“You love them,” he teased her right back.
Tina and Elaine also worked in the bar on the weekends, and Elaine showed me the ropes the first Friday. The bar and adjacent dining room were housed in the section of White Oaks that had been built in the 1970s, by Bull’s father. It was designed a little like an old-fashioned saloon, the bar top a gleaming expanse of polished oak built over rough-cut logs, like the side of a cabin. Each bar stool was handmade and unique, as were all of the chairs in the dining room, sturdy and upholstered with varying shades of leather in tones of brown, from coffee to caramel. The floor was constructed of reclaimed barn wood, according to Bull, and a long mirror framed in logs graced the wall behind the bar, along with all of the top-shelf liquor. The tables were covered in creamy linen, arranged artfully around the massive stone fireplace, which contained a cheerfully crackling fire. Three pool tables shared the expansive space, along with a glowing jukebox and three dart boards.
The best feature of all was closed off for the season, an expanse of floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the wide front balcony that ran the entire length of White Oaks and offered a panoramic view of Flickertail. Even now, with snow dominating the landscape, it was dazzlingly beautiful. The sun was just setting on the far side of the lake, throwing red sparks on the icicles and over the glittery frozen surface of the water. I sighed a little, studying it, and Elaine followed the direction of my gaze, agreeing, “It’s lovely, isn’t it? I’ve lived here my entire life and I’ve never grown tired of the view.”
“I know what you mean,” I said. “I mean, I didn’t grow up here, but the past few years have made me appreciate that I live here now.”
“Yeah, it’s not exactly a hotbed of activity up here, but I wouldn’t change it for the world,” Elaine said. She looked my way and smiled. “Now, we’re not busy quite yet, since it’s early in the evening, but we’ll be bumping in about an hour.”
White Oaks was booked with guests through New Year’s, but was also a destination for the local crowd. I didn’t recognize the two families seated in the dining room at the moment, and so figured they must be tourists. ‘Out of towners,’ was the expression people around here used, speaking it so quickly the three words blended into one.
“But that gives us perfect time to teach you a few of the specialty drinks,” Elaine went on. She was the youngest of the Carter girls at twenty-eight, which she had rubbed in with a great deal of glee on the eve of Tina’s birthday at Shore Leave. Unlike her sisters, who were energetic and talkative like their father, Elaine was quieter, more observant. Her husband Mike worked for the Department of Natural Resources as a surveyor; they had two daughters. She regarded me for another moment and asked, “Can I tell you something?”
“Sure,” I said gamely.
Elaine tipped her head and pursed her lips as though fishing for the way to best express her thoughts. At last she settled for, “Tina told you that I read the cards, right?”
I nodded.
“Well, I do, but I also get these strong senses of people. I can’t quite figure out what I’m sensing with you…” she trailed off, tapping her index finger on her chin. I felt a little shiver dart up my spine and my arms broke out in goose bumps. Elaine noticed and said, “See, you get what I’m talking about! All I can speculate is that there’s a…this sounds weird, but it’s what I’m getting…there’s a rip in your soul. An old one, from a long time ago. And it needs to get stitched back up.”
I shivered again, as though in acknowledgment, fascinated by her words in spite of everything.
“I know it sounds crazy,” Elaine said. “See, your soul, like everyone’s, has been around forever, and it—”
“Laney!” Diana called then, her nickname for Elaine, coming through the swinging door that led back to the kitchen, just like at the Shore Leave. Diana’s face was radiant with a smile. She asked, “Guess who’s coming home for Christmas?”
Elaine cried, “No way! The little shit is able to get some time off?”
“Elaine,” her mother scolded. “But yes!”
“Well that’s the best thing I’ve heard all day,” Elaine said, giving her mother a quick hug before asking me, “And on that note, how would you like to learn how to make a White Oaks Wizard?”
At home in bed that night, I pondered Elaine’s words about the rip in my soul. I was not normally swept up in those kinds of abstract comments; I had been the one who scoffed at my friends from back in Chicago when they got all excited about their horoscopes and birth signs.
