Wild Flower (14 page)

Justin ruffled Clint's hair, and Clint grinned before reclaiming his place beside Rae; he wrapped an arm around his little sister and teased, “I'm getting all the candy! You better watch out!”

Rae squirmed away and crouched forward like a runner at the starting line. She said, “Nuh-uh!”

The first stirring sounds of the high school band came drifting from down the block, getting things rolling with “The Star-Spangled Banner,” the color guard leading the way with flags lofted high. Justin shifted so that we could stand, keeping one arm securely around me; he knew me so well, knew how much I loved feeling the strength of him behind me, near me. My eyes flickered to Rae, making sure she stayed put, but Clint had his hand on her head, corralling her. Everyone around us was in the process of saluting or placing their hands over their hearts, and I was about to do the same when something across the street caught my attention. What exactly had alerted me, I was not entirely sure, maybe a certain unnatural stillness or just an uncomfortable shifting of the air, but I saw Zack Dixon then, watching me.

My stomach lurched. He was wearing a ball cap that left his eyes in shadow but somehow I understood that he was staring with an unwavering gaze. He tilted his head to the side a little, enough to acknowledge that he was aware that I had spied him. He remained otherwise unmoving for another second before turning away, as though innocently engaged in enjoying the parade.

I jerked my gaze from him, again inexplicably nauseous.

Tell Justin, I thought at once. Point him out. Who knows how long he's been over there watching you?

Somehow the thought that Zack was seeing my family, my husband and kids, made me feel more ill at ease than ever.

You're being ridiculous, I told myself then. Why? Why cause a problem where there isn't one?

And as though I'd imagined the whole thing, Zack was gone when I looked back.

***

The party at Shore Leave
got going as soon as the parade was done. Eddie Sorenson and Jim Olson came directly to the café, where they set up their chairs and proceeded to tune their guitars near the makeshift dance floor. I helped Mom, Aunt Ellen and Jo tote food out to the picnic tables, while Justin, Mathias and Blythe carried more chairs from the garage and hauled wood for the bonfire. Dodge and Rich settled into chairs near Eddie and Jim, the four older men recalling days gone by, the sound of their voices comforting in the background. Bull and Diana Carter arrived next, bringing along two kegs of beer, and before long the parking lot was jammed, everyone double-parking, or pulling onto the grass, to join the festivities.

The little kids mobbed the dance floor for the first hour; Mathias was the first to brave the hordes, bowing formally to Camille and escorting her into the fray. I could see him singing to her as they danced, holding one of her hands to his heart. He was such a honey, and my niece's were eyes aglow with love, unable to keep from smiling up at her man.

Oh God, let us be dancing at their wedding next
, I thought, watching them. I had tried with all of my effort to force the nightmare of her wedding day from my mind, but it clung like oil.

“J, you're not getting out of dancing all evening,” I warned my husband, turning away from the dance floor as we claimed seats at one of the picnic tables.

“Who said I wanted to get out of it?” Justin teased back. He was carrying a plate for Rae, which he set before her on the checkered tablecloth and then helped her get situated on the bench. He informed her, “Rae-Rae, you have to eat all your food before you get dessert.”

“Daddy, Grandpa said I could have as many roasted marshmallows as I want!” Rae replied, her eyes gleaming.

“Is that so?” Justin replied drily, winking at her. He said, “Grandpa better get Mama's permission before saying things like that.”

Clint slid onto the bench across from me, his plate loaded with two bratwursts, a double cheeseburger, a pound of baked beans, about half a bag of Doritos and four pickle spears. He was balancing all this on two cans of orange soda.

“Hungry?” I asked.

“Gotta keep up my strength,” he said, eating half a brat in one bite.

“Daddy! Clint doesn't have any veggies!” Rae tattled. She had a frothy pink mustache from her strawberry shake, but still yelped, “
No fair!
”

“Pickles,” Clint contradicted around a full mouth, holding up another to illustrate this point.

Rae pursed up her little rosebud lips and allowed this without further comment.

“We should probably make a trip down to the Cities one of these days,” I told my son. “I made a list of stuff you'll need. Did you check the college website like I asked?”

