Wild Flower (18 page)

I did as my father-in-law asked, walking blindly away, refusing to look at Justin as I passed him.

***

I drove home instead. I
didn't want to see anyone right now, could not deal with explaining why I was such an emotional mess. Our cabin was occupied by nothing more than sunbeams and dust motes, too quiet without the usual bustle of four people. I sat for a long time on the porch swing, smelling the pine trees as the sun sank slowly behind the roof. I watched the line of afternoon shade advance across the yard, keeping the swing in gentle motion with my right foot.

As much as I truly wished I was a better person than this, I replayed Aubrey's words like a scratched record, my mind catching repeatedly on the word ‘begged.'

Justin
, I thought painfully, cupping my curled right fist within my left hand, holding both under my chin. Tears leaked over my face like a faucet left running. I wanted to clutch his shirtfront and demand answers to the questions crashing through my head; at the same time, I didn't fully want to hear his responses.
Oh Justin. Oh God, I can't bear to think of how much you must have been hurting back then. Did you really beg that bitch to stay? Was it because you couldn't be without her? Or because you just didn't want to be alone? Oh God…

I thought of the August night close to six years ago, when Dodge first told me that Aubrey had left Justin. I'd found Justin that night, sitting on the boat landing dock; the memory of his bitter anger came rushing back to me, the despair emanating from him like a heat wave. I told him what I really thought of Aubrey that night, and pleaded with him to come back to Shore Leave for coffee in the mornings, as had been his habit before the accident. And still over two and a half years passed before I even admitted to myself how I felt for him, that I was in love with him.

Jilly, stop this
, I reprimanded myself.
You know he needs you. He loves you, never doubt that.

I wasn't that I doubted it. But Aubrey's words stung deeply; of course she'd intended that.

What if he hadn't had the accident? Would he still be with her?

Jillian. Enough.

He begged her to stay. Oh God…

I tipped my forehead against my hands and gave way to sobs. No matter how I reassured myself, no matter how unfounded, I was jealous as hell. Thank God Ruthie had Rae at Mom's house, that Clint wouldn't be home until late evening. I didn't even want to see Joelle. Anger and self-pity battled for the emotional upper hand.

I want a fucking cigarette. Oh God, I want Gran.

The thought of my grandmother, with her brusque attitude and kind, observant eyes, made me cry even more miserably. She would know what to say, how to make me feel better. She would smooth her hands over my hair and set me straight, put everything into perspective again, and the pain of missing her made my ribs feel tight. I pressed the base of both palms to my eyes, fingers tangled into my loose hair, and so didn't see or hear Justin climb the porch steps until he crouched on the porch beside me and gently stopped the motion of the swing with his right hand.

“Baby,” he said softly. He must have walked over from Shore Leave.

I choked back my sobs, stubbornly keeping my eyes covered, refusing to acknowledge his presence with a response. Justin knew me well enough not to push; he didn't say anything else just yet, but I could sense him studying me, just as clearly as I could sense the way it wounded him to witness me in obvious distress. The baby kicked repetitively, as though to encourage me to quit behaving like a child, and Justin waited with quiet patience, his hands curled around the edge of the seat on either side of me. I wanted to be in his arms. I wanted to feel his warmth and strength against me. I wanted him to tell me that Aubrey was lying, that he'd never once been so broken that he had begged her to stay with him.

“I don't want to talk about it right now,” I whispered jaggedly, my voice a sandpaper rasp.

“Well, I do,” he said, not so much a challenge as a statement of fact. His voice was low and rough with emotion.

“Well
I don't
,” I said, and the edge in my voice could have honed a knife blade.

“Jills,” he said, and I could tell there was a lump in his throat. My heart jerked and then took up a rapid thudding, but still I did not look at him. He whispered, “Don't be like this.”

“Don't tell me how to be!” I said heatedly, still from behind my hands. If I looked at him I would crack.

