by Freya Barker
“I won’t last,” I warn her, slipping a hand between her legs to play with her clit as my hips helplessly pound inside her. The bed starts rocking, hitting the headboard against the wall.
“Harder, honey,” she pleads underneath me, one of her hands sliding over my fingers between her legs and pressing down.
“I go harder, we’ll be knocking this wall down,” I pant, ignoring the pain in my ribs.
“I need you harder.”
This was more of an order than a plea, but works equally well because now my hips are pistoning furiously. Skin slapping against skin, headboard against wall, and something...
“Fuuuck!” I can’t help yell when, without warning, I go off like the grand finale at the local Canada Day fireworks display.
“Don’t stop,” Leelo begs, and I have to power through a few more strokes, more involuntary muscle memory than coordinated effort, but I know she’s right there when I feel the first pulse rippling over my cock.
“What was that sound?” she asks when we both can breathe normal again.
“Like something rolling around? I heard it to.”
I swing my legs off the bed and duck my head down, reaching my hand as far as I can under the frame. I feel it wedged underneath the mattress up against the headboard; a smooth, cool cylindrical surface. I manage to get a grip, and pull it free.
“You tossed my jar under the bed?”
“What? No! Oh my God. I had that under my pillow when you gave it to me on my birthday. I was so tempted all day, but wanted to save it for bedtime. It must’ve slipped between the mattress and the wall.”
Poor Leelo looks near tears and I quickly kiss her hard on the mouth.
“Relax. I’m teasing you. You’ve been a little busy. We both have. I forgot about it myself.”
I reach for the jeans I tossed on the floor last night and fish out my wallet from the back pocket. From the billfold I pull a handful of new scraps, unscrew the top of the jar and drop them in.
“More?” she says, smiling at me.
“Every day I write down one lingering thought. Every day since the moment we first met, the prevailing thought has been about you.”
Her hand comes out and strokes my beard, the smile still shining on her face.
“I love you,” she offers, looking me in the eye.
“I know,” I respond, taking my time to watch her happy flushed face on my pillow.
Finally, I lean closer and add, “Because I love you, too.”
Leelo
“You ready for this, Sunshine?”
Even sitting on his lap, I have a hard time hearing Roar’s voice over the engine noise, so I just give him a thumbs up.
Two days after Gwen left for Toronto, the building permits came through.
Bill had filled us in that the network Brian Dinker had set up with the backing of Northern Lights, and the help of Kline, Kline & McTavish, was impressive and had reached as deep as the municipal building and planning department. The law firm closed its doors the week after I found Henry Kline’s dead body, and soon thereafter, Ian McTavish was arrested as well.
Heads rolled at the building and planning department and the moment that happened, all the permits for the Whitefish Motel upgrades and additions were miraculously approved within twenty-four hours.
Bill also mentioned that Wawa was not the only town along the Trans-Canada Highway impacted by the criminal dealings of Northern Lights Development. Other places had been subject to coercion, intimidation, and blackmail to get Edwyn Laramy—owner of Northern Lights and son of software mogul, Walden Laramy—first dibs on the real estate market.
We were just the only town where it had led to murder.
It had taken us a few days to order supplies, set up a schedule, and rent some equipment, but today we break ground, as I’m told is the appropriate term.
First thing on the agenda this morning is to tear down that blasted laundry shed.
“Hand on the gear, baby,” Roar yells in my ear, covering my hand on the knob with his and shifting the gear forward. The large bucket, centered on the front of the bulldozer, jerks and bounces a little when the tracks start rolling, making this less than a smooth ride. It doesn’t diminish the huge grin on my face.
I wave at Matt, who is sitting on the roof of the motel, filming it all on his phone.
“Hands on the wheel,” Roar barks in my ear.
“Sorry!” I do as he asks, but I still feel like a kid on a carnival ride. “Can we go faster?”
I can’t see or hear him, but I can feel his laughter shaking his body behind me.
