by R. K. Ryals
“I don’t like business,” I blurted out.
Marissa didn’t say anything for a long moment. Dad’s presence was heavy between us.
“Then what do you like?” she asked.
I found courage in a pair of green eyes, in the image of a young woman living in a crumbling trailer, a woman with little hope who probably didn’t realize it was easier to fight for something in life than it was to live up to something you never wanted.
“The rain. I like the rain.”
My answer brought even more silence.
There was an exhale as Marissa said, “There’s no future in rain. Not the kind of future your father wanted for this family.”
My step-mother’s intentions were good. She’d been raised on expectations. It wasn’t that she didn’t want me to be happy, she just knew what it meant to be a Brayden, to have to support more than just you.
My eyes closed, a headache forming between my brows.
“I don’t want to marry Cecily Davies,” I said.
Marissa laughed. “You’re only twenty, River. I’m not asking you to marry anyone, just date her a little. Her family is good for our reputation. You have years ahead of you. College to finish. Marriage isn’t in the cards right now, but Cecily isn’t a bad girl, and there are a lot more I know—”
“I don’t want to marry anyone like her,” I interrupted.
Marissa took another step forward. “River Brayden—”
“Don’t,” I insisted.
Marissa wasn’t listening. “Don’t tell me there’s something going on with this waitress Roman was talking about. The one from the river?”
My silence was answer enough.
“God, River,” Marissa breathed. “It’s not that I have a problem with—”
I stood, turning so that I faced her, my eyes cold. “I said don’t.”
Marissa’s mouth snapped shut, her eyes wide and searching.
“Did you know that Roman left this morning?” I asked, changing the subject.
Marissa stared at me, her face flushed. “I suspected it,” she answered.
It was all we said because, truthfully, there is only so much a person can do for someone who doesn’t want help. I grieved the loss of my father, but I also grieved for my brother. The weight on my shoulders grew heavier.
With no words left to say, I brushed past Marissa, stopping only when her hand went to my shoulder.
“The waitress,” she whispered.
“An escape,” I said.
She was an escape because that’s all she could be.
Chapter 27
Haven
“Did you know Matthew Harvey was arrested? Something about stripping naked in the middle of the mall parking lot. Stone cold drunk.”
Poppy blew a bubble with her gum while brushing a file over her fingernails, her words tumbling over each other as she stared down at her cell phone.
Beth Carpenter rolled her eyes. Pulling her apron over her head, she handed it to me and mouthed, “Good luck.”
I winced, pulling the apron on as Beth brushed past me. She was taller than me, but not by much. A little on the plump side with auburn hair, Beth had the most beautiful skin I’d ever seen. She had a thing for graphic tees and Bermuda shorts, and the words “Keep calm and eat cake” stared at me as she marched toward the exit.
The bell above the door jingled.
I turned to Poppy. “Frieda out?”
Pointing at the floor with her fingernail file, Poppy shook her head. “No, second freezer is down again. She’s in the back trying to figure out a way to keep the stuff inside from spoiling.”
A trail of water seeped across the floor from a large stand up unit against the wall.
“You didn’t swab it up?” I asked.
Poppy snorted as I grabbed a mop, swishing it through the water before heading to the sink.
“Won’t help,” Poppy called after me. “If she can’t get it fixed, it’s just going to keep getting wet.”
I threw her a look. “It’s a hazard to anyone walking through as long as it’s there.”
Poppy shrugged. “Grant Steele is selling his truck. I’m thinking his wife found out he’s used that double cab for more than hunting.”
Pausing, I shook my head, a half-amused expression on my face. “God help the man or woman you decide to blackmail one day, Poppy Greene.”
She didn’t answer me, just hummed and tapped her nails on the counter, her fingers flying over her keys before she looked up again.
“How’s mama bear?” she asked.
