Rescue Bear Page 2

  “Megan…” Dylan’s voice had the same edge to it that it always had. Nothing gentle about him, it was like he’d been fighting the world since the day he was born. “Who’s at the shop?”

  I watched as he skirted around me, descended and stood at the landing at the bottom of the stairs. The entry table beside him needed to be refinished. I’d picked it up at a flea market and it needed some love.

  “Megan?”

  I looked at my husband and squinted. I recognized the man standing there, but I didn’t. Appearance wise, he was the same. He looked like the man in the photos taken on our wedding day, but he wasn’t. There was something in his expression that hadn’t been there before. A slight curl to his lip, wrinkle of his nose, as though he’d smelled something distasteful.

  “Come on, Megan. What? Are you really going to give me the silent treatment? Talk to me. You’re not a child.”

  It was me. I was the something distasteful that made his lip curl and his nose wrinkle. I ran my tongue over my teeth, searching my brain for the words that needed to be said, but I drew a blank. I didn’t know what to say.

  “Jesus. You want me to apologize? Fine. I’m sorry you had to see that. It’s not like it’s a surprise, though, right? We haven’t been intimate in months.”

  I pulled myself to my feet and made my way down the stairs. “There’s no one at the shop. I closed it to go looking for you. You weren’t answering your phone and Hurricane Matilda has altered course. It’s headed this way—expected to slam right into us.”

  “There’s no one at the shop? Fuck, Megan. You’re costing us money that we need. What the hell were you thinking? Let’s go. We need to get back.”

  I didn’t want to be near him. I didn’t know what to say to him. I wasn’t ready to even try to form words from my thoughts or sentences from my words. “You go ahead. I’ve got stuff I need to do here.”

  He scowled. “You know you do all the floor stuff. That’s your job. You can’t just skip out on doing your job because we’re having a bad day.”

  An image flashed through my mind—the image of Dylan on the floor, clutching his bloody nose after I bitch slapped the hell out of him. I had to take a step back. The urge to turn that mental image into a reality was so strong it scared me. I took another step back and then another and shook my head. “You go.”

  “Megan—”

  “Dylan, there is nothing I want more in the world right now that to lay you out cold. I want to crack my knuckles on your face and see your nose twist the wrong way and plaster itself on the other side of your face.” I balled my fists up at my sides. “The scary thing is that I’m not even angry right now. I just desperately want to see you in pain. So, I suggest you get the hell out of this house for a while. Go, work the job you swore you wanted. Or don’t. I don’t care. Just get out.”

  Looking shocked, he grabbed his keys and shook his head. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you.”

  I watched him leave and stood there until I heard his car speed away. He always drove through the neighborhood too fast. The neighbors complained to me and I felt forced to make excuses and apologize for him, but he never felt apologetic about it and he never stopped. He said the car was meant to go fast.

  I looked back down at the entry table that needed refinishing and blew out a deep sigh. It would give me was something I could do until I felt human again. I carefully took everything off of it and placed it on the floor before carrying the table to the garage.

  I was methodical in pulling out my sander and the sanding sheets. When the sander was ready, I turned it on and went to work on the table. With lots of nooks and crannies, it was a detailed job that eventually calmed my brain.

  When I was alone, my solitude helped me arrive at solutions, but this time, I didn’t like the solutions I came up with. Reality was staring me straight in the face and handing me some hard truths about my marriage. This truth wasn’t easy to handle.

  I wasn’t a quitter, though. I’d made promises to Dylan and I’d meant them.

  I lost all track of time, working and thinking. None of the answers I came up with made me feel any better. And, I still didn’t feel sad or angry about Dylan’s infidelity. What did that say about our relationship?

  4

  Roman

  “This is crazy.” Serge looked down the street. Standing next to the road, he posed with his hands on his hips while watching traffic slowly make its way north. “How are they all supposed to get out in time if they creep at a snail’s pace?”

  I stood beside him, a strange buzz starting inside of me. The energy on the island had picked up. Everyone knew something big was coming. My bear was riled up. Despite the heat, he was eager for the first time since we’d left Siberia. “I guess this is normal.”

  The northbound lane of Main Street was packed with cars. Evacuees heading north to the mainland. Southbound was completely empty. No one dared venture farther south with Hurricane Matilda on its way. She was supposed to be big. According to the weather channel, she would be the biggest storm to hit the Keys for over a century. Unless she changed direction, she would make landfall in just under two days.

  “Why didn’t they leave when Matilda was first spotted? I don’t know what we’ll be able to do if there are this many cars still on the road when she hits.”

  I shrugged. “They’ll be gone.”

  Alexei poked his head out of the office. “Upgraded to a cat five.”

  “Close the damn door! You’re letting all the cold out.” Dmitry’s irritated voice rang out from inside.

  Alexei, never one to follow orders, strode out of the office leaving the door wide open. In low hanging shorts and an open shirt, he looked like a surfer. He was always laid-back and easy-going, even in emergencies.

  Dmitry grabbed the door and slammed it shut, grumbling the whole time.

