Summer at the Shore Leave Cafe (7 page)

Mom had brought a cooler and began passing out beer to the adults. I snagged one, and then a couple of soda cans for the kids, and headed across the way to deliver them. I snaked through the crowd and deposited the drinks for Clint to distribute; the melted ice clinging to the cans had left the front of my dress damp and sticking to me.

“Dammit,” I muttered as I threaded my way back. I paused to pluck at my dress, and it was then that a big, warm hand caught my elbow from behind.

I somehow knew it was him even before I turned around. He'd let go of my arm almost instantly, now that he'd gotten my attention, but my skin burned as though he was still touching me. For a moment, with the music pulsing and people swirling all around us, we were a little island of stillness, only our gazes making contact now. My heart seemed to be trying to keep rhythm with the foot-stomping music, battering my chest hard.

Blythe tipped his head towards mine, and I felt shaky and weak-kneed, like he was about to kiss me. He was not, of course, instead just attempting to be heard over the noise.

“Hi,” he said, his voice melting over me and sending shivers spiraling through my ribcage and along my spine.

Hi
. My lips formed the word, but no sound emerged. I stared up at him, aware of my own body in myriad ways…how my breasts and stomach were aching to be pressed against him, how my fingertips curled against my palms to avoid reaching…

His eyes were steady on mine, smoky blue and with a hint of humor, which was echoed by the slight grin lifting one corner of his mouth. His t-shirt was dark and he filled it out the way an apple fills its skin. My breath lodged in my throat. At long last I managed to shake myself free of his eyes and said, loudly, “We're over here!” indicating the direction of our table with my head.

He followed me, close behind, and I was forced to admit that my self-imposed avoidance, though perhaps pitifully admirable, helped me in no way at the moment. No matter how much I wanted to squash the desire I felt for him, it was there nonetheless. As we approached the group, I caught Jilly's eye, and her own narrowed just slightly. She was certainly recalling her advice to me about the dream, the centaurs and the mounting…my insides seemed to liquefy just thinking the word ‘mounting' with Bly a foot away from my body. No one else noticed a thing amiss; how could they? I was a much older woman; Bly was young and incredibly gorgeous, he was off limits, and he had a girlfriend.
Period
. I knew all of these things, but as Mom tossed a beer at him and he slid onto the bench with long-limbed grace, I was aware of nothing else. He claimed the seat kitty-corner from me, beside Dodge, and proceeded to have a conversation with him. I kept my eyes away, but from the edge of my vision I noticed every movement he made. When Jilly leaned over I cringed, sure she was going to chastise me, but instead she asked, “You wanna go dance?”

Most of the mobile population of Landon was already dancing to the music; it was the kind of beat that made it impossible to remain sitting for long. I nodded, gulped the last of my beer, and she grabbed my hand and then Liz's, too. Liz protested for a moment, but no one denied Jilly, and moments later she had us edging into the crowd. I saw the kids watching and waved them over; Camille, Ruthann and the triplets came willingly, but Tish made a face at me and stayed at the table with Clint. It was a blast, and within four songs I was drenched in sweat, laughing, stomping and twirling in a huge circle that expanded to include our entire group. When Todd Kellen, the lead singer, leaned over to the mic and called, “Let's slow things down a bit, folks, so grab your sweetheart!” I groaned along with just about everyone else.

I fanned myself vigorously and had just accepted a beer from Liz, who'd dashed back to our picnic table and Mom's cooler, when Justin Miller appeared through the crowd and asked, “One for old time's sake?”

I grinned at him, slightly drunk, popping the top on another beer.

“Does it matter if we don't have any old times, exactly?” I teased.

He laughed and said, “Hell, no.”

I slid my left arm comfortably over his shoulders and he took my right wrist in his left hand so I wouldn't be forced to abandon my cold beer. The song began and I was surprised to feel so at ease with him, despite the fact that our dancing embrace put his face so close to mine, his scars livid even in the fairy lights. He wasn't more than a half-foot taller than me; his chin was near my temple. His shoulders felt like iron beneath my arm. He asked, “My face doesn't freak you out too much, huh?” and though his tone was light, I sensed the vulnerability cloaked within the words.

“Shit, Justin,” I heard myself say. We were swaying along in a modified waltz, not attempting anything fancy. I racked my brain for what Gran would say, to set him at ease while remaining truthful. “Of course not. Yeah, it's a shock. But you're still you.”