Poppy could be annoying, but in the end, she was kind at heart. My mom had acted strange the past couple of days, and I’d asked for yesterday off so I could take her to the doctor. It had proven pointless; she’d refused to go.
“My job is too new,” Mom had argued, “and I can’t afford to lose it.”
Mom had received one weekly paycheck so far, and it had already proven to be more than she’d ever made at a job. We’d both stared at it, our mouths gaping.
“They pay secretaries that much?” I’d asked.
Mom’s gaze had slid to mine before returning to the check, her shoulders shrugging. “I guess they do here.”
I’d laughed. Mom had cried. She had held a four hundred dollar check in her hand and cried. I’d known making her take a day off work to do anything would be impossible, but I’d tried. There was the afterhours clinic, but I hadn’t been successful convincing her to do that either.
“Too much money,” Mom said. “We need it, Haven.”
She’d patted the recliner then, and I’d climbed up next to her. There was a stack of bills on the arm of it, and she handed me half while she took the others. Mom had put me on her checking account as soon as I’d taken on my first real job, and writing bills together had become routine. I’d been doing it since I was sixteen.
“I’m feeling good,” Mom had told me suddenly, and I looked over at her, smiling broadly as she signed a check. “This job is going to be the ticket.”
The excitement in her eyes had lifted the worry from my shoulders and filled my heart with hope. It made me imagine things I shouldn’t. New clothes maybe, but mostly I thought of River Brayden. If we could get out of this trailer and do something other than struggle, could I be more than just an escape to him?
Mom’s eyes had found my face, and her hand had come up to cover mine. “He’d be lucky to have you in his life, Haven.”
I’d squeezed her hand, and then let go, my pen flying over the checks in front of me. We wrote out the bills we could pay and laid aside the ones we knew would have to wait. The wait list was growing smaller.
I shook my head, tearing myself from last night’s scene to look Poppy in the face. I was working a double shift until nine to make up for days missed.
“She’s okay I guess,” I murmured.
Poppy watched me, her phone sitting idle in her hands. “You know, I envy your relationship with your mom. I hardly get along with mine.”
I stared at her. “Is that why you’re so obsessed with your phone?”
She looked down at her cell. “Only because she is,” Poppy admitted. “She lives on her phone. She’s the town gossip queen. She only bothers with me when I know more than she does.”
Mrs. Greene was the bane of everyone’s existence. A town couldn’t have secrets with her in it, and some secrets were better kept than spread. Even as informative as Poppy could be, I’d never known her to hurt anyone with what she knew. Her mother was different.
Leaning in to hug Poppy, I was stopped short when the door jingled.
“Wow, it’s quiet in here isn’t it?” a voice asked, and I straightened, my eyes sliding to Roman Brayden’s smooth reflection.
My gaze narrowed on his, studying his pupils as he approached us. “You didn’t come to cause trouble, did you?” I asked.
Roman looked unkempt. The pair of jeans he wore was wrinkled, his maroon polo shirt pulled free from his waist. His hair was spiked
in some places, smooth in others.
His gaze met mine. “I’m not on anything.”
There was honesty in his voice, and I leaned against the counter. “Then you came for food?”
He smiled. “That and conversation. Do you remember that guy I asked you about? Greg Hinkley.”
Poppy’s brows rose. “When did you two get a chance to talk about anyone?”
I ignored her. “Yeah,” I answered slowly.
Roman propped his hip against the bar. If I had never met his brother, I would think Roman was large, but compared to River, he wasn’t intimidating in the least unless he was high.
“What can you tell me about him?” he asked me.
I shrugged. “Not a whole lot. I went to school with him, that’s it.”
Poppy tapped the counter between us. “He’s the oldest of four boys. His father worked at the sawmill before he was laid off and later rehired. His mom had a business degree and did some work for your family, if I recall.”
Roman froze, his gaze moving from me to Poppy.
“His mother? For my family? How do you know that?” he asked.
I laughed. “There isn’t a lot Poppy doesn’t know. She’d make a better detective than most of our town’s police.”
