Salt Water Wounds (Oyster Cove #1) (2 page)

We made six beautiful children, Brantley, Weston, Dane, Caleb, Cooper and finally Bristol, most planned, all except the first and last. There’s even a set of surprise twins in the mix. Granted we didn’t love any of them less than the other. Being a parent is difficult, especially when the first eighteen years I did little to assist.

My job as a waterman is exhausting. It requires me to wake before the light of day, stay out in the water to bring in a surplus of catch, only to return home in order to get enough sleep to be able to repeat the process the next day. It’s a living I was brought up to do. Following my father and his own father’s footsteps, it’s the only trade I’ve ever attempted. I’m good at it, and my surname is well-known in these parts. Unfortunately, with that name I missed out on learning how to do a lot of other important things – like being a good father.

Footsteps behind me let me know at least one of our children has finally shown up to pay respects. I turn to spot Dane, all alone. He gives me a once over, searching my face for the normal somber grin I carry while here. “Sorry I’m late. I got caught up at work.” He works on one of my three boats, and if he got caught up that means he probably suffered engine trouble again, which means more money will be needed for repairs; money I can’t seem to have enough of.

“Where’s everyone else?” I question.

He shrugs. “Bristol is in school. I know Brant said he had something to do this morning. I don’t know about the others.”

“This pisses me off. I ask for three days out of the year. Your sister never goes to school on her mother’s birthday. How could she forget?”

“Dad, I know. I get it, I do, but you need to understand most of the importance is for you. We don’t all believe she’s going to hate us if we don’t stand over her grave and tell her about our life. She’s gone. All that’s in the ground in her body. Her spirit is all around us. You forced us to continue Sunday school so we’d know that. If anything, this is therapeutic to you, and you want all of us to follow your lead so it doesn’t make you seem desperate. We all love Mom. Hell, I miss her every second of the day, but she’d want me to be happy and not dwell on things none of us can change. Mom’s death taught us that we only live once. I don’t want to spend mine depressed.” Dane isn’t like his other siblings, with the exception of looks. The kids all resemble one another. He’s the same six-foot stature as his brothers, but his hair is lighter, and he has his mother’s dark blue eyes, while everyone else has a hazelish tone like me. He’s built like a rock from pulling lines on the boat every day. Dane works for the family business during oyster season, which is mostly the months that end with an R, and then spends all of his free time taking classes both online and at a nearby college for graphic design. He’s always been a little eclectic, and worried little about material things. He’d rather stay indoors drawing then be out and about like the others. I’ve always questioned his sexuality until he recently started dating a young girl who works at the Atlantic Shoals Surf Shop. Out of all the kids, he’s probably the most compassionate. He worries about others, and thinks before he says something damaging. In many ways I wish I could think like he does. Maybe life would have been easier to handle during the bad times. I have to take what he says to heart, because there is no way he’d be disrespectful unless he felt the need to open my eyes.

Dane squats down beside me and spreads a bouquet of daisies around the foot of the stone. “They were always her favorite. I remember stealing them from Mr. Neely’s garden so she could have them on the kitchen counter.”

“She did love them,” I agree.

“I can’t believe it’s been seven years. Where has the time gone?”

There’s nothing I can say, because I don’t know either. I have six grown children still living under my roof, most with little to show for. I go to bed every night wrapped in the same floral sheets my wife would use. Her watch remains on the nightstand, her alarm still set for six to get the kids ready for school. Seven years and I’ve never been able to turn it off. I don’t know which of the kids does it, but sometimes I pretend it’s Layla, still somehow participating in our busy life.

“I don’t know, son.”

We stand, my hands in my pockets, while one of his comes up to my shoulder. “You’re getting old.”

“Don’t I know it?”

“This probably isn’t the right place to say it, but I think it’s time you started taking better care of yourself. Cut your hair. Take a vacation. Start dating. You’re falling apart. You’ve aged twenty years in the last seven. It’s probably because us kids give you such a hard time, but enough is enough. I don’t feel like visiting this place for both of my parents, at least not in the near future.”

I shake my head. My teeth grind together as frustration sets in. “Mind your own business. I don’t need to change.” I’m stubborn. The last thing I want is advice from my own son, but he’s probably right.

