Wild Flower (9 page)

I felt a prickle of tears. I told his sisters, “I just love him so much.”

“Late March,” Glenna reminded me, coming outside just in time to hear my comment, again provoking laughter. She slid into her seat, setting a bowl of pretzels on the tabletop. She winked at me and said, “I would absolutely love a little nephew.”

“We're working on it!” Mathias called from the lower deck.

Diana served dinner outside, everyone crowding around the upper-deck tables. Bull lit the citronella torches, staving off at least a few of the mosquitoes, and we ate while twilight came dancing slowly across Flickertail. The temperature was perfect, as was customary near the lake on summer evenings, no matter how thick and sticky the humidity hung in the air all day. Mathias sat to my right and I counted my blessings for the countless time since I had been welcomed into his family. My mind skipped through all of the
if I hadn't
things that eventually led to us meeting – if I hadn't gotten pregnant and stayed in Landon, if I hadn't found the picture of Malcolm Carter, if I hadn't taken the job at White Oaks.

I took in the sweeping, silken beauty of the lake with the last of the sunset burning across the top of the water in reflected flames. Orange was the dominant color in the west, streaked through with violet and magenta. To the east, Flickertail was cloaked in the silver-grays of evening, the small bright lights at the end of peoples' docks blinking on from that direction. I leaned my shoulder against Mathias, who wrapped an arm about me and snuggled me at once. Tucked to him, I thought of what my life would be like had I moved home to Chicago at the end of that first summer, of where I would be now. And my soul seemed to shrivel, just imagining that.

We would have found each other, even still
. Somehow, I reassured myself.

After supper Bull brought out the cards and the menfolk gathered around the dining room table, retreating inside now. Diana was laughing about something with her oldest granddaughter, running water into the sink, while Mathias helped us cart dirty dishes into the kitchen.

“Show off,” Tina said to him. She told me, “Don't expect this sort of thing all the time, hon. He's normally as lazy as those guys,” and she indicated her dad and the other husbands, lounging around the table with fresh bottles of beer, fanning and reshuffling their cards in preparation to play some poker.

“Hey, I resent that,” Mathias said, kicking at Tina's ankle. “I help out at home. Don't I, honey?”

“He does,” I agreed, smiling as I thought of the many times and ways we had made love in our own little kitchen, during and after he had helped clean up from dinner. The counter was a perfect height for certain specific things.

“See?” he said smugly to Tina.

“Boy, we're holding up the game for you!” Bull announced in his roaring voice.

“Play through once without me,” Mathias told his dad. “I'll be there in a few.”

My phone, abandoned on my chair, chirped then, and I saw that Noah's mother Marie Utley was calling.

Shit
, I thought. That meant something was up with Millie, and I tried not to let the sudden burst of apprehension overwhelm me as I caught it up and answered by asking, “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, yes, don't worry,” Marie said instantly. She knew I was thinking of the night last winter when Millie Jo had required emergency surgery for her appendix; Marie had been watching her that evening, and had been the one to bring Millie to the hospital. My shoulders drooped with relief, but then Marie went on, “I hate to ask, but could you swing out to pick up Millie? Noah has…well, he must have been sneaking drinks. He's too –”

I interrupted, not wanting to hear anymore of this pitiful explanation, “It's no problem. I'll be there soon. Thanks for calling me.”

Mathias noticed my agitation, however subtle, and came right to my side.

“That was Marie,” I told him softly. “I have to go get Millie. You stay here and hang out.”

“What's going on?”

“I guess Noah is –” I stuttered a little, anger and irritation blocking my throat so that I had to clear it before finishing, “I guess he's drunk and can't bring her home.”

“Oh,” Mathias said, his voice carefully harboring no judgment. “We better go then.”

I turned and studied the lake, curling my hands over the porch rail. I told him, “I can go, sweetheart. You stay and play some cards.”

“I'm not going to stay and have fun without you,” he disagreed, wrapping his arms around me from behind.

“I know, but I feel guilty,” I told him.

“Don't,” he said gently. “Don't ever, please, honey.”

