Through Fire (Portland, ME #3) (33 page)

T
im

Mark and I had finally rescheduled that meeting with the real estate agent, to have a walk around the warehouse. I was frankly surprised the place hadn’t sold yet, until we did a walk through. To say it’s old and needs a few improvements would be optimistic. Thing is, the space itself is perfect, with lots of natural light from the huge windows along the entire front. There’s plenty of parking outside and would make for a fantastic workshop and showroom. That is, after I sink some serious money in it to replace half those windows, upgrade the wiring, have the plumbing fixed, get the roof repaired and call in an exterminator to deal with the rat problem. The last is not unusual, especially this close to the water, but I can’t risk having some damn rodents chew the shit out of my wood.

The low price makes sense now too. Despite the broken windows, it eyes great from the outside, but you can’t really see the rest until you walk through.

“I don’t know,” I say to Mark as we drive away, promising the agent we’ll give him a call, whatever we decide. I have some money from my severance pay, and I also have a pretty decent amount in savings, but taking this on would decimate my assets. Not exactly the way I’d envisioned starting a new life with a certain someone.

“I do,” Mark says beside me. “Let’s pay Dad a visit and see what he has to say.”

Not sure when my brother had become the voice of reason, but more often than not lately, he seemed to be. He’d come equipped with camera, measuring tape, and notebook, whereas I only had my half empty coffee cup. What happened to the buttoned up, borderline OCD, by the book Boy Scout I used to be? I can’t help the smile spreading over my face, because I know exactly what happened.

“You’re thinking of Ruby, aren’t you?” Mark says, with no small measure of disgust in his tone. “You get that fucking goofy as hell smirk on your face. It’s pathetic.”

“I know,” I say, now laughing out loud. “And I don’t care.”

We bicker and tease until we pull into my parents driveway. As per usual, Mom has the door open before we even have a chance to get out. “How does she do that?” Mark mutters under his breath.

“I think she either spends her days behind that curtain, waiting, or she has some secret alarm installed that goes off whenever someone comes within a hundred feet of the house.”

“What are you kids talking about?” she asks, as we walk up to meet her at the door. Uncanny, the woman has a sixth sense.

“Hey, Mom.” I lean down to kiss her cheek and quickly move past her, ignoring her question. Behind me, she greets Mark before closing the door behind us.

“You guys are staying for dinner, right?” It’s not so much a question as it is an order.

My father is sitting at the kitchen table, flipping the newspaper. Something he does at least a few times a day. “Might as well say yes,” he grumbles without looking up. “You know she’ll not take no for an answer anyway.”

“Oh hush,” Mom scolds him, as she whacks a towel at him in passing.

Mark disappears behind her into the kitchen, as I pull out a chair and sit across from Dad. He walks back in with three beers and plonks them on the table in front of us, before sitting down beside me. Dad looks up from his paper and folds it calmly, his eyes going back and forth between us. “Get on with it already,” he grouches, but the slight tilt of his mouth hints at amusement. “How was it?”

“A mess,” I say.

“Perfect,” Mark blurts out at the same time.

“I see.” Dad smirks, folding his hands underneath his chin. “You first.” He nods to Mark.

The next half hour, Mark and I take turns describing the warehouse with all its perks and downfalls. My father has grabbed a pen and pad and is making notes as we talk. When we’re done, he flips the pad over and leans back in his chair, staring at each of us in turn before focusing on Mark.

“Tell me, what are the chances of you going back to law enforcement?” he asks him, and I turn to see Mark looking back at Dad without blinking.

“None,” he says firmly.

“Is that so?” Dad fires back immediately.

“I’ve been offered early retirement. I’m taking it,” my brother sighs, lowering his eyes to his folded hands on the table. “The thought of having to go back out there, being confronted with the dark side of humanity day in and out...I lose sleep over it. I want something different.”

My own exposure to humanity’s underbelly has been pretty sparse until recent months, but still I can understand how Mark feels.

“I’m glad,” Dad directs at him. “Your damn shoulders were drooping lower and lower with the weight of the world piled on top. Your mother and I were getting worried.”

“How about you?” This time, it’s me who has his attention.

“Me?”

“Yeah. What are your plans with that little cupcake you’re so hung up about?”