I felt an almost imperceptible release of tension under my left arm as his shoulders eased a fraction. He went on, “I know, but I've had five years to get used to it. And I'm still shocked when I look in the mirror sometimes.”

I tipped my chin up to study him full in the face. He'd changed into a clean shirt and different jeans. He was still incredibly good-looking, despite everything, but if I said it he wouldn't believe me, not anymore. The scars were so raw looking, so painful to see. He appeared to be studying something over my shoulder as I perused his face.

“Jackie's in love with someone else,” I said then, out of nowhere, stunning myself. It was the first time I'd voiced what I knew in my gut.

He didn't act shocked or embarrassed. Instead he admitted, “I heard he cheated. But not that.”

I pressed my lips tightly together, presumably to block out any more startling confessions. But then I babbled on, “I haven't told the girls. They don't know anything about him…” I paused a moment before adding, “…fucking around.”

Justin said, “No kid should have to know that about her dad.”

“Even if it's the truth?” I snapped. God, I sounded like a bitter old hag. But he grinned slightly and shifted so I could take a deep drink from my beer.

“Let Jackson explain himself,” Justin suggested. “He was always a smooth talker. Let him talk his way out of this one.”

For a moment we swayed in silence, and then he added, “I'm sorry, Jo. I know how much that sucks.”

“I know you do, Justin,” I said softly. “I'm sorry too.” I wanted to mention what a selfish, self-centered (although gorgeous) bitch I'd always thought Aubrey was, but I couldn't put that into words without the risk of offending him. And I felt so oddly comfortable with him right now, the music and the stars and my slight buzz, all of it combining to make me more relaxed than I'd felt yet this summer. Despite what I'd just admitted about my husband, I didn't feel the burning sting of tears making their way into my nasal passages.

“Yeah, well, what do you do?” he murmured rhetorically, gazing again across the crowd.

I realized then that the music had stopped. He noticed too, and we stepped apart simultaneously, almost comically. He said, politely, “Thanks for the dance, Joelle.”

“You're welcome,” I replied, and he seemed about to say more, but the music swelled with a fast paced volley, Untamed reacting to the shouted requests, and he smiled instead and shouldered away through the throngs of dancers.

Despite my snide remark about turning into
a pumpkin, we didn't make it back to Shore Leave until after one in the morning. Mom and Aunt Ellen piled the girls into the car, and Clint offered to haul Jilly and I on the golf cart. So that's how I came to be clinging to the roll bar on the backseat, drunk again despite my better judgment, singing along with my sister and her son as we followed the station wagon's taillights along Flicker Trail.

Clint sings a pretty darn good Kenny Chesney
, I thought as we drove along. Though he managed to hit every pothole in the gravel.

“Clinty, watch it, dammit!” I yelled at him as our butts flew about a foot off the vinyl seats yet again.

“Sorry Aunt Joey!” he yelled back over his shoulder.

The parking lot came into view and Clint roared (as much as one can roar in a golf cart) into it and came to a neck-snapping halt. I punched his shoulder and Jilly laughed as he yelped, “Ow!”

“Toughen up!” she teased him, and Clint loped around the cart and caught me in a playful headlock, rubbing his right fist into my hair and creating a fabulous rat's nest.

“Clint, you little shit!” I blustered, and heard Rich laughing as he parked Mom's car.

My girls came running, whooping to see their cousin destroying my hair. At last he let me go and I laughed too, couldn't help it, though I went after Clint with fingers curled into claws. He darted away full-steam towards the lake. Tish and Ruthann followed, and moments later, inevitably, given the mood of the whole evening, there was a shriek followed by a splash. In the next moment Tish, who'd presumably just surfaced, let out a scream that would have done credit to a victim in “Hitchhiker III.” The night air was so still that anyone still partying at Trout Days would be able to hear every word spoken across the lake. I hoped no one was currently calling the police to report a possible homicide.

“Clint!” she screeched.

Ruthann yelled, “You better run!”

Camille murmured, “Uh-oh.”

“Make waaaaaay!” Clint yelped instead, and there was tremendous splash, as though he'd belly-flopped. To my relief, Tish began laughing then, instead of launching into one of her infamous rages. Despite her age, my middle girl was still a hell of a fit-thrower when she felt she'd been wronged. Camille was heading for the dock now, too, as Mom leaned to help Gran from the front seat of the car. Mom still drove the ancient station wagon that we'd been hauled about in as kids, the one Jilly and I had used for our driver's license exams.

Gran called in her squawky voice, “Watch out for rattlesnakes, you kids!”

