Wild Flower (3 page)

“For Mathias to come to me means he's really worried,” Jo said, confirming my suspicion. “I hope they find some answers on their trip, Jilly. They leave in just a week or so.”

“Millie Jo is staying with you guys, right?”

“She is,” Jo said. “They'll only be gone a week. I hope that's enough time. I think if Camille could find out exactly what happened to this Malcolm, she might rest easier.”

“It's important, I don't know how exactly, just that it is,” I said, gazing into the darkness of the woods. The lantern threw a sphere of light that was broken by its impact against the house. The spruces rustled as though offering suggestions I didn't understand; we both startled a little as a crow called from somewhere near, though invisible in the dark. I rolled my eyes at my jumpiness and said, “It's pretty wild that our ancestors might have actually known the Carters. Why else would something of theirs be in a Davis trunk in our attic?”

“Wasn't that interesting?” Jo reflected. “I'm so glad Mom found all that stuff. Seeing those pictures from the Civil War. And the letters.”

“I know, I just wish there were more of them,” I said. “Most must have been lost, or destroyed, or what-have-you. It's crazy that Sawyer Davis migrated all the way from Tennessee back then. God, I wish I knew that whole story. How long would that have taken?”

“Months, at the least,” Jo said, tucking hair behind her ears. And then, “Shit. Before I forget, Dodge was at Shore Leave earlier. Did you by any chance break off someone's headlight earlier today? I should have called you right after supper, when I found out, but I got busy. And then Dodge was going to call you guys, but I said I would take care of it.”

“What?” I demanded. I'd almost forgotten too. “How did you—”

“It was Aubrey's car,” Jo interrupted me, and I stared at her in disbelief, surprised into silence. “Apparently she's in town for a few weeks, without her hubby, and she was all in a tizzy, stopping out at the filling station and bitching at Dodge. He calmed her down, but she was demanding to see Justin.”

My heart twisted and then sent fiery anger coursing all through me. I snapped, “That bitch. What the hell? Where does she get off? Demanding to see
Justin
?”

“She wants him to fix her car. She was acting like you'd done it on purpose,” Jo informed me, shaking her head. “Dodge told her he'd fix it and basically to shut her trap, but you know how she is.”

I felt restless, my skin prickling with irritation, and forced myself to release the fists I had unconsciously made. I all but growled, “Well she can fuck right off. Dammit, I wish I would have flattened her car now. And here I was all nice in that note.”

Jo laughed, despite my bristling anger. She cupped her hand over my knee and patted me twice, saying, “Jilly Bean, calm down. I know it sucks, but what do you do? What about insurance?”

“I was in the work truck,” I grouched. “I don't know if Mom even keeps that insured.” Normally it was only ever driven on Shore Leave property; I'd only borrowed it to drive into town for groceries because the trunk of my own car was loaded with cast-offs I'd been meaning to donate.

“Well Dodge will take care of it,” Jo said. “Don't worry.”

I was sure she was right. There was no reason to feel a swell of uneasiness across my gut.

June 2006:
Landon, MN

“Oh, I love how that looks,” I told my fiancé Mathias, who leaning over the schematics that he had spread all over table three at Shore Leave. He looked up and gave me a wink, taking a sip of his root beer at the same time, then grinning at the blush that spread over my cheekbones.

“I love how
that
looks,” he said back, and I slapped his shoulder.

I would not be distracted by him, no matter how beautiful his lips, with their cupid's bow curve and flanked by a dimple in his right cheek. His eyes were the same color as the deep-blue irises growing in profusion around the porch outside, flecked with gold, his black hair tumbled all over his forehead, flattened from being under his fishing hat all day. His stubble was likewise unruly, a good two days past shaving. It was a lazy Sunday three weeks into the sunny, humid month of June and we were taking it easy today, after a crazy-busy week. Mathias has been working weekdays at the township forest fire station while I did lunch duty at Shore Leave, leaving us evenings and Sundays together. And late yesterday afternoon, under an incredible sky the rich pink of a shell's innermost curve, he had helped me hang a hammock between two oaks just a few yards from the front porch of our cabin.

