Summer at the Shore Leave Cafe

by Abbie Williams

  Chapter Seven

  In our parking lot, I helped Clint from the golf cart and up the porch steps, unlocked the café with the key hidden under a window shutter, and proceeded to make a pot of coffee. The girls settled their cousin at table three, where he tucked his head into his bent arms and groaned again. Both girls were edgy and I allowed that, not speaking nor looking at them as I worked with quiet efficiency, toasting a few slices of bread for myself, spreading peanut butter as my gaze wandered to the kitchen, where Blythe worked. And he had wanted to kiss me since the night we’d been introduced. My hand was shaking again as I attempted to pour a cup of coffee for Clint. Never in a million years would I have guessed that.

  Even Tish was looking nervous as I slipped the mug in front of Clint, then leaned back against the counter between two stools, and regarded the three of them with my arms crossed. Camille was chewing her thumbnail, mascara smudged under her eyes. Tish was obviously stone sober by this point, watching me warily, tipping her chair back on its hind legs.

  Finally I ordered, “So tell me about tonight.”

  Tish plunged in, her voice contrite, “Mom, we just were having fun.”

  I rolled my eyes and asked, “What have we talked about so many times?”

  Camille said, “It’s not like that, really. You know we don’t drink, Mom, but Clint’s friends had all this beer, and Tish just had one, seriously. I only had a sip, I don’t even like beer.”

  I sensed she was telling me the truth, but asked, “What about Clinty?”

  He groaned at the sound of his name, and mumbled, head still cradled in his arms, “Aunt Joey, please don’t tell Mom.”

  “You are shitfaced drunk, young man,” I observed. “Tell me why this won’t happen again, or I will go and wake up your mother this moment.”

  Clint lifted his head at that, winced at the motion, and said, “It won’t happen again, I promise, Aunt Joey.”

  I sat down then, across from my nephew, and took one of his hands in both of mine. His hands were big and all knuckles. I held it tightly as I said, “Your mom would die if anything ever happened to you, you know that don’t you?”

  Clint’s eyes welled, and my own responded with sympathy tears instantly. I went on, “It’s your dad’s birthday today, and so you need to be extra good to your mom tomorrow, okay?”

  He wiped his eyes with his other hand, and I knew he was truly sorry. He whispered, “I will, Aunt Joey, I promise.”

  I blinked back my own tears, picturing Christopher leaning over this same table, teasing my sister, chatting with Gran, drinking Dr. Pepper from a can. It had been his favorite. I could still hear his easy laugh, and for a moment almost shuddered at the memory. The girls were still and silent, alternating between studying Clint and me. They had never known their uncle.

  Suddenly Tish reentered the conversation with a vengeance, asking, “Mom, where is Dad this summer? Why is he being so weird when we talk to him on the phone?”

  I regrouped, turning to face her now, and said, “Tish, I meant to talk with you, all of you girls, earlier tonight.”

  “No time like the present,” Camille murmured, but not in a snotty way. She was still worrying her thumbnail between her front teeth.

  I gulped and took the bull by the horns, even though Clint was listening intently, too.

  “Girls, Dad and I are separating. He’s been seeing someone else,” I said, and then tipped my head back and released a sigh that seemed to bubble up from the bottom of my soul.

  There was silence, into which I fell and then floundered.

  Finally Tish barked out, “What? With who? Is it someone we know? Shit, Mom, how come you didn’t tell us!”

  Camille was staring at the tabletop, and spoke quietly, but I heard her even over Tish’s brimming anger. She said, “I knew it, Mom, I knew it.”

  I asked, “You guessed? Honey, I’m so sorry, I should have—”

  But she cut me off, finally looking up and into my eyes, “No, I saw him. And that woman he works with.”

  My heart thumped painfully.

  “Where?” I managed to ask, thinking don’t let it be at home, please…

  “They were at Gioco’s,” she said, naming a popular Chicago restaurant. “I was walking by with Payton and Cara, and we saw them. They were holding hands. It was last Thanksgiving break.” Tears gushed over her face then, and I moved quickly, taking her into my arms as she gave over to sobbing.