Mark snorts beside me, knowing as well as I do, if Ruby ever heard herself referred to as a
little cupcake
, we’d likely have to hold her back. I smile thinking of her rare but lethal temper. “She’ll be part of my life, Dad.”

“Don’t think that was ever in doubt, Son. How do you envision this? She’s avoided coming back here these past few weeks, despite your mother’s near begging.”

“Not gonna push, Dad. She’ll come around, the woman needs a little breather,” I inform him, letting my irritation show. All he does is raise an eyebrow and I blurt out, “She has ’til next week.” Both other men at the table burst out laughing.

“Finally!” Mom yells from the kitchen, apparently shamelessly eavesdropping on our conversation.

“Okay,” Dad says, completely ignoring his wife’s outburst. “Now that we know where we’re all at, let’s put
Vintage Veldman
on the map.”

He flips over his pad and starts firing off questions. It feels a bit like when we were young and he’d quiz us on our homework. Pretty soon, Dad has three pages full of calculations when he draws a thick line underneath the amount he feels is necessary to make this work. The number is a bit staunching, but Dad puts all three of our names down underneath, putting an amount next to each of them before lifting his eyes to me. “You tell me if you can do this, Son. I’m putting half the anticipated start up cost that includes the building next to your name, but that is only because you should have final say. The business starts and ends with your skills and designs. Mark and I each buy in for twenty-five percent, which will take some of the financial burden off you, so you’re not left completely tapped out. Besides, it gives each of us a chance to help build something we can collectively be proud of.” He tosses his pen on the table and folds his hands behind his head. “What say you?”

I turn to Mark, who looks back with a smirk on his face. Much like the one on mine. We can do this.

“Done,” we say, almost at the same time. To which my father slams his fist on the table.

“Jane! Grab me that bottle of Dalwhinnie and a couple of tumblers, will ya?” The last word has barely left his mouth when Mom walks in, bottle in one hand and four tumblers in the other.

“And don’t skimp on mine.” She points a finger at my Dad who sits there, shaking his head at her. “I’m grabbing a snack.”

“Ears must be burnin’,” he teases her.

“Bite me, Arthur,” she tosses over her shoulder.

Dad chuckles as he watches her disappear into the kitchen. “Love that woman.”

-

D
inner, which had a celebratory feel to it, was enjoyed and cleared away when Dad flicks on the TV to watch the news.

Both Mark and I shoot forward in our seats when the first thing we see is a mug shot of Eduardo Lima. “Turn it up, Dad,” Mark says urgently, while I pull out my phone and start dialing Ruby. With the fruitless ringing in one ear and the voice of the reporter outlining the events in the other, I finally get on my feet, and reach for my coat. Mom stops me with a hand on my arm.

“Is that...” she starts. Before she has a chance to finish, I give her a big hug.

“One of them, yes. I’ve got to get to Ruby.”

“Of course,” she says, watching me walk out the door, Mark following closely behind me.

I don’t question him when he jumps in the passenger seat of my truck and calmly buckles up. “Maybe she hasn’t seen it yet,” he suggests.

“She’s not answering her phone,” I relay to him. Just then mine rings on the console beside me, Ruby’s name popping up on the screen.

“I’m on my way,” I advise her before she has a chance to speak. I’m trying to ignore Mark, who is loudly complaining about my driving, but I only have ears for Ruby.

Despite her assurances, I don’t relax until I walk into the kitchen and see her standing at the sink. I take in her efficient movements for a minute, letting my heart settle down in my chest, before I walk up behind her and wrap myself around her body.

R
uby

I haven’t spoken to Nina since she left the hospital, about a week ago, to be placed in temporary care by CPS. I’ve tried, but each time was relegated to an automated message. I’d spent some time talking to Pam about the girl last week, and she suggested perhaps to give her some time to adjust. Said she may not be ready to be faced with what happened to her every time she’d clap eyes on me. I never considered that. I guess it makes sense in a way. What brought me to her, and provided our initial connection, was everything she was probably trying hard to forget.

That’s why I hadn’t pushed, but I’m worried now. I don’t know if her CPS worker or her foster family are even aware of the details of her ordeal.

I turn in Tim’s arms and loop mine around his neck. “I want to call her.”

