Feeling It Page 2

  Thank God, at least Cheyenne would be there. I missed my best friend. I was looking forward to catching up with her again and, maybe, I’ll even see him again.

  The sudden flutter of nerves in the pit of my stomach made me grip the steering wheel just a little bit tighter. I tried not to think about him but, like the phone call of earlier that day, the image of him kept popping into my minds’ eye even though I tried my best to push it aside.

  Logan Steele.

  God, you know you’re fucked when even his name turns you on.

  With a population of only twenty-five hundred, there wasn’t much chance of me not seeing him at some point. After all, the guy I’ve had a crush on since high school is Cheyenne’s big brother and I was bound to bump into him at some point.

  CHAPTER TWO

  LOGAN

  †

  WHEN MIKE KNOCKED ON the door of the shed at one in the morning, it startled me enough that I damn near hammered my own thumb. The rain was coming down fast, and I thought something had fallen off the roof when he slammed his fist against the corrugated door. It was only when he shouted my name that I opened up to find him standing there, dripping wet.

  “Saw a light on,” he said. “I need your help.”

  “Making house calls?” I asked, jokingly. “I’ll take a bourbon if you’ve got it. Double.”

  “Ha-ha. Cute.” But, Mike wasn’t laughing. Instead, he grabbed a towrope from my workbench and ran off with it, calling over his shoulder for me to follow him. I did.

  We ran through the woods together, and I could barely see him through the downpour. I soon saw the problem, though. There was a car wrapped around a tree and a very dazed-looking Bill Reid sitting in the driver’s seat. I looked at Mike.

  “What do you want me to do?” I asked. “The guy needs a doctor, not a carpenter.”

  “I know,” Mike said. “I’ve called. The medics are on their way. But, the creek’s rising fast. If we don’t get the car out of there, it’s going to float all the way down to Lake Champlain.”

  I was too confused to ask too many questions. The pleasant buzz the scotch had given me earlier that evening soon evaporated as the wail of sirens cut through the noise of the lashing rain. Within a few minutes, Bill was given pain relief shots as the team carefully brought him out of the wreck and onto a stretcher.

  When he reached his hand out and asked for Mike, the old bartender took his hand in his. Bill just groaned. “No, not that,” he slurred. “Give me the bottle.”

  “I don’t think so,” said the paramedic curtly. “You’re lucky we got here before the police did.”

  They lifted him into the ambulance and took off. It was getting late and the last thing I wanted to do was throw a towrope around a twisted wreck and help drag it out of the mud, but Mike was right. The water was rising fast.

  I quickly fastened the rope and gave him a shout. He cranked his truck into gear and gunned the engine. The spinning wheels spat up mounds of mud as they turned, fighting to pull the mangled car away from the tree. Slowly at first, the vehicle moved until it eventually shifted back onto the road. There was no way Mike was going to be able to get it back into town, though. He looked at me, hopefully.

  “All right,” I said, reading his mind. “You can leave it out near the shed. There’s no point in trying to get me to fix her up, though. She’s had it.”

  Mike opened the door of the wrecked car and leaned in to grab hold of the half-empty bottle of whiskey lying on the floor in front of the passenger seat. He handed it to me. “For your trouble,” he said.

  I took it. I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Is that all for tonight?” I asked.

  “Yup,” Mike said. “Hop in and I’ll drive round to the shed.”

  The journey back took longer than the run through the woods as we took the top road. As Mike drove, the wipers frantically flicking water away from the windshield, he rubbed his beard with one hand.

  “What kind of a jackass calls a bartender before he calls an ambulance?” he mused, but he didn’t seem to be asking anyone in particular.

  “If you hadn’t come out when you did, he might have been washed away,” I said. “The creek’s swelling and it’s not going to stop.”

  “Well, I guess I felt a little guilty,” Mike said. “I knew he was driving, but he drives back from my place three nights a week, at least. I thought he could handle his liquor.”

