Wild Flower (11 page)

And I reflected again that it really did suck to have to run into your ex.

***

“Mom, can we get ice
cream?” Clint asked after the game, lying on the grass at our feet, arms flung to either side. Wordo's son Jeff was sprawled in a similar fashion, his ball cap over his face.

“Ice cream!” Rae picked up the chant, and Clint directed his grin at her. He knew well how to get her stirred up, and she was always on his side. Rae turned to Justin and caught his face in her little hands, patting his cheeks as she wheedled, “Please, Daddy-Daddy?”

Justin's eyes were soft with love and tenderness as he regarded our daughter, and I felt a familiar tug in my heart. I thought of the evening three summers ago when Justin and I had sat on the dock at Shore Leave, before we'd been a couple, and he'd mentioned that he wanted a couple of kids. I smiled softly at the thought, smoothing my right hand over the lower curve of my belly. My husband looked over at me and smiled back, winking. He knew what I was thinking.

“Ice cream sounds good,” I agreed. “We picked about five thousand strawberries today, didn't we, Rae-Rae? Should we go to the café and make strawberry sundaes?”

“Oh Mom, for real? That sounds so good,” Clint said, rolling to catch one of Rae's feet in his hand, jiggling her. She laughed and wiggled down from Justin's lap to climb all over her brother.

“You guys up for sundaes?” I invited Liz and Wordo.

“You know what, Dad is bringing the kids home in about fifteen minutes. Ruthann is sleeping over,” Liz said. “So we better head home.”

“Can I go, at least?” Jeff asked from beneath his hat. “I want ice cream.”

“You're welcome to sleep over too, if you want,” I told him.

“Isn't summer the best?” Liz reflected, rising and folding her lawn chair. “No school, endless sleepovers and ice cream.”

“Right,” I agreed, stretching out my hands to Justin so that he'd help me from my chair; he would have anyway, but I was also communicating,
All is forgiven, I'm done being bitchy about Aubrey
with the gesture. He took my hands, dark eyes warm on mine, and bent to kiss my knuckles like a cowboy from an old movie. On my feet, I snuggled into his chest, hugging him close for a moment. He kissed the top of my head, clearly replying
I know, baby
, even without words.

“Boys, meet us at the café,” I told Jeff and Clint, who had biked to the ball field.

Ten minutes later we had parked at home and then walked through the woods to Shore Leave, where Mom, Blythe's step-grandfather Rich Mayes, and Aunt Ellen were having a smoke at a porch table, enjoying the twilight air. Flickertail was calm under the darkening sky, while a chorus of crickets about a million strong harmonized with the low-pitched, intermittent chirping of the pair of mourning doves that were nesting in one of the cedars near the café. A cardinal was perched somewhere, serenading the rising moon. Clint and Jeff pedaled up on their bikes and coasted in lazy circles around the parking lot.

“Grandma! We're here for some ice cream!” Rae announced, running ahead of Justin and me.

“I love this time of night,” Justin said, swinging our joined hands, walking to accommodate my slower pace. He nudged my shoulder as we passed my old apartment, where we had made plenty of love during past nights. “It reminds me of making out with you on that little landing up there. And then down on the dock.” His voice took on a reverent tone as he added, “God, I was so happy to find you that first night. I was praying as I drove, praying like I'd never prayed before, that you would be down there, alone…”

I giggled, vividly recalling. He'd told me that more than once before. I teased, “I'm so flattered.”

Justin was smiling, his teasing, naughty-demon grin that made fire burn along my skin. As we were closing in on hearing distance, he lowered his voice to whisper, “You're so beautiful, that's what you are. Dammit, my sweet little woman, it's all I can do keep from carrying you down there this minute.”

Clint caught sight of us and angled his bike right over, and I bit back the reply I'd been intending to give my husband. Clint braced one foot on the ground and asked excitedly, “Mom, after dessert can me and Jeff ride back to town? There's a bonfire out at the field.”

“That's fine, honey,” I said. “Just don't stay out too late.”

“Justin, Jillian, you two want ice cream?” Mom called from the porch.

