Feels like Rain (Lake Fisher Book 3)

by Tammy Falkner

  Feels like Rain

  Tammy Falkner

  Night Shift Publishing

  Copyright © 2020 by Tammy Falkner

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Introduction

  1. Abigail

  2. Abigail

  3. Ethan

  4. Ethan

  5. Abigail

  6. Ethan

  7. Abigail

  8. Ethan

  9. Abigail

  10. Ethan

  11. Abigail

  12. Abigail

  13. Ethan

  14. Abigail

  15. Abigail

  16. Ethan

  17. Abigail

  18. Ethan

  19. Abigail

  20. Ethan

  21. Ethan

  22. Abigail

  23. Ethan

  24. Abigail

  25. Ethan

  26. Abigail

  27. Ethan

  28. Abigail

  29. Ethan

  30. Abigail

  31. Ethan

  32. Abigail

  33. Ethan

  34. Ethan

  35. Abigail

  36. Abigail

  37. Ethan

  38. Abigail

  39. Ethan

  40. Abigail

  About the Author

  Keep Reading for a Sneak Peek at Book 4!

  Keep Reading for a Sneak Peek of Book 4, Feels like Trouble!

  41. Grady Parker

  Also by Tammy Falkner

  For Angie, because she let me call her up and say, “Help me figure something out.” And then she did.

  Introduction

  Lake Fisher is a place where miracles happen, and if anyone ever needed a miracle, it’s Ethan Roberts.

  One of the hardest things that Ethan has ever had to do is walk back into that small town, the place where he’d once made his biggest mistake. But walk back in he does, because he has a son who needs him. What he never expected was to walk back in and find her there too.

  Abigail Marshall was Ethan’s best friend when they were children spending summers at Lake Fisher. Abigail doesn’t see a broken man with a shady past. She sees the happy boy she once knew.

  But Ethan is not that boy anymore. Now he’s a man hated by the townspeople, and for good reason. But he hates himself even more.

  Despite the rumors and innuendo surrounding his past, she leaves the door open for him to step right back into her life and it feels like they never spent a day apart. Twenty years changes a person, but when Ethan and Abigail are together, the past just disappears.

  But how long can he keep it away? Because the one thing he’d never be able to endure is Abigail hating him too.

  1

  Abigail

  “It feels like rain,” my grandmother says as she sits on the glider on the porch, staring up at the star-speckled sky. The sky is clear, and a gentle wind lifts my hair. Gran hugs her arms around her skinny body and shivers, like someone just walked over her grave. The temperature is eighty degrees outside. A storm isn’t in the forecast. It seems like a gentle fall night.

  “I don’t think so,” I say. “The weatherman said to expect clear skies today and tomorrow.”

  Gran makes a rude noise in her throat, the kind she would slap me for if I did it. Then she gets up and goes inside the house. I stand up and follow her, the screen door clanging loudly behind me as it slams shut.

  “Take an umbrella when you leave,” Gran says, and then she kisses me on the forehead and goes to sit on the couch. She turns on the TV and finds “her stories” that had been recorded during the day.

  “I thought I might spend the night tonight,” I call to her as I clean the kitchen.

  She makes another absurd noise. It’s a cross between a grunt and a snort. “I don’t need a babysitter,” she says. “Take yourself home to that husband of yours.” She nearly spits the words that husband at me. She doesn’t like Charles. She hates him, in fact. Some days I do too. The rest, I just don’t care.

  “I told Charles I was staying over.” I wash the last of the dishes and go to sit with her.

  “And what did Charles have to say to that?” she asks. She doesn’t look away from the TV.

  He looked relieved, honestly. “Nothing.”

  Gran grunts. “A wife’s place is at home,” she says. She clicks the TV off, pulls an afghan from the back of the couch, and covers herself with it. “Go home, Abigail. I’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t like leaving you,” I say. Gran is getting older and it shows. And I enjoy spending time with her.

  “Go home, Abigail,” she says more firmly. Then she rolls over and pulls the afghan close under her chin.

  “You should go to bed,” I tell her.

  “I’ll go to bed when I’m ready,” she says quietly. “Go on home, now.” She snuggles deeper into her cocoon. “Take the umbrella by the back door,” she murmurs.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I lay my hand on her arm and give it a squeeze. She smiles softly and I get up to leave.

  I look up at the clear night sky as I walk out the back door. The gentle wind still blows, but I don’t need the umbrella. It’s not going to rain.

  I drive across town to the house I share with my husband and I let myself in the back door. The scent of Italian food meets my nose and I inhale deeply. Then I see the take-out bags on the kitchen counter. Charles has gotten us take-out when he knew I wasn’t coming home? Maybe he forgot. I toss my keys onto the counter and stop when I see the candles flickering in the dark dining room, the room we never use. There are two places set at the table, and Charles has used our best china. The plates are empty. The food rests in the bags on the kitchen counter, if the smell emanating from them is any indication.