“Not a race, Leelo.”
The first crunch, when the teeth of the bucket hit the facade of the shed, is a sound I’ll never forget. A symbolic demolition and levelling of the old to make room for a new and better me.
I don’t even notice I’m crying until Roar shuts down the engine, when there’s nothing but rubble left, and turns me on his lap.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, concerned right away.
“Nothing’s wrong. Not a single thing.” I smile through my tears and throw my arms around his neck, while the small crowd that showed up—Charlotte, Bill, Patti, and even Travis—starts to clap.
-
“Are you going to read them?”
Roar is lying next to me in bed on his side. Elbow in the mattress, head propped up on his hand, watching me.
We’ve had a good day. No—a great day.
Charlotte brought a cake from a bakery in town to celebrate. Once Roar helped me down off the bulldozer, she hustled us all inside, where we stood around the old kitchen counter, eating cake from paper plates with our hands, because according to Charlotte, Bill had forgotten the forks. A fact he strongly denied. He did bring the napkins, however, which helped.
What also helped was the bottle of champagne that magically appeared from Matt’s backpack, along with a stack of plastic cups.
It was the absolute best start to the day.
The next seven hours flew by, as the guys used the bulldozer to dig and level the beginnings of the foundation for the three cabins along the water’s edge. I volunteered to haul every scrap of roofing, wood, and brick from the rubble pile we left, into the wheelbarrow and up the makeshift ramp to dump in the big container in the parking lot.
It was cathartic. By the end of the day, my muscles were sore and heavy but my heart felt light and free.
We barely managed to wolf down a few sandwiches for dinner before we got ready for bed.
That’s where I am now, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, playing with the lid of the glass jar for the past five minutes. Clearly, I’m driving Roar nuts.
“What if I’m reading them in the wrong order?” I’m not sure why I’m delaying this. Is it because I’m afraid I’ll jinx the good thing we have going? Or maybe that something he wrote will hurt my feelings?
“It doesn’t matter,” he says, taking the jar from my hands. “But I’ll put them in order for you if that makes you feel better.”
“How could you possibly remember?” I question him, looking at the large number of scraps in the jar.
“I’ll remember when I read them.”
“Hand me the jar,” I say, taking it back, and immediately unscrewing the lid and turning it upside down in the middle of the bed.
I only hesitate for a moment when I pick up the first paper, and read it out loud; “Peaches & cream; every rich and succulent inch.”
“Easy,” Roar says. “That was the first time I saw you naked. Well, your naked reflection in the mirror of your bathroom. You had the door open a crack and had only covered your front.”
“In the blue of endless skies in her eyes, I see a raging storm.”
“That’s the day I hauled your ass off the roof. The first time I looked in those pretty eyes. You were pissed as hell that day.”
I chuckle at the memory, before grabbing one more.
“A careful touch has the power to wipe the battle f
rom her eyes.”
“A yes,” he says, with a smile. “The first time we made love. You were so jumpy and I was nervous as fuck I’d make the wrong move.”
“How is it possible that feels like years ago, when it really was only a few months?” I want to know.
“Dog years,” he deadpans, earning him a slug on the arm with my fist. “Ouch. Keep going.”
For the next two hours, I read out every scrap of paper, and he tells me the context for his beautiful words. By then, I’m in tears, which shouldn’t be a surprise, I’m like a leaky faucet these days.
“You’re a poet. I love them.” I gently brush my hands over the pieces of paper littered around me. “Each one of them.”
“I’m glad,” Roar growls, shifting on the bed so he can drop his head in my lap and circle my waist with an arm. “Because I don’t think I could stop writing them if I tried.”
He lifts his closed hand in front of me, before turning it palm up and slowly opening his fingers, exposing one more piece of crumpled paper.
“Today’s thought.”
I pick up the scrap and carefully unfold it, silently reading what it says.
She’s my fantasy, my fortune, my fate, and my future.
EPILOGUE
A wonderful life.