He sighs then chuckles with a head shaking grin. “She’d want you to change, Dad, not wither away. You’re borderline pathetic.”

It’s difficult to imagine what my kids have gone through in their own eyes. What’s more painful is knowing why I know I’ll never be able to move forward. Layla was a jealous woman. If anyone of the opposite sex looked at me she’d find reason to worry. I’d flirted too much, been generous and kind to the wrong people, leaving people to assume the worst in me. In a lot of ways I wonder if my inappropriate actions led me to this void. Maybe if I’d paid more attention to my wife, I wouldn’t have lost her. Maybe if I’d been a better father, my kids wouldn’t resent me, they’d listen and respect me instead. Maybe if I didn’t drown my sorrows in booze.

See the pattern?

My faults can’t be unwritten. There is no going back. The love of my life is gone, taken before I could recognize how strong my devotion was for her. Stolen from my grasp before I had the chance to explain to her how much she meant to me. I don’t deserve to move on. I don’t deserve to be happy. “I’m not ready to change. The truth is, this is how I keep her alive. She’ll always be my wife.” It takes courage to get the words out without my voice cracking, yet another reminder of why I’m not ready to change.

Dane is quiet for a second. “I get it, but Mom never liked it when we gave up. One day we’ll all be gone. What then?”

I ignore him. “Thanks for coming out to celebrate her birthday, Dane. At least one of you kids can be respectful. I’ll let you have some time to yourself. There’s somewhere else I need to be.”

“Yeah, we all know where to find you later. Nothing changes,” he rambles while I’m walking away.

Without an argument, I exit the cemetery, still having hopes that the other kids will at least make an appearance before the day’s end. Just like every year after visiting the cemetery, I head to the one place where I can unwind after an emotional time – The Rusty Clam, a local tavern, with cold brew and classic rock. It’s the only place in this little coastal town where I can clear my head without walking smack dab into memories that will only bring me more sadness and desperation. Layla never came here, not even when I was so piss drunk I had to walk home.

This is what I’ve amounted to.

A crappy father, a veteran waterman, and an occasional drunk. Layla would be so proud.

Chapter 2

The problem with living your whole life on a small coastal island is that all of the locals know each other.

Even some repeat seasonal visitors recognize my face and know what I do for a living, mostly because when I’m not filling my boat with oysters, I’m chartering another as a captain for added income opportunities, or sitting in the far corner of the bar with a pitcher of beer.

There’s a handful of citizens that know exactly what this day represents. They’ll pity me, as they have every time it comes around. They’ll talk in whispers, making it a point to drag me down further. I can’t get away from it, but the idea of moving isn’t ever going to be an option. My life is here.

It’s no surprise the owner of the bar greets me by name. “Buck. It’s been a few days. I was thinking of sending out a search party.” Her sarcasm puts a slight crease on the side of my face. It’s the best representation of a smile I’m able to manufacture.

Alice Perry is the daughter of Newton, local restaurant owner. She runs the tavern above her father’s seafood establishment. In all my years, I’ve only ever run into her at work, with the exception of my wife’s funeral and one event at Bristol’s middle school. I assume she keeps busy, but know little about what she does when she’s not at the bar. We’re friends. She’s hit on me, and I’ve considered the offer several times. There were plenty of nights where I’d hit my limit and she cut me off and refused to let me leave until I surrendered my keys or sobered up. We have an undeniable chemistry but never acted on it, at least not when I was sober. Get a few drinks in me, and I’m consumed by what would happen if I gave in and let her have her way with me.

Before the place opened, I’d seen her at the other town bar, located on the ground floor of a motel. I haven’t gone back in years, but hear nothing has changed, not even the people who frequent it.

Perry’s bar has a better selection of booze and air conditioning, which is something I need after being out on the water sweating my ass off.

Maybe if I were a different man, if life wasn’t so messed up, if the love of my life wasn’t six feet under, if I wasn’t married at all, I’d go for it. She’d definitely be able to take the edge off, at least temporarily. Her shapely body does things to me after a few drinks in. It never fails. I enjoy watching. The way she moves around the confines of the bar, how she carries herself, the clothes she wears to most likely earn better tips.

I know if I could get past my guilt I’d enjoy being in the company of a beautiful woman. I sure as hell need it, if my dick even remembers how to function normally. I’m too damn stressed to think about sexual activity after the hard days I barely make it through.

