Evening in the Yellow Wood

by Laura Kemp

  I told him about Butler and his medicine bag and the cut my father had looked for when I was a child and how it had left a scar I’d always been self-conscious about. Finally, I told him about Adam and my trip to Back Forty Farm and the visions that had begun to haunt my waking hours.

  I told him everything in my bra and panties while sitting on the side of his bed, praying he wouldn’t send me packing and break my heart.

  Because I’d fallen hard.

  I waited while he took it all in, while he ran his hands over his face, his eyes darkening to a musky gray.

  I was just about to get up and retrieve the sweatshirt when he reached over and took my hand. Squeezing lightly so as not to hurt me, he brought his hand to my cheek while rubbing my bottom lip with his thumb.

  “Do you have any idea what you’ve just said?”

  I looked at him, unsure.

  “Now I know who you are,” he began, his hands travelling to my shoulders as he lowered me back onto the bed. Sprawling beside me, he caressed my face with the dexterity of a potter sculpting clay. “I’ve had the same dream since I was a kid, over and over and there was this girl who looked like Karen. In the dream I was supposed to protect her,” he paused, his hands dropping to my bra and in a moment, he’d unclasped it, removed it. “And when she died…I thought I’d failed.”

  I closed my eyes, my back arching under his caress and in an instant, his mouth was on the skin he’d just exposed. My lips formed the next question, but no sound came. I could only wait until he chose to answer, however long that may be.

  “I couldn’t protect her. And I thought I loved her but—” he turned me over, his hands sliding to my panties as he rolled them down my thighs. “She didn’t have this.” His hand stopped on my knee, his index finger tracing the scar. “I kept seeing this, but she didn’t have it. And I couldn’t—” he stopped, lowered his head and kissed it. “I couldn’t make it make sense but now it does.”

  I tried to speak again, words gone in the texture of his open mouth against my knee, a moan escaping as he moved to my thigh.

  What does it mean?

  I wanted to know but couldn’t ask, couldn’t do anything but lay there while he did things to me no other lover had, telling me things I never would have believed possible. Moments later he moved upwards so our faces were inches apart, his hands tangling in my hair.

  “What happened in your dream?” I just managed as he positioned himself on top of me.

  “You were following a bird. A red bird that flew through the forest and I was chasing you, trying to catch up when you cut your wrist with a knife. There was blood everywhere,” he paused, pulled back, and for an instant I feared he might change his mind. “I tried to stop it, to put my hands on it but—”

  I put my palms on his chest. “What happened?”

  “I woke up,” he touched my temple, combing my hair back but something in me knew he was lying. That he couldn’t stop the blood. That it kept coming. “I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  I smiled, his words opening a world for me I didn’t believe was possible.

  “Dylan,”

  “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

  I looked into his eyes, knew he was telling the truth, and felt a chord of anxiety tighten around my chest.

  “As long as you stop beating up guys twice your size.”

  “No promises.”

  He laughed, and the feel of his mouth and hands and body all but numbed my fear as I turned my face to the side, looking at the window and the darkness pressed against it.

  I felt Dylan’s breath, felt the bed shift beneath us as my ears began to fill with familiar silence. I saw the red bird, saw Dylan chasing it through the woods and then Butler’s eyes, black as the ice that gripped the Big Lake in winter, came between me and the man I loved.

  I saw him bend at the waist and pick up a black feather, white antler, and broken jawbone. I saw him with a turtle’s shell, drawing a wheel with four spokes in the soft earth that moistened the swamp by Ocqueoc Falls. A wheel that looked like my necklace.

  This done, he placed the totems inside and lit a fire.

  I saw these things even as my body moved with Dylan’s. I saw them and wanted to know why my father had searched so hard for a cut Dylan had dreamed of.

  “J—” I heard him above me, knew the vision had passed and felt myself letting go.

  Now I know who you are…

  I closed my eyes, his name on my lips, lost for a moment in the way he made love, the tender movements and whispered endearments. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I let the present surround me before the past swallowed me.

