Winter at the White Oaks Lodge

by Abbie Williams

  But then my heart punched my breastbone as I saw that Tess French had also joined Noah and Mandy. Even though I knew that Mathias and Tess’s relationship was over, had been over since high school, a white-hot poker of jealousy seemed to have been rammed down my throat. Noah may not have existed for all I cared about him at that moment. I realized I had stopped walking and was staring at them. Mathias looked over at me and his expression softened. His hands were braced on the bar, spread wide, like a bartender from an old-time saloon. My heart doubled its speed and I dragged my eyes away and proceeded to the far side of the dining room to check on my table.

  “Why’s Matty so upset at the bar?” Tina asked as I re-entered the kitchen to collect their mozzarella sticks. She added, “Crap, he looks like he’s about to spit out a few nails.”

  I shrugged as though I had no idea. A minute later Mathias caught up with me in the kitchen, his hands full of empty beer mugs, which he deposited with a clatter into the sink. He said, “He doesn’t know you’re here. He’s pretty drunk. He tried to talk to me like we’re friends or something.”

  “Tess is here too,” I said, not intending to sound so pointed.

  “I can’t help that,” he said quietly.

  A half hour passed. I wrapped up my last table and studiously avoided the bar, while Noah apparently proceeded to drink three whiskey Cokes, according to Mathias, who kept me informed. Tess and Mandy continued chatting, giggling and acting like morons. Not that I noticed or anything. I had cleared three tables in my section and it was going for 8 :30 when I realized that only Tess was still sitting there; Noah and Mandy had left. Mathias was nowhere in sight and so I let my shoulders relax incrementally, but it was barely a minute later when I was wiping down the last table that Noah said from behind me, “Hi, Camille.”

  My heart twisted up into an icky little knot and for a second I considered just ignoring him. But I would not be a coward. I thought about how his parents had just asked if they could come to Shore Leave for dinner. How much they adored Millie Jo, and were kind to her. Even Noah’s older brother Ben and his wife occasionally came to visit me and my daughter.

  I turned around slowly and regarded Noah Utley, involuntary father of my child. He was standing with his hands in his front pockets, looking thoroughly drunk and even slightly shamefaced. I let my gaze take in the familiar: his clear, pale-blue eyes and close-cropped blond hair, the cleft in his chin. I sometimes wondered if Millie Jo would eventually have one on her chin, too. So far she looked mostly like me and I hoped it would stay that way. Noah seemed older, more filled out; he was tall and broad-shouldered in his navy-blue peacoat and had grown the lightest of goatees, which didn’t really do much for blond men, in my opinion. But he was still handsome and I felt shabby in my server outfit, with grease stains on my apron.

  “Hey,” I said at last. My hands became loose fists before I could stop them. And then I could not believe my eyes; Noah checked out my breasts, his gaze lingering, before looking back at my face. At once I felt the urge to deck him in the stomach and then, a devil perching on my shoulder, I thrust out my chest just slightly more.

  Go ahead and look, you drunk dickhead. You’re never touching me again.

  “How’ve you been?” he asked, rocking back on his heels.

  “Millie is getting so big,” I said, only the tiniest catch in my voice. He flinched and I continued, “She’s the sweetest little girl in the world.”

  His eyes again flickering over my body, Noah asked, “When did you start working here?”

  “Since November,” I told him distractedly. I realized that while Mandy seemed to have disappeared (perhaps in a puff of witchy smoke) Tess was watching us intently over her shoulder.

  “I’ll stop out and see Millie,” Noah told me. “I really will, I’ve just been so busy…” his voice trailed away and I refocused upon him with venom.

  “I’m sure,” I said, putting every ounce of sarcastic innuendo into my tone.

  “Listen,” he said, and his voice was slightly slurred. For a second I almost asked him if he needed a ride home. But that wasn’t my job anymore. Against my will, I thought of the summer we’d been together, how many beers he had consumed then, how many times I had seen and heard him act exactly like this. Usually just before he would give me his most charming smile and start working on unbuttoning my jean shorts or slipping his hands beneath my skirt.

