Hush Read online

  Hush

  By Janice Lang

  Digital ISBNs

  EPUB 978-0-2286-1245-2

  Kindle 978-0-2286-1246-9

  WEB/PDF 978-0-2286-1247-6

  Print ISBNs

  BWL Print 978-0-2286-1248-3

  Amazon Print 978-0-2286-1251-3

  LSI Ingram 978-0-2286-1249-0

  B&N Print 978-0-2286-1250-6

  Copyright 2019 by Janice Lang

  Cover Art Michelle Lee

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book

  Chapter One

  Pulling over to the side of the road, I turn off the engine and grab my phone from the seat. With my heart racing as fast as my mind, I quickly redial her. The automated message comes on immediately.

  I feel the panic rising. I place the phone in the cubby and look at my watch. It’s 10:45pm. The last ferry leaves in fifteen minutes. I’m too far away from the terminal, but I’ve got to try.

  Tall trees reach high up to the small strip of night sky. My foot is heavy on the pedal, the truck fighting to stay on the winding road.

  Chapter Two

  The soft chatter of people I barely know reduces to white noise as I make my way in the direction of the red mahogany casket. I take a seat at the front, next to Mom, and I put a hand on hers. Denny is sitting on her other side, concentrating on his phone. He briefly looks up at me, showing his indifference, and then resumes texting.

  “You look nice, Ma.”

  She forces a grin while keeping her eyes forward. She’s pale and looks lost. Her cream skirt and matching blazer hang loosely from her body. The last two weeks in hospital have taken a toll on her already spindly frame. Besides the bandage on her forehead, the only other reminder of what happened is a small black brace on her right knee.

  A lady wearing a flowered dress and a cardigan walks across the stage and sits at the organ. When she starts to play, the chatter in the room dissipates. Mrs. Rumble, who is sitting on the bench behind us, taps my shoulder and offers her condolences.

  The next hour of the pastor’s sermon is painful, not because I feel sad, but because of the guilt I have for not feeling anything at all. My father was a son of a bitch and I was his greatest regret. As I was a child full of promise in the beginning, he would bounce me on his knee and help me with my homework. In his mind, I would be a doctor or a lawyer, not a salmon hatchery worker and definitely not a lesbian. Hence my banishment at twenty-two to our summer cottage on Gabriola—far away from the West Vancouver palace I grew up in, and far away from his disappointed eyes.

  When the service ends, the pastor and Denny walk down the aisle to the exit then wait to thank people for coming. What a crock of shit. Most of these people hated my father. The only respect they had for him was fear-based. He was a shrewd businessman and if you weren’t for him, you were against him. Undoubtedly, there are a few people in this room that were on the wrong end of his wrath.

  I help Mom to the limo where a group of white-gloved women are waiting to talk to her. Unlike my father, my mom is genuinely adored.

  I walk across the street to the beach, light a smoke and call Annie.

  “How’s it going?”

  “As predicted. There’s a room full of rich, overly perfumed blue hairs congregating in one spot for the sole purpose of status verification. Somehow, they feel higher up on the social scale because they knew the powerful Mr. Banks. They are all vampires. It makes me sick.”

  “That good, huh?”

  “Yep. It’s a clusterfuck,” I say, taking a long puff of my smoke.

  “Did I just hear you take a drag?”

  “Um…nope. No smoking here.”

  “Okay, liar. I’ll let it go this time.”

  “Thanks. Where are you?”

  “On Quadra still. My parents want me to help them get some peat moss before I head back to Gabriola.”

  Her calm, soft voice grounds me. We talk for a few more minutes, I tell her I love her and then walk back to the long line of cars in front of the church.

  The grounds to our family’s house remind me of when my parents had their annual spring-flings. There are cars from the main entrance all the way to the gate. I park on the road. I don’t want to be blocked in and stuck here longer than necessary.

  I make my way past the throngs of bullshit mourners to the front room. Mom is sitting in her chair with a half a dozen other women crowding around her. Young men wearing white shirts and black pants carry trays of hors d’oeuvres. Bottles of overpriced wine sit on small tables in each room. If you didn’t know someone had just died, this would look like every other party my parents held here. As I wait for an opportunity to grab my mother’s attention, I walk down the hall to the washroom.

  I lock the door behind me. As kids, my brother and I were never allowed to use this bathroom. My parents were too afraid we’d get fingerprints on the stainless-steel taps or leave scuff marks on the glossy wood floor. Everything had its place, and everything had to have order. What a screwed perspective. No wonder we were so messed up. Then again, I wasn’t the only kid in elementary school with a psychiatrist. In this neighborhood, old money and dated family ideals financed a lot of psychotherapists’ posh lifestyles. The children were always the casualties. As the offspring of such an elite group of social vampires, we had two choices: conform and follow suit, or suffer the consequences of obtaining your own identity.

  I never had a choice. I was damaged goods. My parents weren’t about to change their views and open their minds to an unconventional lifestyle such as mine. Every possible measure at ‘fixing me’ was exhausted. In the end, I was deemed unfixable.

