Calmer Secrets: Calmer Girls 2 (Calmer Girls Series) Read online

  Henry drained his milk and flung the cup across the kitchen. Darlene ducked in the nick of time before it clocked her in the forehead. “Now, you imp, that’s a naughty thing to do! What’s gotten into our boy lately?” She turned to Samantha. “No, I go to work after he's in bed, and Cash will be home then.”

  Samantha retrieved the thrown cup. “Okay, I'll tag along,” she told Gina, who smiled back at her with a nod.

  The front door swung open. A tall man in his late forties walked into the kitchen, holding a couple of bulging brown paper bags in one hand and a dozen case of Molson Canadian beer in the other. The mouth-watering aroma of deep-fried cod and french fries permeated the confines of the room at once. With the food smells, Samantha picked up the acrid mix of stale tobacco, booze and the unmistakable downtown scent of George Street emanating from his clothes. Cash owned and managed the Bambury Tavern, one of the oldest pubs on George Street and an inheritance from his father. Darlene tended bar there often. Struggling to avoid drinking the entire profit, Samantha surmised.

  “Hi, Sam,” he said, with a smile and a welcoming wink. “Good to see you again, love.”

  She returned the smile. “Hey, Cash.”

  Darlene beamed up at him. “Come over here, you,” she chirped, bending her head back provocatively to accept his kiss. Cash planted one on her, then passed her the smaller paper bag. She pulled out a bottle of Cabernet. “Do we have cause for celebration? This is the good stuff!”

  Cash washed his hands at the sink and emptied the bag of food, setting down and opening the Styrofoam containers on the counter. Darlene took a pair of plates down from the cupboard and a plastic bowl for Henry. Her mouth watering, Samantha snatched away a handful of fries.

  “Do I need a reason to treat my beautiful lady?”

  Darlene laughed, her expression coy. “Or are you after something?”

  Samantha could see that her mother and Cash made a solid couple. Ever since the night they’d met close to a year ago, when he’d served her for the first time at his tavern, he had treated her like gold, and she reveled in it. Samantha hadn't seen her this carefree in years, not since well before their father Jack had abandoned them in Calmer Cove and headed out to the oil patch in Alberta for a fresh start.

  “I need you to cover the bar tonight when Theresa finishes. We talked about it on the phone, remember?” He sat down, reaching over the table to tousle the boy's blond hair. Henry brandished a fork and stabbed him in the forearm with it. “Henry! That hurts! Hurry up and give the kid some food, Dar.”

  “Of course I remember.” Darlene said, placing the bowl of cut-up takeout fare in front of her grandson. “It’ll be my pleasure. Eat up, young man.” She eyed Henry, who squirmed on the chair and pushed away the bowl with a pout.

  “I want Froot Loopth!” He struck the table again and again with his fork.

  With all the racket the boy created, no one heard Veronica arrive. She poked her head in the kitchen doorway, her sparkling blue eyes taking in the scene, her cheeks pink with the cold. Othello's, the downtown restaurant where she’d worked as a server for the past year, was only a few streets away. Whenever the weather halfway cooperated, she would walk up from there to pick up her son. A steep jaunt, Samantha knew, but great exercise for someone who had limited time for any other kind of workout.

  “Momma!” Henry cried, running to her. He tugged at her coat tail. “Up.”

  “Gosh, give me a second, b’y,” she gasped, catching her breath. “Just got in the door, ya little monkey.” She gave him a swift peck on the mouth and a quick hug. “Gina, give me a few minutes to grab a shower before we go.”

  “Sure, go ahead,” Gina answered. “I’m in no rush.”

  Veronica blinked at her sister. “Samantha. When did you get in town?”

  “This afternoon. How's things?”

  “We'll catch up later. Welcome home.” She breezed down the hall and banged the bathroom door closed.

  Samantha shrugged to herself. Raising a three-year-old certainly didn't cramp her sister's style any, she observed. What on earth would Veronica do without Momma to fall back on?

  Her thoughts catapulted her back to the spring of 1994 and the rainy April afternoon when Henry had come screeching into the world, three whole weeks before his due date. Veronica had held off informing anyone of her decision about keeping him until then. Samantha had a definite hunch her sister had known all along she wanted to raise him and would dismiss going the adoption route. Who waits until she gives birth and sees her baby for the first time, to decide something so significant and monumental?

