Chapter 4
Some people spend their whole lives looking for their place in the world. For me, I’m well on my way to a complete meltdown, because I fear I’ll never be able to get far enough away from my past to reach for a better future.
Buck may think he knows about my failed marriage, but he hasn’t touched the surface.
Ever since I can remember, I’ve had an itch to get as far away from this little island as humanly possible. I know it’s crazy. Most people dream of being able to spend every waking second on such a beautiful island, but it’s not the scenery that makes me hate this place. It’s the people and the memories I’ll never be able to run from.
I can mask the pain, pretend everything is okay and live each day as if the past doesn’t exist, but it’s still on my mind, never allowing me a second to stop wondering if history will repeat itself.
I always thought if I could get away, happiness would fall upon me, and I’d be able to put all the ugly behind me. That’s why meeting Peter gave me hope.
It was a hot summer, and I’d been working two jobs on the island. At sixteen I was determined to be popular. Some would say I was hungry for attention.
Aside from greeting customers at my parent’s restaurant, I managed to snag a job at a miniature golf place. The tourist attraction was always crowded, especially since back then it was the only one on the entire island. Families and teens would come and play, and all I really had to do was take their money and hand them different colored balls.
It’s not uncommon to get hit on, but there was this one guy who stood out among the many. He was tall, wavy dark hair, bright as the sky blue eyes, and a butt that wouldn’t let me look away. It was the nineties, so you can imagine how captivated I was by his Billabong shirt and O.P. shorts. He wore a Walkman around his neck, with the music turned up high enough people could hear the treble loud and clear as he walked around.
The moment our eyes met it was electric. I couldn’t stop staring, catching his gaze and then feeling hot as it continued happening. I made it a point to come out of the cashier box to make sure his family was enjoying their experience, hoping if I made the effort he’d reward me with a number.
At first I was only looking for a summer fling. Most families spend one or two weeks on the island, tops, but not his. They’d rented a chalet for an entire month.
He returned to the miniature golf place two days later and asked for my number. That night he drove me home. For the next twenty two days we were inseparable. Somewhere along the way I fell hopelessly in love with him.
Peter Hawkins was from New York City. His parents owned a chain of bakeries and were well known for their famous commercials. At the age of twenty-four, he was attending college at MIT, in hopes of being an engineer. Peter was the smartest person I’d ever met, but never nerdy. His mind was like a sponge, and I became intrigued by the extent of his knowledge of science and life experiences. Vicariously living through the stories he fed me, I knew if I played my cards right he’d be my ticket off the island.
Our first time was magical. We snuck onto Assateague Island and rode our bicycles to the ocean. He placed a blanket over a dune, and as the waves came crashing in, he confessed his feelings for me. Though he wasn’t the person to take my virginity, Peter was the first man I ever made love to. He was gentle and considerate. He pleasured me before himself. His attention to detail made the encounter forever etched into my memories as the best experience I’d probably ever endure.
Having lied to him about my age from the beginning, only for him to find out from a friend later on, Peter left Chincoteague angry and regretful. He told me I was his biggest mistake. He claimed he was too old for me, and the fact that I’d originally told him I was eighteen was a crime. He returned the letters I mailed to him for an entire month, and refused my phone calls, which back then were from a landline.
Then something happened.
I discovered I was pregnant.
Since he wouldn’t take my calls, or open my letters, I was forced to do something drastic to get his attention. I took my mother’s car and drove from Virginia to New York City with two duffle bags of my belongings and a paper map to guide the way.
At first he wasn’t thrilled to see me. He slammed the door on my face and told me to get lost. I rang the doorbell until his mother answered, and as soon as I saw her I blurted out the news I was certain would change everything.
It did.
Using every bit of emotions I was able to conjure, I played the part, telling them my parents kicked me out and I had nowhere else to go. They reluctantly took me in, forcing their son to take responsibility for the mess he’d managed to get himself in.
I manipulated the situation, using my unborn child to secure a new life far way from the island.
We married that following year. Peter took a long time before he’d sleep with me again. He refused to believe the child was his, even after Nick was born. Since his parents could afford it, they did a paternity test, and once there was no doubt Peter was the father of my son, he started to forgive me.
Despite the fact that I was a minor, my parents never came looking for me. My mom knew I’d never return, and I think in a lot of ways she was happy about it, because she knew the family secrets would never come out as long as I was gone. I’d write to her and even call on occasion, though our conversations were short. I didn’t confess to being married and having a child until my son was two, and even then I wasn’t ready to visit.
Peter got his degree and moved us to Illinois, right outside of Chicago. We purchased a house, him getting a job for the government, and me working part time as a bartender.
We fought constantly. He resented me, and I was desperate to hold onto him because I knew I’d have nothing without him.
The fights didn’t become violent until after five years. He started staying out for days at a time. First it was cocaine, but then the addiction took over. I remember the first time I found the marks on his arm. He swore I was crazy, but I knew exactly what was happening. He beat me so bad, from the neck down, that I wasn’t able to get out of bed for three days.
