by Freya Barker
She seems to be processing what I’m trying to tell her, because it takes her a while to speak.
“Is Matt going to stay?” she asks in a small voice.
“He’s welcome if he wants to, but I’m not going to put pressure on him, one way or another. He has to find his own way.”
“If he does, can I maybe come visit next month? I have some vacation time coming.”
“Of course,” I assure her. “Whether Matt is here or not, I would love for you to visit.”
Again I’m met with silence, but I wait it out despite another click on the line.
“Dad told Matt he’d never amount to anything on his own. That he was glad he had at least one child with half a brain.” I try to stifle the involuntary gasp, but Gwen doesn’t miss it. “I never knew how mean he could be.”
“Sorry, honey,” I tell my second child this morning. I can’t help feeling some responsibility, if only for not being able to shield my kids from their father’s brand of nasty.
“Can you ask Matt to call me? I’m home. I drove back to Toronto first thing this morning.”
“I will. As soon as he wakes up,” I promise.
After she hangs up, I ignore the state of my kitchen and slip out the side door and sit down on the porch steps, where a large maple provides welcome shade on an already hot day.
Roar
“Who was it?”
I wave the dead phone at her, whoever had been on the line had hung up by the time I picked up.
Patti looks up from where she’s filing away last week’s paperwork.
“Lilith Talbot.”
“Leelo?”
She shrugs her shoulders and returns her attention to the stack of bills, while I call back. No answer. I try again with the same result. Weird. My first thought is that something else has happened.
“Did she say why she was calling?”
Patti drops the stack of papers back down on the desk and whirls around.
“She didn’t exactly share,” she snaps, disbelief clear on her face. “Asshole,” she adds for good measure, before slamming the file drawer shut with a bang, and marching out of the office.
“Wait!” I hurry out, catching up with her outside. “I’m sorry that you’re pissed, but she’s over there alone. She’s had some really disturbing shit happen recently, and I’m worried.”
I catch a flash of guilt before she turns her eyes to the water, in the direction of the motel.
“I didn’t know,” she mumbles. “I left her waiting for a while before I called you.”
Fuck.
Without a word I dive back in the office, grab my keys and phone, before charging back outside.
“Gonna check on her. I’ve got my phone,” I tell Patti as I brush by her.
On the short trip over, my mind manages to conjure up one scenario after another, each more disturbing than the next. So by the time I walk into the bar and look toward the kitchen to see a wide set of shoulders about to disappear into her house beyond, I’m primed for a fight.
“Hey!” I yell, following him in, but I grind to a halt when I recognize her son, Matt.
“Hey,” he says, barely looking up as he sits down at the dining table and shoves half a sandwich in his mouth.
“Where’s your mom?”
“Don’t know. I just woke up.” He shrugs and turns his attention back to the plate in front of him. “She can’t be far,” he says, holding up a muffin. “This is still warm from the oven.”
I find her sitting on the porch steps, her arms wrapped around her knees.
“You okay?”
She looks up, surprised, as I lower myself on the step beside her.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, answering my question with a question.
“Checking on you. Wasn’t sure what I’d find, after you apparently hung up on me.”
“Oh shit.” She slaps her hand over her mouth. “I forgot. I’m so sorry,” she says, grabbing my arm. “It’s just...things have gone to hell in a handbasket since you left last night.” She blushes at the reference. When I left her last night, she was well and sated in her bed. I’d made sure of that.
“Anything to do with Matt being here?”
Leelo’s head drops down between her shoulders, and I automatically reach for her, sliding my hand up her back. Without thinking I start rubbing the tense muscles in her neck.
“Everything,” she sighs, before turning her face to me. “I’m sorry I hung up. I just wanted to talk to you when Gwen called, and...well, I kinda forgot to call back.”
“Wanna talk to me now?”
