Broken Bayou

By Alice Benton Shryock

Anna Turner declared her independence the day she left Michigan to work in south Alabama. Expecting a nice tidy desk job pushing papers for a finance firm, she instead finds herself working for a domineering control-freak. However, when she begins to fall for him, she discovers how hard it is to break the ice that has guarded his heart for decades.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alice Benton Shryock
• Release date: Mar 30, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458142115

Alice Benton Shryock

Born and raised in Alabama, Alice now lives with her husband, a USAF meteorologist, and two children in south Georgia.

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Broken Bayou

by

Alice Benton Shryock

SMASHWORDS EDITION

*****

PUBLISHED BY:

Alice Benton Shryock on Smashwords

Copyright © 2011 by Alice Benton Shryock

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To mom and dad

Prologue

I ain't tellin' her shit.

The emphatically delivered comment was voiced from a boy no more than sixteen—seventeen at the most. Two men stared at him from across a battered oak table in the middle of a dimly lit kitchen. Graying wallpaper sagged in the corners near the ceiling, and the old linoleum floors were cracked and peeling. The three men, bachelor brothers—tough as nails, born from a long line of Gulf Coast fishermen—all wore identical expressions of deep-rooted fear.

Well someone's gotta tell her. If she hears about it from anybody else, it'll kill her—then she'll kill us, stated Charlie, the eldest of the three. Sighing tiredly, he wiped the sweat from his brow and spit a wad of tobacco into an old tin can.

Mickey, the youngest of the three, pointedly refused to look anywhere in the room other than a pack of cigarettes in the middle of the table.

Mickey, said Charlie smoothly, You tell her. You're the baby; she'll go easy on you.

The older brothers looked at Mickey in anticipation, but he shook his head. The last time I give her bad news, she stabbed me with a hair pick, and that was just 'cause I wouldn't buy her lady's things at the store.

He looked away from the cigarettes, stuck his middle finger out, examined it, and pointed it at his brother. How come you don't tell her yourself Charlie? You scared?

Quick as lightening, Charlie grabbed Mickey's finger and twisted it backwards. I'm getting pretty tired of your sass little brother. And no, I ain't no more scared of her than Pat it, he said nodding in the direction of their middle brother, but we all know how she's gonna act. Since she's used to you pissin' her off, you're the best man for the job.

Mickey jerked his hand away abruptly. "I done told you I ain't gonna tell her asshole." He massaged his finger slowly as they stared at one another in stony silence. Clearly, none of them seemed willing to sacrifice his skin for this particular mission.

I'll tell her.

Startled, they looked across the room. Alone in the shadows, examining a half empty whiskey bottle, a dark-haired, barrel-chested man rocked back and forth on the creaking legs of a rusty metal chair. The brothers had forgotten he was there. His face, normally a friendly map of sun-beaten lines, held an expression of utter disgust with the brother’s behavior.

I’ll tell her, he repeated softly, setting the chair down on all four legs with a loud thump.

Eddie, now I know you love her and all, but you ain’t got to do this, Charlie said, walking over and kneeling down next to the large man. He patted his shoulder lightly, She’s our sister; we need to be the ones.

Mickey stood up quickly knocking his chair to the floor in the process. Shut up Charlie, if he wants to do it, let him. She ain’t gonna go after Eddie. They been friends since they was babies. He picked up his chair before adding, Anyway, she’d probably like hearin’ it from Eddie best.

Pat leaned across the table and shoved Mickey roughly back into his chair.

With a sigh that seemed to fill the room, Charlie looked at Eddie again. Only if you’re sure, he stated, eyeing him closely.

Eddie set the whiskey bottle gently on the Welsh dresser that had belonged to the boy’s mother, nodded silently and stood up. Let's go.

The narrow dirt road they drove led deep into the back bayous and swampland of south Alabama. Thunder rumbled in the distance, a reminder of the powerful storm that suddenly ripped through the area from the Gulf of Mexico earlier that evening. It was like that on the Gulf. One minute the sun was beating down fiercely—scalding you with tiny pin pricks of fire—then without warning, you were battling whipping winds, raging tides, and hard stinging rain.