“I can't help what she does, let alone says,” he said quietly.

I finally dropped my hands, using my fingertips to scrub at the tear tracks on my cheeks, keeping my eyes averted. Justin was watching me somberly; he shifted to cup my knees, caressing me with his thumbs. I was still wearing the yellow sundress, my feet bare. I braved his dark eyes.

“How long had she been there before I got there?” I asked him then, my voice unpleasantly hoarse.

Justin's jaw tightened enough to communicate that my question pissed him off. He observed, astutely, “You're trying to pick a fight.”

This comment only served to fan the combative flames. Pregnancy hormones may have been contributing a little, but I knew on some level that my own insecurity was also responsible; questions that I had never asked him seemed to surge into my throat. I wasn't sure how I expected him to respond, even as I realized I was not only being unreasonable but also a bitch. I repeated, “How long? Why didn't you come for lunch like always?”

Justin rocked back onto his heels, removing his hands from my legs and resting his forearms on his thighs. His dark eyes flashed with their own fire as he responded, “What are you implying?”

He had me there; I knew in my heart that nothing had happened, nor would have happened. At the same time, I craved a shouting match. I leaned forward and said, “Maybe you should have just fixed her goddamn car and been done with it. Why draw it out?”

“For one thing, I'm not planning to touch the car at all. Dad is taking care of it,” he said, still controlled, but his eyes were flames. “You
know
I can't help that she stopped at the station. I'm surprised as you that she's pulling this shit. It's not even sincere, as you also well know! She's jealous of you and she's deliberately trying to upset you, and here you are, falling right into her trap.” He used one hand to gesture at me, before plunging both through his hair, clearly something he'd done multiple times today.

“Yes, I'm that stupid!” I raged at him. “And you still haven't answered my question!”

“Jilly, goddammit! Because I'm not going to justify that with an answer! Because it implies that you think something was going on and frankly, that fucking hurts.” His dark eyes drilled into mine and my heart panged. My chest felt tight.

“Tell me you wouldn't be angry if this was the other way around!” I snapped back, clinging to the shred of defense that I had left. I was way in the wrong, I knew, which only made the anger in my gut coil more intensely.

“I would give you the benefit of the doubt,” he said quietly, taking the lofty ground, though anger was almost visibly steaming from him.

“Maybe because I would never give you a
reason
to be jealous!” I yelled, fresh tears streaking my face. “There's nothing for you to be jealous
of
!”

“You have
no reason
to be jealous!” he railed at me. “Which you know goddamn well!”

“
Really?
” I shrieked at him. “When she shows up
multiple times
to confront you and says those kinds of things to you!”

“I cannot help what she says,” he said again, no longer yelling, the frustration in his eyes leaping into mine.

“I want to be alone right now,” I whispered, retreating back behind my hands. He heaved an aggravated sigh and pushed off against the swing as he stood, setting it into agitated motion.

“
Fine
,” he spit out. And then, as though to hammer home the point that he was getting the last word, he muttered, “Pregnancy.”

“Don't you say that to me!” I yelped, again facing off with him.

Justin stood with hands on hips, staring down at me with lips compressed in an angry line, his black eyebrows drawn together. I studied his handsome, scarred face, the face I loved with my heart and soul. Why did he also have the damnable power to rouse such anger in me? Heat leaped and crackled between us, one part anger, a hundred parts attraction. I knew with just a word from me (as in, an apology), we would be in our bedroom, wrapped together, and he would be deeply inside me. But I would not give myself, or him, the satisfaction right now.

I turned my chin stubbornly away, and Justin stormed off the porch without another word.

***

I was too wound up
to continue sitting outside, plus I had to go to the bathroom. Probably I should walk over to the café and collect my youngest, think about something for supper. Maybe we could just eat fried fish at the counter; even though I wasn't particularly hungry at present, the idea appealed to me, as it didn't require me to cook. Inside our house I paused at the kitchen table to lean and breathe in the honeysuckle blossoms overflowing from the vase centered there; Justin had picked a huge bunch for me just the other day, bringing them in and explaining how much the scent of them reminded him of me.