-
Part of me wants to drive eight hours, just so I can smack some sense into that asshole ex of hers, but I can’t. I have a business to run. So instead, I give Leelo a last hug and quick kiss, ignore the looks Matt throws me through the window, and head back to the lodge with the promise I’ll be by for a bite tonight.
After hearing the whole story, I can see why Matt was surly, but I’m already thinking ahead. The kid is good with his hands, and there sure as hell is enough work for him up here if he wants it.
The motel may be as good as done, but other than a bit of paint, nothing has been done to the house. There’s still the boat ramp Leelo wanted put in and plenty of other odds and ends to work on just here. Hell, I have a whole to-do list of things at the lodge I could use help with. And that’s just off the top of my head.
Between the motel and the lodge, we could keep him busy all summer. Give him a chance to find some steady ground under his feet, earn a bit of money. Who knows; maybe when folks get used to him around town, see the kind of work he does, he’ll have more jobs coming his way.
Something maybe to broach with him tonight, when he’s had a chance to get his bearings.
The afternoon flies by with only minor snags to resolve; a dripping tap in one of the units, a busted AC window unit in another. Nothing out of the ordinary, so when five thirty rolls around, after I just gave the last guests a tour of their cabin for the week, I get ready to head over to Leelo’s.
Patti left for home earlier. I’m pretty sure she avoided me this afternoon but fuck, I can’t exactly say I’m sorry about that. Don’t get me wrong, I feel bad she’s disappointed, but I don’t know how to fix that. There’s nothing I can say to make her feel better.
After a quick shower and change, and feeding Ace his dinner, I pull the door closed behind me, when my phone rings.
“Bill,” I answer, with a quick glance at my call display.
“Guess who I just ran into,” he jumps right in.
“I give up.”
“You’re no fun,” he chuckles. “Our favourite local real estate agent.”
“Thompson?”
“One and the same. Spotted him coming out of the tavern in town. He seemed a bit unstable when he got into his car, so I decided to pull him over. Point zero eight.”
“You screened him?”
“Hey, I observed the guy swaying with my own eyes,” he sputters. “Told him with that reading I could take him into the detachment to make sure he wasn’t over the limit. He seemed, for lack of a better word, a tad reluctant, so I offered him an alternative.”
“I bet you did,” I snort.
“Had a little chat, he and I. Oh, he did a good job of looking surprised when I mentioned the missing dock and the deer carcass. But when I pointed out how curious it was that both his boat and his car might have been spotted around the time of those incidents, I swear I could see him blanch under that fake tan of his.”
“You lied,” I conclude with a grin.
“Not at all,” he denies firmly. “He was seen driving off the motel property several times by several people, and his boat was spotted right where we found the dock.”
“Not necessarily on the same day, though,” I point out.
“Yeah...but he doesn’t know that.”
By the time I walk in, four of the tables are already occupied. The blackboard outside lists grilled
chicken and pineapple kebabs, peanut sauce, and something called quinoa salad. I’m not sure about fruit with my meat, and I don’t have a fucking clue what quinoa salad is, but I’m willing to try anything Leelo puts in front of me.
I’m glad to see Matt is pulling his weight, serving drinks to a few tables before he spots me and walks over.
“Am I gonna like it?” I ask him, catching him off guard.
“Like what?”
“Whatever the fuck your mom has on the menu for tonight?”
I’m rewarded with a lopsided smile.
“It’s the bomb. You’ll love it,” he grins.
“Okay. I’ll take your word for it. I’ll have a Moosehead, if you have one cold?”
While he fetches my beer, I grab a plate and load up at the buffet. I try to peek into the kitchen, but don’t see Leelo.
“Where’s your mom?” I ask when Matt delivers my bottle.
“Back porch. Barbecuing the kebabs. I’m sure she won’t mind your company.” I look up from my plate at his words.
“Good to know,” I say cautiously. A whole lot was said with that single sentence, but it pays to make sure. “I like your mom.”
