“Sorry,” Evelyn said again, and closed the door with a bang, yelling, “Em, get back here! You have to ride with me! Uncle Matty is bringing Bryce!”
Shit, shit, shit! She was not prepared to deal with stress like this so early in the morning. Her face torched with blood as she fully appreciated the fact that Matthew lived here. In this very house, under this roof, for a long time. Memories were built into these walls for him and Bryce wanted to run her fingers over everything he had touched here, to see every picture of him, to take it all in like a heavenly drug. Mother, I could kill you for these secrets, she thought viciously. Or fate, destiny, as though these were concrete entities whose throats she could put her hands around. Whatever she should call the malevolent chance that had put her and Matthew into each other’s paths and caused them to react so strongly to each other. Alone in a room in the house her young half-uncle had called home for years, she wrapped her arms around her bent legs and held tight for a moment, fortifying her nerves to face this week.
It’s only a week, she reminded herself. After this you can go home…or at least back to Oklahoma…and forget you ever met this man, forget that he ever touched you…you can marry Wade like he’s been hinting and raise a dozen of his babies in his mother’s basement…
She cut herself off because her future all at once seemed utterly mapped out before her third eye, as dull and ashy as the landscape beyond Wagon Box Court; she stared into this imaginary rendering with a chill in her gut, seeing herself flopped on a sofa in a trailer like her mother’s, listlessly smoking as the blue glow of a television set flickered over her face. Growing older and grayer, her body unkissed and uncaressed, her soul slowly withering away.
I could have done it, could have lived with it, if not for the other night. She knew this to the bottom of her heart and for a moment the feeling hollowed out her very soul.
***
She crept out of her room and down the stairs 20 minutes later into what appeared to be an empty house. Her heart was slapping her ribs almost painfully; she was conscious of nothing but the fact that Matthew may appear around any corner, with those beautiful eyes that seared right into the center of her. She had dressed in cut-offs and the only other top she had with her, barring the funeral outfit: a plain apple-green t-shirt with two daisies growing up from the hem. It was a ridiculous shirt, with a small rip along one seam, but she had been in a hurry on Sunday, and there was no time to get to the laundromat before her bus left, courtesy of Michelle. A quick shower, a splash of make-up, and she’d wound her long hair up into a heavy knot on the back of her skull.
She edged around the corner from the dining room to kitchen and there he was, calmly sipping a mug of coffee. He had of course heard her creeping down the stairs like a spy in his house. He pinned her with his incredible eyes for a second too long before saying, “Morning.”
“Morning,” she returned. She noticed the coffeepot on the edge of the stove and moved towards it gratefully.
“In the cupboard right above you,” he told her in response to the unasked question.
She grabbed a mug and poured herself a steaming cup, smelling the lilacs out the open windows beyond the small round kitchen table. She joined him at the table, feeling raw and sickly vulnerable. With every ounce of her being she wanted to be held tight against his chest right now. She wanted it so much she could hardly even look at him.
“No one’s here,” he told her for no particular reason. “The girls just left for the Pull Inn. I volunteered to drive you down there, I hope you don’t mind.”
She gave in and stared back into his eyes, both of them acutely conscious of their night together in Oklahoma…when they had kissed like lovers about to be parted indefinitely, when he had held himself still and deep within her, just marveling at the way their bodies fit. She would never force the memory of that night from her mind, even if she lived to be a thousand. No one else in the world would ever touch her like that again, she was deadly certain. Even with the truth of their relationship looming like a third person in the room, Bryce couldn’t stop herself from taking him in, studying his face as thoroughly and wordlessly as he studied her own.
He was so handsome he was beautiful. It killed her to realize that she would never be able to kiss him again. His jaw was clearly freshly shaved, but still retained a hint of the dark whiskers that by evening would be all sandpapery and irresistable. He braced his strong forearms on the table before himself, cupping both big hands around the coffee mug, sliding his thumbs slowly up and down its ceramic length. Was he doing that on purpose or unconsciously? Because it was making her half-crazy with desire. Her heart was lashing her insides, but she wouldn’t be the first to look away, goddamn it. Let him.