  Don’t fight it…

  And I didn’t.

  * * *

  I lay with my head resting on his chest for a long time without speaking. I listened to his heartbeat, felt his fingers as they worked tiny circles at the nape of my neck.

  He’d dreamed of me since he was a boy—the girl who had scraped her knee on a rusty nail, leaving a scar I never knew I’d be grateful for.

  “What’re you thinking?” he asked, his voice as lazy as we felt.

  I turned my lips to his skin, kissing the smooth flesh that stretched over his collarbone, still unable to believe I was lying in his bed. “I’m wondering why a guy like you isn’t married with fourteen kids.”

  He didn’t answer at first, his silence reminding me of Karen and the dreams they may have shared.

  “Did you love her?” I couldn’t look at him after I asked it but stared at a knot in the ceiling that resembled a miniature Mr. Potato Head.

  “J—”

  I sat up in bed, pulled the sheet to my chest. “Because I look so much like her…if you’ve just sort of replaced her with me.”

  “That’s not what I’ve done.”

  “I know,” I said, hating myself.

  “If anything, it’s the other way around,” He paused, his hand grazing my chin. “And it scares the hell out of me.”

  I looked at him. “Why?”

  “Because I don’t want to lose you.”

  I laughed, thinking again of John Deere and his mouthful of blood. “I think it’s pretty obvious I can take care of myself.”

  “Stop, Justine.”

  “So maybe you should put the whole ‘damsel in distress’ thing aside and enjoy the moment.”

  It was his turn to smile. “Oh, I’ve enjoyed the moment.”

  I turned my lips to his.

  “But maybe I’m thinking the dreams where you bleed to death are bad enough and I should walk away right now.”

  I forgot to breathe, hoping he was making some sort of joke, thinking his timing was lousy.

  “Maybe I was never meant to have you if I can’t save you.”

  “It’s just a dream.”

  “Like your visions? And the cut on your knee? It’s all coming true, J—”

  “Please, don’t,” I begged, hating myself even more. “If you walk away—”

  “You just said you can take care of yourself.”

  Damn him! Sure, I could pretend to be cool and independent and sure my newfound super strength came in handy during bar brawls, but deep down I knew I needed him.

  “Maybe I’m thinking none of that matters and what I want more than anything is lying beside me.”

  I dared a glance as he sat propped amongst the pillows and saw he wasn’t looking at me, but at the ceiling and perhaps the same wooden knothole.

  “What does that mean?”

  He turned, taking me into his arms again. “I don’t know. And that’s okay.”

  I smiled. Uncertainty had never been my favorite setting on the emotional barometer. But all thoughts fled as he kissed me again, his touch playful, ticklish.

  “Tell me about Webber and what you did down there.”

  “Ugh,” I sighed. Bore him with stories about city council meetings and cornfields and Donna the Editor asking me to cover the grand opening of her sister’s beauty salon? No thanks.<
br />
  “Were you seeing anyone?”

  I made another face because talking about Brad wasn’t high on my to-do list, but I figured I owed him at least a rough draft of the most awkward chapter in my life.

  “There was a guy downstate but it didn’t work out.”

  “What happened?” he asked, his tone casual.

  “He had a lot on his plate,” I muttered. “You know the drill.”

  “Oh, I know the drill,” he teased, rolling me over so I was beneath him again, his kisses travelling down my chest to my stomach where he seemed to linger.

  I sighed, my mind turning to the lavender fields behind Back Forty Farm—to Esther Ebersole and Jonas Younts hidden amongst the blooms and wondered if she had loved him and how he had come to be blamed for her murder.

  I thought of her beautiful skin, of the cameo on her collar, as Dylan returned to my face, one hand falling to my breast, his kisses more insistent.

  “Stop,” I whispered and at once he pulled away.

  “What?”

  I looked at him, traced his bottom lip with the tip of my index finger. “Whatever happens I want you to know that this was enough.”

