Summer at the Shore Leave Cafe (21 page)

“Joelle, get back up there,” Justin ordered, but I ignored him and bent down to see to Jackson, concerned despite everything at the blood flowing over his chin.

“Get the hell away from me, Joelle,” he snapped, and then winced.

“Don't talk to her that way!” Blythe ordered, outraged.

“You need to chill the fuck out,” Justin's voice cracked like a whip and he manhandled Blythe's shoulders, pushing him backwards, away from Jackie and me.

“You need an ice pack, come on, Jackie,” I told him, ignoring his vicious gaze. “Come on.”

“Get away from me,” he ordered again, caustically, rising slightly unsteadily to his feet and then elbowing around me; I closed my eyes for a second, then turned to Blythe, and Justin surrendered him to me. I was shaking hard and instinct propelled me swiftly into Blythe's arms, which collected me close and hard. His heart was going like a jackhammer, and I clung to him for a moment, trying to shut out everything else. At least for this moment, he was holding me. I didn't ever want to let go.

“I'm sorry, Joelle, I'm so sorry,” he bent to whisper in my ear, and he was shaking too, post-fight nerves on high.

“It'll be all right,” I reassured him, even though I sharply suspected it would not; Jackson's face was messed up, and my girls had observed every second, as well as a good dozen customers.

“Shit,” I heard Jillian say suddenly from up on the porch, and her tone was truly concerned. I moved out of Blythe's arms to see Charlie Evan's cop car rolling into the lot, blue top light swirling.

“Oh no, oh shit,” I echoed, as the bulky officer who'd patrolled Landon since my high school days made his leisurely way towards the shifting, babbling group of people.

“Joan, Ellen, I had a call there was a fistfight out here,” Charlie said, scanning the crowd with his gaze even as he addressed Mom and Aunt Ellen. The downside of having a law enforcement officer only a half-mile away at all hours.

“Charlie, it's all right now,” Mom insisted. “Just a misunderstanding.”

“I was assaulted,” Jackson said in his lawyer voice, moving decisively through the crowd. He held a bar towel to his bleeding mouth.

“Coward,” Blythe muttered. I hurried forward, shoving people unceremoniously out of my way.

“Jackson Gordon?” Charlie was saying, assessing the man before him. “I haven't busted you for fighting since you were in high school, boy. Who roughed you up?”

“Charlie—” I began, imploring him, but Blythe was just behind me, and he said, “I did, sir. He was in the process of harming a woman.”

“I was in no way harming Joelle!” Jackson yelped. “Charlie, you know my wife.”

Charlie tipped his head at me. “Of course. Evening, Joelle. You back to claim her now?”

Jackson had the grace to look slightly ashamed.

My grandmother's voice suddenly cut through the crowd like a whip; even Charlie's spine straightened a hair at her tone. She came slowly out of the café, relying heavily on her cane, and looked down imperially from the porch. “That's enough of this nonsense,” she said. “Now everyone clear out of here. Show's through for the evening.”

Charlie began again, saying, “Now, Louisa,” but Gran cut him off, addressing Jackson.

“I've known you since you were a boy, Jackson Gordon, and you've had nothing more hurt than your pride this evening. Now you have a right to see your daughters, but you leave Joelle alone. She's come a long way this summer, and she doesn't need to deal with your selfishness right now.”

“Lou, don't talk to me like I'm a child,” Jackie said, his tone cutting.

“Then don't behave like one,” she snapped back at him. She continued, unfazed, “Charlie, you know Blythe Tilson, he works for me at the café. He was just defending Joelle because he thought Jackson was hurting her. It looked like it, too; I seen everything out the window.”

“Is that true, Joelle?” Charlie asked me, and I nodded, vehemently.

“Let me check this out. Give me a minute,” Charlie said, and returned to his car. Jackson looked as though he might have more words for me, but he took one look at Blythe's expression and wisely moved to comfort his daughters.

“Thanks, Gran,” I said, looking gratefully at her. She rolled her eyes at me. I turned back to Charlie in his car, my throat tight, Blythe by my side. He seemed unnaturally still as he too observed

Up on the porch Mom was pissed, Ellen sympathetic, Gran unflappable, and Jilly, bless her, had gotten Clint and the rest of his buddies back inside, at least for the time being. I knew she was watching out the window, though, worried. Finally Charlie emerged from his car again, which was still flashing its light, a little melodramatically, in my opinion.

This time though, his approach was more clipped, less friendly, and a sudden fear splashed through me. I expected him to ask more questions, interview a few people, but instead he stopped abruptly before Blythe and said, “Blythe Edward Tilson, you have the right to remain silent.”