  When Veronica looked up from the hospital bed at her and Darlene that evening, with her wee infant swaddled against her breast, she smiled the prettiest smile Samantha had ever seen, as radiant and serene as an angel, though having gone through a prolonged labour and a harrowing delivery. It was a rare young woman who could pull that off. But then, Samantha mused, Veronica had always been in a class all her own.

  “I have a son,” she’d said simply. “And I'm naming him Henry.”

  “You mean—” Darlene whispered.

  “Yes. Of course I'm keeping him.” She beheld the sleeping infant once again, who gripped her index finger with his small, pink fist. When she looked back at them, her eyes swam behind a web of tears. “How could I part with such a little prince? He's perfect. And he’s like me in my baby pictures. Do you think so, too, Momma?”

  Darlene cried then, as if a dam had burst. “Yes, maid, he's the spitting image of you,” she’d sobbed. “Blond hair and all.”

  Samantha struggled to see any similarity to his father in him. On the surface, her new nephew looked like a tiny male pocket edition of her sister. Which was for the best, after all. It would have been torture to behold a miniature version of Ben Swift every time she saw Henry. She was certain Veronica felt relief over that as well.

  And still, more than three years later, her nephew bore a resemblance only to Veronica. When he smiled, the dimples in his cheeks he'd inherited from her appeared, and his eyes were the same shade of bonny blue. A bright and remarkable child who had learned to talk early, his actions, too, mimicked those of his mother's: impulsive, spirited, and defiant. Darlene told them Veronica had even talked with the same endearing lisp at that age.

  Samantha pulled herself back to the present. She scooped up the child again and squeezed him close to her chest. “Auntie is going out now, sweetie, after all. But I'll be here to play with you tomorrow, okay?”

  “Nooo! Don't go, Thammie,” he sulked, clinging to her and burying his face into her neck. “You thaid you were thtaying. Play wiff me now!”

  “Come here, my baby,” Darlene said as she reached for him and disentangled him from Samantha's arms. “My, you’ve gotten so heavy lately! You'll play with Aunt Sammie tomorrow, my treasure. Now sit down with Grandma and have your supper, there's a good boy. You wanted Froot Loops?”

  “Yeth, Gramma.”

  “Okay, I'll get you a bowl. And after, I can show you a new game I found on the computer for you to play.”

  “Yeah!” the small boy yelled out.

  “Ready, Gina,” Veronica announced, her hair a static, golden halo around her head, fresh from the blast of her hairdryer. Her lips were a gash of hot pink, and her sweater white, fuzzy and seasonal. She pulled on long leather boots and her camel pea coat. With envy, Samantha noted again how quick and effortless it was for her sister to beautify herself. Of course, it came easier when you were a natural beauty to begin with.

  “Sam's coming too,” Gina said.

  “Oh?” Veronica replied with a doubtful air. “Alright, then.”

  Samantha raised her eyebrows. Try to control your enthusiasm, sis.

  Would Veronica ever cut her some slack and quit nursing that old grudge? It was ancient history, after all, and Sam was hardly the first girl to make an error in judgement where teenage boys were concerned.

  Check out your own track record, Ron. Besides, they had both mat
ured plenty since then. For the trillionth time, she wished her only sibling would forgive her for stealing away her little boy’s father.

  Chapter Two

  The December evening was clear and crisp and the temperature hovered well above freezing, which assured a lucrative gathering on George Street and all around the downtown core. Strolling along through the milling crowd, Samantha relaxed and smiled at her companions, grateful to be included. The strains of a legendary Newfoundland ballad floated into the street from inside one of the pubs, a melancholy fiddle and a strumming guitar backing up the female singer's sultry voice as she belted out the chorus. While she’d been away at school in Corner Brook, she had missed this scene and the unique atmosphere of St. John's, she realized.

  For such a long time, she had pined for Calmer Cove, the tiny west coast fishing village in which she and Veronica had grown up but had left behind when their parents separated and their mother needed a job. Samantha had visited Calmer a couple of times since she’d started studying visual art, but like the old saying goes, you can’t go home again. The only family that remained there now were distant relations, and her childhood friend Leah had moved to Labrador with her boyfriend last spring.

