Summer at the Shore Leave Cafe

by Abbie Williams

  I was happy on the surface. The familiarity of place and presence of family infused my soul like a comforting balm in which I’d not been bathed in years. The girls settled into routine, helping out occasionally during lunch, but mostly having fun with their cousin on the lake, canoeing, fishing, swimming, paddle-boating and clam-digging to their hearts’ content. They’d met several of the other local kids as the weeks slipped past, and I was grateful for their distraction. They talked often to their father, but were so busy filling him in on the details of their busy days that they forgot to mention me; I had yet to determine how I felt about that. Jackie didn’t ask and I didn’t offer, and so I hadn’t heard my husband’s voice in almost a month. While at the café I was very careful to replace my early and instant attraction to Blythe with a sort of false bravado. I actually just avoided him whenever I could, and when it was necessary to talk I fronted a cheerful, almost deprecating attitude that I quite hated. But it was either that or humiliate myself to a revolting degree.

  He was gorgeous as ever, there every day in the kitchen, working beside Rich, joking with everyone, good-natured and calm. If I found my gaze lingering too long on him, I chastised myself and recalled that he had a girlfriend, though he’d never mentioned her. After the first night, he didn’t ask if we’d accompany him to town; maybe Rich had talked to him about the appropriateness of that, even though I couldn’t imagine Rich doing so. I had yet to drive into town for any bar-hopping (and with two bars in town, it’s not as though there was too far to hop), too exhausted at the end of the day to do more than hang out on the dock with Jilly, sipping a beer. It wasn’t until a lazy evening in the second week of June that she talked me into accompanying her to Eddie’s; I was tired of making excuses and that evening we managed to sneak the golf cart away from the kids and made our way around the lake to town.

  The scene at Eddie’s was mellow, the usual for a Monday night. Jilly and I were greeted with open arms (literally, as he swept each of us into a bear hug) by Eddie himself, who then proceeded to pour us a draft on the house. I opted for a Leinie’s, Jilly a Schell, and we chatted for a bit with Eddie and the ever-present Jim Olson, his best friend and, as we’d concluded long ago, Eddie’s Platonic Life Partner. Jilly had coined the phrase years ago when we decided, in middle school, to be each other’s if we never found our true loves. Both men were married, with grown children, but apparently found the most happiness in one another’s company.

  “Jo, you look beautiful,” Eddie told me, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he grinned. “And Jillian, you too, darlin’ girl. Just like Joanie twenty years ago.” I was glad Mom hadn’t heard this offhand compliment, which Eddie would surely have delivered even if she’d been with us, bellied up to the bar.

  “Well thanks,” I told him, taking a long sip of the smooth golden beer. “Mmmm, this hits the spot.”

  “Jackie coming up later in the month?” Jim asked from the far side of Jillian, where he leaned against the bar to industriously apply chalk to the end of a pool cue.

  “Yeah, yes, he probably will,” I responded, then took another long drink, in hopes he would abandon this line of questioning.

  “Well, have fun, ladies,” Jim added, and then made his leisurely way to the table, where his drink sat waiting. Eddie joined him minutes later, leaving us in relative peace. The radio above the bar was crooning the local country station, out of Bemidji. An older couple was chatting down the bar. I sighed, and smoothed one hand over my hair, as though it had slipped out of place; my hair was straight and smooth, no hint of a wave, and it felt vaguely unfamiliar as it hung past my shoulder blades. For most of my motherhood career, I’d kept it shoulder-length and in a tight ponytail. It used to shine as blond as Jilly’s from the days on the lake, but was now a shade or two darker.

  “Jo, it’s so nice to have you back home,” Jilly reflected again, nudging me with her shoulder. “It feels like the old days.”

  “It does, kinda, doesn’t it?” I observed, though in the old days I’d had piles more confidence, a good tan and much perkier breasts. It sounded so petty and material when I thought of it that way, but, I justified, my self-esteem had taken a huge hit and my pre-baby figure would have added untold amounts to my current outlook. I sighed for a second time.

  “Stop that,” Jilly admonished me, and I caught her eye in the Pabst Blue Ribbon mirror above the bar. She gave me a look and then I turned to face her, smiling in spite of myself.