  After drying my hands on the initialed hand towels, I finger brush my hair in the mirror and straighten my suit then walk back out into the hall. Almost immediately someone calls my name. It’s my Aunty Glenda, the only relative I ever really jived with. My mother’s younger sister has wavy grey hair, a thick build and stands four foot eleven. I’m five foot seven and tower over her.

  “Hey, it’s my niece, the lesbian.” She smiles.

  “Hey, it’s my aunty, the dwarf.”

  “How you holding up, kid?” She holds her arms out.

  “It is what it is, Aunty,” I say, hugging her tightly.

  “Smells a little like manure in here.”

  “Trust your nose, I smell it too.”

  “Did you just arrive?”

  “Yep. My plane got in an hour ago. Your mom sent a car to pick me up. I tried to have a conversation with the driver for half an hour before giving up. The folks out here aren’t very friendly.”

  I smile, knowing exactly what she’s talking about. I think that’s why I love Gabriola so much. The people are real, no pretenses and no competition for social status. Everyone is treated like an equal.

  “How long will you stay with Mom?”

  “Oh, she hasn’t told you?”

  “Told me what?”

  “She’s coming home to Winnipeg with me.”

  “She didn’t mention it. She hasn’t said much since the accident. I think her brain is still trying to process.”

  “Yes. It’s an awful thing she’s been through.”

  “The accident, or losing my father?”

  “The accident, dear. Losing your father was the best thing that could happen to her.”

  I nod in agreement.

  My mother was never suited to this lifestyle. She was a farm girl from the prairies. My father fell in love with her while she was a tourist out here i
n the sixties. He spotted her in a crowd in Stanley Park. She was swept away and from that moment on, she was under his control. She was never the one to make decisions regarding the family, especially us kids. She was the polar opposite to my father. He was aggressive and gruff; she had always been quiet and soft-spoken. I don’t fault her for my childhood. She was just as much of a victim as I was.

  “How long is she staying with you?”

  “For as long as it takes.”

  “Thank you, Aunty. I am worried about her being alone here with Psycho-Boy.”

  “Yes, me too. God only knows what chaos he will cause now that he’s not under the dictatorship of your father.”

  “Yeah, I can’t see it going well. Dad and Denny were so similar. They both lacked the ability to see themselves as less than perfect.”

  She nods. “You know, Jade, your father wasn’t always king of the assholes. There were times that he tried to do the right thing. And, in his own way, he did love you.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it, Aunty. I don’t even want to think about it.”

  “You will. It’s just not time yet.”

  We walk into the front room. Aunty budges in front of the parasites and into Mom’s view. “Have you had enough of all this yet?” Aunty asks her.

  For the first time today, Mom’s face comes alive. She smiles and nods.

  The sisters hug until their hearts are touching. Thank God. She’ll be safe with Aunty and away from Denny.

  ***

  I watch the Horseshoe Bay terminal get smaller as the ferry backs away from the wharf. Life will be different now that he’s gone. Less predictable.

  Denny, my fucked-up brother, has been waiting for this day. Every time he begrudgingly kissed our father’s ass was for this—the big pay-off. Denny will be in charge of Banks Construction Ltd. I give it a year before he runs the whole company into the ground—especially now that Dad isn’t here to make him take his meds. Two anti-psychotic pills a day were the only things that kept Denny from acting crazy. The dictatorship of my father hasn’t ended; it’s just been passed on to my brother. Something tells me he will try and control my mother and me even more than my father did.

  A wave of anxiety hits me. I take a deep breath and try to exhale slowly. It won’t help to panic about what the future holds. I’ve got no choice but to live in the moment. Taking another deep breath of cool sea air, I close my eyes and picture my father’s face—still, no tears.

  An hour and thirty-six minutes later and I’m in Departure Bay and heading towards the Gabriola ferry. A pulse of aching pain in my temple beats in time with the music on my truck stereo. Annie calls just as I reach the terminal.

  “How’s the trip so far?”

  “Uneventful.”

  “Well, I bet after the crazy day you had, uneventful is good.”

  “Excellent point. So, what about you? Are you anxiously awaiting my arrival?”

  “Of course! I’ve got a thick and juicy tenderloin searing in the pan, rosemary and garlic potatoes in the oven, and I made a three level Tiramisu for dessert.”

  “That’s incredible, are you serious?” I ask, overwhelmed. She’s a vegetarian and hates touching dead animal meat. If I want a steak or any other meat, I’ve got to make it myself.

  “Nope. Not serious at all. I just wanted to cheer you up for a second. I didn’t make it to the store today, so we’re splitting a box of KD and a couple of tofu wieners.”

  “Brat.” I sigh and shake my head. “But I don’t need cheering up. As long as you’re there, I’m happy. Though I must admit, the tenderloin sounded pretty good.”

  “I missed you today, Jade. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there. Then again, even if I didn’t have to go to Quadra, I still wouldn’t have been able to go with you. Too inappropriate.” There’s a tinge of bitterness in her voice.

  “Fuck ‘em. All I care about is our cool little world.”

  “Me too. Drive safely and hurry the hell up.”

  “See you soon. Don’t burn those potatoes.”