I stared at Charlie as though he'd produced a mallet and clocked me in the head.

“What's going on?” Gran snapped, disbelieving, as Charlie prattled through the Miranda rights. It was surreal and I couldn't move until he unhooked a pair of cuffs from his belt.

“No!” I gasped, putting out my hands as though I could possibly stop him. Beside me, Blythe seemed just as much in disbelief.

“I checked you out. There's a live warrant for your arrest, young man,” Charlie continued. “State of Oklahoma seems to think you've violated parole.”

Jackson was smirking, but I had zero time for him, terror coursing through me.

“No, you can't take him,” I babbled, stunned even more as Blythe allowed himself to be turned and cuffed, his beautiful smoky-blue eyes begging me to understand.

“Gran, do something!” I cried, desperation in my voice, as Charlie began leading Blythe to the back of the car.

“Joelle, I'm so sorry,” Blythe said again as I followed them directly. Blythe's voice strained and I started to cry, inexplicably terrified. Charlie ignored me completely.

Blythe's gorgeous eyes were tortured as Charlie loaded him into the car, and I pressed both hands to my lips, sobbing hard as the door clicked shut and Charlie climbed back inside. Jilly raced out of the building and caught me around the waist, everyone staring and again the crowd beginning to surge outside; this was by far the most entertaining event in Shore Leave's history in decades. Gran said, “I'll be damned,” and I leaned on my sister, watching as the car turned and was then out of sight.

I stared after them for a moment
before energy seized me, replacing the terror. I broke free of Jilly and sprinted up the steps, ignoring the questions that everyone was babbling excitedly at me, pausing only a moment to gather my girls. The three of them stood in a bunch, and I said, “Come in here,” holding the door as they obeyed without question. I led them back into the kitchen, where Rich was already on the phone, one hand plucking at his white hair as was his habit when distressed.

“Christy, it's Rich, call me as soon as you get this,” I heard him say, and realized that he was leaving a message with Blythe's mother.

The kitchen smelled strongly of the fish fry that had been in full swing a half hour ago. I was breathlessly anxious, fearful for Blythe, and stood for a moment rendered mute as I studied the three expectant faces of my girls; Tish's eyes were snapping with excitement, in contrast to Camille's and Ruthann's, which were red-rimmed with tears. I gripped my hands together and opened my mouth to speak just as Tish said, “Mom, spit it out!”

“I'm sorry that Blythe hit your dad,” I said first, trying not to think about how much I wanted to be following that car with Blythe inside. First things first. “He only thought Dad was hurting me, which he wasn't. We were in the middle of a fight.”

“Mom–” Camille began, but I held up a hand and she bit her lip.

“The thing is, girls, I fell in love this summer.” I spoke the words and waited for the outbursts to happen, although Camille knew.

Tish tipped her head at me and actually asked, “With who?”

“It's Blythe, isn't it, Mama?” Ruthie asked then.

I nodded, and Tish started laughing with disbelief. When she realized I wasn't kidding, she choked back her laughter and managed to peep, “You did?”

“Yes, and I'm going to go to him now, to see what's going on. I just wanted you guys to know.”

“I like Blythe,” Ruthie said, although she sounded bewildered more than anything.

“Me, too, but Mom, are you serious?” Tish asked, her eyes wide.

“God, Tish, yes she is,” Camille finally spoke, her voice snapping with disdain. “Why do you have to act like such a moron? Yes, I'm having a baby and yes, Mom is having an affair with Blythe.”

“Shut your face, Camille! Why do you have to act like such a bitch?” Tish fired back at her sister, and I didn't have time for this right now.

“Girls!” I thundered, but then throttled my voice down to about second gear. “We'll talk when I get back tonight, all right? Why don't you guys go find your dad, you haven't seen him all summer.”

I bent then and kissed Ruthie, and she clung to me for a moment, but then whispered, “We'll be all right, Mom, don't worry.”

I smiled at them and then left the kitchen at a jog; people were staring, but I didn't give a damn right now. I banged out the screen just in time to catch the tail end of an argument between Jackson and Gran. Hoo boy.

“Joelle, I am not about to put up with this,” my husband groused, detaining me with one hand.

“Jackie, I'm sorry about your mouth, really,” I began, impatience making me hop from foot to foot.

“Forget my mouth, what about your relationship,” and on that word he hooked his fingers into sarcastic quote marks in the air, which he knew I hated, “with some criminal? I won't have our daughters exposed to that.”

