“I can just picture you,” I told him, and I could. I felt so possessive of him; I wanted to hear every story and know every detail. I wanted every touch and every kiss and I felt weak with longing for these things.
He was laughing, tickling me, as his lips were against my neck. He said, “We got them really good. We stole their clothes when they were swimming.”
“Were they skinny-dipping?”
He nodded, still laughing. “Oh it was sweet revenge. Mom told Dad he ought to horsewhip us, but Dad just grinned and said, ‘Boys will be boys.’ Isn’t that terrible? What a copout answer. But we got away with it.”
I shifted to kiss his neck and whispered, “No, it’s funny. It sounds like something Clinty would do.”
“I love how your family seems so close,” he told me. “I’m glad you’ve always had that. I know I fight with my sisters, but I can’t imagine life without them around. These last years in the Cities, that was the worst part, being away from my family.”
“They missed you too. All of them talked about you all the time, about how much they wanted you to move home,” I told him. His hands felt so good upon me, caressing me, that I shivered for the countless time, and he kissed my neck, just lightly biting me. I added softly, “And I was missing you too, with all of my heart, I just didn’t realize it until I saw you. Until you came home. I’m so happy you came home.”
His hands stilled their movement and he wrapped me close. I could feel his heart, the scent of him all around me, his skin and his breath, like a drug I couldn’t live without. He threaded our fingers together, our hands just beneath my breasts. He said, “You can’t know how happy I am to be home, to have found you. Camille, you can’t know.”
I said what was in my heart, “I know it’s crazy, but I never want to be out of your arms again.”
“You won’t be,” he said passionately. “Camille, I promise you. And it’s not crazy.”
Something even deeper than instinct shifted at these words, within me, and I closed my eyes and for a time we simply clung; no words were necessary. At last he whispered in my ear, “I want to build the cabin for us, for you and me and for Millie Jo.”
Tears washed over the bridge of my nose, as I was on my side, and Mathias turned me in his arms, so that he could brush them away. He kissed my lips and said, “That’s what I want.”
“That’s what I want too,” I whispered, choked up. “Our little cabin.”
He smiled at me, tears in his eyes too, though he didn’t let them fall. His blue eyes intent upon me, he said, “I love that you called it our cabin. It is ours. I could never build it for anyone but you. Will you let me build it for you?”
“I’ll help you,” I told him, smiling at him, stroking his thick black hair.
His eyes lit at my words and he said, “I’d like to keep the original building as a living room but make a newer wing with a kitchen, a real bathroom, a couple of bedrooms…”
At the mention of bedrooms (his, complete with bed, was so close) my stomach was suddenly poised at the tip of a roller coaster drop. Suddenly picturing the box of condoms still tucked in my purse no more than twenty feet away, I heard myself say, “Mathias…I have something…to tell you…” and was then besieged by a rush of heat across my face.
He kissed my cheek, one warm hand back against my belly, and whispered, “What is it?”
I was trembling then, and at once the expression in his beautiful eyes was worried. He said in a rush, “I love holding you like this. I love it with all my heart. I don’t expect anything else, you know that don’t you?”
My face was hot as a teakettle on the stove. I closed my eyes for a second and he implored, sounding worried now too, “Camille, don’t you?”
“I drove to Bemidji today and I…”
“What is it, sweetheart? You what?”
“I got a prescription for the pill,” I said as fast as I could. I opened mine to find him looking down at me with so much tenderness, so much love in his eyes, that there was no disguising it and my own heart beat with a radiant joy. I felt silly for even being embarrassed to tell him. My face, however, was still flaming.
“Well,” he said at last. He traced his fingertips down the side of my face and then kissed my lips as gently as the brushing of a feather. He said softly, “You know how a pirate must feel when he finds a treasure chest after a lifetime of obsessive searching? Totally priceless, the kind he would lay down his life for, that kind of treasure? This is a hundred times more precious than that. A thousand.”
I was laughing long before he finished his analogy, squirming against his hands, which were everywhere at once, tickling me.
