one of a kind.
“Nothing but a dead end,” Marley complained from the floor. He threw his headphones down onto the hardwood. “Something smells good.”
“Food if you want it.” Haven smiled as she pushed another plate across the bar. She ate too, but slowly. Although she eventually ate almost everything on her plate, she left two bites behind, scraping the food into the garbage disposal before throwing the plate away. Roman didn’t eat at all.
Haven wrapped a plate in tin foil and placed it in the fridge. “You’ll want it later,” she told him.
He nodded and threw his arm over his eyes. “Why don’t you take my room,” he said. “I’m not going to use it.”
There was something pointed about his tone. Haven glanced at Marley and me. I met her gaze, but Marley avoided it, digging into his food.
“I guess I will call it a night then,” Haven mumbled.
She slid around the bar, her arm brushing mine, leaving a trail of fire as she moved to Roman’s bedroom. It was a complete replica of my room, except for the color. Where mine was slate and navy blue, Roman’s was mint paired with dark green. My grandmother had had an odd sense of decoration.
The door clicked closed, and Roman sat up again.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Roman grunted. “You’re going to hurt her.”
I turned to look at him. “And why would you care?”
His shadowed eyes searched mine. “Because I see a little bit of me in her. Because you’ve always been so strong, so sure of yourself. You wouldn’t know what it was like to lose control.”
Disbelief flooded me, and I glared at him. “You have to have control before you can lose it, Roman. I’m living Dad’s life, not my own.”
Marley cleared his throat. “Have you ever thought about breaking away from the Brayden mold?” he asked me.
I glanced at him, at the way his wide eyes watched me from beyond his spectacles.
“And do what?” I asked. “Let Roman lead the family? Or you?”
With that, I stood, stomping into the slate bedroom before slamming the door. The walls matched my mood, the grey weighing down on me, burying me. My hand fell against my damp jean shorts, the drying, stiff fabric reminding me of the river, of Haven. I closed my eyes, her face filling my vision, remembering the way her eyes had watched me at the end. I needed that look again.
Thunder rumbled outside, and I listened to the way it sounded. It was going to rain tonight.
Chapter 21
Haven
In the end, River was right about the weather. I woke up Tuesday to the sound of pounding rain on the cabin roof. Marley protested from the living room, his voice so loud it rose and fell through the walls.
“And you think it will last through today?” he asked.
River’s voice answered him, “It’s not going to quit.”
“The weather channel says a hundred percent chance through Wednesday night,” Roman added.
I glanced at a clock on the wall, my eyes widening at the time. Ten o’clock. I never slept late.
Rolling over, I groaned at the soreness I felt between my thighs, the sensation both strange and pleasurable. It reminded me of River, reminded me of a reckless moment I knew I needed to forget but wouldn’t. For the rest of my life I would remember it. I’d remember it because I had seen something magical in River’s eyes that afternoon, something primitive and wild. I could fall in love with that memory if I held onto it long enough.
“We might as well leave,” River said from the room beyond. “We’re not going to be able to get on the river.”
Marley cursed, the sound so alien coming from him I grinned against my pillow before throwing my legs over the side of the bed, wincing. I’d showered the night before, so I leaned over and pulled a pair of black cotton capri pants out of my bag, the word Love written down one leg. A white tank top joined it.
“We have the whole summer, Uncle Marley,” River soothed.
Running a brush through my hair, I left it down, throwing all of my things back into the bag before standing. I had no doubt we were leaving. Disappointment flooded me, but there was relief, too. I’d basically had a one night stand with a blue blood, and we hadn’t used protection. The weight of that hung on me. I missed home. I wanted to stand barefoot in Mr. Nelson’s garden or curl up next to Mom on the couch and complain about the bills. I wanted to listen to Poppy tell me useless gossip. I’d only been gone for three days, and two nights, but it felt like an eternity. Frankly, this place terrified me. It could change me, and I was scared of change.
A knock sounded on my door.
“Haven?”
It was River’s voice. I stared at the wood.
“Yeah,” I answered.
The door opened. Even if I hadn’t been dressed, it wouldn’t have mattered. He’d seen me with a lot less on.
River’s face peeked around the corner, his eyes traveling from the bottom of the capris I now wore to my tank top. I gripped the bed.
“We’re leaving,” he said, his voice low.
Gesturing at the room beyond, I muttered, “I heard.”