  He dipped his head again, kissed my mouth lightly. “I know it.”

  I smiled, put a hand to his chest, the steady staccato of his heartbeat lulling me into the belief that he would always be here, and knew I had to tell him how I felt before I racked up any more regrets.

  “I love you.”

  He tensed, his hands tightening on my shoulder as his thumbs worked the soft skin of my upper arm.

  “I know that, too.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  I’d never been superstitious, but the next day I found myself avoiding black cats, throwing salt over my left shoulder and knocking on wood in a feeble attempt to preserve my glorious bubble.

  As the afternoon approached, I reluctantly left Dylan’s bed and his house even more so.

  Holly was watching TV when I opened the door, some soap opera she’d had a soft spot for since puberty playing across the screen like a B-List production of Antigone.

  “How was it?” She asked, spinning slowly in the La-Z-Boy while twirling her long hair around her index finger.

  “How was what?” I asked, wondering if I looked as different as I felt.

  “I can almost hear ‘Like a Virgin’ playing in the background so spare me the innocent act.”

  “Knock it off,” I scolded. “I kinda like this guy.”

  “No one kinda ‘likes’ Dylan Locke, Squirt,” she explained.

  I frowned.

  “You just bagged the hottest guy up here—aside from Dave, of course, so lighten up and enjoy the afterglow.”

  I looked at her, wanting to be cheerful but already feeling his absence in the pit of my belly.

  “You don’t look so good.”

  “I’m fine,” I lied. “I’m just having a few doubts.”

  She grabbed the remote and turned the drama down. “Women are constitutionally incapable of confidence after sex.”

  I looked at my hands, remembering the moment he’d kissed my knuckles, the moment he’d kissed me other places, memories that should have left no uncertainty in their wake, and still, I’d gotten the hint—he wasn’t ready to say he loved me.

  “Dave wants to double for Salmon Fest.”

  “Salmon Fest? That little festival I keep seeing fliers for in Dollar General?”

  “We can all hang out together.”

  “As in a foursome?”

  “Uh…sure,” she replied. “Not that I wouldn’t find that interesting. You excluded, of course.”

  “Of course,” I muttered.

  “It’s coming up next weekend, but if you’re gonna mope around, I’ll tell him to forget it.”

  “No,” I began, my thoughts flying to a darkened beach, fireworks and Dylan’s hand in mine. “That sounds great.”

  She didn’t answer, her eyes searching mine with more perception than I liked. “He called here last night looking for you.”

  “Oh,” I asked, unprepared for the warm rush that glazed my skin. “He never said anything.”

  “Not his style to let a girl know she’s worked him over.”

  I twirled a piece of my hair around my finger thinking how little she really knew about him, when she pushed to her feet and headed towards the kitchen. I heard her rummaging through a box of leftover pizza, listened while she opened a can of Diet Coke and poured it into a Scooby-Doo cup she’d pilfered from camp.

  “Said he was driving out to the bar if you didn’t show up in the next five minutes.”

  I scowled, thinking of the sight that would have greeted my would-be rescuer when my cell phone rang.

  “Hello?” I answered, hoping he’d missed me enough to call first.

  “Babe?”

  It took me a moment to recognize his voice. Buried so long in my subconscious, it felt like a call from the dead.

  “Brad?”

  Holly spun on her heel, a slice of pepperoni pizza hanging from her mouth.

  “Yeppers.”

  An image of the riverboat he’d borrowed from a friend flashed before my eyes and I wondered if he was thinking about us in the bow, a bottle of wine between us. Right before I found out about the wife and kids.

  “J?” he asked. “You there?”

  I drew my finger across my throat and Holly gave me a sad face before slinking out of the room.

  “I’m here.”

  I heard him shuffle some papers and glanced at the clock.

  11:45 a.m.

  He’d be ready to break for lunch. Turkey club on wheat. Hold the mayo. Water and a hot cup of coffee to get him through the afternoon.