“You're so warm,” I murmured then, clutching his forearms and hugging them even more securely against me. He was always so quick to understand things, to do what he felt was right.

“I'll warm you,” he murmured back, kissing the side of my forehead. “Always. I want that in our wedding vows. ‘I promise to warm you through all the days of our life,' sounds about right.”

“And nights,” I whispered, teasing him. “Don't forget about nights.”

In response, he tightened his arms around me and nipped my earlobe.

We left a few minutes later, after hugs and reminders to come back for dinner soon. I had been hoping to stop by our cabin and see it in the moonlight, but that was out of the question now.

“Thank you for coming,” I told Mathias, as he backed down the driveway. “Marie would drive her home, but she doesn't drive alone, and she said Curt's too tired to drive out to Shore Leave. And Noah is too
drunk.
God, she said Noah was
sneaking
drinks.” I sighed and then demanded, not expecting an answer, simply venting, “Why do they even have alcohol in the house? And she won't force him into rehab again, I know she won't.” I was aware that I sounded unpleasantly bitchy.

“Honey, it's no problem to stop out there. You know I don't mind,” Mathias assured me, reaching to catch my left hand into his right and squeezing my fingers.

I said, more softly, “I know. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that Noah would do something totally stupid like drink enough at his niece's birthday party that he wouldn't be able to drive his daughter home. What was I thinking?”

“He's struggling,” Mathias countered. “Even I can see that. He's a mess.”

“Yeah, he is,” I acknowledged reluctantly. The radio was turned down low, but I could hear George Strait singing “Cross My Heart,” and let the familiar song relax me incrementally.

“I feel a little sorry for him,” Mathias dared to say. “I think he's truly regretful.” He paused before saying quietly, “But I have to admit there's a certain way he looks at you that makes me want to smash my fist into his face. Repeatedly.”

I looked immediately at him, surprised, responding inarticulately, “Huh?”

“Longingly. He looks longingly at you,” he clarified, low, his eyes carefully out the windshield. He whispered, “It makes my skin crawl.”

“I think you're misinterpreting that,” I said. I had never noticed Noah looking at me with anything but resentment. And then I thought of what might have been had Noah and I attempted to give it a go, to raise our child together. Just imagining that made my stomach cramp, and I shuddered. I said heatedly, “He can long all he wants, if that's what he's doing. It makes me sick to even think about.”

I sensed a slight relaxing of Mathias's powerful shoulders. He said, still quietly, “I know.”

For a time we drove in silence, our hands linked on the seat between us, before Mathias said, “I wish Millie was my daughter. I know I've told you that before, but I really do wish it. I love her dearly, and I hate that there's someone else who has the upper hand.”

His words flowed directly into my heart. I lifted our joined hands and kissed the back of his, as he was always doing to mine. I told him, “You have already given her more than Noah ever will. And she loves you too.”

“I know everyone was teasing us about having a baby so soon, but I would be so happy, honey. I want you to know that, if it somehow happened. I know you're on the pill. But if it somehow happened anyway.”

“I ran out of pills a few days ago,” I said then. I had realized a week ago that they were getting low and yet I had not driven over to Bemidji to resupply.

Mathias angled a sharp glance my way as though to confirm what he thought this meant. I swallowed and then nodded once.

“Camille,” he said hoarsely. “I can't tell you what it would mean to me to be a father.”

“Sweetheart,” I said softly, wanting to be closer to him than the seatbelt allowed. I reached and stroked his hair. I had known for a long time that he felt that way. And then, teasing him a little, “I don't know how it could possibly happen. I mean, we hardly ever make love more than three times a day.”

His lips curved into a smile at my words. He signaled to turn right onto the gravel road that led out to the Utleys' dairy farm and said, “I'm going to make it more like five or six tonight.”

“Think so, huh?” I teased him.

There was a lone streetlight shining on their property, creating a blue-white glow that highlighted the enormous, long and low-slung barn. Despite the fact that this was my daughter's grandparents' home, I had rarely been out here; usually Curt and Marie, or Noah, drove over to Shore Leave to collect Millie Jo. Their house was warm with lights and the front door of the house opened at once as we climbed from the truck, revealing Noah's small, plump mother.