Neither one of us said anything for a moment, his eyes searching mine. It made me uncomfortable. I felt like I’d been picked up by a tornado and thrown around for a few days before being put back on my feet again. The Braydens were going through a difficult time, and I knew without asking that River had wanted to lose himself in me. I’d certainly wanted to lose myself in him, but in hindsight, it caused a whole new level of problems, of stress. Neither one of us said it, but we both thought it. I could see it in his eyes.
Taking a deep breath, I stood, my Walmart bag dangling from my fingers. “Let’s go.”
River held the door open, and I brushed past him, my pulse quickening. In the living room, Old Marley was packing up his camer
a, his brows furrowed above his spectacles.
“Utter disappointment,” he mumbled.
Stooping next to him, I said, “You have time.”
Marley pushed his glasses up. “Doesn’t feel like there’s ever enough time these days.”
There was something sad about Marley, something I think his nephews overlooked in their own grief. River had said his grandparents—Marley’s parents—were dead, and now Marley’s brother was gone, too. It didn’t matter how old he was, losing everyone immediate in his family while he was still alive couldn’t be easy.
I touched his shoulder, and his lips twitched. “The boys packed up the truck while you were sleeping, so we are ready. I’m leaving most of my stuff here since I’m coming back later.”
River and Roman had slipped out and were standing on the front porch arguing over who should drive when Marley and I joined them. In the end, River won.
Water soaking through our clothes, we ran for the truck. River held the front passenger side door open for me, but I shook my head, slipping past him to open the back before climbing in. We were going back to reality. In the real world, I didn’t belong with any of these people.
Roman slumped down beside me, his damp head resting on the truck window opposite. No one spoke. River backed the Dodge out of the drive, the windshield wipers swishing back and forth, the sound comforting. Rain poured over the hood, loud in the truck’s cab.
Behind us the cabin grew smaller, and I glanced over my shoulder, watching as it disappeared completely, washed away in a summer rain.
I gripped my bag the entire drive back home, the silence broken only by the weather. We were on the road just past Frieda’s Dairy Bar when River spoke, his eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror.
“Where do you live?”
An edge to his voice warned against argument.
“Second dirt road past the fork,” I told him. My home was ten minutes down the road from the historical district.
Roman leaned forward across from me, his eyes watching the passing landscape. The rain had slowed, tapering off to a drizzle that promised a heavier downfall later. Like Roman, I stared at the passing water-laden residences and trees until Mr. Nelson’s little house came into view. The old man sat on the porch in his rocking chair, his hand gripping the arm rest, his eyes on the yard.
Undoing my seat belt, I placed my hand on the back of River’s seat. “Can you stop here please?”
He threw me a look in the mirror, but pulled into the small drive.
“You live here?” he asked, his eyes on the porch, on Thomas.
I stiffened. “No, but he’s a friend. I just want to check on him. I’ll only be a minute.”
River put the truck in park.
Roman groaned, and I glanced back at him. “I can walk from here,” I insisted. “I’m just up a ways further.”
“Good—” Roman began.
River cut him off. “We’ll wait.”
Throwing open the door, I climbed out of the Dodge, the sound of their arguing cut off abruptly by the door slamming.
Mr. Nelson had stopped rocking, his back straight, his eyes alert. One look at me, and he relaxed, smiling as he stood. His hand reached for his cane.
“Land sake’s, child. You scared me. A poor man sees a fine truck like that pull up in his drive, and he thinks he’s going to be murdered.”
I would have laughed if I knew he wasn’t serious.
Hugging him carefully, I said, “Just wanted to see if you needed anything. I’m off until Thursday.”
Thomas glanced at the truck. “Maybe some company tomorrow if you’re up for it. Did you have a good time?”
My gaze followed his. Roman was slumped in the back seat while River watched us from his place in the front. There was something disconcerting about his gaze. Like he saw too much.
“It was interesting,” I answered.
Mr. Nelson’s shaking, wrinkled hand suddenly took mine. Startled, my gaze flew to his face.
“It’s a beautiful thing, the river, but don’t be lettin’ it sweep you away.”
Wistfulness filled Thomas’ voice. Wistfulness and love.
I smiled at him. “I’m a strong swimmer, Mr. Nelson.”
He patted the top of my hand and let go before moving back toward his rocking chair. “Be seein’ you tomorrow, then?” he asked.
Backing toward the truck, I called out, “You bet!”
Roman sneered when I re-entered the vehicle. “A little old to be a friend, isn’t he?”
I glanced out the window, watching the way Mr. Nelson’s chair rocked back and forth.
“Third trailer on the left,” I directed, ignoring Roman.