Charlie looked across the seat at Eddie as he plowed past cypress trees and ancient oaks, their limbs swathed in stringy Spanish moss, swinging gently in the after-storm breeze like ghostly fingers in the glow of the old truck’s headlights.

You know, she ain’t gonna be too happy with what you got to tell her. He chewed on his thumb nervously. She might even come after you. You’re gonna need to watch yourself. Remember this? He held up his arm to reveal a nasty looking scar that began at his elbow and ended at his wrist. That was for putting the hamster in the freezer. He examined his arm resentfully. Didn’t even kill it, he mumbled before spitting tobacco out the window.

Watch where you spit that shit! yelled Mickey from the bed of the truck. He slid open the back window and peered inside. You come up with a plan yet Eddie?

Eddie didn’t respond. He took a drag from his cigarette and kept driving. Charlie slammed the window shut. Concerned, Mickey looked at Pat huddled next to him in the bed of the truck and shrugged.

After several miles of twists and turns, a white clapboard house appeared in the distance. It had seen better days, but to anyone passing by, it looked warm and inviting in spite of its age. They parked down the road and walked up the little knoll the house sat on. The breeze was blowing the curtains around in the open windows, and inside, they could see a young woman dancing around a tidy little kitchen.

A blonde-haired infant rested peacefully in her arms as she sang loudly in an off-key alto. Mickey winced at her notorious singing voice, but declined to comment given the serious nature of their visit.

Finishing the song with a flourish, she ran a hand over her hair; it was the same color as the infant’s fine locks, but hers was piled high on her head—a mass of wavy curls. Walking gracefully across the room, it seemed unfathomable that this tiny slip of a girl could create such terror in the three hulking men peering anxiously through the window.

Mickey backed away, his face unearthly pale in the night. I can’t stand this Charlie, he whispered, his voice cracking as tears threatened to spill.

The older boy grabbed him by the back of his shirt. No hell you ain’t, he snarled in his ear. She’s your sister. You ain’t goin’ nowhere.

Move, Eddie murmured roughly, pushing past Charlie and knocking forcefully on the side of the screen door.

Mandy! he yelled loudly through the screen.

The sound of a door opening from the back of the house made the situation suddenly real to the boys, and they dreaded the misery that was about to fall upon this peaceful little house. Cautiously, the screen door opened and an angelic face peered out into the night

Her brothers melted into the shadows, leaving Eddie alone at the door.

A naked bulb swung back and forth over his head, making it difficult for her to see into the night. She squinted slightly, and once her eyes adjusted, a warm smile spread over her face. Eddie would remember that smile for the rest of his life because he never saw one her face quite that real again.

Mandy. Bobby’s dead.

Chapter 1

Anna Turner knew something was wrong. The air surrounding her was brutally cold, and there was a slight humming sound resonating in her ears. She opened her eyes and tried to focus on the alarm clock, only to realize that the power was out—again.

Dammit!

After wrestling with the sheets, she rolled out of bed, stepped on her cat, and flinched as he hissed angrily and swatted her leg in retaliation.

Sorry Sammy, she groaned as he took off down the dark hallway.

The humming sound disappeared as she began moving around and making noise—eliminating the thick sticky silence usually heard when the normal little sounds of electronics and everyday gadgets have ceased to function. She slid her hands along the wall, and tried to think of ingenious and painful ways to torture her landlord.

Moonlight spilled through a slit in the living room curtains. She felt the wall for the light switch then laughed at herself when it didn’t come on. After lighting several candles, the room seemed cozy—bathed in the warm glow of the soft light.

Shit. It was time to admit it. She’d been screwed on the apartment. A month had passed since she moved from Minnesota, and at times like these, she began to wonder if maybe—just maybe—her dad had been right.

She shut her eyes as she recalled how strongly he had voiced his misgivings.

Annie, it’s just too far.

