For once Gran was likewise gentle-voiced. She murmured, “Jillian, it’s natural, love.”
Jilly pressed her mouth hard against her shoulder. I felt my heart pang for my sister; all summer I’d been so busy wallowing in my own problems, selfishly. And she was hurting…time hadn’t much dulled it for her, I knew, and my heart constricted again. I loved her so much.
“Jilly Bar, we love you,” I told her, voicing my thoughts. “We love you so much.”
She nodded. Across Flickertail Lake the music had stopped, and the night sounds around us seemed absurdly amplified; Ruthann, who’d slept through the last two hours without a flinch, suddenly sighed and shifted restlessly.
“I think it’s time for bed,” Jilly whispered.
“Do you want to take a walk, Jilly Bean?” I asked her, standing with only a little tipsiness, and moving around the table to cup her head in my hands. I smoothed her soft, short hair for a moment. Aunt Ellen leaned to kiss her cheek, then Mom, before they moved with one accord to help Gran.
My sister caught my right hand in hers for a moment, pressed it to her face. Then she said, “No, thanks though, Jo.”
She helped me cart Ruthann over the path to the house, where we giggled at the difficult process of hauling her inert body up to the third floor. So much for all three girls sitting on my bed for a good long talk tonight. Ruthie mumbled something that sounded like “flower child” as we tucked her into bed. I bent and kissed her soft round cheek, and then followed Jilly back down the stairs. Outside, under the full moon, we stood for a moment, side by side, and studied the sky. Mosquitoes whined and buzzed around us, and I slapped at one on my ankle. It was impossibly still, creating the sensation that we were on a sound stage rather than outdoors; the splendid, spotlight-quality of the moonlight only added to that impression. It would be the moment in a play when the lead character would reveal a truth or insight.
“Are you worried about the kids? Should I head over to town?” I asked at last. I wouldn’t drive after consuming so much tequila, but I could certainly walk over to Landon. I craved a walk anyway; my legs were restless, my spirits unsettled. The air seemed electric, unresolved.
“Nah, they’re fine, Clinty will bring them home now that the music is done,” my sister said. She gave me a long look, seeming resigned. She whispered, “Night, Jo.” And then she turned and made for her garage apartment.
“Good-night,” I called after her retreating back, feeling a little abandoned. The porch was empty, too; Mom, Ellen and Gran had come in while we carried Ruthann upstairs. I noticed the candle lantern was still flickering, and moved to blow it out.
Chief was still dozing on the porch as I climbed the steps moments later, leaving the house in quiet darkness fifty yards down the shoreline. He thumped his tail at me and I knelt to rub his shaggy head.
“You wanna take a walk, boy?” I asked him, and he got immediately to his feet, tail flopping like a flag in high wind. Chester, our other lab, must have gone home with Mom. The night air was warm but I pulled the rubber band from my ponytail, letting my hair act as a sort of neck-shield from mosquitoes. I leaned and blew a breath into the candle flame, releasing a tendril of smoke into the night air, and then slipped on the tennis shoes that Mom had left on the porch earlier in the evening.
“Come on, buddy,” I muttered to Chief, and started for Flicker Trail, hoping I might spy the kids returning from Trout Days any moment. I knew they were more than old enough to navigate the wilds of Landon without me, but it was late, and I was a mother. I couldn’t help but worry.
I walked along the familiar path in the darkness, imagining all of the times I’d had Jackson by my side on this same stretch of road, holding my hand, laughing as we talked about everything and nothing, sometimes detouring to find a sheltered spot between the trees to make love. I’d given myself so completely to him in those days. I recalled laughing and gasping as I’d clutched the slim trunk of a maple, bent over, jeans bunched around my ankles, with Jackie behind me, clutching my hips and hurrying to come before we got caught, or too bug-bit. It was a wonder I hadn’t gotten pregnant long before senior prom.