Poppy shrugged. “I’ve just got good sources is all.”
Roman leaned forward. “What else can you tell me?”
The intensity in his gaze was so fierce, Poppy backed away. “Just rumors,” she murmured. “I don’t spread rumors.”
Roman scoffed. “You’re a gossip, aren’t you? Isn’t that what y’all do?”
She shook her head. “Anything I say is either truth or as close to it as I can get.”
“She’s right, Roman,” I broke in. “I’ve never known Poppy to say anything she wasn’t fairly sure about.”
Roman’s eyes narrowed. “What if I want to know the rumors?”
Poppy shrugged again. “Then look into Sean Hinkley’s death. He hung himself two years ago. There are a lot of rumors about why he did it.”
A commotion in the back made us look up, and I waved Roman toward the door as Frieda kicked the back freezer with a curse.
“She finds you here, the only thing you’re going to have to worry about is a stay in a jail cell,” I hissed.
The door of the diner jingled, and Poppy nudged me. “Too late,” she mumbled.
My gaze found the strained face of Gary Sewell, a middle-aged man who worked for the sheriff’s department. His uniform left no doubt he was on duty.
Roman stiffened, but Gary walked past him, his hands coming to rest on the counter, his eyes on mine.
Behind me, I heard Frieda enter the front, her grumbling turning to furious exclamations when she caught sight of Roman.
It was Gary that made her freeze, her gaze moving to my face as he removed his hat.
“Haven,” the deputy murmured, “it’s your mom.”
My world quit moving.
Chapter 28
River
“I would just wrap a plate up for him, Bonnie,” Marissa told the housekeeper wearily, the lines in her forehead prominent as she took a bite of her food.
My gaze met Uncle Marley’s at the end of the table.
“He’s never missed dinner,” I murmured.
Marissa looked at me. “He’s also not been himself. There’s a first for everything.”
I wasn’t sure about that. As messed up as Roman seemed to be lately, he was too much a Brayden to miss dinner. It was one of those things our father drilled into us. I might be the so-called responsible brother, but Roman liked our father’s rules. I broke them more than he did. Roman had no trouble breaking the law, but not Brayden law.
Standing, I was on the verge of saying I was going to look for him when the door slammed open.
Gasping, Roman entered, his face flushed, his eyes wide.
“Haven,” he panted.
There was something familiar and desperate about the way Roman said her name, and my heart sank.
Marley stood, pushing his glasses up. “What’s happened?”
Roman’s gaze met mine as his hands went to his thighs, bending just enough to catch his breath.
“It’s her mother. She’s been rushed to the hospital. A neighbor found her outside.”
I took a step toward my brother. “How do you know this?”
Roman straightened, a hint of defiance in his gaze. “I was at the dairy bar when a deputy came in to tell her.”
I had my car keys in my hand before I’d even realized I’d reached for them.
Roman stopped me at the door, his hand going to my shoulder. “You’re not family, and you’re not in a relationship with her. You really think it’s a good idea to go?”
He was right. I wasn’t family, and I shared nothing with Haven other than a few stolen moments.
And yet … “She doesn’t have anyone else,” I said.
Roman’s hand fell. “The deputy didn’t sound very optimistic. He took her by patrol to the hospital.”
I was outside and in my Mustang before anyone could stop me, my radio blaring as I turned the key in the ignition. Turning it down, I peeled out of the drive, my thoughts occupied as I sped through the empty back roads. Slowing, I pulled onto the highway, trying to keep my speed decent as I weaved in and out of traffic.
Images of Haven’s mother filled my head. I’d never met her aside from brief encounters, but the love I’d seen in her eyes had been stark and honest. There’d been no hiding her affection for her daughter. It was the kind of love people died to protect, the kind that could kill you when you lost it.