Back when life was fun, when it had more meaning than supporting children, paying bills, and making sure none of them end up in jail or worse, I would have given her a run for her money, though it would be another mistake to add to the list. She doesn’t deserve to have to put up with my bullshit life. I may be a bastard, but I’m not going to pull someone into my miserable day to day disasters.

Perry has her own baggage. She’s the worst type of woman to get involved with; the kind that would want to change me.

She has a son who is somewhere near Bristol’s age, and I know he’s a tyrant. I heard that her husband up and left her, after beating her to the brink of death, and if it wasn’t for her father, she would have lost everything. She’s been back on the island for the past seven years, and as far as I can tell has hooked up with quite a few waterman her father does business with. I guess I’m on some list she wants to conquer, unfortunate for her.

I get it though. I understand what it’s like to want to feel the touch of another. I can appreciate that she’s able to go out and get attention when she needs to feel wanted. I’m not appreciated, at least not as much as I’d like to be.

We’re both damaged. Two wrongs do not make a right.

A lot of locals frequent this bar, making it the one place I feel comfortable drinking at. I’m not going to receive dirty looks from any of the old folk visiting, assuming I’m nothing but a derelict drunk, at least not as much.

On weekends the place is packed with people of all ages. She has entertainment each night, and offers the best selection of beverages to choose from on tap and top shelf.

I smile after she acknowledges me. “Perry.”

She places a shot glass on the bar top and grabs a bottle of Jim Bean. “I had a feeling you’d be in today.”

I smirk, but not because I’m impressed. Small town life leaves little secrets. Everyone knows your business, whether you want them to or not. She’s obviously noticed a pattern and made a mental note of it. Bartenders in general have a way of learning to read people. I suppose some folks would appreciate having a free shrink while enjoying a frothy cold beer, while I’d rather sit in a corner and mind my own damn business.

I nod and take the first shot, closing my eyes as the initial burn makes its way down my parched throat. I’m not gentle when I sit the tiny cup in front of her and await a refill.

She obliges and fills it to the brim, watching, but never saying anything. To avoid conversation, I spin around and make my way to a corner round table away from the bar. I want nothing more than to be alone, celebrating the life of my wife in peace.

Perry comes over a few minutes later with a pitcher of beer and an empty frosted glass. I conjure a half smile because she’s read my mind, or felt sorry for me once again “Let me know if you need anything else, Buck. If you’re hungry I can have the kitchen make you something.” She winks as the words escape her mouth.

“I’m good for now. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Sometimes we all need a break.”

I watch her amble toward another customer as they enter through the door, then keep my eyes focused as she leads them toward the bar and serves them a beverage. She’s not as friendly to this person as she is to me. In fact, I can sense that she’s uncomfortable. Her body language changes, and she’s not making eye contact with the person as they speak with her.

If I had to guess, Perry is in her thirties, maybe early forties. I’m a terrible judge of age and weight in women, and I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut about it.

She’s got long brown straight hair, giant chocolate eyes, and skin that’s almost as tan as mine. She’s curvy, but not overweight, not to my standards, granted I like a woman with a little extra to grab. Her ass reminds me of Layla’s, and the way my hands would cup each cheek when I’d come home each night and pull her into my arms. If I close my eyes I can almost feel it happening, like it was yesterday. Sometimes I’ve thought about Perry when I’m alone in bed at night. She’s been a good visual for stress relief, sometimes making it difficult to have a normal conversation with her in real life.

I focus on the visitor I don’t recognize. The patron picks up a glass dish full of peanuts and chucks it toward an unprepared Perry. She darts out of the way at the last second. I scan the room and notice that the other four people in the establishment haven’t noticed this altercation.

Her voice raises and she points to the door. “Get out!”

The man, looking to be in around my age, slender, and dressed in business attire, slams both hands down on the bar and remains in that position. From the angle I’m sitting, it’s clear the veins are popping on the sides of his temples. A song begins to play from the automatic jukebox, making it impossible for me to make out what they’re saying. Perry’s hands are waving around, her eyes wide and extremely alert like she’s expecting something more violent to come her way. I’m a terrible judge of character, but I’m getting the impression she knows this person more than him being a disgruntled customer. I can’t remember ever seeing this guy. He may be a stranger to me, but she certainly knows something about him.