“You think I’m kidding?” he gasped out, laughing too. “Because I’m not. I feel like a man who’s just grabbed the log that will keep him afloat, knowing that he’ll survive after all…”
“What?” I yelped, breathless with laughter as he dug wickedly into my ribs. “The log?”
“I’m just trying to express the depth of my gratitude at this gift—ooof!”
I had thumped him with a cushion and we rolled onto the carpet, laughing and struggling (though I didn’t exactly fight him away), eventually ending up with me beneath him; Mathias braced on his elbows over me and studied my eyes at close range. He whispered, “It is a gift. In all seriousness, Camille. I can’t imagine a time when I didn’t know you.” I curled my hands up and around his biceps, holding tightly to him, as he went on, “I want you to stay here with me, right here in my arms. I mean, I know you have to go home to Millie. I’m just wishing you could stay. This morning…this morning, right before I woke up I was dreaming that I couldn’t find you, Camille, and it was horrible. It was just a nightmare, I know—”
His words called to my mind a vague and unsettled memory, a sense of something I should remember and could not. I said, “Mathias, I feel like…I truly believe…that it has something to do with Malcolm Carter. He used to live in our cabin, he was there and then—” I cut myself short, uncertain what I had intended to say. I studied Mathias intently and then asked, “Will you help me find him?”
He nodded at once, saying, “I feel like it’s important too. If his family was here in Landon, what was he doing as far away as Montana? That’s at least a twenty-hour drive from here. What would that possibly equate to on horseback?”
“Over a month of riding, at least, not counting rest stops,” I said, half-teasing, and Mathias snorted a laugh, catching my right hand as I held his face, turning to press a kiss to my palm.
“Most importantly, I think, is what was he searching for?” Mathias asked.
“Maybe those letters your dad told us about, out in Montana, would have some answers…”
“Next summer we’ll drive out there. We’ll take a week and go. If there’s anything to find, we’ll hunt it down.” Our eyes held for a beat, and then longer. Mathias bent to me slowly, tracing his tongue over the tiny scar on my top lip and I trembled in his arms. He said hoarsely, “Camille, I’m not trying to change the subject, but oh God, I want to make love with you so much that it actually hurts. Here I wanted to be this amazingly good guy, the one who didn’t push you to do things you weren’t ready for, and I’m full of shit because I want to be inside of you at this second more than anything on this earth. Oh God…the way you feel in my arms…”
It was probably cruel to both of us, but I spread my legs beneath him, unable to stop as he’d spoken the words ‘inside of you,’ making a firm cradle for his hips, my arms around his neck. His eyes darkened with intensity and he groaned, “Oh my God…”
“You are an amazingly good guy,” I told him, feeling how hard he was through both pairs of our jeans. My entire body seemed to liquefy with the desire to envelope him. My voice shaking a little, I said, “And you aren’t pushing me. I want you, oh God, Mathias, I want you…”
He bent and kissed me, his tongue claiming my mouth with heated strokes. I moaned and lifted against him and the intensity of our kissing swelled
instantly beyond our control. He sensed this too and rolled us to our sides, catching me close to his thunderous heartbeat and tipping his face to my neck. I could hardly breathe. He whispered, his own breath ragged, “Camille…” He kissed my temple, the side of my neck, resting his lips on my hair. At last he said, “We’ll wait until you’ve started the pill. And I hope you know…” He kissed me again, deeply, before continuing, “I want you to know that I would wait as long as it took for you to be ready. You know that, don’t you?”
I nodded, letting my right hand rest on his jaw, delighting in the rough texture there. I said, “I do. I’m the one who can’t wait.”
“That is one hundred percent untrue,” he said passionately. “If I were any less a gentleman, I would be completely buck naked at this moment and so would you.”
I giggled at this, kissing his chin, tasting him a little. I whispered, “I used to think the expression was ‘butt naked,’ not buck.”