Justin
, I thought, aching.

I'm sorry I'm being such a bitch.

But I'm so angry.

I stood there and let the sweetness of the flowers drift around me, calming me a little. The kitchen was peaceful in the late-afternoon light, comfortably messy with the trappings of our daily existence; Clint's baseball t-shirt and glove were hanging off the back of his chair, Rae's stuffed elephant sitting slumped over beside a banana peel on the table. A pile of dirty laundry waited patiently near the door to our mud room, where the washer and dryer hunkered side by side. I straightened and then noticed something out of place, even amongst the clutter.

What in the hell?
I wondered, moving towards the counter. My eyebrows drew together as I regarded my panties, a sheer black pair I hadn't worn in a few months, which had been buried in my underwear drawer only this morning, arranged as though for display in a department store; a single rock, round and gray, something perhaps plucked from the shoreline of Flickertail, was positioned directly over the crotch.

My vision blurred as my stomach seemed to bottom out. I had been the last person in the house today, I was certain. Rae and I had been the last to leave, and these had absolutely not been sitting here when we headed to Shore Leave. Shaking, I swept them from the counter with a vicious movement, the rock clattering with a dull thud against the wooden floor.

Oh God.

Didn't I lock the door? How could he have gotten in here? A window maybe…

My mind shuddered through the possibilities, and then another thought gripped me around the throat and I whirled around, at once certain that he was going to be standing right behind me, smiling with his snake eyes gleaming.

But there was absolutely nothing.

Anger arose in me then, filling me to bursting and displacing my fear. I found my shoes and marched over to the café with every intention of calling the police and demanding that they arrest Zack Dixon for…

And here I floundered yet again. I had no proof, nothing concrete, with which to accuse him. Did he look at me in a way that I found noxious and inappropriate? Yes. Did he make discomfort slither over my skin? Yes. But could I prove that he had somehow been in my house this very afternoon, leaving me a message in this fashion? No…I could not, and I knew it.

Justin has to know
, I thought immediately.
You have to tell him about this.

Mom and Aunt Ellen were out on the porch rolling silverware when I came hustling (as much as I was able, anyway) out of the forest. I was sweaty, breathing with some difficulty as I mounted the steps and Mom lifted an eyebrow at me. She asked, “Honey, what's wrong?”

“Jilly, have a seat,” Aunt Ellen said decisively. “Justin was here just a bit ago. He brought Rae over to Dodge's for supper, said you needed a little break right now. What is going on?”

“I just…” I faltered, studying my aunt's familiar face, currently full of concern. Tears spouted from my eyes again, aggravating me to no end. I swiped at them, so frustrated, and even though I should have told her what I'd just found, I felt absurdly embarrassed to do so and instead said lamely, “I'm just so upset with him right now.”

“Well then, you cool off and let them have supper somewhere else this evening,” Mom said, though I didn't miss the look that passed between her and Ellen, the kind of sisterly look that I knew well, that I had exchanged with Joelle more times than I could count. Mom leaned and smoothed a hand over my hair, suggesting, “Why don't you go and sit on the dock for a little while, sweetie? It's been so hot today. I'll make you a sherbet tonic.”

For a moment I was almost tempted to smile. It was Mom's own concoction, delicious and refreshing, orange sherbet with bubbly tonic water poured over top, served in an ice cream stem glass. She made one for me and then I took their advice and made my way to the glider at the end of our dock, settling with a small sigh, and tried to make sense of this afternoon. I calculated just what I could do about the possibility that Zack Dixon had actually been inside my house today, had rifled through my underwear drawer.

Are you going crazy?

Even if he is creepy as hell, he wouldn't risk coming into your house.

But who else would do such a thing?