  “Oh sweetie,” I said, stroking her hair as I hadn’t in ages, a part of me grateful that she was allowing me to comfort and hold her—two things I hadn’t been as able to do since her advent into the teenage years.

  “Mom, I should have told you,” she said, pressing her face against the belly of my t-shirt and sobbing even harder, and I damned Jackson for putting her through all of this.

  “No, no, don’t think that, sweetheart,” I reassured as best I could. Tish had simmered down, and put her own head into her arms, reminiscent of Clint’s earlier pose. He, poor boy, sat with both hands wrapped around the mug of cooling coffee I’d set before him, eyebrows drawn into a look of total discomfort. Well, that couldn’t be helped now.

  “I found out around the same time,” I told Camille, as her sobs eventually subsided to shaky gasps. “I didn’t know what to do, and I haven’t felt better until we came here, to tell you the truth.”

  Tish asked, her voice muffled, “Are you guys getting divorced?”

  I bit the insides of my cheeks and then admitted, “Probably, honey.”

  Camille began weeping again, and I felt all at once incredibly exhausted. But I couldn’t give in to sleep just yet. I rocked her gently, reaching one hand to cup Tish’s bent head.

  Tish observed, “Ruthie is gonna be really upset, Mom.” She lifted her head and I saw that her eyes were brimming, but she continued, staunchly, “Can we move here then?”

  “I don’t know, honey, I really don’t.”

  Clint chimed in then, adding, “That would be great, Aunt Joey. Mom would be so happy.”

  I caught sight of the clock over the kitchen pass-through. It was quarter to two, and I was about to collapse. Camille sniffled and sighed, sounding like a little girl, and then pulled gently away, knuckling her eyes.

  “I’m ready for bed,” she said through a plugged nose.

  “Aren’t we all,” I agreed, and dumped the rest of the coffee into the sink.

  ***

  Alone in bed twenty minutes later, my face scrubbed clean and coated with moisturizer, I allowed myself to revisit the kiss. Immediately my belly was at the top of a roller coaster, soaring, and I curled around it, cupping my breasts and caressing my nipples with my own thumbs, scarcely able to believe that Blythe, gorgeous, hunky, young Blythe Tilson had kissed me like that.

  Joelle, I groaned to myself, angry and so aroused, conflicting emotions rioting within me again. Despite the aching tiredness that weighted my limbs, and the emotional upheaval I’d been through with the girls, I longed for his hands back on my body.

  When the cell phone on my nightstand suddenly buzzed with an incoming call, I started as though a gong had been struck a foot from my ear. Heart clanging, I groped for it, thinking it was Jackson, finally returning my call. But the number was one I didn’t recognize. Softly, so not to wake Gran, I whispered, “Hello?”

  “Did I wake you?” came a deep voice. It sounded like he was smiling, and my heart pounded even more fiercely.

  “No, actually,” I murmured, pulling the covers over my head like a naughty child, snuggling up with the phone, with his voice.

  “Is Clint all right?”

  “Yeah, he’s okay, I just got them all to bed.” My voice trembled slightly. It was like my seventh grade self was taking her first phone call from a boy.

  “How about you?” he asked then, definitely smiling. I let out my breath, smiling now, too, and Blythe added, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

  How could this be real? I marveled anew, heard myself admit
, “I’m thinking about you, too.”

  “Good,” he responded. “When are we meeting this week?”

  My heart was in my throat, my blood humming with the thrill, the excitement of it all. I whispered, “I wish it was right now,” and felt the joy of flirting fill up my entire being.

  He breathed out now, a soft rush, and said, “Me, too. Soon, then.”

  “Yes,” I whispered back.

  “Good-night, Joelle,” he said, low and sweet-voiced, and I trembled all over again.

  “Night,” I murmured, and hung up, then rolled to my back and smiled, wide, up at the dim ceiling.

