Dark River Rising

By Zoë Chambers

Where do you go when everything falls apart? Home, of course. But unfortunately the ghosts of the past have a habit of awakening when you get there.

Orphaned Liz is twenty-five, rocked by an unexpected divorce, and without even the slightest clue what to do with her life now. She returns to her childhood home in Louisiana, hoping to pick up the pieces while working to overcome her own self-hate and feelings of abandonment. But somehow the familiar surroundings don't feel as friendly as they used to, and there may be something in the shadows of the old house on the riverbank that doesn't want to let her go again...ever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Zoë Chambers
• Release date: Jan 5, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310622083

Zoë Chambers

Zoë Chambers was raised Southern, but now resides quite happily in the Midwestern U.S., where she enjoys snow for about two days per year before wishing it would hurry up and leave already. When she's not writing, she's reading, knitting, singing, dancing, taking pictures, or some combination thereof. She's an animal lover, a firm believer in equal rights, a traveler, a Netflix addict, and that one weird neighbor you never really get to talk to, but who bakes really yummy-smelling cookies.She lives with her husband and a whole lot of imaginary friends who sometimes dictate stories.

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Dark River Rising

by Zoë Chambers

Copyright 2013 Zoë Chambers

published via Smashwords

Table of Contents

1 – The Life In the Rearview Mirror

2 – The Visitor

3 – The Stages of Grief

4 – Just Another Friday Night

5 – Love Me Just a Little

6 – Awakening Fate

7 – Feels Like Coming Home

8 – Ties That Used to Bind

9 – Take Care What You Ask

10 – Our Own Little Magic

11 – Growing Artful

12 – Traveling Woman

13 – Let's Show Him What's He's Won

14 – Such a Lovely Dream It Was

15 – Burn Your Kingdom Down

16 – Shattered

17 – A Return to Dreams

18 – Light of Day

1 – The Life In the Rearview Mirror

It's funny, isn't it, the way you can experience two completely differing emotions, and feel them both so strongly. I was coming back to a place I both cherished and loathed, familiar surroundings in which I myself was like a total stranger, and I had no idea which way I actually felt about it, or what I hoped to accomplish by returning.

One thing I did know was that I was tired of driving. My eyes hurt, my ass was numb, and it would probably take three hours for my hands to fully uncurl from their death grip upon the steering wheel. I wanted out of this car, pronto.

But as my destination loomed before me now, I also found myself wanting just as sincerely to turn around and drive away. Run away, just as I'd been doing at the start of this journey.

Of course, the problem with all that nonsense is that equal and opposing forces result in no movement at all, until an outside stimulus happens along. Which is, when I think about it, pretty much the story of my life.

I sat parked in the driveway for a long moment, staring through the bug-spotted windshield to the Batiste family home, a white brick structure that had seen far better days. Six tall pillars stood watch along its front, the wrought iron railing that bordered its balcony trimmed in cobwebs that gleamed proudly in the odd flash of sun through the lingering storm clouds.

Against the battleship-gray backdrop of the sky, and looming over my little car as it did, the place was definitely imposing enough—almost threatening. It was smaller than I remembered, true, but still plenty big enough to make me feel like the kid I'd been: a skinny little shadow skulking about the place and hoping not to be seen. Insubstantial, and more than happy to remain so.

But there was no hiding now, was there? I had to get out of this car eventually, go up and ring the doorbell. There was no way around it. It was simply a matter of making myself do it.

Any minute now, I would.

Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in. Was this even home, after so many years? And where had that quote come from, anyway? Was it Frost? The questions niggled ridiculously at the edges of my exhausted mind. But regardless of its source, the quote itself seemed true enough. My grandmother most likely didn't object to my presence, especially since we were basically the only ones left in the family, but even if she had, the welcome would have been extended. Southern hospitality, some lingering hint of her past hippie tendencies, or simple family obligation, it was just the way things were.

I sighed, trying once more to work up my courage. I'd gotten through the past two months on a mixture of desperation and copious amounts of caffeine, but even those were wearing thin. All I wanted at the moment was to be magically transported to a comfortable bed, where I would proceed to sleep away the next several weeks—or months—until things began to make sense again.

But that was silly, and dramatic; two things I never could stomach in myself. And there was no sense in sitting there like a damned fool gawking at the place. I opened the door and took a crunching step onto the shell drive, stretching my arms and legs with a groan, and hearing my spine crackle. I was vaguely aware of the constant buzz of insects from the trees, and of the sultry touch of Louisiana wind trailing across my skin.

