Page 13 of These Rough Waters

I take the bags from her which she allows and place them on the back seat and watch until she finally climbs into the passenger side, “I’ll get your seats wet.”

“Don’t much care,” I grumble back, reaching forward to blast the heat through the car, “You shouldn’t walk in this weather, why didn’t you wait?”

Silence answers me. A glance across the cab shows her leaning on the door, keeping as much space between us as possible while she looks out the window.

“Did you hear me?”

“I didn’t know how long you’d be. It wasn’t raining when I left.”

“Storms come in quick round here,” I tell her, “Be mindful.”

She looks at me, her dark brows drawn low over her green eyes, hair dripping water down her face, and she opens her mouth to speak but then shuts it again, repeating the motion before a sigh escapes her and she replies with a simple, “Okay.”

Seven

It had been a week.

A whole week of being under Ruthie’s roof, with breakfast in the morning and bedtime with Harper, a week of healing and yet coming undone all at the same time.

I’ve often wondered if I made the right choice. Deep down I know I did. The situation was…unsavory.That was putting it so very fucking lightly it made me sick, but IknewI had, even if I sat there with Harper sleeping at my side, in a bed in a strange town in the middle of the night, thinking about my entire life.

I’d shed tears quietly. Held myself together with arms wrapped around my torso as if it were enough to keep everything composed, and I’d watched the bruising on my face change and transform, morphing between colors like some sadistic rainbow. It was less painful, a little tender but bearable but still there. The reminder of what I was running from.

But everything was quiet.

So damn quiet it made nerves run riot in my stomach.

There have been two storms since I’d arrived. One that second day of being here and another just last night and I’d listened to the rough waters through the window, was soothed by the torrential rain that hammered against the roof of the lodge and the windows like it was a melody to match the turbulent emotion inside of myself.

I was raised to be quiet. The lesson to be seen and not heard, to be graceful and silent, to do as they say, to follow orders and give when demanded, had been beaten into me so often it was hard to war with the need to scream. I wanted to lash out. Wanted to rebel. To be loud.

Was it because I was finally away from the rules?

But of course, there would be repercussions and it was the threat of those that kept me subdued.

But a week was a long time, not to many, but to me, it felt like a lifetime. It was time I had never had before.

Harper was okay.

She was happy. She smiled more, played more, was achild.She helps Ruthie in the mornings, had even bonded with a chicken which had baffled me to silence when she told me, she had even named her Pickles. According to Harper, Pickles the chicken had come right up to her feet like she recognized her, and Harper had sat with her, stroking her feathers like a dog and the bird had appeared to like it. I didn’t know if that was normal, but I wasn’t going to take it away from my daughter, even if it was strange.

And Ruthie. That beautiful woman is truly a godsend.

I hadn’t seen Torin again since that first storm, Ruthie had mentioned once or twice that he had been by, but I always missed him, not that I had anything to say to the man. He was like the waters surrounding this small island in the middle of a storm, rough, turbulent, and unpredictable.

He didn’t like me, that much was obvious, but I supposed I’d asked for that. Ruthie says he’s like that with everyone, but I wondered if she was saying that just to spare my feelings.

“How’s Ravenpeak Bay treating you?” Imogen asks as I take a seat, Harper slipping in the other side of the booth and Ruthie joining her.

“It’s wonderful,” I smile, telling the truth, “Quite a change to what we have been used to, isn’t that right, Harper?”

“Yes!” She grins, “But I miss school.”

I wince, dropping my head to stare vacantly at the menu in front of me.

“Well, are you sticking around a while?” Imogen asks.

“I think so,” I nod, not able to fight the guilt I know they’d see on my face. How much damage was I doing to my child by running?

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