Wild Flower (6 page)

Justin had been so self-conscious of his scars that it had almost ended our relationship before it even fully began; it had taken some damn hard convincing on my part that they didn't bother me at all, that he didn't look like a monster. I realized that other people might not share this opinion; I bore witness to the way people who did not know him, out-of-towners in Landon for example, would do a double-take when they caught sight of his face. I saw only the man I loved, the sexy, stubborn, passionate and incredibly loving man who'd staked a claim in my heart back when we were little kids. An accident in his repair shop had led to the red, rope-like scars that crisscrossed the right side of his face and continued down along his neck. But as I'd told him years ago, it was this accident that eventually led us to one another.

I breathed deeply of the fresh morning air, smelling the lake in the near-distance, a scent as dear and familiar to me as almost any I knew. I didn't want to let the thought of Aubrey Pritchard ruin the morning in even a small way, but she intruded into my mind even so. I acknowledged that if Justin's face had never been scarred, he may very well still be married to Aubrey; even though they'd had problems in their marriage prior to the accident, it been the catalyst that had finally ended their relationship, when Aubrey left him for another man.

God, Jilly, you're being completely ridiculous, I told myself. It's not like you to get so ruffled.

But just the thought of Justin still belonging to that smirking snake of a woman made me feel slightly nauseous. Thankfully Shore Leave came into view then, through the trees, and Rae darted ahead.

“Don't run into the parking lot!” I yelled after her, even though the café wasn't open. Other than Dodge, who stopped out every morning for coffee, only Mom, Aunt Ellen, Camille and Millie Jo would be around and about, but still. Supply trucks often rumbled through the lot on early Monday mornings like this. Rae changed course and trotted back to me as I continued at a more sedate pace past Mom and Aunt Ellen's house, the one in which I'd been raised, and then the detached garage where Clint and I had moved when he was just a toddler, shortly after Chris died.

“C'mon, Mama!” Rae ordered, standing with hands on hips. She was wearing a pair of sunburst-yellow shorts and a lime-green tank top with matching polka dots. I smiled and wondered if any child, ever, had looked so adorable.

“Mama's coming,” I assured her, catching her hand back into mine as we reached the café, Flickertail Lake a muted indigo blue, still mostly in shade as the sun slowly crested the trees on the eastern shore. Mathias's truck was the only one in the lot at the moment. I heard Mom and Aunt Ellen through the open window, and then Millie Jo raced through the screen door, her dark curls streaming behind her.

“Rae!” she squealed, wrapping my daughter into a hug.

I loved how they always acted as though they were being reunited after months apart. The door sang on its aging hinges as I entered the warm space, smelling coffee and cinnamon rolls, just as I'd been hoping.

“Hi, sweetie,” Aunt Ellen said, from where she and Mom were sitting at table three.

“Jillian, Dodge told us about Aubrey's car,” Mom said without preamble.

Dammit
. It was the last thing I wanted to talk about, but in our family nothing was ever a secret for long.

“Yeah, how stupid, huh?” I asked, joining them, trying for a self-deprecating tone.

“Jilly, you know I don't insure that damn old truck,” Mom said. “Why ever did you drive it into town?”

“My trunk's full,” I explained shortly, gladly accepting the mug Aunt Ellen had grabbed from the counter behind her. I poured a steaming cup and added a sugar packet. “I didn't figure you'd mind.”

“I don't mind. I just wish you hadn't taken off someone's headlight with it.”

“Joanie, Dodge will fix it up and we'll be done with it,” Aunt Ellen scolded mildly. It had always been their dynamic; whatever Mom cast out of proportion, Aunt Ellen reeled back into perspective.

“Jo told me about how Aubrey stormed out to the shop on Saturday, like I'd hit her car on purpose,” I said. “As though I realized it was her fucking car, good God.”

Aunt Ellen laughed a little, shaking her head. She and my mother looked as much alike as older versions of Jo and me, with straight, light hair, fair skin prone to cinnamon-colored freckles in the summer months, and eyes of a rich golden-green. I was the oddball, having inherited my father Mick's blue eyes instead.

“Jilly, the kids,” Mom admonished me, for swearing.

“They aren't paying attention,” I assured her.