Just the words
our cabin
made my heart sing with possibility; Mathias had obtained a permit from Beltrami County to start renovation on the little homestead back in May, and we had spent nearly every free moment there since, working our asses off. His ancestor, Boyd Carter, the first of the family in Minnesota, built the original structure in the late 1860s and it was our hope to make the little place livable year-round. For the both of us, my two-year-old daughter Millie Jo, and any babies that may join our family in the future.

“Honey, you're giving me those eyes,” Mathias said, and I felt a ripple of pleasure race along my nerves at his deepening grin. I moved around the table at once, unable to resist him, and he shifted so that I could sit on his right thigh, hooking his arm around my waist and resting his strong hand against my belly. I looped an arm around his neck and kissed his stubbly jaw, breathing against his warm skin for just a moment.

“I'm just thinking of what we talked about last night,” I said, kissing his ear, and he squeezed me closer.

“Me too,” he said against my neck. “Camille. You can't know how happy it makes me.”

“To have a master bath and a king-sized feather bed?” I teased. We had also discussed these things, but what I truly meant was that we had set a date for our wedding ceremony. Just the thought made me giddy with happiness; we had settled on the second weekend in October, mid-afternoon at White Oaks Lodge. My sisters Tish and Ruthann would be bridesmaids, along with Mathias's three sisters, Tina, Glenna and Elaine; Tina had already requested scarlet as the gown color.

Mathias shook his head, narrowing his eyes at me as a smile deepened the dimple in his cheek. He said, teasing me right back, “Yes. A king-sized feather bed. Where I plan to lay you right down and make you my wife. That thought makes me the happiest man on the face of the earth, yes.”

I slipped my hands down along his sides, as though to tickle him. Feeling the solid strength of him beneath my palms made a pulse beat like crazy in my lower belly. I said softly, “That sounds so traditional, almost biblical. ‘Make' me your wife. As in, by brute force?”

Mathias tried for an innocent tone as he replied, “I don't think force will be required. If this morning was any indication, you seem fairly willing…excited about it, actually…”

I made a sound of pretended shock, giggling as he cupped my jaw and tilted my mouth into his kiss.

“God, you guys, get a room,” my younger sister Tish complained, coming up to our table. “You
have
a room, now that I think about it.”

Since spring, Mathias, Millie Jo and I had been living in the apartment above the garage, where Aunt Jilly and my cousin Clint lived before moving across town to live with Justin Miller, back in 2003. Since then, Uncle Justin had built them a new house closer to Shore Leave, just around the lake near the filling station where he worked with his dad, Dodge. Much like Mom and Blythe's cabin, it wasn't huge; instead, as Aunt Jilly put it,
thoughtfully laid out
. Certain things you can't compromise on, according to her, such as a large, accessible laundry room, one in which you could move with a laundry basket and avoid bumping your hip.

Mathias grinned at me, our lips scarce an inch apart. He squeezed my waist and I gave a little sigh, a soft sound of pure adoration for my man, before turning to face my sister, who was standing there watching us with an air of long-suffering about her, arms folded.

“Mom told me to come get you guys,” Tish informed. Behind her the screen door clacked as our younger sister Ruthie and our cousin Clint came inside too.

“Pontoon's heading out!” Clint added, resettling his baseball cap over his hair, shaved military-short for summer. “If you twos are coming, that is.”

“God, I can't believe you guys graduated high school this year,” I said reflectively. We'd held the celebration just last weekend here at the café, for both Clinty and Tish. My dad, Jackson Gordon, and his pretentious wife Lanny had even flown in from Chicago; it hadn't been the most pleasant experience on earth for either Dad or my mom. At first Dad had been his usual charming self, making smooth conversation and smiling at everyone, but as the evening wore on, he kept drinking. Uncle Justin had stepped in and taken him outside after Dad had started slurring and referring to Blythe as ‘Jo's ex-con.' Probably to save face, Lanny had collected their things and hustled Dad to their rental car.