“I don’t mind,” she whispered at long last, breaking their gaze, and he leaned back a fraction.
“I work down there, too, we all do,” he said. “I’ll show you around today.”
“Did you know about me before last night?” she asked him suddenly, aggravated by bullshit. He lowered his eyes and breathed out through his nose for a moment, as though trying to compose himself.
“Yeah,” he said at last, quietly, looking back at her with an open, earnest expression. “I did. I thought your name was Elizabeth.”
“It is. Elizabeth Bryce Mitchell.”
“Mitchell must be your dad’s name?”
Bryce traced a pattern on the tablecloth with her index fingers. Seconds later, with no trace of self-pity, she informed him, “I’ve never met my father. I don’t even know his name, if you want the truth.”
Matthew didn’t offer any comment on this, just kept gazing so seriously at her.
“Do you remember my mother?” she asked next, unable to bear the silence, sliding the mug of coffee out of the way; there was no way she could relax enough to drink it right now anyway. “When did she leave Minnesota?”
Matthew looked up toward the ceiling for a moment, back into time. “I remember her a little. I was only about three or so when she left. She would sometimes play with me, hold me on her lap. I wouldn’t recognize her in a crowd now, though. I’ve never seen so much as a picture of either of you.”
Bryce flushed and closed her eyes for a second. When she opened them again, Matthew was looking at her with something on his face that she didn’t fully understand; it was as though he wanted to crack her open and know every last secret she had, too.
“I’ve been going over and over in my mind what happened that night, Bryce,” he said, low and intent, and her heart swelled just hearing her name from his lips. “And I wouldn’t change it for anything. I want you to know that, and I don’t want you to feel ashamed about it.”
It touched her deeply to hear those words. “I wouldn’t change it, either,” she told him, crazy for any little excuse just to touch him. He curled his fingers into his palms for the same reason, afraid to let himself make contact with even the back of her hand.
“It’s killing me right now,” he admitted, unable to stop the words. “Before Wilder called me that night…when you fell asleep and we were lying there in that room…I wanted to take you and run away with you.”
Joy splashed through her.
“I wish we were there again,” she said, hurting inside. “I can’t believe that we’re related.” But somehow she couldn’t make herself believe it would have mattered to her that night, had she known. She said, softly, “When I woke up and you were gone…”
“I’m so sorry,” he told her again, shaking his head side to side. “I had to leave after I talked to Wilder…I felt so guilty for being away when Dad died…”
“No, you did what you had to,” she told him. “I understand that now.”
“My dad…he was such a good man,” Matthew said, quietly. “I didn’t even get to say good-bye to him, and now he’s gone.”
“Matthew, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, aching to touch him. But they couldn’t do that anymore, not ever again. And it struck her to the bone to realize this.
“It’s all right,” he said, rising to his feet abruptly. Standing, he towered over her, making her feel at once utterly protected. If she had stepped forward and placed her nose against him, it would have touched the center of his chest. “You didn’t eat any breakfast,” he observed, changing the topic.
“Here, I’ll grab a banana,” she said, noticing the bunch hanging from a hook under the cupboards. “I don’t usually eat much for breakfast, anyway.”
“You’ll build up an appetite at the campground,” he told her, hardly conscious of what he was saying, leading the way outside and to his big old rusting truck. He actually paused and opened the door for her, then closed it firmly behind her and rounded the hood. She was certain he was naturally polite that way, and not putting on a show for her. He was tender. She knew that from making love with him, knew the gentleness in his big hands, and how he could hold himself so still inside of her…so sweetly…
Stop this, she told herself. You can’t think like that anymore.
But as he climbed inside and flashed her a grin, that effortless grin that he’d given her just before their first kiss back in Oklahoma, she was stunned again at how right it felt to be near him. She dragged her eyes away and asked the first thing came to her mind. “So your dad bought the campground when?”