I stared hard at him, into the gray-green eyes in his tanned face, and realized afresh that he was missing a tooth. It was the one to the left of his perfect, white incisors. I knew he was probably only concerned for his children, and that he did not have any clue what an amazing person Blythe truly was, but petulant jealousy was also hidden in his tone. I drew the line at putting up with that.

“Listen, Jackson, I know I owe you an explanation, all right? But not at this moment. Leave the divorce papers, I'll sign them gladly. “

“How did you…”

“Your fiancée,” I told him. “She was kind enough to let me know when I called yesterday.”

Gran snorted, leaning on her cane. Mom and Ellen were back in the café, doing damage control. I didn't see Jilly or Justin anywhere, but the girls were coming slowly back outside, Camille bringing up the rear with tentative eyes. Jackson's own gaze softened at the sight of his children, and I took advantage of that to dart down the steps, calling good-bye to the girls and Gran over my shoulder.

“We'll be here,” Gran called after me.

I had grabbed the keys to my car but Justin's truck was idling in the lot, he and Jillian inside. She caught sight of me and hollered, “Come on, let's go!”

I climbed in, displacing Jilly closer to Justin, where she hooked her left hand around his thigh and patted him twice. Despite everything my heart smiled to see that gesture, and I buckled up, saying, “Thanks, you guys.”

“No problem,” Justin responded, clearing the lot and signaling right to head back to town. “It kinda takes me back, you know, getting in the middle of a fight, having to bail somebody out.”

Jilly and I both laughed, and my sister speculated, “Who'd you ever bail out of jail?”

Justin leveled her a look and said, “Well, Dad for one.”

“Oh shit, that's right,” I remembered. “Back senior year.”

“He got cited for drinking and operating a speed boat,” Justin laughed, although it was a pretty serious offense, and had been his third. Nowadays he did his drinking on shore.

We drove in silence after that; Jilly in the middle kept one hand on Justin's leg and wrapped her other hand around mine, holding tight. I leaned forward, as though that would help us get there faster; as we pulled up to the government center, I felt my heart rate increase. It was twilight by now, the western sky laced with mackerel clouds, through which the setting sun beamed in bright magenta. I tried to interpret this as a good sign, a light show from the heavens that meant Blythe was not in serious trouble with the law. What could Oklahoma want with him these days? Hadn't he served his term two years ago? He'd never mentioned parole…for a second, I felt a twinge of fear that I didn't know him as well as I thought, but that melted away the moment we were inside and I knew he was nearby.

Justin and Jilly knew the cop working the counter, and chatted with him for a few moments, while I surveyed the room with nervous eyes.

“We're here to see Blythe Tilson,” Justin told him after a moment. “He was just brought in.”

“Big guy, with Charlie?”

“Yeah, that'd be him,” Justin agreed.

“Can I see him?” I asked, trying not to sound as concerned as I felt.

“They're booking him right now,” the cop told me, not unkindly. “I'll see what I can do after that.” He indicated what looked to be a waiting area, complete with orange vinyl chairs and a coffee table with a couple tattered magazines.

So we waited, a good half hour, and I was so grateful that my sister and Justin were with me that I could have cried; instead, I sat and bit my thumbnail while Jilly sipped coffee and Justin flipped through a
Car and Driver
that was probably twenty years old. When Rich came barreling in, I jumped to my feet and ran to hug him. He joined us and explained that he'd talked to Christy, his stepdaughter.

“Apparently, Bly punched out a guy that Christy was fighting with. This was just last March, and he's been on parole since then. He should have known better than to leave the state,” Rich said, his eyebrows drawn and his mouth drooping as he paused for a moment. “Christy said she didn't think it was a big deal and then he was moving here for a job. But he never checked with his parole officer. And now this, another fight.”

“Hey, at least he cares about the women in his life, stands up for them,” Jillian pointed out, wincing as she took another sip from the Styrofoam cup in her hands.

“He has a hot temper that he needs to watch,” Rich said, shaking his head and studying me speculatively for a moment. “Jackson wasn't hurting you, was he, Jo? I can't imagine he really would.”

“Well, it looked really bad,” Jilly said, either the coffee or her nerves contributing to her faster-than-normal speech. “I was right at the window, spying, and Blythe came up just behind me, and we could see Jackie's face but not yours, Jo, and when you stabbed your finger at him, Jackie looked ready to spit nails, and Bly goes, ‘I'm going out there,' and I said, ‘No, don't, it's okay,' but then you slapped him—nice move, by the way—and Jackie whirled you around really fast. It did look bad…your head sort of flew back as you hit the wall, and Blythe moved like lightning. One second he was standing by me, and the next he was flinging Jackie around like a puppet.”