  How could you have let him treat you that way? How could you not see that he was playing you?

  Anger flared within me like brushfire; the rest of the dining room receded as I yelled in a whisper, “Listen to what? What could you possibly have to say to me?”

  “Camille—” he began, pitifully, but I didn’t let him speak.

  “You haven’t seen your child in over a year!” I hissed, stepping closer to him without realizing I had done it; we were practically nose to nose. Or we would have been if he wasn’t quite a bit taller than me. I railed, keeping my voice low with extreme effort, “You haven’t so much as called and then you fucking waltz in here with your fucking girlfriend—”

  “Camille, Jesus, do you have to—”

  “Don’t you dare scold me!” I hissed and then realized that Tess French had come up behind Noah’s shoulder.

  “What’s going on?” she demanded, also fairly tipsy.

  All of the fury that had been broiling inside of me for the past two years was being given free reign. I rounded on her, my face blistering hot. I snapped, “None of your fucking business!” I was all about the f-bomb right now.

  “Don’t talk to me that way, you little slut!” she snapped right back, driving her pointer finger into my shoulder, hard enough that tears sprang to my eyes.

  I thought the top of my head might come off as I went for her with my hands curled into cat claws; to my extreme surprise, Noah leaped forward, caught me around the waist and hauled me away, preventing me from actually doing any damage to Tess. A tiny part of me was able to be grateful that there were no customers present; unfortunately at that exact instant Mathias came pushing through the swinging doors, just in time to see Noah and I tumble over a chair; Noah’s drunken state and my furious momentum caused him to stumble backward and we went tail over teakettle, taking the chair too.

  Mathias was at my side before I could blink, let alone collect my bearings. He caught me around the waist and lifted me at once from the pile-up, clearly astounded. He put his hands on my shoulders, ran them carefully down my arms, asking, “Holy shit, are you all right?” And then his eyes flamed with anger as he addressed Noah, still flat on his back beside the chair, “What in the fuck? Put your hands on her again and you will fucking regret it!”

  “No…no…it’s not like that,” I tried to explain, winded from the fall and with adrenaline pulsing through me. I said, “I was…I was just…”

  “You’re crazy!” Tess hissed at me, hands on her hips. “Fucking nuts!”

  “Stay out of this!” Mathias ordered her.

  “Fuck you!” Tess yelped back, shoving at his shoulder and flames came into my eyes again.

  “Don’t touch him!” I hissed at her and she narrowed her eyes at me, as though in speculation.

  She purred, her boozy breath reaching my nose, “I’ll touch him all I want. Tell her, Mathias. Tell her how we fucked all over your apartment the night you moved in. Just this Wednesday.”

  Scalding water to the skin would have hurt less than those words. I sensed more than saw the stun that crossed Mathias’s face at her pronouncement and I wanted so badly to believe that she was bluffing.

  Oh God, oh God, oh God. What if she’s not?

  He didn’t come over until at least two hours later that night.

  And it was Wednesday.

  How would she know that?

  His voice tightly controlled, Mathias said, “That is not true.”

  Noah muttered, still on his back and obviously a few paces behind, “Camille is not a slut.”

  I blinked and though horro
r was coursing through me, I heard this quiet pronouncement. I could feel the shakes starting in my knees but I bent down and offered Noah my forearm. I experienced a flash of redemption at his words; at least he could acknowledge this about me.

  “Camille,” Mathias said intently, but I couldn’t look at him; my heart was roaring in my ears. Noah gripped my arm and I helped him sit, the trembling moving into my upper body now.

  “Are you all right?” I asked Noah, even though my lips felt numb.

  What did you expect?

  So stupid, Camille.

  She’s lying. She’s trying to hurt you.

  Noah nodded and used the edge of the table to attempt to get to his feet. I didn’t bother to stick around to see if he managed, shoving past Mathias and Tess, whose smirk seemed to fill up my entire vision. Mathias came after me at once, and then I ran, slamming directly into Mandy Pearson, who must have been in the bathroom. I was going to have bruises all over from this evening. She yelped in surprise but I disentangled myself and dashed through the kitchen.