Mostly, though, I knew only my own exhaustion, and a somewhat fatalistic gladness to have finally arrived at my destination. Home, or close enough.

The slight squeal of the front door caught my attention, and I saw my still-youthful grandmother emerge from the house. Rice and gravy, jambalaya and other Cajun goodies had been staples of Matilda Batiste's diet growing up, and her current figure would seem to indicate she hadn't found any reason to change that. Yet somehow it was comforting; a thin Tilly—she'd always insisted I call her by name—would have been like a young Santa Claus: just plain wrong.

Liz! She waved happily. Why didn't you call when you were gettin' close? I coulda had coffee ready. Coffee, at midday, in August's ninety-something-degree heat. I couldn't even imagine it, but I smiled anyway.

Beaming as she reached me at last, Tilly threw her arms around me in a flatteringly enthusiastic hug, which I returned as best I could. I guess I just didn't think of it, I replied. Sorry, Til. I could hear the difference in our accents now, and despite my weariness, some part of me was amused. It's amazing what a few years in the North will do.

Tilly released me, stepping back. Well, that’s fine, then. Let me look at you. And so she did, sharp gray eyes roaming my face with a familiar thoroughness that lay completely at odds with her outwardly sweet and casual demeanor. Just as pretty as ever, but you don’t mind me sayin' so, you look tired.

I am, I admitted. I’ve been up since four. Glancing up at the house once more, I absently bit my lip, one of many bad habits I'd cultivated over the years. Look, Tilly, you’re sure you don’t mind all this? I mean, I don’t know how long I’m going to need a place to stay. I don’t want to be a bother.

Matilda stiffened. Girl, you better stop that talk right now. You ain't a bother, and you can stay here forever, if you need to. We’re family.

Okay, okay. I should have known that would be the response. I was still troubled by the subject, but I managed to smile at her as I threw my hands up in surrender. You just remember you said that, when I start getting on your nerves after a while.

"You’re gonna get on my nerves now if you keep worryin', Tilly grumbled, but she smiled. You want to bring in your stuff now, or rest a little while first?"

I thought. Let me just grab my makeup; that’s about the only thing that won’t stand the heat. My smile became a little more genuine now as I opened the Civic's back door and reached for the well-worn train case. It was funny how quickly the old habits returned, of judging how long you could leave this or that out in the punishing southern sun. I’d even remembered the paramount importance of parking in the shade, so as to avoid blistering my hands on the bare steering wheel later. I’d learned that one shortly after my first driving lesson.

Drawing the case from the car, I closed the door and turned, to see Matilda frowning in deep disapproval. You still wearin' all that crap on your face? I keep tellin' you, you don’t need it.

Oh God, here we go. "Yes, I still wear all that crap. And you try going through life with this thing on your face, then you tell me what I need." Embarrassed, I reached to smooth my bangs down over the birthmark that covers part of my forehead and left temple. I'd have to find a stylist in the area who could keep them cut properly, so they'd stay where I needed them.

Tilly clucked, unperturbed by the abrupt change in my demeanor. You’re bein' silly, child. You can’t even see the damn thing. She reached to brush aside the protective veil of hair, but I jerked away from the touch, shooting her a warning glance.

"You can’t see it because of that makeup you hate so much, I said. And I work very hard to keep it that way. I sighed, sagging as another wave of fatigue struck me. Please, Til, just drop it. I'm too tired to argue, and you know how I feel about this."

Well, I ought to, all the times you’ve told me, she retorted. But I guess I just don’t get why a beautiful girl like you thinks she’s so ugly. At the annoyed expression that greeted this remark, she shrugged innocently. Okay, I’ll shut up now. But you are beautiful, chère. You should just be who you are.

Thank you, I said quietly, fooling neither of us. I tilted my head toward the waiting house. Ready to go in?

Hell, yes, Tilly said. I got a lot more paddin' than you do. I’m about to melt right into a little puddle out here. Stepping aside, she motioned for me to precede her into the front hall. So you want that coffee? Or how about some iced tea?

God, yes. I sighed as I climbed the steps. "I’ve dreamed of your tea. Mine never seems to come out right." This was technically not a lie, although if I really wanted tea like Tilly’s all I’d have to do would be dump half a pound of sugar into the pitcher. But hell, a little flattery never hurt anyone.