  “Okay, you’re right, no more self-pity,” I said.

  “You want to do a couple shots, maybe go dancing? Scare up some trouble?” Jilly teased.

  “Yeah, all the people we’d scare up trouble with are probably home with their kids,” I said.

  “Or already in bed,” she joked. “It is a Monday after all.”

  “It’s good to be working again,” I said. “Truly, it gives me something to do so I don’t have to think. I don’t know how I got through the last five months since Christmas.”

  “You’re a Davis at heart, remember,” Jilly said. “We get by on our own.”

  “I know, I know. I was never very good at getting by on my own though. I’m slowly starting to realize how much I depended on my husband. God, I don’t even have any friends in Chicago, at least not any of my own.”

  “Why not?” my sister asked, studying me. She swirled the remaining beer in her glass, slowly, as though beginning a hypnosis routine.

  “I don’t know, motherhood, maybe. It’s so easy to blame that. All these years I’ve been so busy mothering and running around for them—not that I mind—but it’s hard to have a life.”

  “I mind!” Jilly said, reassuring me. “Clinty is demanding as hell most days, and he’s a teenager. Honestly, I can’t imagine having more than one child at a time.”

  “Even if Chris were still alive?” I asked. I was the only person, other than Gran, who would have dared to ask her such a thing.

  She considered for a moment in silence. “Shit, Chris wanted at least six kids. He always hated being an only child. Imagine now how great it would be if Clint had some cousins on the Henriksen side.”

  “Chris’s mom is still alive, right?”

  “Yeah, but she’s not in great shape. They had Chris when they were in their late forties.”

  “I remember that they were pretty old. I guess not everyone begins bearing children in their teenage years, like our family,” I joked, only sounding a little bitter. It’s not as though Jilly or I had conceived without help, after all.

  “Right,” Jilly laughed. “But hey, our kids have turned out all right. The girls seem totally happy to be here. I love hearing them chatting with Ellen and Mom in the mornings. And Tisha is a great help to Rich, you know.”

  “I know, he was telling me that last night actually. She ties on a bandana just like— ” and for only a fraction of a second did I pause over his name, “Blythe, and then gets right to work.”

  Jilly giggled. “We’re going to get cited for child labor.” And then, her gaze lifting over my shoulder, she murmured, “Speaking of the devil.”

  “Huh?” I asked, but my internal radar began humming and as I turned on the bar stool, towards the front door, I knew who was coming into Eddie’s.

  He grinned to see us, and my heart began slap-chopping my ribcage. I swallowed once, unable for a moment to tear my gaze away from him; because I was closest to the door, he claimed the open spot beside me, his eyes never moving from mine as he sat, with easy masculine grace.

  His hair was tied back, though he was not wearing his customary bandana—the first I’d seen him that way. He had a high forehead, edged by his slightly wavy hair, which was a honey-brown. His eyebrows, by contrast, were thick and shades darker, as were his enviable long lashes. I had never been so close to him before, as the bar stool beside mine put our faces about eighteen inches apart, and my breath was tight, my nipples very much at attention. His eyes were dark blue, with flecks of gray throughout his irises, giving them a smoky
appearance. His jaw was strong, his lips sensual, the lower just slightly fuller than the upper. I observed all this quickly, before forcing myself to turn away, though it seemed to me that a space heater had taken up residence against my left side; I was burning up with him so close.

  “Hi, Bly,” Jilly said comfortably; I’d almost forgotten my sister was there.

  “Hi, you two,” he returned. “So, you don’t come out when I ask, huh? Am I interrupting a ladies’ night?”

  “Nah, we just needed to get out of the café for a while,” Jilly said, doing all of the conversing while I sat, tongue-tied and overwhelmed by the fact that Blythe was so near that if I shifted my left knee just a few inches, it would come into contact with his right one.

  “I was driving home and saw the golf cart out front, thought I’d say hey,” Blythe explained, leaning both forearms against the bar. The position made his biceps and wide shoulders appear even more powerful. Eddie waved hello, and moved as though to get him a drink, but Blythe called, “I got it, Ed,” and so saying, rose and leaned forward over the bar, helping himself to a can of soda. He sat back, comfortably, and cracked the top on the can, his eyes skimming again to mine. “You guys managed to steal the cart from Clint, huh?”