“In 1980,” he told her, driving with his right hand hanging at the bottom of the wheel. “It was about a month before I turned 10, and Wilder and Dad were tired of running the farm, and this place came up for sale. Dad brought me out here in this truck, actually, and we sat and looked at the main office, which looked pretty shitty and rundown back then, and Dad said, ‘How’d you like to go camping every day this summer?’ Of course I said that would be great, and he handed me a key and told me my wish was granted, just like that. Wilder and Erica were going to help us run it, he said. They’d been married for about two years by then, but they’ve been together forever, since junior high.”
Bryce smiled at the slightly wistful tone in his voice. “They seem really happy, those two.”
“They are. Erica would probably slap me for saying this, because she’s not that old, but she’s been more like a mother to me than anyone I remember. And I just love those kids more than anything in the world.” Or did until now, he almost said. He couldn’t believe the strength of what he was feeling, and for a second he thought of a conversation he’d heard between his older brother and Erica, when he was about 12 or so.
“I worry about Matty,” Erica had told Wilder; they had been on the big couch in the living room, a fire burning that chilly winter night back when. Matthew paused upstairs at hearing his name and crept to the top of the steps to listen. “He gets himself too attached to things. He’s so soft-hearted, Wilder.”
“That ain’t exactly a bad thing,” Wilder said back, his voice low. “Dad’s the same way; Matty got that from him.”
“Well, you sure aren’t in any danger of soft-heartedness,” she teased her husband in a different tone, and Matthew had crept back to his room that night to ponder what Erica meant, and why she would worry for him.
He thought he knew a little bit better now. The campground appeared through the trees seconds later, and Matthew slowed to a crawl around the familiar turn, seeing Riley’s truck parked beside the two green golf carts the kids used. Bryce smoothed hair behind her ears with both hands, and his heart went all crazy again just seeing that gesture out of the corner of his eye.
Can it, he warned himself. You’ve got to be stronger than this. It’s up to you…you’re older and wiser, for fuck’s sake! Besides, what sane man felt this way for his half-sister’s daughter? You never knew her before the other night, he reminded himself. But that doesn’t matter. She is no-man’s land for you, Sternhagen.
Except that she wasn’t. Because, goddamn it, he knew how she tasted and how amazingly thick her hair felt clutched in his jealous hands, and sitting there with the sun creeping towards midday a mere 72 hours after he had come inside of her countless times…he would torment himself the rest of his life with this. His heart ached with desire and something far more sobering as Bryce smiled at Riley, coming to open the truck door for her, grinning back at her with a look Matthew recognized. Clenching his jaw, he shouldered open his own door and tamped down the urge to shove Riley, his best friend of nearly 15 years, roughly away from the door handle.
“Hello there, sleeping beauty,” Riley joked, and Bryce rolled her eyes at him. But she flushed a little, and Matthew upgraded his idea to include smashing Riley’s freckled face into the hood of the truck.
“We’re ready to put you to work,” Riley went on, taking her by the elbow, and then added to Matthew, “Sterno, there’s a shitload of people waiting for you to open the boathouse.”
“Great,” he muttered, as Erica met her little brother and Bryce at the entrance, smiling widely, too. Bryce threw a look at him over her shoulder and he gave a little wave, admitted momentary defeat, and then headed off through the woods to the beach, where he had spent every moment of every summer until now content as a cat dozing in the sun.
The hike through the woods to the lake was one he enjoyed with every fiber of his being. The mingling scents of the blue spruces, evergreens, Norway and Jack pines were as sweet and familiar as a longtime lover. His waterproof sandals crunched over the loose gravel, which had, one summer past, been edged with rough-hewn logs by Wilder, Riley and himself, creating a crisp, orderly look to the paths that his father had preferred. Sun warmed his shoulders as he walked, breathing in the early-summer air, catching sparkling glimpses of Rose Lake through the trees as he neared the beach that curved like a clamshell out into the water, a lovely beach covered over with what the kids called “sugar sand” for its pale softness, courtesy of the native limestone ground to powder centuries ago. The lake was shaped roughly like a kidney bean, this eastern side serving the campground’s swimming area and two massive docks, while the western swell lapped the Sternhagens’ smaller, private dock a half-mile away, where he had taken Bryce just last night at sunset.