But you believe Aunt Jilly. Her notions are never wrong, so there is certainly something more to the world than you can see, I acknowledged as I lay on my back, Millie snoring gently beside me. Did Elaine mean past lives? I hadn’t a chance to ask her this evening, working by her side learning all of the various drinks featured at White Oaks in the midst of an ever-increasing crowd; people were in the holiday spirit, as Thanksgiving had come and gone, opening the avenue for full-scale Christmas merriment.
I’ll ask her tomorrow, I thought, and rolled to my right side, drawing up my knees before I fell asleep.
***
The mountains.
I could see their hazy peaks on the distant horizon as I walked slowly along, my feet bare, the ground beneath them almost painful as it prickled into my flesh. Tall grass on all sides of me, the sun about three hours past noon. I was so thirsty that my tongue seemed twice its normal size and I was having trouble thinking of anything other than water. Even my own despair seemed minimized by the desire for liquid. But in the next second it surged back to the surface, as brutal as a fist landing a blow to my heart.
Where are you? I begged then, pausing and directing this unspoken question to the enormous and mocking sky that arched over me. My body was desperate to sink to the ground and I battled with this temptation.
Don’t stop walking, I reminded myself. You cannot stop walking. That means death. Stopping means death.
I can’t die.
He’s looking for me.
I know this.
Ragged sobs choked me then, and longing for him radiated outward from the center of me.
He won’t stop searching.
Goddammit, keep walking.
He will find you.
***
Silvery morning light, indicating yet another cloud-covered day, touched my eyelids and I blinked once, then twice, sitting up slowly. I had the strangest sense of a nightmare; the essence of it lingered in my mind in shreds, before being swept completely away as I came fully awake. I reached immediately for Millie Jo and saw that she was not in bed; my heart kick-started, punching me, but then I realized that I could hear her down in the kitchen with Aunt Ellen. The scents of coffee and bacon pressed on my nose and I likewise pressed a palm to my heart, attempting to slow its frantic pace; the normalcy of a Saturday morning like any other calmed me a fraction and I drew a deep breath. Beside my bed, on the nightstand, the picture of Malcolm Carter, along with his letter and telegram, were still front and center; the photograph had been there for nearly two years now.
Without questioning my actions, I reached and tipped it face-down atop the nightstand, and then shuddered a little, again without understanding why.
Chapter Five
December 2005
“Honey, can you get the ten-top in the bar?” Grandma asked as I clacked through the front door of Shore Leave, shivering and wishing I could manage to take orders wearing my mittens. She added, “Jillian is swamped in here.”
“Sure, Gram,” I told her. It was much busier than a usual Thursday night this close to Christmas, laughter and chatter filling the familiar space and serving to warm me a little. The decorated tree and twinkling colored lights strung along the counter were festive and also helped to ease my low mood.
Both White Oaks and Shore Leave had been jam-packed this entire week, as the annual ice-fishing (Bull and Dodge called it a ‘convention’ but it was really just an excuse for men from across Minnesota and Wisc
onsin to gather and drink, all the while sitting on tiny stools in their icehouses on the lake) was in its third day, and subsequently in full swing. Flickertail resembled a community of refugees, dozens of icehouses of every conceivable color clustered near its center. I felt a lightening in my shoulders as I hung my jacket on the hook behind the door, the party-like atmosphere working a little magic, and brushed snow from my hair. Knotting my pale-blue Shore Leave apron over my jeans, I asked Grandma, “Have they been here long?”
“No,” she said, leaning forward to kiss my cheek as I walked to the counter to grab a few pens. She added, “It’s Eddie and some of the other fisherman. They’re cold and it’s one fish story after another in there. I don’t know how Ellen stands it.” Then she added, “And Jake’s in there, with a couple of his friends. I thought I better let you know.”
Jake. Dammit.
I knew he was home, as Tish and Ruthie kept me informed; though we had emailed a little, I hadn’t seen him since our kiss on the dock last June. But I didn’t let Grandma see any of my discomposure. I straightened my spine and smiled at Aunt Jilly as she breezed past with a tray of beer.