  “We should probably go around the island and encourage people to leave. See if they need any help with evacuating.” Serge rolled his neck. “It makes my skin crawl to think of weak humans facing a hurricane of this expected magnitude.”

  I grinned as Serge’s mate, Hannah, came out of the office and strolled towards him. Wrapping her very human body around his from behind, she sighed. “They’re driving me crazy in there.”

  I could read the tension in Serge’s face. He was very aware of how delicate his human mate was. He also knew she wasn’t about to leave the island without him. Unless he nabbed a car and drove north, she was remaining on Sunkissed Key with the rest of us while Matilda battered the island. She was the real reason he was so anxious about the incoming storm.

  To avoid hearing them argue about it again, I headed down the street, taking in the scene and trying to mentally calculate how many people were leaving versus how many would be staying. Thankfully, it seemed as though most of the island’s residents would be seeking safer ground farther north. Houses were boarded up and garages and driveways were vacant of vehicles. As I scouted, whenever I came upon any of the few people still working, trying to board up their homes, I stopped to help.

  The work was a far cry from the often perilous, tactical missions we’d performed while based out of Siberia, but it was something to do. I helped a few more people finish loading their cherished possessions into their cars and helped a few more cut into traffic. The little island was emptying faster by the hour. That was a good thing. People were heeding the threat. Matilda wasn’t turning, nor was it growing weaker. She was headed our way with a vengeance.

  I cut down Palm Street and then Parrot Cove Road to gain access to West Public Beach. The Bayfront Diner sat just off it and Susie, who owned the place, was a sweet older woman who happily fed us cinnamon rolls and sweet tea all the time.

  The sign in the window read Closed but I could see Susie inside. She waved me in with a warm smile.

  “Roman! Come on in, honey. I don’t have anything made right now, but I can whip you up some cinnamon rolls in a jiffy.” Her tall beehive of hair bobbed precariousl
y on her head. She looked like she’d been caught in the middle of fixing it.

  “What are you still doing here?” I sat across from her on a worn barstool and frowned. “You’re not planning to stay, are you?”

  She looked away. “I’m not planning, no. I am staying.”

  “Susie—”

  “Now, Roman. I’ve lived on this island my entire life. I’ve been through rougher hurricanes than this one a-coming. I’m not leaving my diner.” She reached under the counter and pulled out a coffee cup. “Coffee?”

  I shook my head. “I’ll watch over the place for you. No sense in you tempting the fates.”

  “And no sense in you trying to convince a hard-headed old woman who has her mind already made up.” She poured me a cup of coffee. “You need coffee. I don’t care what you say. Everyone needs coffee.”

  I took a long sip just to be polite. I tried to ignore the fact that I was adding warmth to my already overheated body. “Where will you be bunking down for the storm?”

  “Right here. My Sammy helped me build this place. It’s all I’ve got and I ain’t leaving it.” She looked out through the front windows at the bay and smiled. “Though, I could use some help with boarding up the windows.”

  I downed the rest of my coffee and stood. “Say no more. Do you have boards, or should I go find some?”

  She pointed me to the back and grasped my arm. “You’re my favorite of the gang, you know that?”

  It would’ve been a more flattering compliment if I hadn’t heard her say the same thing to Alexei just last week. Still, she made me smile. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

  5

  Megan

  I dragged the large sheet of plywood out of the rear of the shop and towards the front. The windows were still uncovered. It seemed that while I’d been on a hiatus from reality for the past few days, Dylan hadn’t bothered to take care of closing up the shop. Every single business on the island had been boarded up. Every one but ours. Maybe he’d been too busy boning his girlfriend.

  I shook my head and huffed as I stopped to take a breather. Balancing the wood against my hip, I looked around the shop dejectedly. Nothing had been put away. Nothing had been taken care of.

  Dylan was sitting in the back, in his office, doing god only knew what. He was well aware that I was in the showroom—alone. Working to get the windows boarded up—alone. Did he care? Apparently not.

  My anger towards him that was long overdue had been gradually coming to a simmer the last couple days. Suddenly, it threatened to boil over. “Dylan, can you please help?”

  We hadn’t spoken much since the disaster that was Monday afternoon. I’d been in the garage pretty much nonstop since then, finishing each and every project on my list. I’d jumped head first into completing all the things I’d put off in exchange for working endless hours in the shop. I’d barely come up for air and, more notably, I’d avoided my husband.

  My anger had grown. My sadness had not.

  In truth, I didn’t even know which one of us I was angrier at. Him, for being a lying, cheating backstabber, or myself for deciding not to throw in the towel.

  I wasn’t a quitter. I’d made vows. Together we owned a home, a business, and two cars. We’d gone through the ups and downs of life together for over ten years. I wouldn’t just walk away from that at the first sign of trouble. There had to be some way to salvage our marriage.

  “I’m busy, Megan.” Had his voice always been so condescending and I’d just not realized it, or was that a recent development? Maybe he thought less of me for staying, too.

  “This is important.”

  “You’re strong. You can handle it.” He’d barely stepped foot out of his office before he turned to go back in with a shrug of his shoulders.

  “Dylan. I need help. I can’t hold this board up and nail it in place, too.” My voice sounded like I was forcing it out through gritted teeth. Probably because I was.