  My heart lurches. Have I forgotten an important date? Our anniversary isn’t until January. I run through our history in my mind. I can’t think of anything we would have been celebrating.

  I hear a noise from the bedroom. “Charles,” I call out. “Are you here?” I walk in that direction.

  The bedroom door slams shut in my face, the whoosh of air halting my stride, and I brace myself in the doorframe to keep from walking straight into the door.

  “Charles,” I call out. I listen at the crack in the door and jiggle the knob. It’s locked.

  “I thought you said you were staying at your grandmother’s tonight,” Charles calls back, his voice overly loud.

  “Gran said she didn’t need me.” I press my ear to the door again. “Charles,” I say, “what’s going on?”

  “Um… Nothing, Abby, just hang on.”

  I jiggle the doorknob a little harder. “Charles,” I say again, and trepidation floods me.

  “Oh, God, Abby,” Charles calls back, his voice frantic. “You weren’t supposed to be here tonight.”

  “I know, but Gran…” I suddenly stop. “Is someone in there with you?”

  “Abby.” He heaves out a sigh. “It’s not what it looks like.”

  “It looks like you have me locked out of our bedroom.” I jiggle the knob again. “Open the door.”

  Charles opens the door and stands in the threshold, blocking my view. “It’s not what it looks like,” he says again.

  I look beyond him and find my friend and coworker Sandra standing there, as she bends over to pull on her high heels. She looks up, but her eyes won’t meet mine.

 
; “Sandra?” I say. Then it hits me, like one of those waves at the beach that knocks you off your feet, and then it spins you around and you get sand in the butt of your swimsuit and grit in your eyes. “Oh, God.” I take a step back.

  “I should go,” Sandra says, her voice small. She walks toward us, still not able to look me in the eye. We’ve been friends for two years. She got me the job I have at the hospital where I work.

  “Sandra,” I say, and I follow her to the front door. She stops and presses herself against the door, hugging it tightly as she clutches the knob.

  “Why did you have to come home tonight?” she says, I suspect more to herself than to me.

  Because I live here. “Did you…sleep with…my husband?” I jerk my thumb toward the bedroom.

  “I didn’t—” she starts. But then she stops and shakes her head. “Charles should tell you. Not me.” She opens the door and steps out into the night, closing it softly behind her.

  I turn around to find Charles standing in a pair of running shorts and nothing else. He drags a hand through his hair, which is standing on end. “I didn’t want you to find out like this,” he says on a heavy breath.

  I suck in some air. “So, you did…?” I leave the question floating in the air, like a grenade with the pin pulled.

  He winces and nods.

  I suddenly can’t breathe.

  “How long?” I choke out.

  “Not long,” he replies. “Abby.” He walks to me and tries to touch me, but I shrink away. “Abs,” he says, shortening my name in the way I’ve always hated.

  “You should pack your things,” I tell him. I pour myself a glass of water from the fridge.

  He stares at me. “Where am I going to go?”

  I tip my glass up and take a long swallow. “I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe you could ask Sandra.” I set my empty glass in the sink and go to my bedroom. But my bedroom smells like Sandra’s perfume and sex. “I want you out by tomorrow,” I say.

  He nods.

  I turn and leave. As I walk out onto the front porch, a clap of thunder breaks the silence of the night and a flash of lightning lights up the sky. The heavens open up and the rain comes down. I stand there and let it pound on me.

  I probably look like an idiot, but I stand there while the storm rages all around me, and then finally, when the wind slows, and the rain becomes steady, I get in my car and drive to Gran’s house.

  I let myself in. She sits at the kitchen table playing a game of solitaire, the old-fashioned kind with actual cards. She doesn’t look up when I let myself in.

  “Can I stay here tonight?” I ask.

  “You should have taken the umbrella,” she says.

  “Yeah,” I reply. “I should have listened.”

  2

  Abigail

  The next morning when I arrive at work, the hallway goes silent as I walk to the nurses’ lounge. I look around, trying to figure out what’s going on. Then I realize it’s me they’re all staring at.

  They know. They know about what happened with my husband.

  I look over and find Sandra standing behind the nurses’ station. She avoids my eyes as I walk past her, but I stare at her the whole way anyway. She stares at the computer, absently pushing a lock of hair across her forehead over and over.

  I go into the lounge and the room clears out almost immediately. I get a few pitying glances, but mostly people are avoiding my eyes as they walk out the door. A voice clears from behind me.

  “Abigail, can I see you in my office, please?” It’s Mrs. House, my boss. Her voice is crisp and clear, and I am suddenly worried. She doesn’t wait for my response.