  “Yeah, he left it unguarded for a second, and we nabbed it,” Jillian said, her voice teasing.

  “You two planning on getting wasted, or what?” Blythe joked back.

  “Tempting,” I said, finally speaking up. “But no, we were just too lazy to walk.”

  Blythe turned his gaze fully upon me, and my body seemed to be radiating with warmth and light. I took another very long drink and almost drained my glass. He went on, watching me, “Is it good to be back home? Jillian told me that you never really liked living in such a big city.”

  And what else had she mentioned, I took a moment to wonder. Then I replied, pleased that my voice sounded normal and not at all breathless, “Yeah, I miss it here. You never really get over where you grew up, you know?” I braved a look into those eyes and my heart again surged against my breastbone. I hoped my cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. For the love of all things holy, I was just having a conversation. I was trying quite desperately not to think about the proximity of his shoulders and how strong they would feel if I put my hands on them…

  “That’s true,” he said, still a hint of a grin hovering around his mouth. “Your daughter Tish is a big help to Gramps. She told him yesterday she wants to be a chef, and can she practice with us? She’s a hoot.”

  He had just the slightest drawl in his deep voice, a hint of the south, and I recalled that he was from Oklahoma. It was sexy. Everything about him was, dammit. I felt as though my clothes were too tight; I was surprised that sweat wasn’t trickling over my temples.

  “Yeah, she loves Rich, he’s like their grandpa, too,” I went on, hardly aware of what I was saying.

  “Well they could all teach Clint a thing or two about work ethic,” Jilly said. “He’s lazy as hell. Even Ruthie helps with rolling silverware.”

  “Aw, it’s summer,” Bly defended. “He’s got the rest of his life to work, right?”

  “Well he can quit asking me for money then,” Jilly said, then nodded at my empty glass. “Jo, you about ready for another one?”

  “Yeah, thanks,” I told her.

  She hopped nimbly to her feet and called over to Eddie, “I’m grabbing two more, k?”

  “That’s fine, sweetie,” Eddie called back.

  Then Jim said, “Jillian, you got to watch this shot,” and she rolled her eyes, but collected both glasses and ambled over to the pool table amiably.

  I was now sitting alone at the bar with Blythe. He was angled my direction, and I made myself speak, saying the first thing that popped into my mind, “So, how did you get your name, anyway?”

  He laughed a warm, deep sound. I felt it vibrate in my belly. “No one here has asked me that yet,” he said. “It’s kind of a strange one, I know. It’s my dad’s name. It was his mother’s maiden name. How about yours?”

  “Oh, Mom put together her and Ellen’s names,” I explained. “She thought it was an original, but I have met other Joelles before.”

  “It’s pretty,” he said, easily, and I swore his eyes were teasing me, daring me to misinterpret him. There was a merriment about him that was almost addictive. “Joelle what?”

  “Well thank you,” I added politely. “And it’s Joelle Anne.”

  He tipped his head at me, just watching my face, and my heart was throbbing. I was unable to move my gaze from his and might have made a fool of myself if not for Jilly’s tinkling voice coming back our direction. She asked, “You want the same thing, Jo?” and I looked back at her.

  “Yes,” I responded.

  “How about you, Bly?”

  “I’m good with the soda,” he told Jilly, as she filled two more drafts for us, sliding one across to me.

  “How is it going, living with Rich?” she asked Bly, sipping her own drink behind the bar, leaning back against the far counter as she did at Shore Leave.

  “Good, he’s such a good guy,” Blythe said. “He does so much for my mom and me, always has.”

  “I don’t remember Christy ever coming back up here after that one summer,” Jillian went on.

  “We didn’t often,” Blythe responded. “Mom likes it in Oklahoma, thinks that’s where Dad will come back to look for her.”

  “That sounds familiar,” I said, referring to our own mother and Mick. “But our dad never got back the Landon way.”

  “Yeah, sometimes I think we should try to hunt him down on the Internet,” Jilly said. We’d talked about it before, but it had only ever been talk.