River glanced once more out the window at Thomas’ porch before he placed his hand on the back of the passenger seat and pulled out of the drive. Marley snored from the front seat.
“Have you lived out here long?” River asked.
My cheeks burned. “For four years. There were other places before that.”
His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror, but I avoided his gaze, my eyes on the small, dingy trailer coming into view.
“That’s it,” I said.
Roman stared hard. “You live there?”
Pushing open the door, I jumped out, my bag in hand as Mangy Beast tore off the porch, his tail wagging.
“Thanks for the ride.”
It was the last thing I said before slamming the door, my hand sinking into the dog’s fur. He licked my palm, nudging me until my fingers fell behind his ear.
The truck hadn’t moved, and I looked up at my house, trying to see it from the Brayden’s point of view. It was smaller than most single wide trailers with black and green moss covering the back of the vinyl siding. The skirting along the bottom had gaping holes in it, and the porch didn’t look safe enough to hold up a child.
Wincing, I moved to the door and twisted the knob. I knew from the Cadillac in the drive my mom was home.
It wasn’t until I’d stepped inside that River finally pulled away.
Chapter 22
River
Marissa was coming down the stairs into the foyer when we walked through the door. She paused, her hand on the banister, her eyes wide, and her face pale. Last year’s murder had made her skittish.
Holding up my hands, I called, “Sorry, I forgot to ring the bell.”
Marissa exhaled. “Good Lord!” She wore a pair of blue jeans, her feet bare, and no makeup. It wasn’t often Marissa let herself be seen so underdressed, and she scowled. “Y’all are back early. Rain run you out?”
Roman pushed past me, shaking the water out of his shaggy, brown hair. “I need to run to town.”
His announcement was abrupt and insistent. A cell phone glowed in his hand. I hadn’t even thought to check my own phone while we were gone, my thoughts having been preoccupied.
Marissa and I exchanged a look.
Marley snuck by, moving quietly down the hall to the downstairs bedroom he always slept in when he was visiting. I envied his escape.
“You can’t go anywhere,” Marissa told Roman quietly.
Roman froze. “What?”
Pocketing the keys to Uncle Marley’s truck, I moved to the bottom of the stairs, my eyes on Roman’s wan face.
“I had your car picked up from school Friday after the incident at the dairy bar. It’s being held by George Holland at his shop.”
It took a moment for my words to sink in, but when they did, Roman’s face went livid, his swollen, purplish nose wrinkling.
“What the hell? You can’t do that!”
Marissa took another step down. “Actually, Roman, he can.”
The sudden knowledge in my brother’s eyes was startling.
“You’re not twenty-one yet,” Roman whispered.
I looked away.
Marissa’s hand fell on my shoulder. “Marley didn’t have any interest in your father’s business ventures, so two months ago, the courts allowed River to take over your
father’s books. His name is now on all legal property entailed to the estate, including your car.”
Roman’s eyes found mine. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
I took a step toward him, but he backed away.
“I was going to, but you haven’t been in much condition to listen,” I said.
He stared, his hands fisted at his sides. “I need my car.”
I shook my head.
His face went red, his eyes narrowing. “My car, River!”
“Technically,” I muttered, “it’s mine.”
Roman exploded, propelling himself toward me. I was ready, braced for his impact, one arm gripping the staircase behind me as his fists pummeled me in the chest and arms. I took it because he was avoiding my face, which meant he didn’t hate me, he hated what I was keeping him from.
“My car,” he begged.
The punches were less forceful now. His strength or his resolve was failing.
“You don’t need it, Roman.”
I wasn’t talking about the car, and he knew it.
“Damn you,” he muttered. “Damn you!”
My jaw tensed, my arms opening to hold my brother. He tried pulling away, but I didn’t let him. Somewhere behind me, I heard Marissa inhale sharply, and I knew if I looked at her I’d see tears on her cheeks.
“I can’t,” he begged. “I can’t …”
He slumped against me, his shoulders shaking. I knew what he was doing, and it broke my heart.
“They brutalized him, River. His face …”
The shaking got harder. Images of our father flew through my head. Images of long gashes across his cheeks and neck, his arms peppered in slashes where he’d tried to protect his head. There had been hatred in those wounds, a lot of hatred.
“I know,” I whispered, “but you’re only killing yourself with the drugs.”
Roman grew rigid. “I’m not looking for drugs,” he shot back.
I held him away from me, my eyes narrowed on his face, on his swollen nose and empty eyes.