Leelo
“Mom! Toss me your hammer, mine slid off the roof.”
I look over at Matt who is on his knees, nailing down flashing around the new chimney. Instead of tossing—since that would surely end in two hammers down below—I carefully make my way over to him, my hand on the head of the hammer, tucked in my awesome tool belt.
I’ve been cleaning crap from the eavesthroughs and the top of the downspouts, since yesterday’s unexpected rain caused fucking Niagara Falls to run down the front of the restaurant.
Roar stopped me when I climbed out the bathroom window after my son, demanding I wear a harness. He’s never liked me going up on the roof. Not since that first time he pulled me off last year. To be honest, I don’t like it much myself, still don’t like heights, but that’s why I keep going up there. If this past year has taught me anything, it’s that you have to keep challenging yourself. Keep pushing the boundaries of your comfort zone, every now and then, or you lose your flexibility.
It’s amazing how beautiful things are when you occasionally risk a change of view.
Of course, I put on the damn harness and let myself be latched to my son, because despite the fact he’d rather ban me from the roof altogether, Roar pushes his own boundaries by letting me go up there. The harness is a small concession on my part, and besides, although I’d never admit this to Roar, it makes me feel a little more secure up there as well.
I can’t believe how fast everything is coming together. We were lucky the winter wasn’t too bad, and for the most part, we were able to continue with the work, focusing on the inside. That’s how the beautiful fireplace was built, in place of where the old bar used to be.
That was Matt’s idea, actually. He noticed early on, when the snow started falling, that there were several snowmobile trails running along the highway. Thought I could lure them in with a hot soup and a warm fire so I’d still have some income over the winter months.
Bright kid, my boy.
“Check it out, Mom,” Matt says when I crouch down beside him.
I follow the direction his hand is pointing to a spot at the water’s edge, well south of the dock, where the tree line runs much closer to the shore. A moose cow is drinking from the lake, her front legs slightly spread in the shallow water. Through her tall legs, I can just make out the much smaller shape of her calf.
“This is why I’ll never regret moving up here,” he says softly.
My boy has taken to the life up here like a fish to water. He works hard, he plays hard, and from the impressive collection of girls I saw coming in and out of his cottage over the winter, he parties hard too. I’d wanted to talk to him about that, but Roar shut me down. “He’ll find his way, just like I did and you did.” That shut me up in a hurry.
“Me neither, Bud. Me neither,” I whisper back.
“Have you heard from Grandma?”
I wedge the phone between my shoulder and my ear as I try to finish cutting the bacon for the quiches.
“Last time I talked to her was at Christmas. She called to make sure the self-help book to firmer thighs she’d ordered me had arrived. Why?”
“Because she says she, and whatever husband she’s on now, are moving to Toronto and she wants me to go apartment hunting with her.” The sheer horror in Gwen’s voice makes me chuckle.
“Better you than me, baby,” I tease her.
“Mo-om! She’s your mother.”
“Oh believe me, I’m well aware, but I take no responsibility for her.”
“That’s not fair,” Gwen whines.
“Really? Because not so long ago, I believe it might have been Christmas as well, didn’t I hear you say to that cute young man you were with, that you refused to be held accountable for the behaviour of your mother?” I remind her, grinning.
“That was different. You were doing an impersonation of Tom Cruise in Risky Business while we were trying to eat breakfast!”
“It was a great impersonation, though,” I defend myself, smiling at the memory. “I totally rocked Roar’s flannel shirt, and before you say anything, it so covered all my bits.”
“Mom,” she groans. “This is a crisis in the making. I’m thinking this may be a good time to look at that job opportunity I found in Sault Ste. Marie.”
I walk over to the sink and wash my hands, when suddenly Roar’s arms sneak around me from behind. I must’ve yelped out loud.
“Are you even listening, Mom?”