  “Camille, wait!” Mathias said behind me, his voice hoarse and frantic-sounding. I was tripped up at the door, out of necessity, needing to grab my coat and purse so that I could drive home. My hands were shaking so badly that I could hardly manage to retrieve these things from the hooks by the back door, tears flooding over my face.

  See, you’ve let a guy do this to you again.

  Mathias caught my shoulders in his hands and turned me to face him. His eyes were blue darts into my soul and he said intently, “She is lying. She said that to hurt you and it’s not true.”

  I was a tear-streaked mess, turning my face towards my left shoulder and consequently away from his, sobs coming hard and fast now. Mathias made a choked sound and insisted, “Camille, oh God, don’t cry. It’s a lie. I know it’s hard but you have to trust me.”

  And then I shoved at his hands and almost screamed, “I don’t have to do anything!”

  He appeared stunned and I stumbled blindly out the door and into the freezing winter night. Again he was right behind me and so I ran across the icy parking lot, my purse bumping my hip. At my truck he cornered me against the driver’s side door, our breath appearing as clouds of blue-white steam in the icy glow of the streetlight.

  “Camille, don’t go,” he implored, sounding aghast. “Don’t believe her. It’s what she wants.” His eyes intense upon my face, he asked, “Where are you going?”

  “Home of course,” I said shortly, my voice broken up with half-sobs. And then I cried, “I can’t do this. I can’t handle it. I’m so scared…”

  “Don’t go,” he said again, taking my upper arms into his warm hands; he had to be freezing. The wind was biting and he had no coat. “Oh God, don’t go. Please.”

  I could hardly force words past my sobs but caught my breath and then moaned, “I just need…to go home.”

  “I’m driving you,” he said then, with certainty, controlling the panic in his tone. “There’s no way I’m letting you go alone.”

  Mathias, I thought, aching for him to come with me.

  But I said, “I just need…to be alone,” and fumbled for the keys in my purse, turning from him to attempt to unlock my pickup.

  His voice shaking a little, he said, “Please,” and moved his left hand to the truck door, as though to keep it closed. The wind howled and my tear-streaked face was freezing. All I could see was his strong hand, fingers spread like a starfish against my window, his powerful forearm bare to the cold wind, as his shirtsleeve was rolled back. He said, “Camille, please.”

  I shook my head, at last managing to unlock my door. I was so aware of him standing there, so close to me, that I could hardly breathe, but I refused to look at him as I said, “I’ve got to go.”

  “Please don’t,” he said and his voice was low and intense.

  “I have to,” I said and my throat was so choked that the words were hardly more than harsh whispers.

  Wordlessly he removed his hand from my door and I climbed inside as quickly as I was able. He didn’t move from the side of the truck, watching me. I started the engine and drove away into the snow; I hadn’t cleared the parking lot before sobs again came ripping up from my chest. I could see him in the rearview mirror, standing like a statue where I had left him. I turned left for Shore Leave and the streetlight shone through the image of his hand against my driver’s side window.

  Chapter Ten

  I sat in the candle-glow of the Christmas tree for an hour, nursing my daughter to sleep with the comforting background cadence of Grandma and Aunt Ellen in the kitchen, drinking coffee and chatting. At times like these I felt as though I was channeling Mom, picturing her curled in the same position, the exact age I was right now, holding me to her breast as she sat in this same living room and thought about where in the hell her life was going. I had gotten my sobbing under control but my heart was aching in my chest. It was absurd to feel this way, I kept reminding myself. I had only met Mathias a week ago.

  A week ago, Camille. Jesus Christ. You can’t let yourself feel this way. You know this. Better to just let him go now, before you like him more than you already do.

  My eyes moved to the couch, where we’d curled up the past four nights to snuggle and talk, though Mathias had left for home instead of falling asleep with me as he had on Monday night; again tears came flowing hot and painful. My heart seemed shriveled and I refocused on my daughter, with all of my willpower.

  Millie Jo, baby. I love you so much. Please don’t ever know how much I resent being a mother. I wouldn’t trade you, baby. It’s just so hard. I don’t know if I’m doing this right.