My face felt hot, and I pressed both my palms there, drunker than I’d realized, flushed with liquor and these damnable memories of my husband. Other times we’d swim naked in Flickertail Lake, pressing our slick, wet bodies together, laughing as he slipped in and out under the silky lake water. My nipples were round and aroused at just the thought of those days. I sighed then, cursing myself, moving my gaze to the ground, where the spilling ivory moonlight created faint leaf-shadows at my feet. In the next moment I heard the sound of an engine, and headlights came beaming from around the bend. I thought it might be the kids on the golf cart before I realized it was a much bigger vehicle, as the twin lights bounced over me and Chief.
Blythe was braking his truck just a few feet from me in the next moment, his window rolled down. My body seemed to pulse, an electric current of pure and simple want. Oh, how I wanted him.
He asked, sounding amused, “Isn’t it a little late for a walk, Joelle?”
I fiddled with my hair, feeling ridiculous. I finally said, “I was worried about the kids.”
“Actually that’s why I’m headed over,” he said. “The kids want to stay and watch the fireworks. Jim Olson’s shooting them off over the lake. I tried calling the café, but no one answered.”
“Oh,” I said, genius-like. “I forgot about the fireworks. Thanks.”
He asked then, “Do you want to go and watch the show? I’ll drive you.”
Yes, yes, I did, very much. But I was afraid that if I climbed into that truck the way I was feeling right now, it wouldn’t be a good idea for anyone involved.
I heard myself reply, “Do you care if Chief rides along?” and nodded at the dog. There, the golden lab would keep me utterly virtuous.
Blythe laughed, a warm, deep sound. “Hell, no, now get in here. I’m holding up traffic.”
I walked around his truck and watched as he leaned to open the door for me. Chief bounded into the tiny backseat, while I climbed more slowly, again feeling parts of my body seem to expand and glow with desire. My breasts, my belly, my fingertips, my mouth. I settled onto the worn seat, absorbing the gift of this time alone with him, with Blythe. The truck smelled like leather and like him. Warm and faintly of cologne, just a hint of something really good. I kept my gaze fixed straight ahead as he reversed and cranked the wheel to head back into town. He drove with his right hand at six o’clock.
Blythe turned to look at me from two feet away, and I braved a peek in his direction to find him grinning. My heart splattered against my ribs. He asked, “Did you by any chance pour tequila over your head this evening?”
I heard myself giggle, and asked, “Is it that bad?”
“Saturday margarita night,” he observed. “I can dig it.”
“How do you know about that?” I asked, somewhat astonished.
“Gramps, of course,” he replied easily, referring to Rich, as he slowed down to turn back onto Fisherman’s Street. The festivities were still going on, lights twinkling, people moving towards Eddie’s Bar. I turned in the seat as I spied Justin in a group, but he didn’t notice me before disappearing into Eddie’s. Blythe drove to the end of the street and parked, and moments later he, Chief and I were making our way through the crowd, headed for the beach. It felt strange, walking with him, as though we were a couple. Again I wondered about his girlfriend, and contemplated what she must look like, and if, certainly being local, I knew her. Probably I had baby-sat her once upon a time; I scoured my drunken mind, considering girls I used to watch when I was a teenager. And then I tripped over an abandoned bottle, and Blythe caught my right arm in his left hand and kept me safely upright.
“Shit, thank you,” I told him, mortified. He kept his hand braced around my bare upper arm for a moment longer, studying my profile.
“Anytime,” he responded gently, and stroked me lightly with his thumb. It was ju
st a flickering touch, but my blood zinged and my breath caught. As we started walking again, Blythe was just slightly nearer than before, and I was aware of him along every inch of my skin. He caressed me; I couldn’t help thinking, marveling at it. I could not be imagining that touch for anything but what it was, and my belly was again weightless with equal parts desire and wonder.
The beach was mobbed in the moonlight, kids still running everywhere despite the late hour. I peered around in vain, searching for my own, but a resounding crack signaled the first of the fireworks, and there was no hope of finding them now. Above the lake, the air exploded in a firebomb of sizzling red sparkles. Cheers absolutely erupted, and Chief barked excitedly, tail thumping again. Blythe took charge and said, “Come on,” leading us through the crowd towards a picnic table close to the trees.