“Yes, Sweetie, I am. That was just Roar, uh, startling me,” I say, frantically slapping at his large, groping hands that have worked their way under my shirt. “I heard. Grandma moving to Toronto, you’re packing for the Soo. All I can say is; don’t let Grandma chase you off, honey. If you want to stay in Toronto, it’s not like it’s not big enough for the two of you. Hey!” I blurt out when Roar snatches the phone away from my ear.
“Hey, Gwenny.”
I still melt when I hear his deep rumble use that name on her. Since that little tête-à-tête those two had last year on the dock, there’s been something special between them.
“Never met the woman, but from what I hear it’s best to steer clear, so what do I hear about the Soo?”
I turn, lean my butt against the sink, fold my arms over my chest, and watch and listen as my man almost effortlessly calms my daughter down.
Ten minutes later he hangs up, and Gwen is undoubtedly calling Sault Ste. Marie real estate agents as we speak.
Roar
“Peter! Good to see you.”
I smile at the older man coming toward me with a somewhat reluctant teenager in tow.
“Nice place, Doyle. Nice place.” He looks over his shoulder at one of the new cabins.
“Thanks.” I give his offered hand a firm shake. “You actually started this idea. Last year, when you stayed here? It got me thinking it wouldn’t be a bad idea to expand a little. Give people an alternate option. A slight change of view, if you will.”
“Well, I’m glad we get to christen the place,” Peter says, his shoulders slumping a bit. “This might well be the last time we make the drive up here. The grandkids have other things to do with their summers and Margaret—” He pauses, looking over his shoulder at the cabin again. “She’s not been well.”
“Sorry to hear that,” I tell him, clapping him lightly on the shoulder.
“You get to be our age, things start rattling right, left, and center,” he chuckles. “All in the natural order. But I’m glad to see you and the colourful Ms. Talbot have joined forces in every way that counts.”
I grin at the old man’s chuckle.
“That we have.”
-
The brief conversation follows me around all day, as we
celebrate the official opening of the new and improved Whitefish Inn. The slight change in name was better suited to the new concept.
Leelo actually cried when Matt revealed the beautiful new signs he made for her. Not that crying is necessarily new, but these were pure and unadulterated happy tears, which got even me a little choked up.
The symbolism of this day does not escape me. There’s a lot in our everyday mundane life that has a poignancy I didn’t recognize before Leelo.
More depth, more nuance, a fuller experience.
Joie de vivre.
Something my Leelo definitely taught me.
“Can I ask you something?”
I flip a log on end and sit down next to Charlie, who is enjoying the bonfire at the water’s edge. She looks up at me with a smile in her eyes.
“Of course you can, my boy.”
“Do you regret that I never gave you grandchildren?”
Charlie twists in her seat and squints her eyes. “Where does that come from all of a sudden?”
I shrug. Hard to say when I started taking stock of my life. My guess is somewhere around the time I was lying in a gully, with a burning tree on my chest, wondering if I was taking my last breath. But my talk with Peter earlier brought it to the forefront.
“I just never really thought about the fact I’m going to leave this life one day with no legacy. Ouch!” Her hands may be arthritic now, but my mother’s sharp smack on the back of my head holds as much bite now as it did when I was on the receiving end of a hell of a lot more of them.
“Didn’t raise you for a fool, Riordan Doyle. You’ve been nothing but a blessing in my life and the life of others, and over the last year you’ve given me even more.” Charlie’s eyes seem to search for Leelo, who looks to be having a deep discussion of her own with Mrs. Zhao on the other side of the fire. “A wonderful woman I couldn’t love more if she were my own daughter, and two fine young people I already consider my grandchildren. Don’t for a minute think that just because you came into their lives a little later, you don’t have a powerful impact,” she says, grabbing my hand and pulling me closer. “I see the way Matt has found his confidence because of the trust you showed him. In the way Gwen knows what she deserves because she sees firsthand from you how a real man should love and respect a woman as his equal.” Charlie cups my face in her hands, like she used to when I was a kid and she needed my focus. “My boy, look around, you’re living your legacy.”