He groaned a little and his blue eyes blazed into mine as he said back, “The thought of you either way is about more than I can handle. You’re so soft, so silky…” He ran his fingertips lightly along my skin, exposed by the v-neck of my sweater, before following the same path with his tongue. I made a sound in my throat and he whispered, “And you taste so damn good…”
At that moment a key turned in the lock, out near the kitchen, and I squeaked. Mathias rolled us again, lifting me back up to his lap, atop the couch, just as Skid came clunking into the apartment.
“Hey, guys,” Skid said on the way to his room.
“I better get going anyway,” I whispered reluctantly and Mathias held me tighter in response. I was tingling and electric in his arms.
“I know you have to go but I’m rebelling against the thought. Can I come and sleep over with you? I can hardly bear to let you out of my sight. God, I sound like a fucking stalker…”
I started laughing at that, teasing him, “You’re not hurting, are you…” though for whatever reason I suddenly saw the words from Malcolm’s telegram emblazoned across my mind’s eye.
He pressed his face to my back and laughed. He said, “I’m not gonna lie…I’m hurting a little…” He kissed me between the shoulder blades and then said, “C’mon, I’ll drive you home, birthday girl. But I’m going to sing to you on the way…”
I giggled and covered his forearms with my own. Even though I hadn’t told him that I loved him, I knew he sensed it; it was in my every look, my every touch. I said, “I get to pick the song.”
“Oh no,” he contradicted, and began humming the first lines of ‘Sneaking Around With You.’
“Oh that’s my favorite one from Best Little Whorehouse,” I told him, giggling, and he closed his eyes and really let loose with Burt Reynold’s part of the duet.
“Jesus Christ, Carter!” Skid yelled from the bathroom. “Put a cork in it!”
Mathias stood, lifting me with him, still singing. He paused to kiss my neck and then continued the song, full-force.
“You’re crazy!” Skid shouted, though I could hear him laughing.
And that was the truth; Mathias was exactly my kind of crazy.
***
Two hours later, snuggled into my own bed with Millie snoozing angelically at my side, I reached and opened the top drawer of my nightstand, extracting the picture of Malcolm Carter and Aces. I held it to my heart for a moment and then clicked on the lamp, squinting against the brightness of it, though Millie didn’t so much as stir. In the splash of amber-tinted light I tilted the photograph, my eyes roving over it for the countless time, searching for any sort of clue.
Malcolm A. Carter.
What happened to you?
What were you searching for?
For some reason I didn’t have the sense, in this image, that the loss had yet occurred. There was no way to be certain, but the photograph conveyed happiness, contentment even. This was not the photo of a desperate man, racing to find something even indefinable; it was a sharp contrast to the tone of the telegram, which he would deliver sometime in the next year.
Silently I implored him, Why, Malcolm? You’re Mathias’s great-something uncle, I know you are. Tell me. Find a way to tell me, please. What were you searching for?
On sudden inspiration I crept from bed and bundled into my robe before sneaking down to the kitchen, lit only dimly with the last of the embers in the woodstove. I found what I was looking for with little trouble, my fingertips familiar enough with this space that light wasn’t necessary. Back upstairs, magnifying glass from the junk drawer in hand, I reexamined Malcolm Carter and Aces.
He’s so handsome. He does resemble Mathias, I can see that now. Same nose, same straight eyebrows. I wonder if his eyes were blue.
I shifted the tool slowly over the old black and white paper, with its thousand gray tones, fixating over his face, his hands. But then I saw something, the tiniest of details; without the magnifying glass it would not have been visible. Malcolm was wearing a piece of leather tied around his wrist, which I had noticed before, but clearly my eyes had been flowing over it without really seeing it; upon this closer inspection, however, I realized that there was a word carved into it, as though with the tip of a knife. I bent forward even more sharply, a pulse of excitement heating my blood, rushing through my veins, and placed the picture directly beneath the lamplight.
Cora, it read.
A beat of awareness. I squinted and suddenly felt a trickle of sweat between my breasts. Impatiently I used my robe to swipe it away and questions swarmed into my mind. I debated calling Mathias right now, but he was probably sleeping and he had to get up early to start their route. Just as I had the thought, my phone vibrated and I was smiling even before I leaned to grab it from beside the bed.