“Hell, yes,” Justin whispered fervently in my ear, and I shivered and then giggled more, as he replied politely to Mom, in a tone of voice that suggested he had never before harbored a dirty thought, “Thanks, that would be great!”

Up on the porch, I bent to hug Rich, as I hadn't seen him a few days, and he patted my back and asked, “How's the baby, honey?”

Rich was my second surrogate father, Dodge being the first; I had known both my entire life. Rich smelled of tobacco and his aftershave, which was nearly as familiar to me as the scent of my mother's shampoo; she had used nothing but Prell since before Jo and I had been born. I straightened and regarded Rich with both fondness and concern; he was looking tired these days. The baby kicked me just then, and I reached for his hand.

“Feel,” I offered, cupping his palm against the sudden frenzy of activity behind my belly button.

Rich's bushy white eyebrows lifted and he asked, “What have you been eating to get him so worked up?”

“He's just a night owl,” I explained.

“Here, honey, have a seat,” Rich said.

“I got a place right here,” Justin, already sitting, offered, angling his right thigh for me to claim.

“I'm going to go help Mom,” I said. I could hear Rae's chirping voice through the open windows, directing operations, and smiled. I teased Justin, “Save my spot though.”

“Jillian, slice up a few more strawberries, would you?” Mom asked as I pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen.

“Sure thing,” I said, fetching a paring knife. The strawberries were washed, gleaming brilliant red in the wire colander on the counter. Rae stood on a chair, spooning whipped cream onto slices of pound cake; every other spoonful went into her mouth. Mom set forks into the first two bowls.

“Little one, can you bring these to Clinty and Jeff?” Mom asked Rae.

“Yep,” she said, jumping down from the chair. There was whipped cream in her bangs, and I smiled, holding the outer door for her as she went back out.

In the kitchen I resumed slicing berries. I wanted to talk to my mother alone and asked as casually as I could manage, “What do you think about that Zack guy?”

“Who?” Mom asked, busy slicing pound cake.

“That Moorhead student who barged in here today,” I elaborated.

“Oh, he seemed nice enough,” Mom replied. “I got the impression he's a city kid.”

I wanted to ask her if he bothered her at all, if she had sensed anything strange about him. I had felt just slightly off all day; again I experienced a sense of having been severed from something.

It's Aubrey, I justified again. She's unsettling you more than you'll admit.

“Just wondering,” I muttered, letting the matter drop, finished slicing the strawberries.

Back outside under the moon, I claimed my seat on Justin's lap and relaxed against him, resolved to chill out from this moment forth.

***

I woke to the thrumming
of steady rain on the roof, a sound that would have been much more cozy and insulating had my husband not been getting up to go to work, rather than snuggling with me under the covers.

“Don't go yet,” I murmured, still half-asleep, and then smiled as Justin thumped back onto the bed, gathering me against his chest, my spine to his front.

“If we ever come into money, I would have trouble letting you out of bed,” he said, kissing my right temple.

“What do you mean?” I whispered, cuddling even closer.

“I mean we would make love day and night. I would consider allowing you to leave once a day to go to the kitchen to get us food,” he said. He explained, “To keep up our strength.”

I giggled and he kissed the side of my neck.

“You rest more, baby,” he said tenderly. “I'll see you guys at lunch.”

Our bed was warm and I drifted back to sleep after Justin left, curled around a pillow.

Autumn.

October probably, as the sky shone like polished cobalt, made all the more vivid by the contrast of the scarlet maples, the yellow-gold of the birches decked in their fall colors. Shore Leave was bustling with activity as I stood watching from the edge of the parking lot. Somehow I knew I was supposed to be a part of it, but my feet wouldn't obey my wish to walk forward. For a while I admired the café in the October afternoon light. Dead leaves rustled around my ankles; I could smell them plainly. People seemed to be dressed up as though for an occasion, and then I sensed my niece behind me, and understood.

Camille's wedding.

I turned to smile at her and was instantly sunk into an icy wintertime lake, the freezing water closing over my head and stealing my breath, even as I remained in the parking lot of Shore Leave. I floundered, helpless and terrified, unable to process the sight of Camille sitting on the grass, her wedding dress torn to shreds, the agony on her face catching me like a hammer to the heart. Beyond tears, beyond anything, her golden-green eyes ravaged, hollow with pain.

