Page 6 of These Rough Waters

Her eyes soften, “You running from someone, love?”

Movement behind the girl catches my attention and I notice a man, not much older than the girl in front of me staring at us. A glance down at her hand shows the wedding band on her finger, so I make the connection that’s her husband, and he is watching her like a hawk, as if I might be a threat.

“We just need a place to stay for a couple days,” I tell her quietly. Sharing my history was to invite questions, and questions led to investigations. I didn’t want people looking into me or my past, I didn’t want anything that could lead him to us. I couldn’t risk it.

She searches my face, her mouth pulling down sadly. “I called ahead, let them know you’ll be contacting them. They’ll have a room ready within the hour.”

Tears spring to my eyes, “Thank you.”

“Well then,” she stands, all that sympathy that was on her face gone a moment later, and now she’s beaming, “What can I get ya both?”

Harper orders the macaroni while I go for the fish and the girl even brings back some coloring pages to entertain Harper while we wait.

I could feel myself relax, just slightly as the warmth of the place sucks away the anxiety I’d been harboring for three days and the room grows louder and louder, the shock of my arrival now gone.

Harper and I eat, and I pay for the food before gathering all the bags. I’d phoned the place after the girl had left us to put in the order and she was right, the older woman on the phone promised there was a room ready for us and to arrive whenever we were ready.

“I’ll walk you!” The same girl who had served us at the diner quickly comes after us, “I’m Imogen, by the way, that man there who keeps staring is my husband, Shawn. Don’t mind him, he’s just protective.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” I rush out, “I’m sure I can find my way there!”

“I insist! Plus, I’ve been working in here since the ass crack of dawn and need some fresh air!” Imogen declares loudly before gasping, “Shit, sorry!” Her eyes widen as she winces again because of her language.

For the first time in a while, I laugh. “It’s okay.”

She cringes, teeth pressed together as she glances to my daughter, “Have you traveled far?” Imogen asks as we begin a casual walk down the quiet street, not another person in sight. It was eerie almost, with the streetlights illuminating only small sections of the sidewalk and leaving large areas plunged in darkness and the silence made my hair stand on end. I was used to the hustle and bustle of a big city, of cars and smoke and sirens, not this…peace.

“Chicago,” I tell her.

We turn at the end of the street and a large house comes into view. It was white stone, with pillars on the porch and ivy that climbs and weaves around them. Behind the house was just pure darkness but I could see the silhouettes of the tops of the trees stretching up as if it could reach the raven black sky. Warm golden light spills from lanterns set up every few yards on a cobblestone path, either side framed by lush green grass.

The door opens and an older woman steps out, wiping her hands on a towel.

Swallowing down the anxiety that clogs my throat, we continue down the uneven path, the smell of freshly baked bread and coffee drifting out from the open door behind the woman.

Harper remains quiet and nervous at my side. All of this was a lot, even for me, let alone a child. Imogen helps with the bags as we take the steps onto the porch, and I finally get a good look at the woman.

I’d place her in her mid fifties, with silver at her temples but the rest of her hair was a deep black. Rich brown skin and kind eyes creased at the edges with age, but there was such kindness in her face, wisdom and warmth. I was instantly comforted.

Dressed in a thin sweater and dark denim jeans, she gives off a homey vibe, one that confused and yet calmed me.

“Ruthie,” Imogen steps from me to embrace the woman, falling into her arms effortlessly, almost like family. She looks at me, still half embraced in Ruthie’s arms, “Ruthie is Shawn’s mother, she has been running this place, what?” She turns back to her, “thirty years now?”

Ruthie rolls her eyes but nods fondly, her mouth curving into a smile, “You must be our new guest,” she steps towards me, her eyes only jumping to the bruising and swelling for a moment before she looks at Harper and claps her hands together, “You’re lucky, tourist season is practically over so we have plenty of rooms free!”

We follow a short distance behind Imogen and Ruthie, and the moment I step over the threshold, the warmth of the lodge envelopes me, the rich scent of a fire burning in the hearth and the bread cooling on the kitchen counter we pass, fills the air. It was quiet in here too but not totally abandoned. A little in-house bar is set off to the right, but we pass that, coming to a stop at a small reception like area with plush sea green sofas and photographs of old fishing boats and lighthouses on the walls.

“You go on back to your husband, Imogen, before it gets too late,” Ruthie commands.

Imogen rolls her eyes but turns, “Was lovely to meet you. Stop by the diner again, hm?”

I nod but don’t promise anything, who knows how long I will be sticking around.

“Right then,” Ruthie settles herself behind the counter, “Let’s get you all checked in.”

Four

“Let’s start with your name,” Ruthie smiles at me kindly, expectedly, and I freeze. I feel my eyes widen.

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