“Lanny's clearly had her breasts enlarged again,” I'd told Mathias in an undertone that afternoon, before Dad had gotten drunk.

In response, Mathias had started humming our favorite Dolly Parton song from
The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas
; he adored finding any excuse to break into song, and did so whenever the urge overtook him. People thought he was crazy, and he was, a little. But he was also mine, and I loved him so much, so totally insanely completely, that it still stunned me.

“We're coming,” I said to my sisters, but didn't budge. I was reluctant to move from Mathias's lap.

“It's so pretty out, you guys should hurry,” Ruthie said, though she came near and began playing with my hair. She added, “Uncle Justin is taking the motor boat too.”

“Dad said we could waterski for awhile before full dark,” Clint said, and I regarded my cousin with heaps of fondness. Everyone seemed to have a soft spot for Clinty, who was about the kindest boy I'd ever known. He hadn't an inconsiderate bone in his body. Over the past year he had grown another four inches or so, edging up on Blythe, who was the tallest in our family. At present, Clinty's frame was so lanky and lean he resembled a stork, all elbows and knees. Hearing him call Uncle Justin ‘Dad' made my heart melt; I knew it meant a great deal to Justin, who wasn't actually Clint's father. I so wanted Millie Jo to refer to Mathias as ‘Daddy,' but it that wouldn't be fair to Noah Utley – as much as I really, really resented considering the concept of fairness when it came to him.

Three summers ago Noah had been my first real boyfriend. I understood clearly, despite precautions intended to discourage it, that I was just as much to blame for getting pregnant. What I had not been able to accept was the way he had almost instantly retreated after I'd told him the news; for all practical purposes, he had abandoned me. Truly, I was not being overdramatic in that statement, as Noah had nothing to do with either me or Millie for nearly the first two years of her life. It was only since last Christmas, after dropping out of college and being forced into rehab for his drinking, that Noah had begun trying to see his daughter more regularly. But lately I was suspicious that he was imbibing again; I had told his mother Marie last week, wondering if I would feel a spurt of vindictive glee at this revelation, only to realize I felt nothing but pity and stinging disappointment that my child's biological father was such a train wreck.

“Oh, shit yeah,” Mathias said at this pronouncement about waterskiing, and then he grinned and apologized, “Sorry, guys.”

“You're such a caveperson,” Ruthie said, teasing him, still busy braiding a few strands of my long, tangled hair, her slim fingers flying.

“When you get married your name will be ‘Camille Carter.' That sounds like a country-western singer,” Tish observed, as though she had been considering this for some time. “Don't you guys think?”

“I think it sounds like all my sweetest dreams coming true,” Mathias said softly, low and sincere, pressing a gentle kiss to my chin. Despite the tender nature of his words, heat flared so strongly within me that in my mind I ripped the shorts from his body and straddled him. He saw the flame in my eyes, as his own flashed and his dimple reappeared.

“Oh, barf,” Tish said at his words.

“No, it's so sweet,” Ruthie countered. She tipped and kissed the top of my head, as though she was the big sister. “You guys are adorable. But we gotta go!”

Mathias grinned at me and stood, lifting me to my feet. At that exact instant, Dodge blew the air horn down by the dock, giving two elongated honks. The noise drew Tish, Clint and Ruthie like the Pied Piper; seconds later I was alone with my man and a second after that I was in his arms and we were kissing in a furious rush of need to be joined as close as two people are able.

“The bar,” I gasped between kisses, and he made his throaty, lovemaking sound in agreement, catching me up into his arms, my bare legs going around his waist. Clumsy, stumbling against chairs, he carried us through the arch and into the semi-darkness of the bar, settling me atop a stool that was the perfect height for such things and skimming my swimsuit bottoms instantly down my thighs; I was wearing a sundress over my tangerine-and-pink-striped bikini, allowing for wonderfully easy access. I freed one leg without breaking the contact of his lips against mine, reveling in the taste of him.

