The Bears of Blackrock, Books 1 - 3: The Fenn Clan (5 page)

Janice started in defense of Catherine, but he waved at her to be silent. Despite being near age to her own Grandfather, Patrick Fenn moved like a man in his prime, not careening into his seventies.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Fenn. I used to come here all the time when I was younger. I would’ve called, but I didn’t have John’s number anymore, and it -”

“Jesus, what’s going on in here?”

John slipped in behind his grandfather, glancing from him to his mother before he even noticed Catherine practically cowering behind a dining room chair. “Shit! Hey Catie! What are you doing here?”

“She needs to be escorted off the property, Johnathan. Right now.”

John glared up at his grandfather, who stood two or three inches taller than him. Johnathan shook his head. “Sir, she’s been here a hundred times. She has your blessing.”

Patrick shook his head. “I don’t recall giving it, and if I don’t recall, she doesn’t have it.”

Both Janice and John started, ready to defend her, but Patrick turned back out the door. “You have an hour to get her back to her truck before I come back and escort her myself.”

With that, he was gone, the room heavy with the memory of his presence.

Catherine stood frozen a moment and John and Janice shared a long look.

“Sorry, sweetheart. He’s gotten grumpy in his old age. It’s more bark than it is bite,” Janice tipped the cookie jar toward Catherine, but her stomach was in her throat now and she couldn’t eat if her life depended on it.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t think. I don’t even know why I came down here -”

“No, no!” Both Janice and John drew closer, trying to assure her of her welcome, but she felt absolutely lost. She was antagonized in the Calhoun house and no longer welcome by the Fenns, and there was no way in hell she could ever go home. Maybe she should just run away with the god damn circus.

Catherine moved toward the door, ready to head out.

John slumped down into one of the dining room chairs, lacking any kind of urgency as he stuffed his hand in the cookie jar and pried out three of his mother’s famous chocolate chip cookies. He took a massive bite, crumbs rolling down the front of his shirt. Then he grinned at her. “Come on, you can sit. He gave us an hour.”

Janice chuckled as she turned to the kitchen, returning a moment later with a glass of milk for her son.

After some cajoling, John and Janice managed to get Catherine back into one of the dining room chairs, enjoying another chocolate chip cookie, though with a little less fervor than John Fenn.

Despite their comfortable air, Catherine couldn’t relax. “I feel bad disobeying your grandfather. If I start walking now I can -”

“I’m driving you, silly. You’re fine.”

She fidgeted there a minute, watching him gulp down his cookie crumb laden glass of milk, then she excused herself to the bathroom.

Everything about the house reminded her of her years of friendship with John. She knew his bedroom, his basement den, and even the French Lavender soap in the bathroom was the same. The nostalgia was so strong, Catherine felt almost sad to think she was no longer welcome in this place, a place that once housed some of her best memories as a kid.

She wiped her hands on one of the embroidered towels and made her way back down the hall.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know why she’s here,” Janice was saying, her voice hushed.

“Come on, Mom.”

“No, it was the same for your father. Long distance trucker, yet simply had to come back to the middle of nowhere to find me. You know why she’s here. No wonder it didn’t work out with any of those other girls. Thank God.”

John sighed loud enough for Catherine to hear down the hall. “Come on. I haven’t seen her in ten years.”

“Exactly! She comes back after ten years and you don’t see that as fate? That girl was always meant to be yours. She even looks at you the same way she used to.”

“She does?” He asked, and there was a hint of excitement in his voice. “Well, sure it could be fate, but it doesn’t mean we need to start picking out curtains.”

Janice set the lid on the cookie jar with a little too much force, and the clang echoed down the hallway. “I think it’s time to tell her.”

John sighed again. “For fuck’s sake, Mom. I tried that once!”

“And you failed.”

“Yeah, I failed. We ended up in fucking Canada, because I thought if I drove around long enough I’d get up the balls.”

“Language!”

John groaned. “Pardon my French.”

Catherine listened as Janice moved about the kitchen. “Well, you have another chance. I don’t think it’s a coincidence. And neither do you. I can tell.”

Catherine coughed softly, then made a point of reclosing the bathroom door with a bit more force. Their conversation hushed instantly and she made her way back down the hall. “You ready to go?”

John smiled at her and hopped up from his chair. He was blushing.

The ride down the dirt drive was silent. It was late afternoon now and the gray sky still offered little to brighten Catherine’s mood. When John pulled his pickup to the metal gate, he parked just in front of it.

“Alright, thank you for the ride,” Catherine said.

“What’s up with you? You’re not upset about Pa Fenn, are you? He just needs a little persuasion, it’ll be fine.”

Catherine shook her head. “No, no. I remember him being a bit of a hardass. It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

They sat in silence a moment longer as Catherine thought about her answer. “I just don’t feel like I have anywhere to go. Feeling kinda lost.”

John shut down the engine, pulling the keys from the ignition to keep it from dinging at them. He didn’t speak, just waited.

Catherine took a deep breath. “I shot my stepdad.”

John’s jaw dropped. “Wait, what?”

She let her head fall back against the truck seat. “I didn’t kill him or anything. Hardly even winged him, but I shot him.”

“Holy shit, Catie!”

“There was a warrant out for my arrest when I left New Hampshire. They’ve dropped the charges now, but – yeah.”

John started laughing heartily. “Good grief.”

“I don’t appreciate you laughing at me.”

This didn’t stop him. “I had no idea I was sleeping with an attempted murderess last night.”