He lowers his mouth and takes mine gently. I’m temporarily distracted by the masterful play of his tongue, but am dragged back to reality when Mark marches in. “Christ, you two. I’m starting to get a complex here.”

Tim lifts his head and rolls his eyes at me. “Don’t listen to him, please. Just go make your call.” With a last sweet touch of his lips to mine, he steps back, letting me go.

I walk over to where my phone is still on the kitchen table, and spot Mark dip a few stray nacho chips in the fresh tub of guacamole. “Scoop some out in a bowl, please,” I admonish him, while my finger hit’s the speed dial for Nina’s phone. This time there is no ringing first, it immediately goes into the mechanical message. Dejectedly, I drop it on the table.

“Still nothing?” Tim asks concerned.

“Straight to voicemail now,” I tell him. “You think maybe Claudia would know where she’s at?”

“We can try,” he says with a shrug.

“The doc?” Mark shakes his head. “If anyone would know where she’s at it would be Mike. The investigation is ongoing, and he would need to know where he can find his witnesses.” He immediately pulls out his phone and dials.

I never thought of that. Of course.

“Hey—Yeah, we just found out—She’s fine,” he says the last, looking at me as he listens. “I’m sure—Listen, Ruby is a bit worried about Nina. She can’t get hold of her on her cell. Do you know where she can be reached?—Oh—No, I get it. So tomorrow?—Fine, I’ll let her know.” He hangs up the phone and turns to me. “He doesn’t know her exact location because any contact with her has to go through CPS, but he’ll contact the caseworker tomorrow first thing, and give you a ring back. That okay?”

It’ll have to be. No choice really, if she doesn’t answer her phone. But the worry remains. To keep busy, I finish cleaning the kitchen, while Tim and Mark hit the pub for a drink. By the time I’m done ,it’s almost ten thirty and I’m dead on my feet.

Mark has left, but Tim is in animated conversation with Gunnar when I walk up to the bar. Tim immediately pulls me between his legs, my back against his chest, and folds an arm around me to keep me in place. I squirm a little, not yet used to the easy public displays of affection. The conversation continues over my head.

“Drink, Ruby?” Syd asks from behind the bar.

“Just some water, please, Syd. Thanks.”

Gunnar gets up from his stool. “Good news, buddy,” he says, as he claps Tim on his shoulder, and with a wink for me, he slips behind the bar.

“Sorry about that,” Tim mumbles in my hair. “You wanna head home?”

I wiggle out of his hold and hoist myself on the stool Gunnar just vacated with a deep sigh. My feet are killing me. “Where did Mark go?”

“Took the truck and went home. I’ll call him when I’m ready to go tomorrow.”

The implication is clear, he plans to spend the night. My eyebrow rises in question and he grins a bit sheepishly. “Hope you don’t mind?” he asks as an afterthought, watching me closely for a reaction.

I put my hands on his knees and lean in close and he automatically does the same. “I’m wiped,” I softly warn him. I’m not sure if I’m up to any bedroom gymnastics tonight, tempting as he is in his now standard flannel. “And my feet are killing me

“I just need to hold you for a bit,” he whispers back. “Maybe I’ll rub your feet.” And just like that, my minor irritation melts like snow in the sun.

I’ve barely touched my water, and he hops off his stool. “Let’s go. Where’s your stuff?”

“Kitchen.”

Syd chuckles as he jogs around the bar and down the hall. In a few seconds, he’s coming back this way, carrying my purse and coat.

“Where’s your coat?” I ask him as he helps me in mine.

“Must’ve left it in the truck.” He shrugs buttoning up his shirt instead.

“It’s cold out.”

“I know,” he says, crouching down in front of my stool, his back to me. “You can keep me warm. Come on, climb on.”

“I’m too heav...”

In a flash, he’s back up and in my face, his forehead leaning against mine. “Don’t say it, Ruby,” he says in a warning tone, before crouching down again, his arms reaching back. I throw Syd, who’s watching us with a smirk on her face, an exasperated look, which only makes her smile bigger. Fine. If he wants to put his back out by lugging me across the street, who am I to stop him? I reach around his neck and let my body slide on his back, wrapping my legs around his waist. His hands immediately lock under my butt and we’re off to the collective calls goodbye.

“You’re crazy, you know that?” I mutter in his ear, as the cold outside air hits us.