A shitload of people were waiting indeed, over-nighters and day-passers, kids screeching and running everywhere, most already out in the water amongst a host of beach balls, inflatable toys, water noodles, and yelping dogs. Although Matthew knew basic first aid and CPR, there was no lifeguard on duty at their beach, which was the same for most of the local campgrounds, and rules were posted but often disobeyed. Riley and Erica’s younger sister Debbie worked the beach with Matthew; Debbie sold soda and popsicles from an umbrella stand near the changing rooms, which she also kept clean, while Matthew supervised the canoe and paddle-boat rentals. Together they kept a lid on the major rule-breakers, most of whom commited such crimes as toting glass bottles or not cleaning up after their dogs; little annoying things that could potentially make any beach a shithole. Once a drunk dude threw a punch and started a fight with two other guys, but Matthew had simply walked into the fray and ordered, “STOP,” and even in their inebriated states of mind, the three took one look at the dead-serious face towering above them and stopped almost politely.
Debbie saw him now and waved. He waved back, pulling on his sunglasses and battered army-green sunhat and digging the keys from the right pocket of his swim trunks. He smiled a greeting at the people waiting to rent boats, and in no time had signed off on half of their 10 canoes and two of the five paddle boats. He distributed life vests and waterproof seat cushions, oars and pleasantries, all the while thinking of Bryce, wondering what she must be doing at this moment, if Riley was making her laugh – which made him clench his jaw a little – wondering if her hair was still piled on her head or if little soft strands of it were drifting down her neck…
“Uncle Matty!” he heard behind him, and moments later a body hurled itself against the back of his knees with a jolt.
“Hey there, buddy,” he returned, as Cody detached himself and grinned up at his huge uncle. “You find any good snakes today?”
“No, Mom
told me I better quit doing that or I’d get spanked.” Cody pouted for an instant, but then brightened again. “You won’t tell her if I find one, will you?”
“Hey, I know better than to get on your mama’s bad side,” Matthew returned, grinning down at his freckle-faced nephew. Since the kids had turned eight, they’d run wild all over the campground, which comprised a good hundred acres. They surely knew every last little inch of the space, as he knew it from his own childhood. Memories he would not trade for a millon dollars. He asked Cody, “You need more sunblock?”
“Naw, Mom just sprayed me with some a minute ago. I was up at the office looking for Em.”
“Yeah?” Matthew tried for casual, not that Cody would have noticed anyway. “Was Bryce around up there?”
“No, Uncle Riley is showing her all around the campsites in a golf cart—” And here his face turned stormy again. “And Evelyn got the other one, even though I wanted it first!”
Riley, you rat bastard, Matthew thought uncharitably. To Cody he said, “Why don’t you go and grab a popsicle from Auntie Deb?”
“Okay. See ya later, Uncle Matty!” And he bounded off.
“Hey, Sternhagen, you in there?” called a man, coming up to the boathouse from the main path. It was hardly more than three-sided shed, with hooks for the canoes and jacks for the paddle boats behind a crude desk. Matthew had just settled into a lawn chair, but rose immediately to his feet, hearing the familiar voice.
Bartholomew Taylor, Jr., almost as tall as Matthew, ducked under the striped awning and shook Matthew’s proffered hand. He clapped the younger man on the back and said, “I sure am damn sorry to hear about Daniel.”
Matthew nodded his thanks and offered Bar a seat.
“Thanks, but I can only stay a minute,” the older man said, though he sat and stretched out his khaki-clad legs in the manner of someone who wants to relax. Bar removed his expensive sunglasses and looked over at Matthew, his expression somber. “I wanted to come out and see you guys, pay my respects. The Lodge is yours for Wednesday, you know. I spoke to Wilder already.”
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