Hook, Line & Sinker: River's Sigh B & B, #4

Chapter 1

After the massive LAX and bustling YVR, Greenridge’s solitary airport seemed tinier than ever, but it was still too busy for Brian’s taste. He scrubbed his hands over his face, weary to the core and badly in need of a shower, a shave and about twenty hours sleep.

He strode toward the baggage carousel, where a single chute served each flight, keeping his head down and his eyes averted, hoping to avoid bumping into anyone he knew. He already missed the anonymity of the bigger cities and the solitude of the beaches he’d explored solo the past few months. Ah, well. He couldn’t put off dealing with his parents’ insanity forever—unfortunately. Also, all that aside, it would be nice to collect a paycheck again. He’d save for another big trip, an even longer escape. Maybe he’d travel permanently.

He shook his head at that last thought. He was as prone to self-deception as anyone, but he couldn’t deny it. As much as he had needed the time away, a bigger part of him longed for his own bed, his library, his stereo and music collection, and art work he’d purchased, things that meant something to him personally and weren’t just decorations in some snazzy hotel. It sucked beyond sucked that his own family had chased him away from his home.

Sighing heavily, Brian sidestepped the gangly legs of a bunch of teenagers plunked down in the middle of the aisle. Then he almost walked smack dab into a crying, blotchy faced woman and her two small children. Her obvious upset contrasted sharply with her very put together vintage look. She wore a formfitting navy wool skirt with a matching high-buttoned jacket, ivory stockings, and round-toed apple red pumps. Even her suitcases looked more suited to Downton Abbey than modern day British Columbia.

The family was huddled near one of the check-in lines, no doubt fresh from seeing someone off. Such drama. Brian held back a literal growl, reached out to steady the child nearest to him, so he wouldn’t bowl her over—then, damn it anyway, had to stop mid-stride again because a clerk rushed from behind the counter to accost the woman. Between the frazzled clerk, the crying family, and enough luggage to sink a battleship—oh, so maybe they weren’t seeing someone off, after all—Brian’s escape route was completely blocked.

I’m so sorry, but you have to understand. It’s policy. The clerk was all big eyes and sleek hair, and normally Brian would’ve taken a second look or sparked up conversation, but his normal had split months ago. All he was left with was this miserable, lame ass version of himself, the one who couldn’t find the energy to check out a pretty lady, let alone the drive to flirt, make small talk, or pretend to give a shit in the hopes of a bit of fun. What was the point? These days women always seemed to want more than he had to offer—and the more cases he handled at work, the more he realized he never wanted to offer more. Love? Pah. And worse, marriage. Don’t even get him started. He’d rather eat glass. Why couldn’t people hang out, have fun, slake their lust and call it good?

His face must’ve conveyed his mood because the bawling mom gave him a wary look and tried to shuffle her brood out of his way. The baggage cart had a rickety wheel, however, and when she moved it, a pet carrier on top of her pile of suitcases tottered.

No! the woman shrieked.

Brian managed to catch the container just before it fell. A scruffy rat-like dog—or at least Brian thought it was a dog—glared out at him and started to yip.

Thank you. The woman took the caged muppet from Brian.

Ma’am, the clerk tried again, and this time the mom didn’t ignore her. She wheeled around furiously.

Stop ma’aming me like you don’t know who I am, Marie. And if you’re looking for some sort of absolution, some word that it’s okay, that I understand, it’s not going to happen. You, as you said, were doing your job. Bully for you. Now leave me alone.

But what are you going to do?

I have no idea, the woman said, fresh tears coursing down her already swollen features. No idea at all.

The crated rat-dog whined. The smaller of the two children, a boy in a T-Rex T-shirt, whimpered. The little girl Brian had almost tripped over reached out and wordlessly patted her mother’s arm.

Good night, what a gong show.

Excuse me, Brian muttered, moving futilely to his left, then equally futilely to his right, trying to get past.

Suddenly there was a police officer in the fray. Are you Katelyn Kellerman, ma’am?

The woman rolled her eyes, then nodded. Katelyn Kellerman. Something about the name was familiar, but Brian couldn’t immediately place it.

I’m Constable Gerald Le Clair. Are you aware that you’re in breach of your custody agreement?

More tears. How did the woman have any saline left to shed? Come on, Gerry. We live in Armpit, BC. Why does everyone keep pretending we don’t all know who’s who?