  I couldn’t say anything. There have been too many times that I’ve been behind the wheel after more than just a few drinks, especially in the last couple of years. I’m not sure I’d have called for an ambulance either.

  I thought about Bill. “How long’s he been on his own?” I asked Mike.

  “Well, Debbie died maybe thirteen, fourteen years ago,” Mike replied. “He had Caitlyn, of course, but she got out of here as fast as she could once she finished high-school.”

  Caitlyn.

  My thoughts drifted to her. My sister’s best friend and a permanent fixture in our house since we were teens. I wondered what she was doing these days. After leaving for college, she seemed to have completely turned her back on Vergennes.

  “I wonder why she doesn’t come back to see her old man,” I said aloud.

  “Hmph!” Mike snorted. “After what we saw tonight, can you blame her? I think she was over here a couple of years ago, but I’m not too sure why.”

  I knew why, but we were entering territory I didn’t want to venture into or think about, so I quickly changed the subject.

  “How’s Diane?” I asked.

  “She’s fine,” said Mike. “They’ve got her on new pills. The old ones made her piss like a racehorse.”

  Thank God for perfect timing. We pulled up outside the shed just as Mike was about to go into greater detail about his wife’s bladder issues. He carefully steered Bill’s beaten-up old car to rest next to the shed. It looked like an injured cow sitting in the long, wet grass. I jumped down from the cab and untied the towrope. I looped the thick cord over my palm and then slung it over my shoulder.

  Mike tipped an imaginary hat to me as thanks for my help, and I held up the half bottle of bourbon in acknowledgment.

  Back in the workshop, I knew it was time to call it a night. I was dripping water all over the floor. I locked the shed and walked through the woods to my apartment. I quietly let myself into the building and padded up the stairs, opening the door and going straight through to the bathroom where I took a hot shower.

  Under the steaming jets, I thought about how Caitlyn needed to know about her dad’s accident. I’d have to let Cheyenne know so she could call her.

  The two of them used to drive me crazy when they were younger. Always coming into my room and wanting to watch something on my TV because Dad was watching a game downstairs. I ended up watching shitty cartoons or Disney channel when I should have been studying. Fuck, I was probably the only guy in school who knew ‘Hannah Montana’ that intimately, having to sit through all four seasons and the reruns of the perky pop-princess’ shows. It felt like having two little sisters instead of only one.

  That soon changed, though. When everyone else was thrilled when Mom said she and my Dad had a surprise to share with us when I was sixteen, I was the only one in the family who felt nothing but a sense of impending doom. They were about to have yet another little bundle-of-joy. Not that it was a bad thing in the end, of course.

  Under the streaming water, I thought back to those times, of being a kid again, of the whole family sitting around the kitchen table, laughing and joking around…

  I had to stop. I didn’t want to think about that now. It was all over. Times had changed, and not for the better.

  I turned the water off and grabbed my towel, vigorously drying myself before I flopped onto my bed. I laid there and thought about the whiskey I’d left on the table as I came into the apartment. I wouldn’t be able to sleep without it; not now that memories kept creeping out of the dark corners of my overtired mind, p
laguing me; memories that I sure as hell didn’t want to deal with at three in the morning. No wonder they call it devil’s hour.

  So I got up, grabbed the bottle, and took it back to bed with me. I didn’t even bother getting a glass. It was decent bourbon, too. Turns out a cop’s pension pays enough to get the good stuff.

  The next thing I remembered was the sun streaming in through my bedroom window, so I knew I must have passed out. Good bourbon doesn’t leave behind a hangover, either, I found.

  I needed to remember that.

  CHAPTER THREE

  CAITLYN

  †

  WHEN I SAW THE nurse sitting behind the reception desk, I thought she looked familiar. As I walked closer and she looked up as she heard me approach, she instantly smiled, flashing me a set of large white teeth. Then I remembered.

  “Oh, my goodness. Caitlyn!” she cried and, if she hadn’t been sitting behind the large counter in front of her computer, I’m pretty sure she’d have given me a hug. “It’s so good to see you!”