  I’m not sure what I did to land Annie. She’s perfect—at least for me. A faithful Buddhist, with staunch views on preserving nature and all things living. Her parents used to run a B&B not far from my family’s cottage. We spent every summer playing together from the time she was twelve until she was sixteen. At that point I was eighteen, and we lost touch for about eight years. Then, a couple of years ago, when she was camping with friends on the beach, I ran into her. Immediately, our bond was reignited.

  A short time later, we discovered that our feelings for each other went past childhood playmates. We’ve been together ever since. Aside from the time that she spends with her parents on Quadra, or the shoots she goes on in Vancouver, we’re always together.

  When I think about how stagnant and repetitive my life was before we reconnected, I don’t know how I made it. I guess I never realised how truly lonely I was. My relationship history sucks. I’ve never been with a guy—came close a few times when I was in the denial stage, but, thankfully, never sealed the deal. As for girls, there have been a few. No one that left a lasting imprint. They were girls that were just looking to get laid, or girls that were bi and curious. Either way, I felt nothing compared to what I feel with Annie.

  Not to mention the physical attraction. I heat up just thinking about her. She has the most incredible hard body. A tiny waist and small firm ass, only outdone by her golden hair and crystal blue eyes. I’m so plain next to her. I have an athletic build, no fat but some bulk from working at the hatchery these past five years. My hair is brown, flat and a bitch to do anything with. But Annie always tells me that I’m beautiful and as long as she feels that way, I’m happy.

  I’m glad she sounds upbeat that I’m coming home. I’m so grateful she’s not working in the city this week. Then again, work has been slim for her now that she’s in her mid-twenties. The modeling biz represents everything I hate. Annie could be so much more. She’s bright, a lot brighter than the over-stuffed ego’s that book her for shows. If I’m honest with myself, another reason I hate her job is because I’m almost two years older. My worst fear is that she’ll get swept away by someone younger and better than me.

  During our quiet moments at home, I have gently brought up the issue of her going back to school and getting a new career, a career that doesn’t require her to be graded on her skin. The conversation never goes well and usually ends with her diverting my attention with another topic.

  Finally, the small line up drains onto the ferry. I’m emotionally bagged and happy to be on the home stretch. I better have a quick butt and then Febreze the cab of the truck before we dock. I promised her I wouldn’t smoke, but today, I have no energy to fuel my willpower. Today, weakness wins.

  The sea is choppy across the short band of ocean. Whitecaps brush the top of five-foot waves. Trying to stave off my inevitable headache, I open the glove box and grab a couple aspirin, washing them down with a bottle of piss warm water I find behind the seat. Then I grab the rear-view mirror and point it at my face. I brush my hair and apply a bit of mascara and then nude lip gloss, doing way more primping than I did for the service.

  The ferry jolts and the old dock screeches as the metal hull rubs against the damp wood of the wharf. I am almost home, away from the noise and drama of the mainland. Here, with my Annie, life is predictable, safe and calm. My mood starts to lighten, knowing she’ll be back in my arms in only minutes. Still, there’s a lingering worry in the back of my head, wondering how long I’ll be able to stay in my paradise before Denny tries to destroy it.

  Chapter Three

  The traffic director waves each motorist off the car deck and gives a nod when he sees me. I’m a frequent passenger because of my job at the salmon hatchery just outside of Nanaimo. For five years, I’ve taken the first ferry over in the morning and the last one back at night. Thankfully, my boss is a cool shit and gave me some time off for bereavement.

  I take South Road around the pictures
que shoreline, turn on Price, then Spring Beach Drive. A windy dirt road leads up to our property. White flowers drift from the apple trees that line both sides of the long driveway. No matter how many times I see this property, I never grow tired of its beauty.

  When I pull up to the white cottage, I honk the horn and shut off the engine. A few seconds later, Annie opens the door and steps out on the front step. She’s wearing a flowery skirt and a white tank top. When she steps away from the house and into the yard, the billowy fabric of her skirt catches a gust of wind and lifts, exposing her perfectly toned legs. Even though we’ve been an item for two years now, she still manages to steal my breath.

  She smiles and keeps walking toward me. I barely get out of the truck before her arms are around my neck and she’s pressing her soft, sweet lips against mine. As I feel her body against me, every negative part of my day disappears. I am here, back in my perfect little world with Annie, my heart.

  “I missed you today,” she says, looking into my eyes.

  “I missed you, too.” It’s true. When I leave to go anywhere, I miss her as soon as I pull out of the driveway.

  “I’ve got a relaxing night planned for you because you had such a shitty day.”

  She always taps into how I’m feeling. A few months ago, I had to have one of my molars extracted. She came with me to the dentist in Nanaimo and held my hand through the grueling process and then, when we got home, she waited on me hand and foot.

  She’s perfect. A beautiful soul with the sexiest body and loveliest face. It’s so hard to believe she chooses me.

  Our pasts differ in that she’s had her share of men. She doesn’t talk much about her dating history, but from what I’ve gathered, none of her relationships were very successful. I can’t imagine why. I don’t know how anyone couldn’t jive with her. Sure, her Buddhist views are strong and unwavering, so she can be intense at times, but everything about her stems from love.