Under his buzz cut and navy blue forge cap, Constable Gerry Le Clair was stone-faced and serious.

The woman—Katelyn—sighed. I had a notarized letter from Steve, giving permission for the kids to travel. He changed his mind. It’s that simple.

"But you are aware that the court ordered you not to travel out of the province?"

I had a letter of permission! I thought if we both agreed—

Le Clair held up his hand. I only know what was reported to me. You’re not to leave—

Katelyn interrupted. I know, I know. Something glinted in her eyes and Brian suddenly realized her tears weren’t sorrow or weakness. They were barely contained liquid fury. Her whole body shook with it.

Mommy, why is a policeman here? the girl child asked. At the sound of his sister’s voice, the boy jammed a thumb in his mouth and stopped whining. Is it bad to visit Auntie Janet?

No, sweetie, of course not. The woman stroked her daughter’s hair, a deep shiny mahogany that matched her own, and even managed a smile. There’s just been a misunderstanding.

Because Daddy loves us and will never let us go?

Brian cut a sharp look at the kid. Interesting—and awful—how words that should be lovely and reassuring were somehow creepy instead.

For a split second Le Clair’s expression changed, revealing he shared Brian’s opinion, then it went carefully blank once more. Brian scanned the woman’s face again. He was sure he knew her. What was the connection?

Okay, so this was a misunderstanding. You’re not boarding, correct? Le Clair asked sternly.

That’s right. We’ll get it sorted.

The clerk inched away, murmuring that she had to get back, and Brian noticed that the line of people waiting to check in had grown substantially in the minutes she’d been away from her post.

Le Clair raised his eyebrows at Brian as if they were in some sort of collusion. Brian nodded politely and the officer spoke, confirming Brian’s suspicions that he’d recognized him—but also revealing a false assumption.

"Okay, Ms. Kellerman, Katelyn, so long as you understand you’re not to leave town with the kids, there’s no problem. And if Brian Archer here is your lawyer, you’re in good hands. I suspect you’ll get the best of your husband in court yet."

Brian shook his head. I’m not her lawyer.

Oh, uh . . .

Brian could practically see the man’s brain froth as he jumped to an even more erroneous idea, that Brian was her boyfriend or something. No, man. I’m not her . . . anything. I’m just trying to get my bags. You guys are blocking the whole hallway.

Oh. Le Clair nodded as if he finally understood something. "Oh." He marched off, leaving Brian alone with the sniffling children, the stressed to the max mother, and the kennel of almost-but-not-quite-a-dog. He bobbed his head at Katelyn and felt that words of some kind were necessary before he too deserted her, crying and alone and apparently thwarted in her plans by some loser ex.

Uh, sorry you’re going through all this. He waved his hand at some general mess in the distance. Seems rough.

The woman nodded. Thanks, Brian, she said wearily and began straightening the luggage on the cart, making the stack of suitcases more organized, less tippy. I’m sorry you had to witness all that. Totally humiliating.

Something in the way she said his first name, and how she commented casually on her humiliation, stopped him. Sure Le Clair had dropped his name, but it rolled from her tongue like she knew him.

Are we going to stay at Daddy’s house or at our apartment? The girl’s question barely registered with Brian until the woman replied briskly, Neither, sweetie. We don’t have our apartment anymore because we were going to live with my friend Janet for a bit, remember? But you don’t need to worry. We’ll find something.

Yep, every single day Brian saw one more thing that cemented his opinion: committed relationships were for suckers—or people who needed to be committed. His little inner joke didn’t make him smile.

Katelyn rolled the cart a tentative inch or two. It was still wobbly. She lifted the dog carrier and handed it to her daughter. Can you carry Monster for me?

The girl obeyed promptly.

Thanks, sweetie. Katelyn held a hand out toward her son. He wrapped his fingers around her pinkie—obviously a mode of walking together they’d worked out some time ago—and she commenced pushing the cart in an awkward one-handed grip. The cart veered left as they went, and every few steps she had to stop and kick the front wheel to straighten its path.

Brian looked over at the luggage carousel. A small crowd had formed, but no bags spilled from the chute’s yawning mouth. He darted a look back at the young girl, who was uncomplainingly trudging forward to help her mom. He groaned inwardly. Damn it.

You look like you have your hands full, he said, and my suitcase isn’t out yet. Can I help move your stuff for you?