“I can't believe he did that,” I murmured, hiding my face in my hands for a moment. “Jackson lost a tooth, and he'll probably try to sue for everything he can, just to be a dick.”

“We'll talk some sense into him,” Rich assured me. “But, honey, why did Blythe get in the middle of all of this?”

I blinked.

At that moment, thank heavens, another cop came through a door and said, “You can see him now, for a few minutes.”

I sprang to my feet, my hands flying into my hair and straightening it, my heart fluttering like a trapped bird. Behind me, I heard Jillian heave a sigh and say, “Rich, there's something we need to talk about…”

I blessed her and followed the cop down a yellow-painted concrete hall, past an office full of crap, a couple of vending machines, and then we took a right and came upon two cells, one of which was empty. In the other, Blythe had been sitting with his forearms braced on his knees, head bent, but when he heard me from across the room he was on his feet immediately and I ran to the cell in which he'd been locked. I reached for him, through the bars, and fisted my hands around his shirt, clinging as much as I could. He caught my forearms in his big hands, holding tight, bringing his face down to mine and burying his nose in my hair. I was shaking again, but his touch comforted me, and slowly the trembling subsided. Behind me, I heard retreating footsteps as the cop I'd followed went back the other way.

Blythe pulled back enough to look down into my eyes, his own strained and full of concern. “I'm so sorry, Joelle, about all of this. You don't deserve this.”

“Stop that,” I said fiercely, moving my hands to cup his face, awkward as it was through the bars. “I wanted to tell you that I don't want you to go. Stay here. Please, stay with me.” Tears were swimming in my eyes, and he gripped me around the waist, the bars between us cold and unforgiving.

“I love you,” I said, tears spilling over now, and he breathed out in a rush, tipping his head to mine. I held him as closely as possible. “I'm in love with you, and I want you to stay.”

“Joelle,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “God, I love you so much. But you don't deserve this.”

“Don't deserve someone who loves me, who defends me? You are a good man, the best, and I don't want you to run yourself down like that, do you hear me?” I was reprimanding him and crying at the same time, so the stern effect was slightly lessened.

“Baby, don't cry,” he whispered then, thumbing my tears away. I caught his right hand and kissed the palm, and held it to my face.

“This is about my mom's old boyfriend, back home,” he said then. “He was a piece of shit, and I got home in time to catch him throwing my mom around. Seriously, he had her by the hair.”

“Then it was self-defense,” I insisted.

“Mom told the court all of that,” he said. “But I shouldn't have left town.”

“What will happen?” I whispered.

“No doubt I'll have to go home and face the music,” he said, and my heart sped up; I would go, too. Of course I couldn't go, too.
Joelle, Joelle, Joelle.

“Time's up!” came a voice from down the corridor. My heart plummeted.

“I love you, Joelle,” he told me, his eyes so intent. “But there are some things you don't know about me.”

“Then tell me,” I begged him. “What don't I know?”

“I can't explain right now,” he said, as the cop reappeared and cleared his throat. Stubbornly, I didn't loose my hold. “But know that I love you, Joelle, I love you with all my heart. But I'm not good for you.”

“Blythe—” I said, desperation closing around my throat. He closed his eyes for a second, and then released his grip on me, backed up a step. His smoky eyes were begging me to understand.

I gathered my strength, hugging myself around the waist to keep my heart from shredding further. I whispered, “Okay.”

And then I followed the cop back out of the room.

***

We drove back
to Shore Leave in silence. Jilly kept her hand on my back while I sat with my face buried in both hands, again wordless with anguish. Justin rolled down his window, allowing the comforting night sounds into the cab, but I was beyond being comforted by anything at the moment. I didn't understand how things had gone so quickly astray. Rich had stayed behind to post bail, and promised to call us later. As we approached the café I lifted my face and breathed deeply through my nose; Shore Leave was aglow with lights, and should have been a warm and welcoming sight as we rounded Flicker Trail. I climbed numbly from the truck and was at least glad to see that Jackson's car was no longer in the parking lot. I hadn't walked more than ten steps before Ruthann bounded out of the café and caught me in a hug.

“What took so long, Mom?” nagged Tish, hanging over the edge of the porch, eating something.

“Is Blythe still in jail?”

“Did Rich talk to Christy?”

“Is he okay?”

“Was he wearing a black-and-white striped jumpsuit?”

I raised one palm to stop the flood of questions, which I was not equipped to handle at the moment, the last from Tish, who was kidding. Jilly filled the void with, “It sounds like he'll have to go home to face the charges there.”