It was darker here, slightly away from the rest of the crowd. No one had claimed this table because its position allowed for a slightly impaired view of the fireworks over the lake, but I didn’t care. The only fireworks I was interested in were occurring inside of me. We sat on the table, bracing our feet against the bench seat. I sat first, allowing Blythe to choose the distance between our bodies; he moved close, his left arm brushing my right. I felt faint and thrilled, terrified and joyous, all swirled together under my breastbone. As the fireworks shot up and over the lake in a continuous radiance of shimmering color, Blythe turned to look at me again. He said, tipping his lips near my right ear, “I’m glad I found you walking tonight.”
I couldn’t look at him, though I wanted to, my entire body thrumming and my cheeks practically blistering. I curled my hands around my bare knees, trying to still the trembling. He allowed no quarter, following these words with a soft, “Thanks for coming with me.”
How should I respond? “You’re welcome” seemed absurd. I wanted to say, Blythe, if you only knew what I fantasize about you, if you only knew what I am feeling right now…
His hand, his strong, warm hand pressed against my lower back then, lightly, skimming along the edge of my worn blue t-shirt, and he trailed his fingertips along the skin bared there. We were virtually alone, anonymous here in the darkness of my hometown. I couldn’t help but gasp a little; his touch sent such trailers of pleasure through my limbs. He felt the trembling in my body, I was certain. Still I couldn’t look at him, because if I did I would give in and I would kiss him, and then all I would want was to make love until I couldn’t walk.
“Joelle,” he whispered, his mouth almost against my hair, and I was done for, with that word from his beautiful lips, the lips I had watched for weeks now, had dreamed about opening over my nipples.
I turned my chin a fraction and he brought his lips to within an inch of mine, his other hand moving to press against my belly in a wide, warm length. I moaned, softly, leaning into him and then he kissed me, a lush, open-mouthed, shatteringly incredible kiss that sent me melting against him, my hands moving to curl around his huge, hard shoulders. Somewhere within me, where the last bit of my sanity was attempting to make a valiant stand, I couldn’t believe I was doing this. But that was shortly drowned out by the flood of rampant desire overpowering my blood.
Oh God, Blythe, Blythe, I thought, as he sucked gently on my bottom lip and wrapped his big hands around my waist, letting his fingers slip beneath the fabric of my shirt to tease my bare flesh. His tongue stroked mine, his mouth more inviting than anything I had ever known. We kissed and kissed, and he moved his hands slowly up my waist, his thumbs finding my nipples beneath my bra. He drew lazy circles over them while his mouth plundered mine, and I moaned again, it felt so good. So necessary.
When he drew back, I almost collapsed against him, my eyes closed, my head tipped slightly back. He said, low, “I have been wanting to do that since the night I met you, Joelle.”
My eyes flew open. I regarded him with something close to stun, still in his arms.
“Don’t look so surprised,” he laughed, nuzzling warm kisses along my jaw. I was liquid and fire, all at the same moment. “You haven’t noticed, huh?”
Still I couldn’t formulate words. I came slowly to my senses, and then grew suddenly terrified that someone might have spied us…but the fireworks were still exploding, and no one could see us where we sat. I finally managed, “But…how can you…how can that be?”
“What do you mean?” he asked, holding me close, his hands still under my shirt.
“I’m…you’re…” I found I couldn’t articulate the problem of the difference in our ages.
“Because I’m younger?” he asked.
I nodded at last, wanting so badly to kiss him again. My eyes kept detouring to his lips, and he grinned.
“I’m twenty-three,” he told me in his beautiful deep voice, though I hadn’t asked.
Twelve years. Shit, shit, shit, I thought.
“And I’ve been in jail,” he added, soberly. “Gramps said you knew.”
“Yeah, I know,” I told him. I wanted to tell him it didn’t matter, but of course it did. So many things mattered, but then he kissed me again, and all things reasonable flew swiftly away. For that moment, I let him saturate my senses and kissed him back with total abandon, sliding my hands over his hard torso, down to the vee of his bent legs. He moaned a little then, thrilling me…I hadn’t heard that sound from a man in way too long, and I wanted it, absolutely craved it. He shifted to accept my left hand as I slid it over the zipper on his jeans, pressing lightly against the ridge of incredible hardness. My own body seemed to liquefy in that instant…I wanted him inside me, and that meant I had to stop.