The rickety cart stopped. Katelyn raised her face to look at him directly, and they made eye contact for the first time since the whole debacle started. Large gray eyes with thick sooty lashes met his—and Brian finally put two and two together. Before he could stop himself, and before Katelyn nodded to accept his offer of help, he exclaimed, "Katelyn, as in Katie, as in Janet Smith’s friend and shadow all through school? Holy cow, I never would have— He broke off, flourishing a hand at her. I mean . . . "

Katelyn, a.k.a. Katie, flushed. Yeah, Janet’s shadow as you so nicely put it. No one calls me Katie anymore though—and don’t worry, I didn’t think you’d remember me. Her shoulders jerked in a small self-deprecating shrug. I wasn’t exactly the kind of girl you noticed.

Brian took a step back, still mildly shocked. Katelyn. Of course. Crazy big charcoal gray eyes, large freckles on creamy skin, and a full heart-shaped mouth—that, if he remembered correctly, was quick to laugh and make sarcastic comments. She was apparently still obsessed with retro fashion, which her small frame and petite figure suited immensely. She’d been cute enough, but a year below him in school, which felt like a lot back then. Plus, Janet was a knock out. It would’ve been hard for anyone to shine next to her. Before he thought better of it, he grinned and winked. "What are you talking about? I notice every girl."

One of Katelyn’s eyebrows arched and she shook her head derisively.

So what do you say? He pointed at the cart again.

The pink in Katelyn’s cheeks intensified, making the puffy, mottled effects of her recent weeping even more noticeable—but at least there were no more fresh tears.

I say, well . . . okay. And thank you.

Brian nodded and noticed a tiny crescent moon scar by her left eye, silvery-white against her heightened color. He figured under normal circumstances it was probably almost indiscernible. Embarrassed to find himself staring, he grabbed the handle of the cart. Where to?

Katelyn hesitated for a second then replied, The cafeteria, please.

Chapter 2

Order placed, Katelyn walked back to the small cafeteria table where, of all the bizarre things, Brian Archer waited, one hand resting on her luggage cart.

She settled the kids into blue swiveling chairs, then rummaged for their water bottles in what would have been her carry-on bag, if life could ever, even once, give her a break. The kids slurped their drinks like she’d been depriving them of fluids for a year not an hour, and the counter girl brought out their food.

Both children grinned when they saw their dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets, and for a second it felt like a regular outing, one that involved a rare fast food treat. Then Brian cleared his throat and blew that fairy tale delusion all to heck. And why was he still at the table with them anyway? She’d already thanked him. He needed to go already.

She stole a covert glance at him. Why wouldn’t he go? He may not have recognized her first off—and no wonder—but she’d known him the instant he appeared, seeming disgruntled by their very existence. His sandy blond hair was longer than he used to wear it, and it was tousled like he’d just come from bed or the beach or something. Stubble lined his square jaw, and the years since school had given him light creases on either side of his mouth and a slightly brooding wrinkle on his forehead, tempered by tiny laugh lines—all which suited him. His dress shirt was a little rumpled and untucked from his beige Dockers, and its top two buttons were undone. All that was surface stuff though; only his eyes were truly different. Oh, they were the same captivating color of stormy sea that she remembered, but they were tired or something. They didn’t sparkle with intrigue or light up in teasing interest the way they had when she’d known him before, when he dated her best friend. Even when he’d made his flirtatious crack about noticing every girl, they hadn’t lightened.

She suddenly realized she was staring at Brian like she’d never seen an attractive man before in her life. Cringing mortification flooded through her. She busied herself opening the kids’ honey-mustard dips and doling out napkins, so Brian wouldn’t see her face and possibly guess her thoughts. Even in the privacy of her own head she sounded like some sad, desperate nutcase. And good grief, it wasn’t like she’d had that huge a crush on him back in the day or anything. She’d just been aware that she really liked how he looked. And now she was noticing that she still did.

Focus, she commanded herself. You’ve got bigger issues to worry about—like what on earth are you and the kids going to do? Where are you going to stay?

Before she could think on it more, Brian shocked her further. He slid into a chair beside Lacey. He was going to sit with them? Why? Her heart jumped a little in panic. She tried to keep her face neutral, to not glower, to not show nervousness or fear.

Stop it, she muttered to herself again. He’s not Steve. Not every guy acting nice is just acting. Not every man has a hidden agenda.