  It was strange and rewarding, now, to experience the same affectionate longing for the capital city. Funny what can change in a few short years, she pondered.

  She, Veronica and Gina had met up with Mandy at Sailor’s Bar & Grill for a supper of hot wings, light-battered shrimp, and cheesy nachos. Samantha appreciated her more sophisticated status these days, being able to order a pint of draft beer like the older girls she’d accompanied tonight. Reaching legal age last year had allowed distinct advantages, having less to do with drinking but more with being included as a peer among them.

  “Wanna hit the Cosmo next?” Mandy asked, turning to the other three with an eager grin on her narrow, freckled face. Her strawberry-blonde tresses had been dyed a dark mahogany since Samantha had last seen her, and her new cut was short, sassy and stylish. She dressed in a more androgynous fashion now, too, with baggy black jeans, a plaid shirt and Timberland boots. Gina appeared her usual curvy, feminine self in her style of dress, with a flowing blouse and snug dark-wash jeans, but her hair, too, had been shorn close to her head. She’d had her ears pierced multiple times, sporting an array of glittering rhinestone studs.

  “Yes, let's,” Veronica said. “I wonder if they have a live band tonight.”

  Mandy drained the last of her beer. “Cold Plate are playing there, someone told me.”

  “Cold Plate? Is that the band with—” Samantha started to say before being interrupted.

  “Yeah, with our ol' buddy, Kalen O’Dea,” Mandy cut in. “He sings backup and plays a wicked bass.”

  “Yes, I remember he took guitar lessons in school from the music teacher. He sounded pretty good too.”

  Readying to leave, they each threw money on the table to cover their bill.

  “Don't be stingy, guys,” Veronica said, digging in her designer purse for more. “Great service, generous tip. How do you think I make most of my dough?” She flashed a coquettish smile as the others followed suit with some reluctance.

  Samantha already knew about the hundreds of dollars Veronica collected in tips at Othello's, far more money than her salary provided. It kept her in the latest fashionable clothes, hair styles, cosmetics, and beauty appointments, as well as clothes and incidentals for Henry. She had to hand it to her: her sister could turn on the charm whenever she deemed it to her advantage, financially and otherwise, to do so.

  The foursome reached the doors of the nightclub, paid their covers to a burly guy who wore sunglasses at night for some reason, and entered. The Cosmo, an older establishment revived by a younger owner, a brand-new name, and a recent renovation, enjoyed popularity with the younger, barely legal patrons. According to her companions, almost overnight it had earned the reputation as the cool place for hip kids their age to see and be seen. This was a different crowd than the regulars at Bambury’s, Cash's tavern at the end of the street, who were from another generation and typically into blues, country, and traditional Newfoundland music.

  Right away, the girls saw how the available chairs and bar stools were filling fast, so they nabbed the only free table left near the corner stage before ordering drinks.

  “I'll buy ye this round,” Mandy announced, her voice loud and magnanimous. “What'll it be, chickies?”

  Samantha caught the glint of a silver stud in Mandy's tongue when she spoke. She ordered a Cosmopolitan, the club's namesake cocktail. Veronica asked for a spiced Captain Morgan and diet coke, and Gina ordered a light beer. Digging into her roomy jeans pocket, Mandy headed for the bar.

  “Are they any good, this band?” Samantha asked.

  “They're awesome,” Gina told her. “You mean you haven't heard them yet?”

  “Sam's been too busy with her studies,” Veronica answered for her, crossing her arms as she scouted the scene.

  Samantha stared daggers at her. “Well, pardon me, sis, for wasting my time on the pursuit of a higher education.” She shifted her attention back to Gina. “I’ve wanted to, but with school and all, the timing was never right. What type of songs do they play?”

  “None of that new country drivel, and definitely no jigs and reels,” Gina said, faking an urge with her finger down her throat. “Rock, alternative rock and some punk stuff. Have you seen Kalen O’Dea since high school?” Her eyebrows arched as she grinned at Samantha. “He's kind of a babe now, you know.”

  Samantha laughed. “For real? I only saw him once or twice earlier on. Looked as if he was fighting a losing battle with a horrible case of acne then.” She remembered feeling compassion for him at the time.