  Chapter Eight

  The next morning I was joined in the bathroom by my period, earlier than I’d expected it this month. Fantastic, I thought, brushing my teeth and glaring at myself in the mirror. Talk about a reality check. It was an obvious sign that I should not be entertaining the thought of amazing sex with a gorgeous man like Blythe. Or any man who was not my lawfully wedded husband and children’s father. As the hot water of the shower poured over me minutes later, I leaned into the spray, both hands pressed flat to the tile, torn. Head versus heart…I knew what I wanted to do, and what I had to do, and they were so very opposite. I held my breath until my lungs were near to bursting, keeping my face within the water, until it finally ran cold.

  Outside the air was thick with June humidity, the sky leaden as I made my way to the café, angry at myself for being so nervous; I had debated about what to wear for nearly twenty minutes. My hair hung loose and soft over my shoulders, and I was wearing mascara at this ungodly hour of the morning. But I was also simultaneously crackling with excitement at the thought of seeing Blythe. Would anyone suspect? What if I stared at him too long and Mom wondered? Or Jillian, more likely. Mom loved us, but she tended more towards the oblivious than the observant. My sister would smell a rat long before our mother. Shit, shit, shit.

  “Morning,” Jillian called from the porch, where she was having a coffee. I studied her closely as I climbed the steps, but she didn’t appear too stressed out nor was she looking at me knowingly. The memory of Blythe’s kisses was so strong in my mind that I felt as though my lips had been branded and would surely betray me to anyone looking.

  “What time did the kids get back last night?” she went on, motioning with her head for me to join her. I did, commandeering her cup for a sip.

  “Late,” I hedged. I felt like Clint would be feeling miserable enough this morning without me tattling on him. He’d been sincerely sorry last night, I knew.

  “How about you?”

  Shit. She suspects. I sipped again, biding my time, but when I met her gaze, Jilly was staring off across the parking lot. I turned to follow her eyes, my heart suddenly awake and throbbing, but it was Justin and Dodge pulling in for breakfast, not Blythe. Not yet.

  “Hi girls,” Dodge called, his sunglasses pushed up on his forehead. Justin, his own shades still in place, followed behind, silently.

  “Morning,” I said, smiling at them. Dodge lumbered inside, calling good morning, while Justin paused at our table. I gave him the once-over. “A little under the weather this morning, Mr. Miller?”

  He winced a bit, like the teenager we’d known long ago, and said, half-kiddingly, “Don’t ask.”

  “I saw you heading into Eddie’s last night, buddy,” I said.

  Jilly snapped her gaze back to me, from where she’d been quietly assessing Justin’s face. “You went into town?”

  My thoughts raced, but there was no point lying. I wouldn’t be telling the whole truth, in any case. “Yeah, I saw the fireworks.”

  Her lips parted to ask another question, but to my relief the screen burst open and Ruthann came barreling out, the cordless phone from the counter in her right hand.

  “Mom, it’s Daddy!” she said breathlessly, sounding happy and excited, catching me right the hell off guard. Despite the fact that I’d been apprehensive about telling my two older girls about their father and me, I was downright terrified to inform Ruthann. I stared at the phone in her hand as though it was a spider she’d caught and was holding out for me to touch.

  Jillian shot me a look of sympathy and Justin pushed back his sunglasses, revealing blood-shot brown eyes. He, too, looked concerned. Ruthie wiggled the phone at me, eyebrows raised in question. I finally took it from my daughter, and Jilly said with forced brightness, “Ruthie, come with me and let’s get another muffin, huh?”

  I went right back down the porch steps I’d just climbed, and made for the dock. I put the phone to my ear and said, affecting a cheerful tone, “Hello?” questioningly, as though I didn’t know who was on the other end.

  “Hi, Jo,” said my husband, and his voice was as familiar as it had always been. Not so warm anymore, though.

  “Hi,” I said again. I waited for a moment, but no tears were threatening me. A surprise.

  “How’s the summer going?” he asked, and his voice sounded slightly deeper than normal, though I couldn’t read the emotion present there.