His apologies came shortly after, and because I knew he was all I had, I forgave him.
As soon as he caught wind that he’d gotten away with it, the beatings started to get more frequent. He switched jobs and we ended up moving to Pennsylvania. I think because he didn’t know anyone, it was difficult for him to score drugs, so after going through withdrawals he became the man I originally married. We talked about putting the past behind us, and I even confided my past to him. To this day he’s the only person I’ve ever told. I felt like we finally had a chance.
I quickly became head bartender at a local pub. We joined a church. Nick started school. For a while life was good, but we all know bad things happen when we least expect them.
Peter got laid off. His parents couldn’t help us financially, because the business wasn’t doing well. They’d shut down three locations and had to let go most of their employees. The drinking became the only thing to cure his depression, or at least take the edge off. While his mood remained the same, the dark side of him came back with a vengeance.
It was a Saturday night. I’d just come home from a long shift at the pub to find him sitting on the front stoop. He never looked at me as I approached him. Unexpectedly, I reached out to touch him, to ask if he was all right. He caught my arm so fast I couldn’t react. One minute I was smiling, but concerned, and the other I was pleading for him to spare my life.
That night I packed my things and took Nick out of the house. I drove distraught for miles, and desperate. The pain ripped through me, reminding me I was married to a psychotic monster. Just when I thought it couldn’t get worse I saw the headlights. I’d pulled over at a local fast food joint to see if I could get some sleep. I know now I should have continued driving and never looked back. Haunted by a fate that I feared would be possibly worse than a beating, I knew the only choice I had was to stay.
After two y
ears living in Pennsylvania, we moved to New York City to be closer to his parents. His mother had been diagnosed with stage three ovarian cancer. We lived with them while she endured multiple chemotherapy treatments as well as radiation. Unfortunately nothing worked to send the disease into remission. One year after learning the news she died in hospice care.
If I thought my abusive relationship couldn’t get any worse, I’d been very mistaken. Peter’s drinking and drug use spiraled. He’d disappear to go on binges, and only come home to take out his anger on me. When I finally got the courage to report him, he threatened Nick’s life instead of mine. We lived in fear, never knowing which Peter was going to walk through the door.
By the time Nick turned eleven, I’d saved a few thousand dollars. I renewed my relationship with my parents, because frankly I couldn’t keep living in such horrible conditions. A week before we were set to leave and never look back, the unimaginable happened.
Unbeknownst to me, Peter had been spying on my every move. I still have no clue how he knew what I was planning, but he swore I was doing it because of another man.
I’d been working part-time at a bar near the house. I could walk to work, but usually drove since I got off late at night. While walking me out to my vehicle after closing, one of my customers was violently assaulted, while I desperately tried to help them. During the altercation, which still to this day haunts me, I came face to face with the devil.
The police were called, and after discovering he’d assaulted an off duty officer, I finally had hope that my luck was about to change.
Peter was arrested and immediately taken into custody, where he remained in jail until his court date. His father, being an upstanding member of society was ashamed of his son’s actions. With his own health failing, he apologized for his son’s actions, not that it changed anything.
Coming back to the island was bittersweet. I thought this was behind us. With the things Peter knew I figured he’d never suspect I’d move back. I assumed we were safe.
My stomach is still in knots as I stand on Buck’s porch and recall the confrontation earlier in the day. My hands are shaking, and I’m certain that if I don’t sit down I might pass out. The adrenaline has stopping raging through my body, and now I’m left vulnerable and in shock.
This isn’t a place I ever thought I’d be. Buck must think I’m a crazy person. I’ve been hitting on him for years, and since he’s always turned me down, I know there’s probably no hope for a chance now. He’s already having a terrible day. The man is damaged goods. He’s still grieving his wife who has been dead for years.
Buck is a nice man. He’s done right by his children, to the best of his ability. I mean, how many men can step up and be the mother and father to six teenagers?
The smell of the grill distracts me. I watch the buff built man, who has invited us to stay at his home, preparing supper for not only his family but two extra mouths and still manage to smile. I’m grateful, far beyond ever being able to describe. For now I feel safe, but I know as soon as I leave all hell is going to break loose again. I can’t hide forever.
The devil is back. I’m not just afraid for my life. I fear my secrets will come out, and when they do, I’ll never be able to face another person in this small coastal town again.
Chapter 5
After threatening to skin the man who arrived with my daughter, I watch Bristol storm into the house acting as if I have no right to reprimand her.
She slams her bedroom door in my face, and then proceeds to scream at the top of her lungs.
If I didn’t have company I’d kick through the door and raise hell, but I’m not about to come off as violent, not after what Perry’s gone through. Instead of making a scene, I fetch the ingredients for dinner and find my way to the back deck. If Bristol got a tattoo it’s somewhere I couldn’t see it. I don’t know if that makes me happy or more salty.
I make grilling look easy, but honestly it’s the only way I know how to cook, other than steam seafood. One would find it hard to believe, but in the dead of winter I’m out on this deck cooking meat for my crew at least four days out of the week.