  It wasn’t my intention to cause any problems at work, and if I had my druthers, no one would know about what happened last night. But apparently, they do know, and there’s nothing I can do about that.

  I put my things away, check my makeup in my locker mirror, and pull my hair out of my face with an elastic band. Then I go to my boss’s office. I find her sitting behind her computer. She taps away until I knock lightly on the doorframe. She looks up, presses her lips together tightly, and motions for me to come in and take a seat in the chair across from her desk. I gingerly sit down and press my hands between my knees.

  “We have a situation,” she says.

  “I wouldn’t call it a situation,” I counter, but she cuts me off with an impatient wave of her hand.

  “We take a lot of pride in the fact that our hospital remains a drama-free zone. That’s why there’s a no fraternization policy.”

  “I didn’t fraternize with Sandra,” I say.

  Her brow furrows. “What?”

  “I didn’t fraternize with Sandra,” I repeat. I sit back, cross my legs, and cross my arms. “My husband fraternized with Sandra.” Fucked her is a more appropriate term, but Gran would kill me if she found out I let loose a word like that at a time like this.

  “Sandra came to see me this morning, and she’s afraid you will be feeling less than charitable toward her, and that these feelings might affect the working relationships of the people in your department.” She sucks in a breath. “I’ve given this considerable thought, and I feel like it’s best that we terminate your contract at this time.”

  “What?” I couldn’t have heard her correctly.

  “Sandra has been an employee of the hospital for more than eight years, while you have been here on a contract basis for the past six months. Since no employee relationship has been created, we feel as though it’s best to sever ties at this point. We do wish you the best going forward.”

  She turns to face her computer, dismissing me.

  “What did you just say?” I ask. I scoot forward so that my butt rests on the edge of the seat.

  She raises her eyebrows in my direction. “Which part do you need for me to repeat?”

  I raise my hand and knock the heel of it against the side of my head very gently, like I’m trying to shake something loose. “Did you just say that you’re terminating my contract?”

  “Yes. That’s correct.” She’s suddenly fidgety.

  “Why?” What did I do wrong?

  She stares at me hard. “I mentioned that we take a lot of pride in our reputation.”

  “As do I.” My knee starts to bounce with nervous energy. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “I can’t tolerate upheaval in my department, and as Sandra has been a faithful employee of the hospital for a long time, I feel like it’s best to take this step to maintain the morale of the department.”

  “So Sandra sleeps with my husband, and you’re firing me for it.”

  “You were never an employee of the hospital,” she rushes to say.

  “So Sandra sleeps with my husband, and you’re terminating my contract because of it.” I stare at her.

  “No, our actions have nothing to do with any actions outside the hospital. We just feel like it’s in the best interest of the group to avoid the conflicts we know are coming.”

  “What conflicts would those be?”

  “Well, when the baby arrives, I presume you’ll be conflicted over it.”

  Baby? What baby? I suddenly feel the need to throw up. I swallow hard, but acid creeps up my throat anyway. I take a deep breath in through my nose. Sandra is pregnant and this is how I find out? “Why would the baby bother me?”

  She lifts her eyebrows at me. “You were already aware of the pregnancy?”

  “Of course,” I lie.

  “We are all very excited for Charles and Sandra,” she insists.

  “As am I.” Another lie.

  She heaves in a breath as if she doesn’t believe me and starts to spin a pen top on her desk. “I’d be happy to write a letter of reference for you.”

  “Don’t bother. I’m certain I won’t have any problem finding other employment.” I stand up. “Is this effective immediately?”

  “It is.” Her voice is quiet now.

  “Thank you very much for your thoughtful consideration of my
situation.” I turn toward the door.

  “Abigail,” she says softly.

  I turn back. “Yes?”

  “I wish this had turned out differently.” She says it so quietly that it’s almost a whisper.

  I smile at her, but it feels more like a grimace. “It’ll all turn out the way it’s supposed to.” I nod at her. “Have a wonderful day.”

  As I walk back down the hall toward the lounge, I grab a cardboard box from a trash cart and go to clean out my locker. I toss things in, one by one, until it’s empty. Then I turn to leave the room, my box of belongings hitched under my arm.

  Suddenly, the door bursts open, and a loud voice booms out, “That bitch better not think she can just stay here and that the rest of us will just accept what she did to you!” My friend and fellow nurse Camille rushes at me and grabs me in an embrace I can barely accept. She hugs me tightly, and then stands back so she can look into my face, her hands on my upper arms as she holds me tight. “Are you okay?”

  “Did you know?” I ask. I watch her face, because I feel like I’ll know if she’s lying.

  She shakes her head. “If I had known, I would have told you, right after I let the air out of her tires.” Her face tenses. “But a lot of people did know,” she says quietly. “I only found out today.”