“Dodge was more concerned than he let on, about Aubrey causing problems if she could,” Aunt Ellen informed me. “But don't you worry, Jilly, there's nothing that ridiculous woman can do except bluster.”

“I was a little bit upset yesterday,” I admitted, though still downplaying. “Justin talked me out of it.”

“Good for him,” Mom said. She called to the girls, “You two want a treat?”

They came scampering.

“There's the lovebirds,” Mom observed as she dished out rolls for Rae and Millie Jo. I followed her gaze out the front windows to spy Camille and Mathias in the parking lot, kissing good-bye near his truck. I smiled a little at the sight of them, Mathias holding her tightly to his broad chest, her hands all up in his hair, as I loved to do to Justin. Mathias Carter was, as Jo and I would have said in high school, a total fox. He was hunky, with a killer grin and beautiful indigo eyes, the kind of powerful shoulders that drew second glances like a honeysuckle blossom drew bees. And he was so smitten, so totally wild, for Camille. Watching them kiss, I re-evaluated and decided that she would probably be pregnant by this evening. Probably I should call Jo.

“Hi, guys!” Camille chirped as she came into the café a few minutes later, as Mathias drove away. “Hi, Aunt Jilly! How's the baby?”

“He's all tired out from keeping me awake half the night,” I said, cupping her elbow for a moment as she caught me in a quick, one-armed hug. She smelled sweet, like lilacs, or maybe lily-of-the-valley. The long, dark waves of her hair were soft against my cheek for a moment. I thought of her nightmares and resolved to talk to her about it today.

“Millie Jo-Jo,” she said to her daughter. “Wipe your fingers before you touch anything!”

“What're your plans for the day, honey?” Mom asked Camille. “You and Millie heading over to White Oaks later?”

“Yep,” she said, settling across from me at the table and pouring herself a coffee. She said, “We're helping Bull varnish the porch. Or,” she amended, “We're keeping him company while he varnishes.”

Bull was Mathias's dad. He and Mathias would likely complete ninety percent of the renovation on the old cabin, rather than relying on hiring out the work. Much like Justin and Dodge, who were actually related to Bull and his family through some sort of second-cousin connection, the Carters tended to be self-sufficient.

“Would Millie want to sleep over tonight?” I asked Camille. “Rae has been begging.”

“She'd love to,” Camille replied. “But Noah is picking her up this evening for a few hours. Maybe tomorrow?”

“Now who's this?” Mom asked, peering again out the window. “I don't recognize the car.”

We all watched as the unfamiliar vehicle, a small green canoe strapped to its roof, came to a halt near the porch, its bumper scraping the raised cement strip separating the parking lot from the grass. A man climbed out, straightened his sunglasses and then cast his eyes towards the café.

“Lost, maybe?” Aunt Ellen wondered aloud.

He climbed up the porch steps and either didn't notice or totally disregarded the CLOSED sign on the screen door, stepping inside without so much as a knock.

“Can we help you?” Mom asked in her most contrary voice, the one I recognized from my high school days, pruning up her lips. We all studied this intrusive stranger with varying degrees of irritation. He was wiry and very tan, and as he removed his sunglasses, I saw that his eyes were just slightly too close together, giving him a vaguely eerie appearance. Though it seemed uncharitable at first, as his gaze skimmed over all of us and decided to rest on me, I felt a distinct flutter of misgiving.

“Sorry to interrupt you, ladies,” he said then, in an easy tone, causing me to second-guess my apprehension. He sounded normal, even nice. He added, “Eddie Sorenson directed me out this way. I'm over from Moorhead State, collecting water samples in the county. Eddie said your place had the best coffee on the lake.”

Mom gave him a grudging smile. She said, “Well, we aren't technically open this morning, but I suppose we could offer you a cup.”

“Have a seat, young fellow,” Aunt Ellen invited, and he grabbed a chair from an adjacent table and joined us at once, plunking down between Camille and Aunt Ellen, which put him almost directly across the table from me. He smelled rather strongly of aftershave, not pleasantly so, settling his sunglasses so they fit like a headband. He was probably in his late twenties, with close-cropped hair, a lean face and those odd eyes that gave him the impression of something vaguely reptilian, even as he smiled at me with apparent friendliness. Maybe it was the mascot image of the curling, fire-breathing dragon on his Moorhead State t-shirt that put the thought in my head.