Except you, apparently.

I steadfastly ignored the thought. Opening the door, I stepped into the relative coolness of the house.

* * * * *

So, you want to talk about it? I didn’t really need to see Tilly’s significant glance toward my newly bare ring finger to know what it was; just the tone of voice made it obvious.

Not really. But we both knew I would—that I needed to. Wasn’t that at least part of the reason I’d come back here? I took a long drink of my tea, trying to think how to begin, then gave her a humorless little laugh. Honestly, I don’t even know what to say. I didn’t see this coming at all.

What, he just come home from work one day and said ‘I want a divorce’? Tilly frowned at the thought, twisting a strand of her long silver hair around one finger. That's kind of strange. You’d think there’d be some warnin', you know?

I closed my eyes for a moment, feeling the too-familiar wash of pain and embarrassment. Well, I can’t say there was warning, no. Or at least, none that I saw. But there are a few things I hadn’t told you yet. As annoying as it sometimes was to be around someone who'd known me for so long, at the moment I was rather grateful for it. Tilly seemed to understand the need for a few seconds of silence, to allow me to collect my scattered thoughts.

But finally I knew I could delay no longer, and no amount of time was going to make the telling of this any easier anyway. The thing is, it wasn’t just that he wanted a divorce. He…uh, I cleared my throat. Gavin's seeing someone.

Tilly winced in sympathy. Oh, God. Another woman.

It was tempting to pretend, and I actually hesitated for a moment before my conscience panged me. No, I said quietly. Another man.

I looked up just in time to see Tilly’s comically surprised blink. "He’s gay?"

It was my turn to wince now, not so much at the term as at the tone in which it was spoken. I’m afraid so. I thought at first that maybe he, you know, liked both. I mean, we...but no, it's just men. Dropping my gaze again, I toyed nervously with the silver bangle bracelet I wore as I waited for Tilly to process that bit of information.

After a while she let out a long, low whistle. Damn. I got to say, I did not see that comin'. She reached to press her hand over mine, squeezing my fingers gently. But you know, though, it ain’t got a thing to do with you. He was just born that way. Right?

I nodded, surprised by her understanding, then promptly ashamed of that surprise. Of course Tilly would get it. Yeah, that’s what he told me. But it’s still kind of hard to deal with.

Tilly snorted. Married seven years and your husband suddenly tells you he likes men. Yeah, I can guess you got a little to ‘deal with’. She muttered a long string of French under her breath. Son of a…well, child, it’s a good thing you’re here, else I’d have had to come up to Michigan and get you. And lord knows what I’d have said to him.

I doubt he’d have paid much attention, I replied dryly. He’s a little too busy moving back into the house with his boyfriend. That still stung, so harshly. But at least I'd been able to stay there myself during the weeks the divorce was being finalized. Lots of women weren't so lucky; Gavin had been more than fair, and I was trying hard to remember that.

Tilly shook her head, eyes filled with sympathetic reproof. Elizabeth Fontaine, why in the blue hell didn’t you tell me sooner? You didn’t have to go through all this by yourself.

I felt a prickle of tears and swallowed hard. I don’t know. I guess I was ashamed. After a second the prickle grew too strong, and I sniffled. "No, I was ashamed. I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn't know how to tell anybody."

So you go through the whole mess alone, blamin' yourself, with no one to talk to. Yeah, that makes perfect sense to me. But the sarcasm was robbed of its sting by the compassion in her gaze. Oh, bébé.

Well, it’s all over now, and I’m here. I heard my voice waver, and I chuckled hoarsely. Now all I need is to figure out what the hell to do with the rest of my life. I drained the last of my tea before sending Matilda a truly sorry attempt at a nonchalant grin. Should be a piece of cake.

* * * * *

I'm so sorry to leave you alone tonight, honey. But I'll try not to be too late, and you can call if you need anything. I've got that damn cell phone, and I'll keep it with me. Tilly the technophobe's words echoed in my mind, bringing a wry smile.

Honestly, at the moment I was quite grateful for my grandmother's job managing the local dollar store. After all, it was hardly an issue for me to have a few more hours alone. Even the little while we'd spent together, chatting and catching up there in the kitchen, had been draining. The recent shock—well, shocks—I'd experienced had resulted in a