  “Haven’t heard from you in a while.”

  “Yep,” I said, “That was kind of the point.”

  “Ooo, Babe,” he let out a low whistle. “You’re kind of harsh.”

  I didn’t want to play games now. So I kept my mouth shut.

  “Blowing me off?”

  “I didn’t blow you off,” I answered. “You have a wife and kids. I needed some time to think.”

  He sighed again, shuffled some more papers while a woman’s voice I recognized as his secretary’s reminded him of his two o’clock with a Mr. Puckett. “Why don’t you do your thinking down here in Webber?”

  I bit my lip, sat down on one of the wobbly stools while the drama on Holly’s soap opera mirrored my own, minus the mood lighting. “I can’t do this, Brad.”

  “Can’t do what?”

  “You and me,” I lowered my voice. “Us.”

  He laughed. “What about us? I just called to catch up with an old friend.”

  I frowned into the phone. “Your timing is impeccable.”

  “Whaddya mean?”

  “I’ve met someone.”

  I heard him get up and shut his office door. “You got a guy up there? So glad to hear it, Princess. You deserve the best.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  He huffed, his chair squeaking as he swiveled. And I imagined he was looking out across the cornfields, rubbing the bottom of his chin with a free hand. Perplexed. “Now I can’t even take a trip down memory lane?”

  “That road’s been closed for over five months.”

  He chuckled, but beneath I sensed his uncertainty, his vulnerability, his inability to let me go despite his ego. Or maybe because of it. “Don’t get worked up. I’m just paying a friendly call to a girl who holds a special place in my heart.”

  “Well stop being so friendly. I don’t want to mess things up with Dylan.”

  “Dylan?” he laughed again. “What is he? Some frat boy?”

  “No,” I said, not sure why I was telling him anything. “He’s a cop.”

  “A cop!” Another laugh. “You sure know how to pick ‘em.”

  “I picked you, didn’t I?”

  Brad was silent, which was never a good sign. “You tell him about us?”

  It was my turn to la
ugh. “What about us?”

  “Jesus, J. When did you turn into such a ball-buster?”

  I tapped my index finger against my forehead, then glanced at the television as a picture of Suzy Marsh interrupted the soap opera. She was pretty, with blonde hair and large eyes that could have been hazel.

  Come to think of it…she looked an awful lot like Karen.

  And me.

  “I’ve gotta go,” I whispered, my hands beginning to shake as I reached for the remote and turned up the volume.

  “Why did you leave town?”

  Foul play was not a factor in Marsh’s death. The gunshot wound appears to be self-inflicted

  “Don’t call me again.”

  Marsh may have been despondent over a recent break-up.

  “Let me make this right.”

  I drew a breath, my voice a wisp of what it had been. “You can’t.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Salmon Fest soon arrived in all its glory—a blow-out resembling the Fourth of July only in the respect that it came in the middle of the summer and featured fireworks and a beer tent. In reality, it marked the beginning of the famous Lantern Creek Salmon Tournament; a pseudo rite-of-passage for all the young fishermen in Presque Isle County. Main Street was lined with blue and white canopies and cotton candy vendors, while the local barbershop quartet sang ‘Lida Rose’ up at the bandshell. The smell of French fries dripping in vinegar, funnel cakes, and axle grease met my nose as soon as I stepped outside.

  Dylan had graciously offered to escort me to what was shaping up to be the social event of the season and I gladly accepted. Not only hadn’t he gone AWOL after we’d slept together, but he’d also extended the loan on his Jeep while presenting me with a standing invitation to bunk at the lake house—something I’d taken him up on exactly three times.

  And still no magic words.

  I tried to shrug it off as he put an arm around my shoulder and led me towards the epicenter of Podunk entertainment.

  “Something bothering you?”

  Damn, he was sharp, but that’s what made him good at tracking down drug addicts and wife beaters and people who shot teenage girls in the head.