Dad, listen, I am twenty-five years old and I’m still considered the baby by everyone in this family—even Jason, who’s three years younger than me. I need some space of my own. I need to get out of here, she had stated defiantly.

You can always take that job in St. Paul, he reminded her hopefully. You’d be on your own, but close enough to come home whenever you wanted.

You mean close enough to come by whenever you wanted.

Taking a deep breath, she’d tried to emanate as much maturity as possible before continuing. Look, I’m going. I want to do this. I will do this.

And then his words, spoken with the familiar tempered condescension that he saved especially for her: I just worry about what will happen to you when you fail.

Even now the remark stung. It was that one word, when—not if, but when. Had he slapped her face, it wouldn’t have hurt more. True, she was known in the Turner family as the family flake, but his lack of faith in her had been staggering.

Now, she laughed out loud at her naïveté, and looked around the apartment. Mr. Perkins, her landlord, had hooked her from the moment she walked into the living room.

It’s pre-civil war of course, he had told her. I completely reconstructed the apartments myself. Straight out of the history books, wouldn’t agree? You won’t find detail like this outside Mobile.

Later she discovered, as an added bonus, not only did she get to sit in the dark at least three times as week, but she also had the pleasure of freezing to death as well. As luck would have it, this was one of the coldest winters Alabama had seen in years, and apparently old homes down south were designed to attract breezes and drafts for the hot summer months—cold winters were evidently seldom considered in the architecture.

Additionally, her neighbor’s obsession with the cold continued to puzzle her. Back home the cold was just another fact of life, like water in the ocean or dirt in the desert. Here the cold was a novelty.

As if on cue, someone knocked on her door. Anna dear? Are you OK? Ruthie sent me down to check on you because the power’s out and it’s so cold.

She opened the door and smiled at the tall gray-haired man standing in his pj’s and clutching a handmade quilt around his shoulders.

I’m fine Mr. Johnson. Are you two OK upstairs?

A warm smile lit up his face. We’re good. We’ve got each other to snuggle, he said winking at her. But how ‘bout you? It’s cold down here young lady. I know you’re used to cold winters up north, but cold is cold honey.

Laughing, she shook her head. Trust me, I’ve lived through much worse.

You know I heard it gets so cold up there if you threw a cup of coffee in the air it’d freeze before it even hit the ground. That true?

Anna nodded. Yep. Seen it happen.

Ain’t that something, he said shaking his head in wonder. Ain’t quite that cold here, but I swear I ain’t never seen it this cold so early. He looked at her again standing in the doorway, with the soft candle light around her. She seemed so young. You know Ruthie’ll kill me if I leave you down here.

I’ll be fine. Scout’s honor, she said.

Clutching the quilt around his shoulders tightly he sighed again. Guess you’re the expert. He started to walk away before turning around. Say, you think we’ll get some snow? Hadn’t showed around these parts in nearly—

Mal! Leave the poor girl alone!

A candle floated down the steps followed by a petite silver-haired beauty in a voluminous blue lace nightgown. I’m sorry honey. He’s losing his mind lately. Doesn’t know when the hell to shut up.

Why don’t you shut up, mumbled Mal walking back up the stairs still wondering if it would snow.

"Doc says the irritability is from the 'special pills', whispered Ruthie. Not to mention the poor old devil is at full mast ninety percent of the time."

Anna shivered; glad Mr. Johnson was wrapped in the quilt.

That’s OK Ruthie. Listen, I’ve got the new job in the morning—

Oh, that’s right, well good luck honey. We’ll be thinking of you. She blew Anna a kiss as she drifted back up the steps.

A draft crept through the open door. Closely it softly behind her, Anna shivered again as she reached for an afghan from the back of her couch. Sammy, still sulking from the earlier attack, was nowhere to be seen. She looked at the battery-operated clock on her entertainment center. It had seemed a wise investment after the first three power outages. It showed 4:45 am. Shit.

It was too early to be up for work, but she was too keyed up to sleep.

Great, she muttered aloud.

She felt anxiety creep in. She started a new job in less than four hours, and she didn’t