“God, Gran, that's so mean!” Jilly yelled over her shoulder as she jogged after Camille.

Gran chuckled. I was about to follow Jilly when headlights sent a beam across the parking lot. My heart began thundering as I recognized Blythe's truck. He must be stopping out to bring Rich home. Of course he was. I watched as he parked and climbed down from the cab, my insides humming with heat. It was then that I heard Camille cry out, “No no no no no no!” in rapid succession and Clint hee-hawing in typical adolescent boy laughter, and then yet another splash.

“I could hear you guys all the way along the trail,” Blythe commented, loping over to join Rich and Mom. Aunt Ellen was helping Gran up the porch steps.

“Joelle, go get those kids out of there before someone gets hurt!” Mom commanded in her bitchiest tone, as though I were solely to blame for Jilly's son's obnoxious behavior.

“I'll help,” Blythe offered, and so I waited while he joined me. I felt positively tiny as he headed to my side; if I stepped against him, my nose would touch his chest. He was backlit by the lone streetlight in the lot but I could see the grin on his face. My belly felt weightless as I instantly smiled back, suddenly self-conscious of my messed-up hair.

We reached the dock just in time to see Clint run and hurtle himself, arms and legs wind-milling, off the end. There was a gigantic splash, followed by more laughter. Judging from the number of sleek wet heads bobbing around in the lake, both Jilly and Ruthann had joined the swimmers.

“Mom!” Tish called, noticing me and Blythe as she treaded water ten feet out. “Get in!”

“Oh, no,” I said, holding up both hands like a traffic cop. “You guys get out!”

Clint leaped athletically onto the dock and made for me, curving his shoulders menacingly.

“Dammit!” I yelled, turning to evade him and blundering right into Blythe. Some wicked male force emanating from Clint infected Bly and he grinned devilishly and actually picked me up.

Before I could react to the fact that I was being held in his incredible arms, he murmured, low, “Sorry, Joelle,” and then neatly launched me into the rippling black water.

My own shriek was even louder than Tish's had been. We were going to get a visit from Charlie Evans, deputy sheriff, in about five minutes. I surfaced and blew water out my nose (so attractive) and then moaned, “My shoes!”

Blythe was sitting calmly on the end of the dock, near his own discarded shoes, feet dangling in the water.

“You too, Bly!” Tish yelled at him.

He grinned at her and replied, “No way.”

“You're forcing me to do this!” she warned him, swimming for the dock. Ruthann joined her and they approached him, dripping wet and giggling.

Blythe spread his arms wide and shook his head. “Give it a go, then, girls,” he teased them.

Tish war-whooped and began shoving at his back. Of course he didn't budge an inch.

“Milla, help us!” she implored, but Camille, though laughing, shook her head no. Ruthann gamely gave it a try, but they hadn't a chance. Bly shifted slightly, caught Tish by both arms and deposited her into the water. She surfaced with a splutter and began tugging at his legs. Clint executed a graceful cartwheel off the end of the dock, nearly knocking Blythe across the head.

Jilly swam over to me, sleek as an otter, and murmured, “What a night.”

I slipped off my sandals and chucked them to the shore, one at a time, as Bly finally gave in and with a roar cannon-balled into the water. My girls were shrieking with delight as he surfaced and began trying to dunk them. From fifteen feet away, Jilly and I, up to our necks in lukewarm liquid, observed. A smile played around my sister's mouth. She asked, “Remember when we used to skinny-dip out here?”

I giggled. “Of course. Me and Jackie used to, too.”

“You haven't lived 'til you've done it in the lake,” Jilly agreed, slicking back her hair with both hands. “Chris used to tell me that I couldn't get pregnant if we were in the water.”

“I remember you telling me that. What a turkey.”

“He always hated using a condom,” she said.

“Jackson, too,” I murmured. Which was why we'd been teenaged parents.

Jilly laughed, shaking her head as Bly sent Ruthann, who was shrieking with laughter, flying into the air. Beside him Tish begged, “Me next, me next!”

“God, they miss their dad,” I said then. I knew it was true. If Jackie were here, he'd be pitching them into the air, playing with them in the lake on a gorgeous summer night, letting their happy chatter make its way into his heart. The bitch of it was, Jackson was a good dad. I had no doubts how much he loved our girls. But he wasn't here…and I was pretty damn sure that I knew where he was on this same hot June night in Chicago. Probably just getting Lanny out of her panties on the cream leather sofa in our front room. My gorgeous husband with his teasing lips and beautiful gray-green eyes and strong hands…everything that used to be mine.