Clint shrugged noncommittally; he had expressed no interest when I had tried to start this same conversation on two separate occasions.

“Honey, I know you don't really like shopping,” I said, as Justin cut Rae's hot dog into manageable bites.

“Mom,” Clint said.

“I don't really like shopping either,” I reflected. “Maybe Jo would come with us. She is way better at it than me. And she just went with Tish—”

“Mom,” Clint said again, interrupting my musing. The tone in his voice made both Justin and me look questioningly at him.

“See, I've been thinking,” Clint began, slouching a little now that he had our attention, pushing his baked beans around the paper plate the way he used to as a little boy, when he wanted to make it look like he'd eaten more than he actually had. I watched him silently for a second, swept up in memories of him at age seven, eight, nine…

He raised his blue eyes to mine and finished, “I've been thinking I don't really want to go to school in Minneapolis.”

My eyebrows arched in surprise and Clint looked right back at his plate.

Justin caught my gaze and lifted his own brows just slightly, silently asking,
Should I say something?

No, let me first
, I said back, setting down my fork and lining my forearms along the edge of the table. Rae appeared fully absorbed in eating her strawberry-banana gelatin, topped with whipped cream, but I sensed she was also paying close attention.

Clint's eyes were still downcast, but the minute I opened my mouth they flashed again to my face. I asked quietly, “Why are you thinking that, honey?”

He said in an earnest rush, “I don't want to leave Landon, for one thing. And I don't think I necessarily need a degree. I mean, maybe I'll change my mind, but right now I want to get my certification and work for the fire crew. And it seems like a waste of money to pay for school when I don't even know what I want to do right now. Tish wants to be a lawyer like her dad, and has this plan and stuff, but I don't.” He sighed and looked to Justin, as though for encouragement. He asked plaintively, “Dad, you didn't go to college, did you?”

Justin, who was on Clint's right, reached and cupped the back of the boy's neck, gently, then patted him twice. He said, “You know what, I didn't. I thought about it a little. I actually got accepted to Stout State in Wisconsin, but then I got married way too young and that was a big mistake.”

Clint nodded in all seriousness, while I let my eyes caress my husband's face. Justin was so good for Clint, always kind and patient with him, as though he was Clint's actual father. I knew he considered himself such, and the thought warmed my heart like a candle that could never be extinguished. On some level, I even knew Chris would approve. Justin continued, “I know it's a hard decision to make, kiddo. We all hate the thought of you moving away, but we don't want you to miss opportunities either.”

Clint leaned his shoulder into Justin, again reminding me of his little-boy self. Justin curled an arm around Clint and squeezed him close, understanding that Clinty needed reassurance right now, more than anything. Clint muttered, “I know.”

“We won't make you do anything you don't want, sweetie,” I told him. “There's still over a month before you have to go. You might decide you want to give dorm life a try, too.”

Clint almost shuddered. He said, “I would miss the lake.”

“Hi guys!” Tish heralded right then, plunking down at our table, her full plate overspilling. She giggled and said, “Oops.” My niece moved to fork a bite of baked beans into her mouth and then regarded all of our serious faces. She lowered the plastic utensil and said to Clint, “You must have told them.”

He sat straight again and nodded.

“Make room!” Dodge said. Liz and Wordo were just behind him, with Jeff and the triplets.

I told Clint, “We'll talk later, ok, honey?”

He nodded.

Hours later Rae had eaten her fill of roasted marshmallows and was dozing contentedly on Aunt Ellen's lap, near the bonfire. Dodge, Mom (who was cuddling Millie Jo and Matthew, one on each knee), Rich and the Carters were all seated there too, drinking beer and enjoying the fine evening air. Eddie and Jim had played for hours with no breaks, an impressive feat, and were currently in the midst of a slow song. I was sitting with Jo on the porch steps, telling her about Clint's latest announcement, when Blythe approached us.

“Sorry to interrupt, ladies,” he said with gentlemanly formality. He added, almost shyly, “But I was hoping to dance with my wife.”