What could hurt me now?
she whispered, choking on the words
. He's gone
.

I turned back to Shore Leave, sick with desperation. But almost immediately I spied the groom and felt a ribbon of relief twirl around me.

He's not gone, honey. He's right there
, I tried to tell her, but then I squinted a little, and really saw.

Noah Utley leaned over the porch railing, fair and handsome in his black tuxedo, hands curled over the top, looking out to us. His happiness was apparent enough that I needn't be near him to see it; joy lit his face.

Milla! It's almost time
, he called to my niece.

Camille was at my shoulder then, her breath on my cheek, and she whispered urgently,
Oh God, Aunt Jilly, wake up!

Wake up!

“Mama! Wake up!” Rae blasted, almost in my ear, and I jerked to a sitting position, heart clobbering against my ribcage.

“Mom, you all right?” Clint was in the doorway then, eyebrows arched high. He was fully dressed, toting his work boots, and I remembered that he started his new job today; Mathias had put in a good word for him, and Clint was going to be training with the township forest fire crew.

I pressed a hand to my heart and drew a breath.

Just a dream
, I told myself.
Not a Notion. That wasn't real.

“I'm just fine,” I told my son. Rae was on her knees on the bed and she put both palms against my belly.

“Can we call the baby Mickey?” she asked, fond of choosing names for her little brother.

Clint leaned on one shoulder in the doorframe, looking unconvinced despite my assurance.

“Honey, do you still have to go even when it's raining?” I asked, in attempt to redirect his concern.

He didn't answer right away, still studying me with his bright blue eyes serious, before saying, “Of course. Rain or shine!”

“I suppose,” I responded, catching Rae into a hug, blowing on her neck to make her giggle. Clint shoved off the doorframe and continued down the hall. I called after him, “Breakfast at the café if we hurry!”

As it was Tuesday, I wasn't scheduled to work lunch, but Mom asked if I could almost the moment we clacked in the screen door. I shook out the umbrella, leaning back out the door, while Rae shimmied out of her yellow raincoat. Jo and Matthew were already at table three, Jo with coffee and Matthew in his booster seat with a bowl of oatmeal. Blythe must not work at Shore Leave today, as he would have joined them; he worked several days a week in a cabinet-making shop on the outskirts of town, learning the woodworking trade. Clint banged in behind us. Almost before he sat down, Aunt Ellen set a plate of maple syrup-drenched pancakes, with a side of bacon, on the table in front of him. Clint was so spoiled; thank goodness his personality had never reflected that.

“Thank you,” he said sweetly, digging in, and Aunt Ellen rested her hand on the back of his neck with affection. Rae squirreled onto his lap and stole a piece of bacon, crunched a loud bite and then dangled it at Matthew, teasing him.

“
Rae
,” I scolded, taking the final empty seat at their table. I helped myself to a strip of bacon from Clint's plate too, and he playfully stabbed at my hand with his fork. To Matthew I adored, “Hi, sweetie!”

He gave me an angelic smile, his mouth ringed with oatmeal.

“Morning, Jills,” said my sister. She looked beautiful, her golden hair twisted up into a loose knot, chewing on the end of a pencil as she frowned at an open notebook on the table in front of her.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Making a list,” Jo said, and then looked up to meet my eyes. She heaved a little sigh and elaborated, “Tish and I are driving down to the Cities to shop for college stuff today.”

“Oh,” I said, my eyes drawn at once to my own college-aged child, who was shoveling pancakes into his mouth. Clint had always been pretty well in-tune with my moods, even if he often appeared oblivious. But he was a good listener, an observer. Both he and Tish had been accepted to the University of Minnesota, and as happy as I was that they would be near one another and at a good school, I dreaded the thought of their looming absence from Shore Leave. I said to my son, “I suppose we'll have to do the same here one of these days.”

He nodded, watching me carefully, as though afraid I may just burst into a frenzy of weeping.