“Hi, sweetie, can you manage Eddie’s bunch?” she called.
“No sweat,” I muttered, too low for anyone to hear.
“Hi, Camille!” chirped Clint, coming from the bar. He was clutching a mug of hot chocolate in one hand.
“Hiya, Clinty,” I said. No doubt Clint had been pestering Jake and those guys; probably Tish wasn’t far behind, and just as I had the thought, my younger sister came bounding around the corner from the bar, flushed and giggling. If I didn’t know any better, I’d figure she was drunk.
“Hurry, Milla,” she said, her blue eyes sparkling. “The ten-top is thirsty. And they want food.”
“I’m hurrying,” I said, quickly twisting my hair into a knot high on my head, using the rubber band I had slipped around my wrist before leaving the house to secure it. I looked a little sloppy, probably, since I’d just washed my hair but hadn’t done anything in the way of styling it this evening; it had grown long and unmanageable. The one beauty salon in town only seemed to be open when I was at work and I had not yet taken up Aunt Jilly on her offer to trim my hair. I was wearing a soft red flannel that hadn’t fit me since before I was pregnant, a pretty, fitted one from J.Crew in Chicago. I had been rather elated at the fact that it buttoned again, though it was a touch snug over my breasts. And wonder of wonders, in the last few months I had been able to zip into a couple of old pairs of jeans.
Light at the end of the tunnel, I thought. When I stood naked after showering these days, giving myself a critical once-over, at least parts of my body resembled their former selves.
“Milla, for real! I was about to take their order and I’m not even on shift!” Tish nagged, pausing before the jukebox that Grandma had been so pumped to find at a discount this last September. Tish dumped a couple of quarters into it and “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” came joyously blaring forth.
I rolled my eyes at her as I entered the bar, which was glowing with mini twinkle-lights in red and green, the spruce that Blythe had cut down festooned with edible ornaments in the far corner; as usual, Grandma had gone a little wild with the tinsel, draping it all along the edge of the bar and then this year hanging fake icicles on its entire length. Tish had said it looked like Christmas barfed all over in here and I smiled at the thought. Jake was at a high top with two of his friends that I recognized from Landon High; he broke into a huge grin at the sight of me and I waved, trying to appear really busy and distracted.
“Kiddo, how are you?” boomed Eddie as I neared their table, rowdy with at least ten pleasantly-drunk ice fishermen.
“So you didn’t get the plaid shirt memo?” I teased Eddie, noting that he was the only one not wearing some version of checkered flannel. I indicated my own shirt with my pen and added, “Even I did!”
Eddie and everyone near him laughed and he dramatically opened his Carhartt jacket, the way a flasher would, to reveal a green-and-black check on the shirt beneath.
“Gotcha,” I said drily, shaking my head at him before I flipped open my order pad and I asked, “Are you guys eating or just drinking this evening?”
“Honey, bring us two baskets of onion rings—” Eddie began.
“Shit, Ed, that’s not near enough,” said someone down the table and my eyes flickered instantly towards the sound of a voice I didn’t recognize. I thought I knew everyone in Landon by now, especially anyone who would be sitting at Eddie’s table; Eddie and his little bar on Fisherman’s Street were such fixtures in Landon that guidebooks probably listed them as landmarks. This guy was holding a menu, regarding me with a lazy half-smile, and for the length of two heartbeats our eyes held completely still and steady. I was only aware of my heart at that moment because it delivered a solid punch to my breastbone. I blinked and looked immediately away from him, back to Eddie, though I also realized that my right hand, holding the pen, trembled a little.
What the hell?
I refocused all of my attention with real effort, injecting as much good nature into my tone as I could manage as I addressed the table at large, asking, “What else, guys? A couple more pitchers too?”
“Give us two more of the High Lifes and then five baskets…” Eddie paused here and made a point of asking the stranger who had spoken up, giving him a grin, “Is that all right there, buddy?” And then to me, “Five baskets of onion rings, sweetie, and how about one fried mushroom?”