Camille rose and poured him a cup of coffee; he accepted it with a polite thank-you.

“Zack Dixon,” he said by way of introduction.

“Joan Davis,” Mom said, shaking his hand firmly, and then indicating the rest of us. “This is my sister Ellen Davis, my daughter Jillian Miller, and my granddaughter Camille Gordon.”

“And you guys run this café?” he asked Mom, taking a sip of his coffee.

“It's been in our family for decades,” Aunt Ellen explained.

“That's great,” he said, leaning back and tipping the chair on its hind legs. He said, “Ed Sorenson spoke highly of you guys. He said you're one tough family.”

Mom and Aunt Ellen laughed at this, rolling their eyes. Mom replied, “We prefer ‘wise' to ‘tough,' don't we, Ell?”

“Eddie's been on the receiving end of your temper a time or two,” Aunt Ellen reminded Mom, who laughed a little in agreement. “It's a fair statement.”

“Are you staying long in town?” Mom asked Zack, still smiling as she refilled her cup.

“I drove over yesterday from Moorhead and got a room at the Angler's Inn,” he explained. “I plan to hit Itasca and Tamarac on the way back.”

“Do you teach at the university?” Mom asked.

“No, I'm doing grad studies,” he said, his eyes again flashing over to me, though I sat silently, not contributing to the conversation at all. He kept his gaze steady as he added, as though speaking just to me, “I have a month or so to do some research around here. I plan to fish and do a little hiking in these parts. It's great here. You guys are lucky to live here year-round.”

I poured myself a second cup of coffee.

“Winters aren't easy in these parts,” Mom said. “But you're right, it is beautiful here. Summer makes it all worth it.”

“I'm from St. Louis, originally. I moved up here to go to college and haven't left yet,” he said.

“Well, feel free to stop out for coffee a time or two while you're in town,” Aunt Ellen invited. “Ours is the best on the lake.”

“I will, thanks,” he said. “Do you care if I leave my car out here when I put my boat in?”

“That's fine,” Mom said. “Just park farther out in the lot when we're open, if you don't mind.” And then to Ellen, “Here comes the truck.”

“You live around here, too?” Zack asked me as Mom and Ellen were distracted by the rumbling arrival of a supply trailer. He braced forward on his elbows, abruptly enough that I found myself leaning just slightly away. His eyes were a pale, almost silvery, blue.

Emphasizing my words perhaps more than necessary, I replied, “Yes, my husband and I live near here.”

He nodded at this information, studying me as he sipped coffee.

Mom said, “Excuse us.”

Zack set his cup on the table and said, “Thanks for the hospitality. Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Mom said distractedly, as she and Aunt Ellen stood to go and let in the truck driver at the back entrance, around behind the kitchen and the stock pantry.

“Come on, Millie Jo-Jo,” Camille called to her daughter, also clearly planning to head out for the day.

Left virtually alone with Zack Dixon at table three, I opened my mouth to take my own leave when he indicated Rae and Millie, asking, “So are those your kids?”

“One of them,” I said shortly. I wanted him out of here, it was that simple.

He replied with, “You seem to be a pretty fertile family,” directing a nod at my belly. I was wearing an old white maternity tank top that Jo had lent me, and was further stunned that he let his eyes linger on the rounded curve of my breasts; pregnancy had given me a considerable boost in the chest department, but still. It was undeniably suggestive and outright rude for him to be so obvious.

“Walk me to my car?” he asked when I didn't respond, setting his cup on the table and offering me a smile. I was reminded at once of a shark.

I straightened my spine and managed to keep my voice low as I heard myself snap, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

His eyebrows lifted at my words, clearly surprised. Then something shifted in his eyes, buried instantly, and I blinked, so discomfited by him that I felt a curl of nausea across my gut. But nothing more. Where there should have been a flash, a sensing, the usual vibrant, unseen cord that connected my awareness to everything around me, there was only emptiness. It was this more than anything that caused the next breath to lodge in my throat.

“Touchy,” he said lightly, casting his eyes down to the table, his tone conveying unmistakable embarrassment, and immediately I reprimanded myself.