“Hurry,” I commanded, breathless and giggling, catching him into my right hand and then gasping as he slid all the way with the first thrust.

“
Camille
,” he moaned against my lips, taking my hips in his strong hands. For a second he held himself deep, not moving. “You're so wet, oh my God, you're gonna make me come already—”

“Not yet,” I said, tipping my head so he could bite my neck, shuddering hard against him. He felt so good and I could never get enough of him. The hunger I felt, the pulsing, all-consuming need, only increased with every touch. He drew out and plunged back within, and I moaned; he muffled the sounds with his kisses. I clutched his powerful shoulders and held fast as we thrust almost frantically together. He growled against my neck as my body tightened around his convulsively, and then he came hard in the next moment.

“Camille!” I heard Mom calling then, just out on the porch, her footsteps coming closer, and I squeaked, again giggling as we raced to scrape our clothes back into place.

“I feel like such an animal,” Mathias muttered hoarsely, kissing me once more, biting my bottom lip just lightly. His beautiful blue eyes, flecked with gold, caressed mine as he thumbed a stray strand of hair from my lips. “No control whatsoever. Jesus, honey, I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” I told him tenderly, curling my fingers into his thick black hair and combing it out from his scalp. His eyelids lowered in pleasure.

“Camille! We're leaving!” Mom called, inside the café now, and I tried to look as not-guilty as possible as we came back into the dining room. Though she gave us a look, Mom refrained from commenting on what was surely exactly what it looked like. Instead she said, “Final warning!”

Outside, the air was perfect. Flickertail Lake lay like an unwrinkled silk tablecloth under the cerulean evening sky, tinted by a slim band of peach sunset in the west. I paused on the porch and observed the scene just down the incline from Shore Leave, where my family was gathered at the dock and in the water. Mathias stood behind me and hooked his arms around my waist, bending to tuck his chin against my shoulder. I covered his forearms with mine and held tightly, letting the sense of rightness settle into my soul. For a flicker of an eyelash I felt once-removed from time, struck with a sense of knowing even deeper than instinct, a sense that I was on the right path and just for this moment the universe was letting me glimpse it.

At what price?
I found myself thinking, before shoving that ice-pick of a thought firmly from my mind.

Mom was walking along the dock boards towards the pontoon, leaving wet footprints in her wake. Her long blond hair was in a braid; in her cut-off shorts she looked about twenty-five or so. Dodge, Grandma (corralling Millie Jo and Rae into their lifejackets), Aunt Ellen, Aunt Jilly and Blythe were already on board, ready to chug around the rim of Flickertail at a top speed of about two miles an hour, a summer Sunday-evening tradition. Blythe was toting their son, my little half-brother Matthew, in a baby sling against his chest, and he caught my mom close for a kiss as she climbed aboard. Blythe's hair was long again, because Mom liked it that way, and he had grown a goatee; we all teased him that he just needed to learn to play acoustic guitar to complete the look. (So far he had progressed to strumming the G-chord that Eddie Sorenson of Eddie's Bar had taught him). Technically Blythe was my stepdad, but I never thought of him that way. I considered him the man who made my mom happier than I had ever seen her in my life and though he wasn't my father, I did love him for that.

Aunt Jilly, who was close to seven months pregnant, looked adorable, curled into a lawn chair on the pontoon; she caught sight of us and waved, blowing a kiss. Probably she could sense the radiance of satisfaction that was surely glowing into the air all around Mathias and me. Uncle Justin, shirtless, a red bandana tied over his dark hair and his hands stained with motor oil, was monkeying with the outboard motor on his boat, anchored about thirty feet off the dock. Two pairs of skis stuck out like misplaced branches from the stern. Ruthie, Tish and Clint were in the process of swimming out towards it, their hair slicked back, laughing as their pale arms, not yet browned from the sun, cut through the water like trout.