“Coming right up,” I told him, smiling at Eddie as the rest of them went back to their conversations, laughing and joking about all of the dumb shit that amused guys. I tore off their order and retreated to the kitchen, where Rich and Blythe were busy keeping up with the unexpected crowd. I didn’t notice Jake until he caught up with me at the counter.
“Hey, Camille,” he said, enveloping me in a hug. I hugged him back, glad to see him but wishing that he wouldn’t feel compelled to hug me. He added, drawing back, “You look incredible. Don’t be mad at me for saying so.”
I shook my head, smiling in spite of myself. I said, “Thanks, Jake. It’s good to see you too. How’s school been this fall?”
“Great,” he said, as I went to the pass-through window to give Rich the order.
I called, “Rich! Couple of appetizers!”
Rich winked at me as I handed him the ticket and Blythe ducked down to say hi to both Jake and me.
“How’s your mom?” I asked Jake, guilt stalling my feet. I turned to face him as he straddled a stool at the counter; he was tall enough that with him sitting, we were nearly the same height. Like usual I felt an acute stinging in my heart for liking him enormously but not the way he wanted. I hated even worse that he wouldn’t seem to give up on me; surely there were girls at university who would be thrilled to date him. I had never asked.
Jake leaned on his elbows and said, “She’s doing well. She says hi. And it’s good to be back.” He studied me intently before he asked, “How have you been?”
“Good,” I said noncommittally. The stupid thing was, I knew he really cared about my answer.
“How’s Millie Jo? I’ve missed you guys,” he said, again with so much sincerity that I squirmed, rolling to my toes and then back down.
“She’s getting bigger all the time,” I told him, and just the thought of my daughter made my nipples prickle and swell as though to feed her; I thanked the powers that be for the padded nursing bra that Mom insisted I still wear. And then, “I better get that beer for Eddie’s table.”
“You need help?” he asked immediately.
“No thanks,” I said firmly. And then I tried to tease him a little, saying, “I’m the server here. You’re supposed to be relaxing.”
He flushed and said, “Right.”
My gaze flashed upwards at that second, some instinct sending an alarm bell clanging in my mind. The breath I had been about to release lodged itself in my throat and I suddenly found myself tr
ying desperately to behave normally, which was a sure-fire sign that attraction was rioting like a drug through my bloodstream. It had been so long since I’d experienced it that it was almost surreal.
Quit it right now, I told myself furiously. Before I could stop them, my hands lifted to fuss with my hair. To my surprise, the stranger from Eddie’s table stopped right beside Jake and clapped him on the back in a companionable if slightly drunken fashion. He grinned at me and I felt the intensity of it like a burst of sunshine, before he looked back at Jake and said, “Hey there, McCall. Long time no see.”
“Hey,” said Jake distractedly. He added, “I heard you were home.”
“I would love an introduction to you,” the guy said, looking back at me. He had very blue eyes and still I hadn’t spoken. I realized he was pretty drunk as he added in a teasing way, “But first I gotta use the pisser.”
The pisser. Jesus, Camille, this is who draws your attention like a train wreck?
Jake gave him a look that clearly asked, You’re talking this way in front of a girl?
I heard myself pipe up sarcastically, “The little boys’ room is that way,” and jerked a thumb over my shoulder to indicate the direction, earning another grin from him rather than the look of embarrassment I had been secretly hoping for.
Dammit.
He was probably a few years older than Jake and me, with the kind of build you’d expect on maybe a construction worker or a firefighter, one who handled large, heavy things on a regular basis. His flannel shirt was a blue-on-black check, rolled back at the sleeve so that I could clearly see the cords of muscle along his forearms, along with a lot of dark hair. The navy blue of his shirt almost exactly matched his eyes. He had thick black hair and what was probably a good day’s worth of scruff on his jaws and he was, as Grandma would say, handsome as the devil. There was a dimple in his right cheek.
Winter at the White Oaks Lodge Page 8