“Thanks for stopping out, Camille,” she said. “Hi, Mathias.”

“Ma'am,” he said politely.

“Hi, Mama!” Millie said excitedly, darting outside into the gloaming light. I bent to collect her into my arms.

“Hi, sweetie,” I said. I added to Marie, “Thanks for calling me.”

“You bet,” she said shortly, clearly not wanting to talk about it any further; she had long ago stopped apologizing for her youngest son. The western sky held just a trace of yellowing light, fading to the deep blue of night. The air out here smelled of the red pines growing tall behind the house and the fainter scent of the cows, not unpleasant. There was a beat of slightly uncomfortable silence.

“Give your grandma a kiss,” I told Millie quietly, setting her on the ground, and she ran to do so.

“Good-night, my dear one,” Marie told Millie, hugging her close. “We'll see you soon.”

“Good-night, Marie,” I said, offering as much of a smile as I could manage for her. Millie skipped to Mathias, who lifted her directly into his arms, giving her a hug.

“How're you, little one?” I heard him asking her softly.

Marie observed this; I was about to turn away when she suddenly took a step out the door and said quietly, “Camille,” her eyes flickering between Mathias, Millie Jo and me, as though uncertain. I felt my brows drawing inadvertently together, confused. Marie finally said, “Noah's been wanting to talk to you.”

I wasn't exactly sure how to gauge her tone; I might have been imagining the hint of censure, judgment. I lifted my chin just a hair and said evenly, “He can talk to me anytime he wants.”

Marie pressed her lips together as though to restrain further comment. At last she acknowledged quietly, “I know. But it isn't easy for him.”

Are you fucking kidding me?
I didn't say, just barely. Instead I cleared my throat and replied lamely, “Well, still, if he wants to call me, he's more than free.”

Marie nodded; behind me, Mathias was in the process of helping Millie into her car seat. I walked around the back of the idling truck and suddenly had the sense that someone was watching us, other than Marie. My footsteps faltered and I sent my gaze instantly towards the barn. The structure was cast in shadows, but somehow I knew Noah was in there. The summer we had dated, three years ago, in a rare moment of self-revelation he'd told me that as a kid he would hide out in the hayloft when things weren't going his way. Clearly he was hiding out there now, probably along with a couple of bottles of hard liquor.

Grow up!
I sent the thought in his direction, angrily.
Grow up and get it together!

Two hours later, at home, Millie was sleeping and Mathias and I were curled together in our bed, the sheets a tangled whirlwind of cotton. We were both naked, his arms around me from behind, my head resting lazily on his left shoulder. We were studying the picture of Malcolm Carter in the glow provided by a single candle on the nightstand, our preferred lighting, the bottom edge of the photo resting between my breasts.

“I love his horse,” Mathias said, his voice low and drowsy with satisfaction. He shifted slightly, cupping my right breast gently in his hand, his thumb moving slowly over my nipple. We'd spent the last hour talking in between bouts of making love and my limbs were weak from being wrapped around him; I didn't plan to move before dawn came streaming in the window.

“Aces,” I said contentedly. “You can tell Malcolm really loves him.”

“I think so too,” Mathias agreed. “There's so much about that lifestyle that appeals to me. Having to depend on your horse like that. Riding towards the horizon, not knowing what you might find. Adventure. Danger.” He paused and kissed the top of my shoulder before saying, “Don't accuse me of romanticizing it at all.”

I smiled at his words, loving the feel of his powerful body behind mine; I felt so secure in his arms, as though nothing in the world could ever hurt me again. My heart tightened like a fist before I recalled Aunt Jilly's words on the dock; she told me I was being irrationally worried about things, but I still whispered, “Don't you go talking about riding away from me into danger. I'm glad you're here with me, safe.”

“You'd be with me, of course, silly woman,” he said, kissing my ear. “I wouldn't go riding away from you. We'd have adventures together, unless I thought it was too dangerous.”