I’ve never been the type to intervene, but when my eyes meet with hers I can tell she’s desperate for some kind of backup. A heavy sigh escapes me as I stand, leaving a full beer to waste while making a decision that may require it to be left untouched.

I approach the irate guy, determined to convince him to get out of there so I can go back to my corner and sulk. The moment I place my hand on his shoulder I have his attention. He spins around and gives me a once over, cocking his brow while smirking amusingly. “Excuse me.”

“What the fuck do you want?” He’s pissed I’ve interrupted.

“I’d like to enjoy my beer without the crappy entertainment. If I wanted to see a fight I’d get it on pay-per-view, where I can pause and rewind as much as I’d like.”

“Mind your fucking business and get out of here. This is between me and my wife.” Right away I understand who this guys is and why Perry is freaking out. I hadn’t heard he’d come around, and I was sure that when I’d done my daily deliveries of fresh catch to her father’s restaurant he would have mentioned the scum, had he known.

“You made it my business when you interrupted my wife’s birthday celebration with your bullshit. I’m sure Perry doesn’t appreciate this type of behavior in her place of business.”

He searches the room behind me and around. “You say it’s your wife’s birthday, but I don’t see any other females in this dump. What kind of man celebrates without his wife? What’s wrong? She kick you out for a younger version, or are you fucking this piece of …”

Before he can stumble on with words that feel like glass shattering and driving into my damaged heart, I swing. I’m not the fighting kind, not anymore, but in my earlier years I was quite the badass. Since marrying Layla I’ve become more of a peace keeper. It’s something Layla always appreciated about me.

I don’t usually make excuses for myself, although in this instance I can’t explain what’s gotten into me. His words, this day, it’s too much. I’m overstepping, taking out my frustrations on someone I feel deserves it, even if he’s done only half of what town talk suggests. As soon as it happens I’m flabbergasted, backing away and reassess my actions.

In that momentary lapse the man swings back, blasting me on the top of my jawline near my right eye. Perry rounds the bar with a baseball bat, and I know I need to get out of the way. She charges him, backing him into a wall before addressing the situation. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll listen to the gentlemen. Get the hell out of here. You’re not seeing my son, so just leave. I want you gone.”

He starts to come at her until she extends the bat like she’s about to swing. He points at both of us, shoving his hands around while delivering threats. “This isn’t the end. I’m taking my son, whether you like it or not, bitch.”

It’s not until he’s gone that she sinks to the floor beside me and cups her face with her hands. The other patrons are looking over, trying to see what the hell is going on, and since I don’t want the drama, I know it’s important to get my ass out of there as quickly as possible.

I help get Perry to her feet and guide her in the direction of the first available stool. She wipes her face and gathers her composure to the best of her ability, though I can see she’s still shaking profusely. Ignoring the people around us, I address the elephant in the room. “Are you all right? Do you want me to see if your father is downstairs? Should I call the cops?”

She shakes her head with worry. “No. Please. I’m a grown woman, and it’s bad enough he knows what that man has done to me. You can’t tell him what just happened, Buck. If he knows he’s out of jail, he’ll force me to go into hiding.”

“Hiding? Jesus Christ, Perry. How bad is it? Did he threaten your life?” I didn’t know he was in jail.

She shakes her head. “I’m so sorry you had to see that. I got a letter last week saying he’d been released, but I thought he’d stay away.”

“Was he in jail for hurting you?”

Her hands are covering her face as she speaks. “No, unfortunately. I didn’t have proof. He went to jail for assaulting an undercover cop who happened to be at the bar I used to work at. He’d been spying on me, and accused us of having an affair. Tony was trying to help me collect evidence so I could get away from the monster. He was married with three kids. That dick attacked him in the parking lot with a metal pipe. He went to jail for seven years. It was supposed to be fifteen. I missed his parole hearing because my son was in the hospital with a broken arm.”

As much as I don’t like getting involved, I know I can’t exactly leave her in this condition. “Ok. Is there anything I can do?”

She takes the bat and leans it against the wall. “I should close for the day and head home. This island isn’t big enough to hide for long. I’ll need to make sure my son stays with a friend.”