  “I don’t know what to tell you. That’s your area. You’d ought to enjoy it, since that that kind of thing is all you’ve wanted to do lately.” He gestured towards the wood in my hand. “You sure have been slacking here at the shop.”

  “You could’ve had your girlfriend cover my shifts, I guess.” I threw that down like a gauntlet, ready to duel it out with him if he was going to be such an asshole.

  “She has a job, Megan. And don’t be ridiculous. She’s not going to come here and do your job.”

  “Oh, no? She seemed to like doing my job in our bed a few days ago.”

  “So, you want to do this now?” He nodded and walked towards me. “Granted, Brandi and I shouldn’t have been in our bed, Megan, but let’s face it, you haven’t been meeting my needs. None of this has.” He waved his hand around gesturing to our surroundings.

  My head snapped back like he’d slapped me. His indication that our shop was somehow at fault for his behavior was the breaking point. “Oh, this hasn’t met your needs? The shop that you insisted we open? The shop that you begged and pleaded for, the shop you bitched about for months until I gave in? And why was that again? Because no other work around this island fit your needs? So, the shop we opened because you couldn’t get another job not filling your needs either, now?”

  “Geeze, you’re mad because I criticized the shop? Not that I was screwing someone else in our bed? Doesn’t that say it all?”

  I opened my mouth to argue and then snapped it shut. Everything that was on the tip of my tongue—all the anger and vitriol that was right there ready to be spewed—was contrary to the decision I’d made. None of it would help solve our issues or heal our marriage. “Dylan, neither of us have had our needs met lately. The answer wasn’t to sleep around on me, though. We should’ve worked it out. Together.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s not how it played out.” He turned to walk away. “I need to finish up some paperwork back here.”

  “No. We need to batten down the shop. It’s a two person job, Dylan. I can’t do it alone.”

  “Stop acting as though you’re helpless, Megan. You’re a big girl.”

  His words—casual and flippant—tumbled from his mouth so easily, yet they hit me like a brick. The extra pounds I carried were an area of self-deprecation for me. Walking in on my husband and his mistress and seeing her petite figure with a waist the size of a child’s hadn’t helped my insecurities. Dylan knew all the ways I’d been teased from my teenage years on into college. I was a head taller than most of the rest of the girls and had always had a thick build.

  He knew the impact the words ‘big girl’ carried for me. Maybe it was a slip, but it was one he’d never made before.

  “Fuck you.”

  Dylan jerked around and came at me with a furious expression twisting his face. “No, fuck you!”

  I let the wood fall to the floor with a loud slap. “Why? For walking in on you? For forcing you to work in the shop alone, the same way you’ve made me do so many times before, probably so you could sneak off to be with another woman?”

  “Oh, poor Megan. You’ve had it so rough, haven’t you?”

  I backed away. “You know what? You can close up yourself.”

  “Fuck that.”

  “Close up the shop or let everything be ruined by the storm. I don’t care. I’m tired of picking up all the slack for you.”

  “Go to hell, Megan. This! This right here is why I have Brandi. She’s not sour and bitter like you.” He grabbed my upper arm and yanked me back around to face him. “You think you’re so much better than me. I can see it. The way you’ve been acting the past few days. You think you’re suddenly ‘holier than thou’ because you didn’t sleep around. But, put yourself in my shoes. Married to someone who’s cold and dead inside. You’re like being married to a big, limp fish. Jesus, Megan, I think I hate you.”

  His fingers cut into me as he spoke and my arm throbbed under his grip, but I refused to flinch. I wasn’t going to let him know how badly he was hurting me—both physically and emot
ionally. “Let me go.”

  He immediately released me and shook his head. “I don’t know why I even try.”

  I laughed bitterly while rubbing my arm. “You’re trying?”

  He just marched back into his office and slammed the door.

  I could no longer hold back the tears. Through blurred vision, I let myself out of the shop and drove toward home. With practically the entire island evacuating north, the southbound lane was vacant. Our home at the end of Beach Street was, appropriately, on the beach. It stood feet from the ocean on pillars. It was a beautiful home, inherited from my grandparents and I’d nearly completely renovated it myself.

  My home. No longer our home, if that’s what I chose. I could kick Dylan out—send him on his way. There’d been a prenup involved with our marriage, even though we’d gotten married at such a young age. I came from a family with money who’d demanded it. Perhaps they’d been smarter than I was and saw the inevitable future of my marriage to Dylan that I’d been blind to.

  Divorcing Dylan was an option. As I looked down at the angry red fingertip marks on my arm that were turning purplish, it didn’t seem like the worst option. I hated divorce, though. My family was one with a legacy of divorces. My mother and father were each other’s third and fourth spouses, respectively. Their marriage had only lasted three years. And after their divorce, each had subsequently gone through several more spouses.

  I didn’t want to be another family joke.

  In the guest room where I’d been staying, I crawled into bed and pulled the covers over my head. Finally, I allowed the tears that had been choking me on the drive home to flow freely. Once they came, they didn’t feel as though they were ever going to stop.