The last volley of fireworks, the grand finale, was happening now, I could tell: the sky above Flickertail Lake was absolutely soaked in bursting color, the full moon like a beacon in the background. As the noise died out and the smoky scent of black powder filled the air, I pulled away and whispered, “We’ve got to go.”
Blythe kissed my jaw, my chin, my lips one last time, then drew away. He whispered, “Can you meet me sometime this week?”
Yes, oh yes, yes, yes…
We can’t…this is so wrong…I can’t possibly…
“I will,” I told him, as we got to our feet and I tugged at my shirt, smoothed my hands into my hair with trembling fingers. Chief was wagging his tail, waiting dutifully for me. I patted his head and tried to pull myself together. Blythe rubbed his hand over my back once more.
“Good,” he said simply. “Let me know.”
We joined the crowd, just two more people who’d enjoyed the fireworks, and hadn’t walked more than twenty yards before I intercepted Clint and my girls, tangled in a big bunch of laughing teenagers.
“Hi, Mom!” called Tish, waving and grinning at me, uncharacteristically giddy. I wasn’t three feet away before I caught the beer on her breath.
Dammit, this was just what I deserved right now.
Camille detached herself from the group and hurried to my side; if she seemed surprised that Blythe and Chief were both with me, she hid it well. But I was suddenly too angry at Tish to care what anyone might notice. My oldest read my face and instantly began laying the groundwork to cover up for her sister; I knew this technique all too well. Hadn’t I used it to cover for my own younger sister a million times in years past?
“She’s not drunk, Mom,” she said right away, but I could see that Clint was, and then I was even more pissed. Oh, the irony of parenthood. It was a whole new experience to be on this side of the equation, the angry adult who saw clearly what was going on, then immediately projected all of that wrongdoing into a lifetime of potential crime and heartbreak for her daughters and nephew.
“Goddammit, Camille,” I said, my voice shaking. I felt like the world’s biggest hypocrite. Blythe, who could have easily distanced himself and headed for his truck, instead moved through the crowd of kids and caught Clint in what appeared to be a brotherly headlock.
“Come on, little buddy,” he said, easing Clinty away from his friends, who were hooting and acting obnoxious.
“Mom, she just had one beer,” Camille went on, dogging me as I clutched Tish’s upper arm in one hand and propelled her after Blythe and Clint.
Clint was leaning on Bly for support, and they just made it to edge of the beach in time for Clint to double forward and spew vomit in a wide arc. His friends began laughing and chortling at his expense, and I yelled in their direction, “I know all of your parents!”
“God, Mom!” Tish yelped at me, horrified.
“You are grounded with a capital G,” I informed her through clenched teeth, meanly pleased to see the group of rowdy kids disperse like wildfire at my words. I curbed the urge to yell something else after them, feeling slightly ill myself; the smell of boozy puke was thick in the air as we caught up with Clint and Bly. This was a recreation of a hundred thousand of my own teenage nights.
“Mom, I’m sorry,” Camille said, breathlessly, probably figuring that as the oldest she was in the most trouble.
“I am in no mood to deal with this tonight,” I told my girls, and then took pity on Clinty, who was clutching his belly and groaning slightly. Bly had one arm around Clint’s waist, supporting him. I moved and patted my nephew’s spine.
“Sorry Aunt Joey,” he managed before another wave of retching engulfed him.
Fifteen minutes later we had rounded up the golf cart, which Camille elected to drive home, with me supporting Clint in the backseat, Chief on the far side of him. Tish rode in front with her sister, eyes forward, an angry set to her shoulders. I’d bid Bly a totally platonic and apologetic farewell, insisting that he didn’t need to drive us back to Shore Leave. His gaze had lingered on me as I’d herded the kids into the golf cart, and despite the anger churning through me, I let just the thought of meeting him later this week (because surely I couldn’t really meet him) fill me with a buoyancy I hadn’t known in a long, long time.
Summer at the Shore Leave Cafe Page 9