“Figured that when I was here last time, and it was kind of hard to miss when I saw you sucking face earlier. It’s cool,” he adds with a shrug. “She seems to like you, too.”
I don’t know the proper protocol here—not like I’m well-schooled in the whole dating thing, let alone dealing with kids in that mix—so I decide to go with my gut. I pick up my beer and plate and with a, “Thanks, man” to Matt; I head out back.
I’m greeted with a smile the moment I step out on the porch. One that stirs the blood in my veins.
“You’re back,” she says when I sit down on the steps, set my beer down, and take my first bite of chicken. It’s fucking delicious.
“You keep giving me more reasons to come back,” I tell her around my mouthful.
Her bright boisterous laugh settles warm in my chest.
NINETEEN
From sunshine to moonlight goddess.
Roar
“I’m sorry if I get in your way,” Matt says, casting his line in the water.
The sun is dropping and traffic on the lake is dying down at this time of night. Ace is in his usual spot in the bow of the boat, his head hanging over the side, looking for fish. At Leelo’s urging, we left her with the cleanup after the third dinner in a row I showed up for. She’s a good cook, much better than I am. So why would I mess up my kitchen when I can get a good meal five minutes down the road? Besides, it gives me a chance to see her, since the weekends are generally busy for me at the lodge.
No sleepovers though. Not last night and probably not tonight either. It would be a bit awkward bumping into her son in the middle of the night. The logistics may be a bit of a challenge, but I’m sure we’ll find ways to make it work. In the meantime, having Matt there during the nights, makes me sleep a fuck load better in my own bed.
“You don’t, I’m actually glad you’re here,” I admit. “Not sure if your mom’s had a chance to fill you in, but it looks like someone enjoys messing with her.”
Credit to the kid, his eyes immediately flare as he looks up.
“Messing with her, how?”
Tension radiates off him as I remind him of the bear incident before filling him in on what’s happened since.
“That sleezy dude in the Italian loafers? The one she ripped a strip off?”
“As I recall it, she ripped a pretty good-sized strip off all of us, but yes, that’s the guy.”
“So why isn’t he under arrest or something?” Matt demands to know.
“First of all, we may believe it’s him, but no one actually saw him do anything, and there’s no real evidence. Secondly, what he did constitutes vandalism at most, not generally something they lock you up and throw away the key for,” I explain, understanding the kid’s frustration.
I feel it, too. Kyle Thompson worries me. It’s not normal for a grown-assed man to resort to those kinds of vindictive antics unless he’s unbalanced to begin with. That’s something I’ve come to learn about Kyle, he’s got a mean streak a mile wide, and when he doesn’t get what he wants, there’s no telling how far he’ll take things. Which is why I feel better knowing Matt is around.
“We should probably head back,” Matt says, looking over my shoulder in the general direction of the motel.
“Sure thing.”
“And for the record,” he adds, pulling in his line as I start up the motor. “Appreciate you looking out for Mom.”
I bite down a smile. “Not a problem.”
“I gathered that,” I hear him mumble under his breath and this time I don’t hold back, I throw my head back and bark out a laugh. I like the kid.
Leelo
“Tomorrow night, I cook.”
I look up from the rock I’ve been trying to move, unsuccessfully I might add.
“Fish fry,” Roar offers.
“What’s in a fish fry?” Matt wants to know, walking up with the wheelbarrow.
“Fish.”
“Cool.”
“Actually,” I clarify, in hopes to lift the dialogue from the monosyllabic exchange I’ve been listening to most of the afternoon. “Technically there’s a bit more than just fish in Roar’s fish fry. He dips the fish in beer batter before he fries it.”
“What’s in beer batter?”
“Beer,” Roar grunts.
“Cool.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake!” Ready to pull my hair out, I toss down the shovel and take off toward the house. I have a large bottle of wine in the fridge.