  Misty Erroll and I had carpooled all the way through elementary school and junior high. Her mom came by in her station wagon on Mondays and Tuesdays, and my mom and I swung by their place and picked Misty up for the rest of the week. After my mom passed away, Mrs. Erroll and Misty picked me up every single morning of the week. Looking back, I guess I should have been grateful for it; I would have struggled to get to school otherwise, thanks to Dad’s shifts. But, at the time, I hated getting into the Errolls’ family car. It always smelled a little like cabbage.

  She was a year older than I was, so it was somewhat of a relief when she finished junior high and we didn’t have to drive to school together anymore.

  By that time, I was old enough to take the bus and thrilled that I could, at long last, share a seat with my best friend, Cheyenne, on the way to school instead of Misty. Not that I didn’t like her. She wasn’t a bad kid, really. I felt sorry for her if anything, but she had a good heart. I actually felt relieved that she was the one here, looking after my dad.

  I smiled at her as I leaned over the counter. “I can’t believe you’re working here,” I said. “I always thought you’d have gone to veterinary college or something.”

  She made a face. “I couldn’t bear to watch the animals die,” she said.

  “Not as bad when it’s humans, right?” I asked.

  She shook her head with genuine seriousness. “No, it’s not,” she said. “When someone dies, I don’t feel a thing. I leave all the grieving up to the families. But, oh my, if a dog dies in front of me, it rips the heart right out of my chest.”

  “That’s sure interesting,” I said, and the irony in my voice floated right over her head.

  “So, I came to see my dad. Is he here?”

  “Yes, he’s in room nine,” she said, and she pointed down the hall. She looked back at me and lowered her voice. “He was in with another patient, but he made such a fuss that we had to move him to a private room.”

  I sighed. “That sounds like Daddy,” I said. “Thanks, Misty.”

  “No problem,” she said. “It’s so good to see you back here.”

  The door to Dad’s room was closed and, as I peeked through the blinds, I could just about make out that he was asleep. I opened the door as quietly as I could but he groaned and turned his head towards me as his eyes fluttered open. I thought he’d bark at me to leave him alone and let him sleep, the way he used to when he came home after a long shift but, instead, he smiled at me and waved me to come closer.

  It felt good to see his face light up when he saw me. I walked over to the bed and gave him a quick hug, careful to not have him move too much as his one hand was in a heavy cast. He leaned over slightly and kissed my hair.

  “You look fine, girlie. Just fine,” he said.

  “I wish I could say the same,” I said wryly. I shook my head and took a deep breath. “What have you been up to now, Dad?”

  “Oh, you know. I skidded on a patch of oil down on Maple Road,” he said. “Some asshole with a leaky engine, no doubt.”

  “What happened to your car?” I asked.

  “I believe a couple of buddies shifted it off the road for me.” He waved his hand dismissively. “It’s a write-off, I’m afraid. I know I said you could have the old thing within the next couple of years but her driving days are over, I’m afraid.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I got myself a decent car a few months ago. It’s nothing special, but it does the job.”

  He frowned. “Finance? You know that’s just throwing good money in the water.”

  “Don’t worry, Dad, I saved for it. So, no finance.”

  “Good girl. And where are you living? Still renting, I assume. That’s a waste of money too, my girl. No use in being penny wise and pound foolish, you know.”

  I bit my tongue, not wanting to get into a discussion about how I’d let him down by not yet being able to afford my own place at the ripe old age of… oh, yes, right… twenty-two. I sighed inwardly and tried to shift the conversation back to the car. “What about you? What are you going to do to get around?”

  His eyes clouded a little, and he looked as though he was about to cry. He coughed gruffly, the cough of a man who wanted to maintain his stiff upper lip. “Well, I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to get out of bed and walk for quite some time,” he said.

  A sudden coldness hit my core. I hadn’t expected things to be quite so serious. He saw my expression and continued. “They think I’ve damaged my spinal cord. Even if I get to walk again, I’ll need help. You know, around the house.”