So, uh, when you were ordering food, Lacey here introduced herself and said you don’t have any place to live.

Katelyn’s face flamed yet again. Lacey had said what? Well, of course, she had. Great, just great. One part of her felt relieved. She always worried that through example she might have taught her kids to keep too quiet, or to feel shame over things they should never have witnessed, let alone feel responsible for.

In the early years, she’d tried her best to counteract those unspoken lessons through words: You can share any story. You can tell any detail. You can talk about anything. Nothing has to be secret. And now, or for the past two years anyway, she’d tried to teach it by example, but it was hard to know, to believe, to trust, that she could undo the damage that had been done and could keep a sense of silence and shame from being a life sentence—especially if she couldn’t get her kids away from Steve permanently. So no, she’d never fault Lacey for being open and truthful or tell her not to talk about certain things . . . but honestly, was it too much to ask that she escape this day with one shred of dignity left?

Katelyn shook her head briskly. I wouldn’t say that exactly. I mean we gave notice on our apartment, and—

There’s a zero percent vacancy rate, Lacey piped in.

Shit. Katelyn bit her lip. How on earth had she overheard all that? It made her feel like her heart was caving in to hear it relayed so matter-of-factly. That was the worst part of this whole mess of trying to break free of Steve’s control—how much the kids picked up, how much of their innocence was robbed, how many adult cares it put on them, despite her best intentions. Lacey must’ve eavesdropped the last time she and Janet talked on the phone.

Is that true? Brian asked, frowning.

Katelyn shrugged. She needed to get rid of him. Her affairs were none of his business. Look, she said. I appreciate your kindness, but the kids need to eat and I need to adjust my plans and get stuff organized for tonight. I can handle things from here.

He looked at her for a moment, then nodded. As he stood up, her phone rang. She forced a smile, waved, and looked at her call display. Unknown caller. Biting her lip, she pressed Talk. Hello?

Katelyn, honey, I hear there was a mix up at the airport and you couldn’t take off as planned. What happened?

Steve. She let his concerned (oily and fake) voice finish his sentence, then nodded as if considering something. Yes, there was some confusion. I can’t talk about it right now though. Thanks for calling. She clicked End before he could get another word in, hoping beyond hope that she had sounded genuinely unfazed.

She’d read somewhere that people like Steve thrive on knowing that they’re getting to you, that you’re afraid or intimidated. That all they want is to continue being in a relationship with you, no matter what, so any form of engagement—arguments, fear, begging, warning, reasoning, bartering—all feels like a win.

Katelyn recognized the truth in the advice, but honestly, it was a lot easier said than done.

She popped a fry into her mouth, but could hardly chew and swallow. Brian was still standing there.

How are you getting to town? Do you need a ride to a hotel? he asked.

Her eyes narrowed. It’s disconcerting to have someone refuse to take no for an answer, she said. I have no idea why you’re being so pushy, and I don’t care if I seem rude. I appreciated your help with the cart, but that’s enough. It’s not gallant to force aid on someone who has told you they’re fine. It’s inappropriate.

Brian stepped back as if slapped and his face reddened. Uh, yeah, sorry. I thought . . . He didn’t bother to elaborate on what he’d thought exactly, just apologized again and left.

Lacey looked down at her plate.

What now? Katelyn thought. What now?

I might have accidentally told him that you quit your job and sold our car for extra cash, Lacey blurted—again quoting Katelyn’s words to Janet almost verbatim.

I’m sorry, Lacey added before her mom could say anything. I know I don’t need to tell everyone our life story.

Ouch, the kid really was a parrot!

I just thought he was nice, plus he knows Auntie Janet. I was trying to be polite and talk so it wasn’t all weird and quiet.

Katelyn exhaled and willed away the stupid tears threatening yet again. She smiled with sincere fondness at her daughter. "One: you can tell people anything you want. No secrets, remember? Unless it’s something fun like a surprise birthday party or something. Two: Brian probably is nice, but sometimes seeming nice isn’t the same thing as actually being a good or safe person, so always be careful, okay? Most people are safe and kind, but some are not. It’s good you told me what you guys talked about—and never, no matter what, go off with anybody without clearing it with me first, right?"

Lacey nodded.

And three, Katelyn smiled again, like you could ever go five minutes without talking.

Lacey giggled. Yeah, that’s true.

"Now eat up,