I made two fists and slammed them viciously against the surface of the lake. Jilly responded to my splash by flipping around and letting loose a volley of kicks, soaking my face. I ducked under the water and swam blindly for a moment, revisiting my dance with Justin Miller and what I'd said to him. Keeping my eyes closed, I stayed under for another moment, sinking into a sitting position, letting the water fill my ears and listening to the amplified rhythm of my broken-up heart. Because what I'd acknowledged earlier was true…and no matter what I felt, my husband loved somebody else.

***

Twenty minutes later
we clambered up the shore, wet and shivering, Clint and Tish still bickering about something. Mom and Rich were having a smoke, illuminated by the yellow glow of the porch light. Moths were flapping madly against the glass cube encasing the bulb, and about a million mosquitoes whined around our ears; we were sure to be pockmarked with bites by tomorrow.

“Kids, come have some cocoa,” Aunt Ellen leaned out the door to invite. My girls, Clint, and Blythe, apparently considering himself one of the kids, all scrambled inside. Jilly helped herself to a smoke from the pack on the table between Mom and Rich and sank, dripping, onto the third wicker chair. I leaned against the railing and inhaled deeply, crossing my arms over my freezing and very alert nipples. Mom, reading my mind, leaned and grabbed two sweatshirts from the window ledge, tossing one to me and one to Jillian. I shoved my damp, goose-bumped arms inside and zipped it up gratefully. Scraping my wet hair over one shoulder, I gave in and shook a cigarette out of the pack. The first drag made me cough a little. On the next I blew smoke out my nostrils, letting the old familiar bad habit relax the tension that had formed between my shoulder blades.

“You two have fun?” Rich asked, grinding out his smoke and leaning back with one ankle caught on the opposite knee.

“Yeah, it's great to see everyone,” I said, and that was true.

“Mom!” came an accusatory voice from inside.

I muttered, “Shit,” and moved for the ashtray, but it was too late. Tish appeared at the screen, mug wrapped in her hands, and looked pointedly at my fingers.

“I know, it's just this one,” I defended, though there was no excuse. I'd been setting a terrible example for my girls this summer, separating them from their dad, drinking and sleeping late, letting my mother and aunt make them breakfast, and now smoking. I felt instantly deflated, like giving up. Maybe I should march into the café, find Blythe, shove him against the bar and proceed to give him head. It wasn't as though I could do much worse at this low point. For a moment I almost smiled at the absurdity of my thoughts.

“Gramps, we better head for the hills,” Blythe himself was saying just now, ducking out of the door and giving all of us a grin. I glanced as surreptitiously as possible at the fly of his jeans, drenched in lake water. Damn him for being so fucking gorgeous. Where the hell was his girlfriend anyway? Didn't she wonder where he was right now?

“Sounds about right,” Rich agreed. He stood and then immediately bent to kiss Jilly's cheek.

She smiled sleepily at him and muttered, “Night, Rich, love you.”

“Night, honey,” he replied, and I tipped my cheek affectionately as he stepped over and gave me a good-night kiss too. I felt doubly guilty for my terrible imagination as Rich, so kind-hearted and dear, pecked Mom's forehead and then called farewell to everyone inside. He would be shocked to the roots of his white hair if he knew what I was thinking about doing to his impressionable young step-grandson.

Jilly yawned and banged through the screen door, catching Tish and re-routing her back towards the bar. Mom rose and emptied the ashtray in the trashcan around the side of the café. Rich headed down the porch steps and Blythe turned to me as I took one last, sweet drag on my smoke. His eyes were unreadable, steady on mine, serious for the first time all evening. I thought about how warm his hand had been when he'd caught my elbow earlier. I thought again about getting him out of his jeans, though I couldn't be completely certain that my cheating husband wasn't at the root of that.

He said, “See you tomorrow, Joelle,” in a voice that was low and warm. My name on his lips did things to my insides, lovely, desirous, melting things. And suddenly it wasn't about Jackson at all. I wanted to respond, but nothing came forward. I stared up at him and wanted him with an intensity that seared through my body. There was something crackling in the air between us, and I was terrified that I might all at once jump into his arms and curl my legs around his waist.

Mom approaching back around the far side of porch brought me instantly to reality, and Blythe snapped his gaze from mine. “Night, Joan,” he said politely to Mom, and then followed in Rich's footsteps. As I moved to stamp out my smoke in the now-empty ashtray, I realized my hand was shaking.