  “All cleared up now. You wait, he’s gonna knock your socks off. I kid you not. He's even got groupies!”

  Samantha turned to her sister. “Is this true?” The Kalen she’d known and liked from their first years as newly-transplanted townies bore little resemblance to this updated account. She and Kalen had been the same height in those days. His appearance had been okay but average, although he’d tried hard to emulate a grungy Cobain style and demeanor. A good and loyal friend and a boy of great wit, yes. But a ladies' man? And he had groupies?? Her interest was piqued.

  Mandy returned with two of their drinks, then went back to the bar to fetch the other two.

  Veronica shook her head, scowling as she took a delicate sip of her rum and coke. “Gina's opinion is entirely subjective, my dear. He isn't everyone's cup of tea. He certainly isn’t mine.”

  Samantha looked at her, puzzled. She had a mistrust Veronica wasn’t telling the full story. She suspected that Kalen remained an ally of Ben's, Henry's biological father. They’d been buddies back in the day. And perhaps this alone bothered Veronica. Familiarity had bred contempt, or something to that effect.

  “Don't mind her, Samantha,” Gina said. “Your big sis thrives on being disagreeable, isn't that right, Ron?”

  Veronica licked her tongue out at her and smirked. “To each his own, girlfriend. When have I ever told you who to like?”

  “Aahhh, touché, girlfriend. Cheers!” Gina held up her glass, which Veronica clinked with her own. Gina then pulled out the chair next to her for Mandy to sit down. The pair moved closer, Mandy reaching for Gina's hand as they smiled at each other.

  Streams of young people continued to flow into the club. Sipping her cocktail and enjoying its sweetness on her tongue, Samantha scanned the large room. The band equipment, set up and ready, gleamed under the floodlights on the elevated corner stage. The generous, well-lit dance floor had formed a standing wall of humanity, largely female, on its outer edge near the tables, while the crimson lighting cast a more subdued glow upon the darkened area and the heads of the seated patrons. Assorted conversations intermingled, the buzz of animated voices growing louder as the room filled to capacity. The row of black, high-backed bar stools stood lined off with parked patrons; and between th
em, standing customers vied for the bartender's attention. Samantha saw another female staff member join in to wait on the thirsty assemblage of twenty-somethings.

  At ten o’clock, the lights over the dance floor lowered. Out strutted the four band members, three males and one female. The crowd whistled and applauded as the musicians assumed their places and readied their instruments and themselves for the first set.

  Samantha gasped.

  “So, was I lyin’?” Gina shouted at her above the din. “Whaddaya think? Cute or what?”

  She couldn’t believe the transformation. Cute was an inadequate word, too puny an adjective for what she checked out before her.

  Kalen? Her neck and cheeks grew warm. Yes, unmistakably Kalen, only much taller now, with a head of shoulder-length, light brown hair and muted blond highlights. The shape of his face had hardened and he sported a light mustache and a short goatee. She blinked and refocused, her inspection sliding downward. He had filled out through the chest and upper arms quite well too. The adolescent boy had vanished, swallowed up by this youthful specimen of adorable self-confidence and masculinity.

  “Ah, he's alright, I s'pose,” Mandy grunted, sounding a tad jealous.

  “Wow,” Samantha breathed, unable to tear herself away from her ogling as he gave his bass guitar a last-minute tune-up. He turned to say something to the sexy female drummer, who laughed and struck the cymbal with a loud crash. Kalen swung his head back and surveyed the crowded room. When his gaze lingered over their table and lit on Samantha, he did a double take and broke into a smile. He gave a small wave in her direction before he turned back to his guitar.

  Again, the blood crept up her neck and onto her cheeks in a full flush. He’d matured into an absolute babe, poles apart from the Kalen who’d befriended her in high school. A new bashfulness enveloped her.

  With effort, she wrenched her gaze away from him. She skimmed over the small, pale-blond fellow behind the keyboard, and then on to the band’s lead singer as he adjusted his mike stand and strummed his electric guitar, checking the sound on the amplifiers. He sported a sleeveless black vest and a punk hairstyle, cut close on the sides with dark, choppy bangs falling over his forehead. Intricate tattoos covered his arms from shoulder to wrist.