While Perry stares in the distance at the water, I keep a mindful watch. She’s not crying anymore, but a weak sniffle escapes her every now and again.
Today only proves she’s bad for me.
After several silent minutes I break the silence. “How’s corn?”
She turns her head in my direction while responding. “You don’t have to feed us.”
“Nonsense.”
“We like corn. Neither of us are picky.”
I pick up a grocery bag and hand it to her. “Shuck the ears, and I’ll toss them on the fire for a few minutes.”
She starts the task, finally beginning to relax. “Thanks again for letting us crash, Buck. I haven’t been on this side of the island in a long time.” She lets out an air-filled laugh. “It’s funny how I’ve been back for years and only stay within a mile of my house, unless I spend the day on Assateague at the beach. I like driving my moped as much as I can and letting the air smack against my face. It’s invigorating.”
Chincoteague Island is located on the Chincoteague Bay, but if you drive across to the next island of Assateague, that ends at the Atlantic Ocean with a beach as far as the eyes can see, and plenty of wild ponies. “I haven’t been to the beach in a while. Work keeps me from simple pleasures.”
“Yet you make it to the bar,” she adds.
I grin. “Yeah, well after a hard day it helps me settle down. What happened with my daughter is an every day event here. Just wait and see how bad it gets when the boys come home.”
“I bet.” She snickers. “I always tease Nick that he can never leave, but I think he’ll probably go the day he turns eighteen. I just hope he has enough sense to steer clear of his father.”
“Does he know what you’ve been through?”
“A little. As much as I hate his father, I can’t bring myself to break his heart. Even at the worst, right before he was arrested for the assault, I hid a lot of my injuries. He thinks he hasn’t done enough to me to warrant us hiding from him. Sometimes I wonder if he assumes I’m the bad guy.”
I grit my teeth as she says it, clenching my jaw to avoid saying something out of place. It’s not my business, but I’m inclined to take the boy by his collar and shake the living shit out of him until he opens his eyes. This woman is petrified. Surely he has to see that. “How old is he?”
“Sixteen.”
“Maybe you should sit him down and let it all out.”
She’s stopped shucking the corn and is sitting on a chair rubbing her temples. “I don’t know how.”
“Start with the truth. You’re his mother. He trusts you. Look, I’m not the world’s best parent, but I’d want my kids to know the truth, no matter how difficult it was for them to take. You can’t go through this alone. Whether the guy leaves and never comes back, or sticks around to raise hell, you need to inform your son. God forbid something happen…” I stop before my foot goes further into my mouth.
For a few minutes we’re both quiet. I already know she’s upset with what I’ve said to her. The next time she speaks she’s withdrawn, talking in an almost murmur. “I wasn’t sure until I saw her earlier, but I think you should know.”
“What?”
“Your daughter. I’ve seen her before. Actually,” she pauses. “It took me a second to place her, because it’s been several months, but I’m sure.”
“You know her? She works at the Creamery.”
“I don’t go there. The lines are too long in the summer, and I’d rather eat ice cream in my pajamas in the winter.” She comes to stand next to me at the grill. “Buck, she’s got a fake I.D.”
“Bullshit.” It’s not that I don’t believe her. Bristol is rebellious. Trouble finds her without effort, so it seems. “Did you serve her?”
“It was a busy night. I had a band playing. I didn’t keep track of what she and her friends
were drinking, but I’m sure she was there to drink. Why else would you have a fake I.D.?”
I’m furious. This adds to the lists of reasons my daughter needs to be kept in a jail cell until the day she turns at least twenty-one. “Just tell me this. Was she with one of her brothers?”
Perry shakes her head. I’ve been in the bar when the boys come in after a long day. With the exception of the twins, which I know she’d still recognize, three of them are old enough to drink.
“No. She was with that same guy on the bike. That’s when I realized it was her. I remember he gave us trouble on another occasion.”
My fists are balled. I’m ready to kill someone. “Tell me you got his name.”
She looks down with disappointment. “I’m sorry. I can’t remember. It’s been a while. I see a lot of people, and with the tourists there’s no telling how I could remember everyone. I’m good with faces, but terrible with names.”
I keep working on the chicken, while taking each ear of corn from the table and placing them strategically on the open grill. This chick means well, but the second she’s gone, Bristol is in for a world of punishment. For now she’s locked herself in her room, where I hope she’ll stay for the rest of the night, so I don’t have to add heart failure to my already shitty day. “I appreciate you telling me.”
“Tell me you have some beer. I didn’t think about getting any.”
“I’ve got beer. It’s in the fridge, but if you want something to take the edge off, there’s a liquor cabinet in the kitchen pantry. The combination is today’s date, followed by a sixty.”
She smiles. “You lock your liquor?”
My brow cocks. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep liquor in a house full of watermen and teenagers? I’m a pretty crappy dad, but I don’t want any of them thinking it’s okay with me if they get into my stash.”
“What’s your poison tonight, Buck? I’ll make us both something, seeing as we’re in the same boat.”
Salt Water Wounds (Oyster Cove #1) Page 4