Joelle smiled at her man and his answering grin could have heated the whole state in December. I elbowed my sister and said, “Remember you're in public, you two.”

Blythe drew Jo to her feet and hugged her close. He said, “How did I get lucky enough to be a part of this family, huh?”

“Well you are kinda cute,” I teased him. I adored my brother-in-law.

Jo stood on her tiptoes to kiss Bly's cleft chin. She agreed, “Yeah, kinda cute all right.” To me she added, “We'll talk more later, Jilly Bean.”

I rose and stretched, then went in search of my own husband, determined to haul his ass onto the dance floor for a few songs. I got too tired to dance much, but he wasn't getting out of it altogether. Justin was sprawled comfortably in a sling chair near the picnic tables, where the menfolk gathered, laughing about something with Wordo. I pit-stopped at one of the coolers and fished out a chunk of ice. Wordo caught sight of me approaching, but I put a finger to my lips to indicate silence and then slipped the ice cube straight down the back of Justin's shirt. He broke off in the middle of a sentence and yelped, unable to dislodge it immediately.

“Darn you, woman,” he teased, rising and catching me close as I laughed and struggled only half-heartedly.

“I thought you needed a little cooling off,” I explained.

He pressed a kiss to my cheek and muttered, “If this is your attempt to get me on the dance floor…”

“You promised,” I said, my eyes closed, shivers of pleasure rippling along my skin at the feeling of his low voice close to my skin.

“Come sit on my lap instead,” he said softly, in his most seductive voice, the one he knew I could not refuse.

I shivered again and caved, “All right, for a minute. But then we're dancing.”

“Oh, I'll pay up,” he promised, kissing my jaw, then drawing me back into the sling chair with him. With our combined weight, I was surprised it didn't instantly collapse. Justin settled me comfortably, threading his fingers together over the fullest part of my belly.

“I never knew you were such a bully,” Wordo teased me, draining the last of his beer. “You need one more, J.D.?”

“That would be great,” Justin said.

“And a lemonade,” I requested, smiling at my brother-in-law.

“You got it, little Jilly,” Wordo said, standing and stretching. There were dozens of adults dancing by now, most of the little kids having found laps to climb upon. I smiled at Joelle and Blythe, holding each other close, and Camille in Mathias's arms, listening to whatever he was saying with a soft smile on her lips. They were planning to leave for their vacation day after tomorrow. I was watching my niece when Wordo's tone changed markedly and he said, “Uh-oh.”

Both Justin and I glanced up at him in surprise; he was gazing towards the edge of the dance floor and I looked that way immediately.

“Oh for fuck's sake,” I muttered then, my nerves immediately writhing and snapping like live wires exposed to the air.

“She's loaded,” Justin observed with a sigh, and I supposed he would be the first to recognize it, as he had lived with her in the same house for many years. He smoothed his palms over my belly as though to calm me, and I was reminded (probably absurdly) of the way a person would soothe a pregnant cow. He asked quietly, “Do you want me to tell her to leave?”

I swallowed hard, unable again to peel my eyes from Aubrey as she leaned rather heavily on her cousin Jen Lutz, who she had obviously arrived with; Jen's husband was playing guitar with Eddie and Jim. Aubrey was clad in a short jean skirt and a flowy white blouse, and she cast her eyes instantly over the bustling crowd, finally homing in on us like a big, nasty, ugly pigeon. Except that she wasn't ugly. Just nasty.

“No,” I said through a tight throat. “That would just imply that it bothers me.”

“I'll tell her,” Wordo offered. “Or Liz will. Liz hates her guts.”

This was my home turf and Aubrey had the nerve to show up here; I grudgingly acknowledged that about half of Landon was also in attendance. But it was still an insult I almost couldn't let slide; I wanted to go over there and pluck a fistful of her hair and tell her to get the fuck out of here. Though again it would only indicate to her that I was needled by her presence. She continued to watch us and then flicked her auburn hair over her shoulder; it was that old, arrogant gesture which made my hands curl into fists. Justin felt me tense and said low, “Jills.”

With that word I heard clearly his concern for me and his quiet plea to let this go.