It’s boiling hot out here, my SPF 50 is sluicing off my body, leaving me exposed to the scorching sun, and I don’t burn pretty—think lobster. I’m sweating like a goddamn faucet and I’m sick and tired of the less than stimulating conversation. Men. They either barely take a breath when yelling at you—like David’s done twice more since Friday night; before I decided to ignore his subsequent calls—or they can barely string two words together.
It’s possible I may also be more than a little frustrated that in the past four days since Matt showed up, I’ve barely managed to catch a moment alone with Roar. He doesn’t seem to mind, spending more time with Matt than with me.
“Was it something I said?” I hear Roar ask Matt, as Ace follows behind me, hoping for food, no doubt.
“Nah, Gwen says it’s menopause. Mood swings worse than PMS, apparently.”
I swear if ever there was an excuse for filicide, surely this is it. Instead I throw my head back and scream at the sky.
Fuck the wine—this is a scotch kind of day.
-
“Is everything all right?”
I’m sitting on a kitchen chair in front of the window unit, sipping my second glass of scotch, promising myself that if there is any way I can work it in my budget, I’m installing central air, when Roar walks in.
“I’m fine,” I grumble, lying as I usually do when giving that answer. Ace barely lifts his head from where he’s lying at my feet, he doesn’t like the heat either.
I’m not fine. I appear to be stuck in the mother of all hot flashes, near tears, and will surely lose that battle with the next kind word. I try to ignore the sounds of Roar rummaging around the kitchen behind me, until something blissfully cold is pressed against the back of my neck.
“My God, what is that?”
“Peaches and cream corn, I think. Just grabbed the first bag from the freezer and wrapped it in a towel.”
Frozen corn, I never thought it was worth crying over until now.
“Are you crying?” I can vaguely make him out through blurred eyes as he crouches down to look at me. “Sunshine?”
“You h-had to go and b-be nice, didn’t you?” I accuse, feeling him laugh as he pulls my head forward to rest on his shoulder. “I’m a puddle.”
“I’ve noticed,” he deadpans, as his big hand presses the cold compress firmer to my sk
in.
After sitting quietly like that for a bit, I can feel my body cooling down. In hindsight, my grab for the scotch may not have been such a brilliant idea; I really didn’t need the added flush of alcohol. I’m feeling better now, though, and I gingerly lift my face from where I’ve left a giant damp spot on Roar’s shirt.
“How did you know to do that?”
He shrugs his shoulders and with his free hand brushes a strand of hair that is stuck to my face. “Charlie,” he says. “I remember her walking around with bags of frozen peas draped around her neck. Thought it might help.”
“Sorry,” I mumble, suddenly embarrassed. I’d carried on like a lunatic. “I’ve been a bear.”
I’ve barely finished my sentence when his lips are brushing mine.
“Hush,” he rumbles. “It’s been a rough couple of days.”
Yes. Yes it has. All of a sudden something occurs to me and I sit back to look at him.
“Is that why you’ve been keeping your distance?”
“You had a lot going on, thought I’d give you some space.”
“Well, you can stop that now,” I suggest a tad snippily.
“So noted.” He smirks, not in the least impressed with my foul mood. It almost has me in tears again.
“It’d be nice to have one man in my life who’s not grunting or yelling at me.”
I can feel the air chill around me as Roar goes completely still, the smile gone and his eyes narrowed.
“Who’s yelling?”
“It’s nothing,” I say quickly, putting what I hope is a calming hand on his arm. Last thing I need is David to have another reason to be pissed at me, and that is exactly what will happen if Roar gets involved.
“Who the fuck is yelling?” he repeats forcefully, and the dog lifts his head, ears perked up.
“Dad,” Matt says, walking in the door. “He’s been calling me since you stopped answering your phone.” He looks at me, shrugging his shoulders like it’s all the same to him.
It’s not. I know my boy better than that. He hates confrontation, always has.
“I’m sorry,” I offer, but Matt sharply shakes his head.
“Don’t. Don’t take responsibility for this—for him. You’ve done enough of that.”