Just wanted to say good night and I’ll c u tomorrow(!!!)
Hey! I found a name – I inadvertently bumped ‘send’ before finishing.
That’s great news!!! For what??
I giggled at his wording, hearing the way his voice would sound as he asked.
A name on Malcolm’s wrist! Carved on his leather wristband!
What name?
Cora.
Doesn’t sound like a brand name. Wasn’t Lorie the girl he was writing to?
Yes, but – and here I gave up texting and pushed the icon to call him instead.
“Hey,” he said, softly, answering at once.
“Hey,” I said back, warmed through and through at the sound of his voice, all husky and low. He was most certainly in bed. Was he naked? Was the sheet covering him? My thoughts narrowed to a slim corridor of desire.
“Are you in bed?” he asked, and his voice and this question, so close to the one I had just been thinking, made my belly heat up. I thought of how he had touched and kissed me all evening, what incredibly lush lips he had. He added, with a hint of teasing, “Your thoughts that are making me blush and I love it.”
I giggled then, whispering back, “I’m just missing you, is all. Are you in bed?”
“Oh my God, I miss you too. I am in bed. I wish you were right beside me. I want to click on the lamp and see your face. I want to play the game where I try to decide if your eyes are more green or more gold.”
I giggled more, whispering, “I’m in bed too. I was just looking at the picture with a magnifying glass that I remembered was in the junk drawer. I can’t believe I never thought to do that before. And then, just now, I spied the name. What do you think it means?”
“Not his mother,” he said, speculating. “Not a sister, either; I mean, I love my sisters, but I wouldn’t wear a bracelet with their names.”
“It’s not exactly a bracelet…more like a wristband.” I studied the strap around his wrist even more closely. “It’s braided, but there’s a smooth spot on the top and that’s where it says her name. This is so exciting!”
“It is,” he agreed. “Can I come over right now?”
“Yes!” I encouraged, before giggling again. “Oh God, Mathias, I would tuck
you right into bed with me.”
He groaned and said, “I’ll be right there.”
“Don’t tease me,” I told him.
“I’ll see you tomorrow after work,” he promised.
I love you, I wanted to say. Instead I whispered, “I’ll be here. Sleep tight.”
“You, too,” he whispered back.
Chapter Thirteen
“Millie Jo made you a cupcake,” I told Mathias on the phone. It was New Year’s Eve and he was coming for dinner. I was wearing a new sage-green sweater Mom had given me for Christmas, my favorite jeans, and gold-tinted eyeliner, just enough. Tish and Ruthie had been over all day, along with little Matthew, who Grandma and Aunt Ellen were watching while Mom and Blythe went for dinner in Bemidji. They liked to eat at the Sparkling Waters Café, where they’d had their first date back in 2003. Matthew was crawling all over the place, while Millie Jo followed a step behind and bossed him quite joyously. Ruthie, whose hand was far steadier than either mine or Tish’s, painted my nails a meticulous, sparkling gold.
“She did?” he asked. “I can’t wait to see it. But she won’t be there, will she? Isn’t she having supper with the Utleys?”
She was; Noah’s parents had called me to ask if she could spend the evening with them. Though it made my stomach feel slightly hollow, I allowed that they loved her too. And Millie adored them; I wouldn’t deny her to them, at least not when it was an occasional request. I didn’t know if Noah would be there or not. I had not heard a word from him since the night at White Oaks before Christmas.
“Yes, they’re picking her up at 5:00.”
“Shoot. I’ll see her tomorrow then. Unless there’s two feet of snow tonight, Skid and I are taking the day off.”
“Good, you deserve it.”
“I’ll see you soon, sweetheart,” he said then, and I felt a beat of anticipation; we hadn’t exactly discussed it in so many words, but my period was over and I had taken the first birth control pill today…and I thought that maybe tonight…maybe we could…
Winter at the White Oaks Lodge Page 21