Lost Daughters
Larken got out of the car, wincing as her legs and butt protested the cruel movement. An hour and a half of Judo and Hapkido had wiped her out, and it wasn't even noon. She walked into the house and went straight to her bedroom, pulling her sweatshirt off on the way. She needed to shower and get ready for work, but the moment she saw her unmade bed, she unwound her chestnut hair from the bun and collapsed, face first into the pillows.
Her mother was at work so the house was quiet, the faint swoosh of cars flying by on the interstate a soothing lullaby. She started to drift off, telling herself a short nap was doable. Her phone rang and she groaned. She didn't know who she was kidding, a nap was never doable. Dragging her screaming muscles off the bed, she grabbed her phone out of her bag. She didn't recognize the number, and she never answered unless she knew the number. The codes were off, and the she realized it wasn't a U.S. number. Her heart started hammering in her chest, and with trembling fingers she answered. "Hello?"
"Hello. May I speak with Larken Simone?" The woman had a British accent, but it was tough to pinpoint.
"This is," Larken replied, her palms getting slick from nervous anticipation.
There was a moment of silence and then she said, "Larken, I'm Victoria Blake. You emailed us about your grandmother Alice."
Larken sunk to the edge of the bed and cleared her throat. "Yes."
"I want you to know you're on speaker phone," Victoria said. "So many of us wanted to be the one to call we decided we'd all do it."
"All of whom?"
"Your family."
"Really?" Larken said, jumping up. "Are you sure? My Grandma said she was an orphan, and when I found the newsletters from your distillery she told me that Shaughnessy meant a lot to her parents, but that was it. She never told us about anyone else."
"Maura's father John was my brother," Victoria said. "And from everything you sent us, there is no doubt your grandmother Alice was our Maura."
"You said you found newsletters from the distillery?" a man asked. "Forgive me Larken, I'm Dorian."
"Going back over forty years," she replied.
"She kept track of family," someone muttered.
"What about my great grandmother's family? Larken asked.
"She was also a Blake," Victoria said.
Larken's stomach dropped and she felt slightly nauseous. "Oh."
"Not like that dear," Victoria said, amused. "The two were so far removed from one another they may as well have been from entirely different families. The Blake family tree is quite large and has produced many branches. Some are closer to each other than others."
"So why didn't she tell us about you?" Larken asked, not really meaning to go there yet. "I'm sorry, that was insensitive of me. I'm just..."
"Confused?" Dorian said. "Torn?"
"Yeah," Larken said. "That about sums it up."
"When Maura's parent's died, she was devastated," Victoria said. "We all were."
"I'm so sorry," Larken said.
"That's very kind of you dear," Victoria said. "Thank you. Over the next couple of years we tried to give her the love and guidance her parents would, but without them, home stopped being home. Everything reminded her of what she lost and she withdrew from us all. One day she went for a walk and never came back. We searched for her."
"For years," Dorian said. "But we never found a trace."
"What about Darby?" Victoria asked. "I'm surprised we haven't heard from her."
"I haven't told her yet," she replied. "I didn't want to say anything unless I knew for sure."
"I'd say it's time then," Dorian said. "We'd love to talk to her as well, and arrange for you both to come home for a visit."
"Home," she'd said with a grin. "So I'm English then?"
There was general laughter all around, and more than one person chimed in with, "Islanders are islanders."
******************
Thomas stood at the gate while the tourists disembarked. It was the last ferry of the night, and as soon he checked the boat, he'd head back to the island. These days it was best for him to spend as little time away from Frith as possible. The changes had begun, and while they were still infinitesimal, his awareness of them made him testier. He still had five years to go but thirty loomed large on the horizon. His doomsday clock counting down.
He walked both floors of the ferry and then headed for the controls. Suddenly he stopped, his ears picking up the almost silent footfalls of a woman, and she was carrying her shoes. Ducking around the corner, he waited. A moment later Amy's dark brown curls came into view as she tiptoed towards the controls. He waited for her to pass and then picked her up from behind.
She screamed and smacked his shoulder with her shoes. "Shit Thomas! How do you always do that?"
He laughed and put her down. "The boats are my second home. The slightest change and I know."
She dropped her shoes and bag on a bench and slid her arms out of her jacket. Wearing a jean skirt and Little Brew Pub t-shirt, she sauntered over to him, a wicked smile on her face.
"And what can I do for you?" he said, grinning ear to ear.
"You never come by the pubs anymore." Amy slid a finger across his chest, and down his stomach, just curling it into the top pf his jeans. "In fact you never spend time on the Sentinel at all. Why is that?"
If he told her the truth she'd think he was insane, or worse, she'd try to save him. If things were different he might even let her. He liked Amy, they always had a good time together, but men of the island knew their futures, and they didn't include women from the mainland.
"Family issues have required more time devoted to the island," he said.
She unbuttoned his jeans and said, "Like future wife family issues?"
Longing and loss flitted through his gaze, but she was unzipping his jeans and missed it. He pushed it out of his mind and grabbed her arms, a little rougher than he intended. She looked at him, her heart racing and eyes wide. He could've eased up, instead he tightened his grip and yanked her to him, feeling her chest heave against his with every ragged breath.
"You tell me." He devoured her lips hungrily, eliciting small noises of surprise and pleasure. Backing her towards a bench, he wrenched her arms behind her and took hold of her wrists with one hand. The delicate curve of her neck made his mouth water and he devoured every inch. Shoving up her shirt and bra, he gave her his own wicked smile and sucked her stiff nipple into his mouth. Amy gasped, and he slipped a hand under her skirt, sliding it between her thighs, satisfied at her already soaked panties. Yanking them down, he pressed his fingers into her flesh, working her into a dripping, heaving, heap of aching need.
She slid her hand into his pants and he whipped her around. Taking her forearms in one hand, he grabbed a fistful of hair and bent her over the bench. "Tell me what you need Amy," he said in her ear, rubbing his swollen cock along her hip. "Say it. Tell me how hard you want to be fucked."
She was panting, her forearms getting slick from sweat. He pulled his cock free and teased her, making her hips buck. "Thomas," she whimpered. Please..."
He gave her hair a yank and growled, "Say it."