The memory of waking that morning with him almost cracked a smile on her face and she swatted at him. “I’m not an attempted murderess. If I wanted to murder him, he’d be dead. I’m a damn good shot, thank you very much.”

“Oh I remember. So why the hell are you on the lamb for shooting at your stepdad.”

She made a face, crinkling her nose. “Cause he’s a drunk abusive asshole, obviously.”

John touched her arm. “Yeah, I remember that, too.”

“Yeah, well. It got worse. Mom finally kicked him out a few months ago and life was great. Come Spring, he was back, and by my birthday they were drinking and fighting again.”

“Jesus Christ, I can’t believe she’s still with that guy after all this time?”

“Yeah, sadly. I came home about a week ago to him choking my mom, wouldn’t get off her no matter how hard I hit him. So I grabbed my Dad’s old 1911, and I shot the fucker.”

“Holy shit. Where’d you hit him?”

Catherine shrugged. “Shoulder. It was meant to be a graze, really. Teach him a lesson, kind of thing.”

“Damn fine lesson.”

Catherine frowned. “Not really. He told the cops I’d shot him unprovoked. Then Mom lied, backed him up.”

John’s mouth fell open. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Wish I was,” Catherine said. “Guy tried to kill her and she told the cops I was the attempted murderer.”

“So she’s gonna let her own daughter get in trouble instead?”

Catherine glanced at John, frowning. “At first she was, yeah, but then Jacob told the cops what really happened. They ended up dropping the charges. Sobered up and decided to ‘admit’ it was an accident.”

The two of them sat in silence a moment, Catherine inspecting the lines at her knuckles.

“Your Dad was such a cool guy, how does she end up with someone like that?”

This hurt Catherine’s heart. It was true. Her Dad really had been a great guy. “Wish I knew.”

John reached over, squeezing her thigh. The touch sent shivers down her spine.

“Would you think less of me if I told you I find you unbelievably hot for it?”

Catherine bust out laughing, smacking John’s arm as the smile overtook her face. “Yeah? The criminal element does something for you?”

“You know it!”

The two of them laughed, taking a moment to let the silent comfort return. She was in no rush to get out of this man’s truck. In fact, she’d happily curl up in the bed of it with him again and live on an air mattress and sleeping bags. Didn’t sound like a terrible way of life.

John checked his phone, then glanced in the rear view mirror. “Does Hank know?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know, but Bodie does.”

John exhaled out his nose. “Well, then.”

With that he was out of the truck and sauntering over to the metal gate. A moment later, they were on the main drag heading north.

Catherine had her window down and the wind in her hair. John blew down the quiet roads of Maine like a local, which equaled a ludicrous speed. Catherine simply settled into the passenger seat, bobbing her head along to the Jethro Tull thrumming through the speakers.

After a few long circles through Addison and Columbia Falls, John veered the truck back toward Falkirk’s Seat, heading down toward the back side and the rez.

“Where we heading now?” She asked.

John smiled, tapping his thumb against the steering wheel to Locomotive Breath. He shrugged. “Wasn’t really thinking about it.”

She smiled. “You always did love this road.”

John rolled up to a stop sign and turned to look at her. He smiled, watching her a moment longer than she could handle, and she looked away.

“Well, there’s something to say for the tribal ways.”

“Mhmm, with their sky spirits and their shapeshifters -”

“Hey! You never know!”

Catherine laughed. The very same words he’d said a hundred times before. “Oh, I know.”

“You don’t! How are their myths any different than the myths of white people?”

Catherine raised an eyebrow. “White people have myths?”

“Oh, we built an empire around ours.” Catherine stared at him skeptically. He caught her expression out of the corner of his eye. “What? Angels? Demons? The burning bush? What is religion if not a bunch of myths that a large enough group of people have decided to believe in?”

Catherine stopped, watching the road. She couldn’t argue this point. “I’ll give you that. Still, given that you used to mention their myths in the same breath as alien contact and the Illuminati -”

John chuckled hard at that. “Alright, I admit the Illuminati was an interesting phase.”

“Just the Illuminati? Still into Aliens?”

“Hey, aliens are fuckin real, man!”

Catherine smiled so wide, her cheeks were beginning to hurt. “Aliens and Bear folk. Maybe the Bear Folk
are
the aliens!”

John reached over and grabbed her thigh, squeezing. “You watch it over there. The aliens might be listening
right now
.”

She squealed, swatting him away. He returned his hand to the steering wheel and she wished he’d touch her again.

“I’m just saying, what if?”

They rolled over the road mark that signified the borders of the reservation, and John gassed it back up. Catherine watched the way he moved when he drove – the tendons in his hands and forearms, the movement of his legs. Somehow, something as simple as the way he waved to drivers passing on the opposite side of the road made her even fonder of him. She remembered the last time they’d taken a long drive like this. Back then, the Canadian border only required a license to pass, leaving them to roll right into New Brunswick, their families oblivious to the distance of their children.

Now, they’d driven around the corners of their part of Maine for hours, and the evening was creeping in fast. As they reached the far corner of the rez, John pulled off the main road onto the dirt path that offered back access to the Fenn property. Before they were more than a hundred yards in, John pulled onto the shoulder and put the truck into park.

Catherine turned to watch him. “What if Gramps comes down this way? You’ll get me in trouble.”

John smiled, turning to her. “You can blame me.”

She exhaled in a half laugh, but the laugh was stilled instantly as John’s hand touched the side of her face.

She swallowed. “What are you doing?”

John searched her expression a moment as Heroes by David Bowie came on the truck radio. “Do you remember the last time we did this?”

“Did what?”

He chuckled. “You know.”