  “Where’s the doctor?” I asked, putting down my purse. “Let me talk with the team and see what they have to say.”

  “Oh, that can wait,” he said. He pointed to a chair. “Come on. Sit down and tell me how you’ve been. Did you change your hair?”

  “No, Dad, I just had a bit of a trim,” I said. “I tend to put it up a lot these days for work, so it’s become kind of a habit by now.”

  “You look so much like your Aunt Charlotte,” Dad said. “I’ve never really seen that in you before. I always thought you were the spitting image of your mom.”

  A strange feeling washed over me. Something felt odd, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it at first. Then it dawned on me. This was the first time Dad had mentioned my mother since she passed away more than thirteen years ago. After her death, he never talked much about anything, in fact. It was as if he wanted everything about her to die since the day she was laid to rest, even his memories of her. So, to hear him mention her, really took me by surprise.

  Over the years, Dad and I became more distant. I didn’t like to dwell on it too much but, when I was very young, I was a daddy’s girl through and through. I remember nights when Mom would let me stay up and wait for him to come home, sometimes as late as midnight. I’d sit on his knee while she poured him a scotch and fixed him his dinner, and he’d have to eat one-handed because I was clinging onto him so hard and refused to move.

  After Mom passed away, it all seemed to evaporate overnight. Aunt Charlotte came to stay for a while, I remember that, but she had me tucked in bed with the lights out by eight every evening. When Dad came home, I’d get out of bed, but he always sent me back saying he was too tired and that we’d talk in the morning. Only we never did.

  Once Aunt Charlotte left after a few months and went back to Canada, Dad would pour himself a scotch after getting home from work, whether he was working the early or the late shift, and I didn’t bother getting out of bed anymore to welcome him home. The drinks he poured himself got larger and stronger and, as I got older, we became like strangers. I just seemed to fade into the background.

  The funny thing is that even though Dad and I had drifted apart, we still looked after each other in our own way. I knew how to cook by the time I was thirteen, and I’d iron his shirts so he’d always look smart for work. In return, he’d keep the shelves stocked with everything we needed, left me a bett
er allowance than any of the other kids my age and even arranged for me to take a vacation twice a year. He came to speak to my teachers to hear how I was doing in school and when they told him how happy they were with my grades, he’d look at me and smile.

  I knew he loved me. It’s just that after Mom died, it was like he lost the ability to show me that.

  To see him now, weak and frail, lying in the hospital bed when I’d only ever known him as the strong cop who looked after everyone in this small town, worried me beyond belief. I took a deep breath.

  “How are you going to manage when you get out of here?” I asked. “Is there someone who can help you?”

  Dad shook his head. “I wish there was,” he said. “But, I don’t have anyone.”

  I nodded. I had a feeling he was going to say that. “Aunt Charlotte?” I ventured hopefully. “Could she come and give you a hand with things until you get back on your feet? You know, so to speak.”

  “Afraid not. Your uncle Carl’s not been too good,” Dad said. “Something to do with his head. Keeps falling over.”

  “Oh, God,” I said. “I should call her and see how he’s doing.”

  “Sure,” Dad sighed. “So you see; it’s just me.”

  Martine’s voice kept ringing in my ears, telling me to take as long as I needed, although I don’t really think she meant it that literally. But, I also knew that there were plenty of people without a boss as understanding as mine.

  So, I did something I hadn’t done since I was very young. I leaned forward and took my father’s hand. “Don’t worry, Daddy,” I said. “I’m here now. I’ll stay for a while.”

  The smile on his face almost brought tears to my eyes.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  LOGAN

  †

  THE WHISKEY MIKE GAVE me didn’t last long. After a long day’s work of fixing old Betty Crisp’s back porch, I could practically taste the amber liquid on my tongue as I rode home. The warning light on the motorcycle’s fuel gauge was blinking vigorously, telling me to refill, but I was thirsty and not for water.