A red emergency room sign blurred past my window, steam rising from a hole in the parking lot, the area sectioned off by red caution tape and orange cones. Most of the lot was filled up, and I parked in a blue handi-cap spot, prepared to find a ticket on my window when I left.
It was humid outside, the air heavy, the sun low but still a few hours from setting. There were hardly any clouds.
“Ambrose,” I told the lady behind the desk when I entered.
I couldn’t remember Haven’s mother’s name, and I looked over the room, my gaze skirting blue plastic chairs and moaning patients. One mom held a bowl under her toddler’s face while a Hispanic man leaned over his knees, his hand clutching his stomach. Blood ran from an elderly man’s nose as he sat stoically, his hand gripping a walker.
“Are you family?”
The voice broke through my reverie, and I turned back toward the lady. She was an older woman with grey-streaked brown hair and narrowed eyes, her scrubs a strange blue that reminded me of Haven. Cerulean.
“No, I’m engaged to the daughter.”
Narrowed eyes grew even narrower, and silence stretched between us as her gaze searched mine before she finally stood.
“It’s the door to the left.”
She pressed a button, and I rushed through a pair of grey double doors before she had a chance to change her mind. There would be rumors tomorrow. I’d seen it in the clerk’s eyes, her gaze moving over my brand name clothes and familiar face, but for now, I didn’t care.
I saw her before she saw me, her hunched figure hugged up to the hospital wall, her knees on the floor, an apron pulled over her head. She tore at it, throwing it down as she clutched at her stomach. The kind of sobbing she did was unnatural, the sound hollow and full of agony. I knew before I’d even reached her, she’d lost her mother.
“Haven.”
I whispered it, leaning down so that I could rest my hand on her shoulder.
The startled eyes that met mine were blood shot, her face swollen and covered in tears. It wasn’t delicate tears, wasn’t the pretty kind. These were heart breaking, streaking her face in rivulets that wouldn’t stop.
“I can’t breathe,” she whispered back. “I can’t breathe.”
My hand tightened on her shoulder, but she pushed at me.
“Go away,” she insisted. “Just go.”
I starte
d to stand, but her hand suddenly gripped mine.
“No …” she sobbed, and I knelt again. “No, don’t. Stay. Please stay.”
Haven couldn’t catch her breath, her sobs so close together, she had to clutch my shoulders to keep from falling over. I drew her in to me, my hands rubbing her back. There was understanding in my touch, sympathy and something deeper than that.
“A blood clot,” Haven choked, “in her leg. They called it a pulmonary embolism.”
I kept rubbing her back. Something told me words now would be wrong.
A pair of white sneakers stopped near us on the floor.
“There are papers that need signed,” a soft female voice said. “I’m sorry.”
Haven looked up, her hair falling from the ponytail she’d had it in, shorter strands sticking to her tear-stained cheeks.
A thin, black-haired nurse stood over us, her young face sad. “It’s a release form allowing the funeral home to take the body once the hospital releases it.”
She held a clipboard down in front of Haven who took it slowly. Biting back more tears, she read over the document before signing it. It struck me then how unfair it all seemed. Haven was too young to have to sign forms releasing her mother, too young to have no one to depend on.
The nurse took the clipboard. “Do you have someone to take you home?” she asked,
I didn’t give Haven a chance to answer. “I’ll get her there.”
The white sneakers moved away, and Haven’s shoulders shook again. We sat there for a while, the cold floor seeping through our clothes, her tears soaking the front of my shirt, her fingers clutching my cotton tee as if letting go would be the end of her.
Doctors and nurses passed us, some of them glancing down before moving on. Others asked if there was anything they could do. I kept shaking my head.
Machines beeped in rooms along the corridor, alarms going off occasionally. Somewhere above us, an air vent was blowing, causing goosebumps to rise along my arms. If Haven felt anything, she didn’t say so. She cried, and I let her, my heart wrenched by her tears, by the desperation I heard in them.
“Let me take you home,” I whispered.