  “No, I say let sleeping dogs lie,” I said.

  “Okay, Gran,” Jilly teased, and I held up my right hand in defense, the other curled around my beer.

  “Can you just see a man trying to help Mom and Ellen run the café?” I laughed at the very idea of my independent mother putting up with a husband. It was something I had not inherited from her; I had been long dependent on Jackson.

  “Now that’s a picture,” Blythe said, and he nudged me companionably with his right shoulder, sending my heart cartwheeling from the contact. Flustered, I took another deep drink and felt Jilly’s speculative gaze linger on me for a fraction of a second.

  “True,” Jilly acknowledged. From outside came the elongated moan of a train whistle, on the tracks just outside of town. Jilly listened for a moment, then said, “Jo, remember that night Jackie and Justin hopped the train on a dare?”

  I shook my head slowly at the memory, wondering why she’d bring this up right now, other than the fact that she’d just heard a train. I said, sarcastically, “No, I’d forgotten.”

  “What happened?” Blythe asked.

  “They would have been fine, probably, but Jackie slipped and fell off the train, and then Justin freaked out and jumped off to see if he’d been hurt, and they both wound up in the hospital,” Jilly filled in. For me, the most vivid memory of that night was my fear that Jackson had been badly or permanently injured; I’d run into that hospital room with my heart in my throat, and cradled him to me, sobbing. It was only a few weeks before the fateful prom night during which we’d ended up conceiving Camille. I had never confessed to anyone that I’d been secretly thrilled to be pregnant, beneath the fear and terror about telling everyone the news, because it meant that Jackie belonged to me, and me only, from then on; God, I’d been so stupid and naïve it was almost laughable.

  “I’ve done that a time or two,” Blythe was saying, drawing me back to the present. “But I never did fall off. My grandma Pam always said my guardian angel worked overtime.”

  “From the stories I’ve heard Rich tell about you, she’s right,” Jillian commented, and he grinned again, shrugging his shoulders and then draining the last of his soda.

  “Well, I’ll let you two enjoy the rest of your night,” Blythe said then, rising to his feet and putting a couple of
dollar bills onto the bar. He angled a quick look at Jilly and then his eyes came to rest on me. I leaned my right elbow on the bar and met his gaze, my chin tilted high; he was so tall. He added, his tone light but his eyes intent on mine for a fraction of a second, “Call over to Rich’s if you need a ride, all right?”

  “Thanks, buddy,” Jilly said and I pulled myself together.

  “We’ll be good,” I told him, and the right side of his lips tipped up in a teasing grin.

  “See you tomorrow then,” he said, and walked out the door with his shoulders shifting so amazingly beneath his t-shirt. Moments later I heard the sound of his truck firing to life and only then realized I was still staring after him. I turned back to find Jillian studying me with her arms folded like an annoyed schoolteacher.

  “What?” I muttered.

  “Jo, Jo, Jo,” she said, sounding exactly like Gran. And then, “Let’s get home. Enough excitement for tonight, huh?”

  It rained that night, a steady downpour through which thunder rumbled and lightning backlit the curtains at regular intervals. I told myself this was why I couldn’t sleep, not because of my thoughts that kept circling back around to Blythe sitting so close to me at the bar. Again I played over our conversation, whispering his name, his grandmother’s maiden name that was now his. And then I would curl around my stomach and just drift into a restless sleep when thunder would grumble yet again and my eyes would flinch open.

  ***

  A few days later Landon’s Trout Days, our official small-town celebration opened with a fish fry, parade, and street dance. And that was just Friday.

  The girls were beside themselves with excitement Friday morning; Clint was going to drive them into town for the parade on the ancient golf cart that Dodge kept in the shed. The girls were wearing what had become their summer uniforms: jean shorts over their swimsuits, hair in high ponytails. Camille had on a bikini top, slightly on the skimpy side, and one that I had never before seen. I was sitting with Aunt Ellen and Gran, sipping coffee, and watching my girls make their way into the café, debating whether or not to say something about my eldest’s mostly-bare torso. Gran, however, took the decision out of my hands, gesturing with her cane and wondering aloud, “Camille, what’s that dental floss around your neck?”