  I studied her little cheek, moving as rhythmically as a chipmunk’s as she drew sustenance from my body. My breasts were as fully rounded as halved cantaloupes, my nipples the size of miniature marshmallows. I marveled at this almost every time I bared them; it was like looking at a stranger’s body superimposed over my own. Millie’s head wasn’t quite so dwarfed by my breasts as it had been at first. Her eyes were closed, her lashes soft against her flushed cheek. I stroked the tip of my index finger into her downy hair, curling the same strand repeatedly.

  Please come, please come over, Mathias. Don’t listen to me. I’m just so scared. Oh God…

  Millie Jo sighed and detached from my nipple, smacking her little rosebud lips. I bent to press a kiss to her temple, my tears falling on her face; I used the edge of my pajama sleeve to gently wipe her dry.

  “I do love you,” I whispered to her, scarcely more than a breath of sound. “I want you to know that. I hope you always know that.”

  I rolled gingerly to my knees and then carried her up to our bed, where we would continue to sleep alone together for the foreseeable future.

  ***

  I put on my bravest, most cheerful face all the next day, Christmas Eve. It was as picturesque as a snow globe outside, the house redolent with the constant baking. We had decided to celebrate Christmas Eve with everyone at Uncle Justin and Aunt Jilly’s, but Grandma and Aunt Ellen were insistent upon bringing their specialties, olive-cheese bread and pecan pies. I couldn’t think about eating a bite and only managed to dress and pretend to be fine because of my daughter. This was a huge day for any child, and she was so excited and dancing all over, thankfully claiming everyone’s attention. If Grandma or Aunt Ellen noticed anything amiss with me, neither said a word; I was doing a great acting job though, unwilling to even think about explaining how short-lived my time with Mathias had been.

  Grandma only mentioned him once, asking, “Will Mathias be joining us this evening?”

  “No, he’s got family stuff of his own,” I said with forced nonchalance. “Maybe tomorrow though!”

  I survived the evening at Aunt Jilly’s, forcing myself to laugh and play cards with the adults while the little ones ran wild, even though I’d had to sneak into the bathroom to throw away my plate of food. For a moment I bent over the toilet, thinking I might vomit, reflecting that puking had
been how I’d first realized I was pregnant, once upon a time. By the time we got home and I managed to coerce my over-stimulated child into bed, I felt as though I might crumble apart at the seams, like an old ragdoll. Grandma helped me arrange presents under the tree as soon as Millie Jo was sleeping and then I begged off when she suggested we make some hot apple cider and talk.

  “I’m just so tired,” I said, and retreated to my room. I lay in the darkness and caressed my phone, wanting to call him. Dying to hear his voice.

  But at last I’d fallen asleep without managing to dial his number.

  It must have been hours later that I woke to the hall light and Grandma asking, “What in the world?”

  I sat up and then stumbled to my bedroom windows. Headlights were coming towards the house. From the living room I heard Aunt Ellen proclaim, “It’s the Carters’ plow pickup.”

  Mathias.

  I flew into my robe and raced down the stairs.

  “It’s Mathias,” Grandma informed, having joined Aunt Ellen at the window. They peered through the curtains and then looked back at me with almost comical unison. Grandma said with certainty, “I told you he was crazy.”

  I heard the growling of the diesel engine as he drew near, the headlights beaming right into the front room. It was probably three in the morning, it was snowing buckets, and my grandmother and great aunt were bearing witness to everything.

  “Is he drunk? Camille, if he’s drunk I’m calling his father,” Grandma complained.

  I swung open the front door just as Mathias climbed from the cab of the plow pickup, leaving it running. He was wearing his Carhartt overhauls and steel-toed snow boots, his gray stocking cap, and his cheeks were flushed with the cold. I guessed that he hadn’t shaved since sometime yesterday and his hair was sticking out from beneath his hat. He pulled off his big gloves with his teeth, tossed them back on the seat, and then walked with determination, coming to a stop just in front of me.

  “I came to tell you not to be scared. And that you can trust me,” he said softly, his eyes serious and intent upon my face. “And that the thought of not seeing you is more than I can bear.”