  “Great,” I replied, reaching the end of the dock, too agitated to sit. The sky was the color of an old tin teakettle, and as I watched, a blue-white flash of lightning sizzled in the west. Seconds later a low grumble resonated from the same direction. “Fantastic, actually.”

  “Great,” he said, sounding relieved now. He cleared his throat and then added, “Sorry I didn’t call you yesterday. I got your message.”

  I waited silently, not about to help him out here.

  “The girls sound happy,” he observed after a pause. “I miss them around here.”

  “I know you do,” I allowed. He was a good dad to them, I couldn’t pretend otherwise.

  It began to sprinkle and I shivered, but was not about to return inside right now.

  “What’s up, Jackie?” I finally asked. Lightning threatened again, more brilliantly than before.

  “Jo,” he said in his lawyer voice, a much different tone now. “I am going to get married.”

  All of the breath seemed to leave my lungs. Thunder rolled through the sky, grumbling like the rage I felt coming to a boil inside of my chest. The lake was being peppered with heavy raindrops. I said, my voice tightly controlled with effort, “I hate to tell you, but you’re already married.”

  “Dammit, Jo, don’t be like this. You left me. It’s over between us.”

  Despite the fact that I knew this to be true, it still hurt like hell to have Jackson be so blunt. Anger coiled like a living thing inside of me. I hissed, my teeth nearly clenched, “I left because you cheated on me.”

  “And I’m sorry I hurt you, Jo,” he fired back. “I never wanted to and I am goddamn sorry. But I can’t change how I feel. I love Lanny. I’m going to marry her.”

  I felt kicked in the gut. This was my babies’ father talking to me like this. But it was no time to feel sorry for myself, not right now. I clung to the shred of pride afforded me by Gran’s genes. “You’ll be happy with that slut, I’m sure,” I said, spitting out the words. Rain was pouring now, and I probably should have been worried about getting electrocuted, standing here with an antenna phone in my grasp. My hair was plastered to my neck. “You two fucking deserve each other!”

  “Jo, for Christ’s sake!” he yelled. “It doesn’t have to be like this!”

  “Really, Jackson, how should it be?” I yelled back. There was no chance anyone up in the café could hear me what with the thunder.

  “What is that noise?” he asked then, sounding perplexed. “Are you washing clothes?”

  “No, it’s raining, you moron,” I said, descending now into calling him cruel names.

  “Nice, Joelle, let’s be like this,” he said sarcastically. “I’ll call later when you’re not being such an unreasonable bitch!”

  “Bitch?!” I shrieked. “Unreasonable! How dare you!”

  But he’d hung up. Without thinking, I whirled and threw the phone as hard as I could into the lake. I closed my eyes, tipped my chin back and let the
rain wash over me for a moment, much as I had earlier in the shower. So much for my mascara. At first I thought it was thunder making the dock tremble violently, and I felt a flash of fear, my eyes flying open. But in the next second big warm hands were wrapping an army-green raincoat around my shoulders, and Blythe was turning me around to face him.

  He was such a gorgeous, welcome sight, even as angry and shredded-up as I felt right now. His hair was in a ponytail, bandana in place, shirt clinging to his huge shoulders from the rain. Beautiful, somber blue eyes held mine for a moment. He leaned in to say, “Come on, Joelle, you need to get out of the rain.”

  I felt the tenderness of my name on his lips go straight to my soul.

  “Thanks,” I said, softly, and he led the way back into the café.

  A half hour later I was in the passenger seat of Jilly’s car, riding with her to Bemidji (fifteen miles to the north) on an impromptu trip to the Walmart there. Mom claimed to need a half dozen things that we couldn’t possibly buy at the co-op in Landon. She had practically shoved Jilly and me out the door.

  “You know, we’ve had that phone since we were in high school,” my sister said, sounding serious. “I was kind of attached to it.”

  “I didn’t mean to chuck it,” I said, half-resentfully, watching the drenched landscape out the window. The southbound lane was heavy with traffic: trucks hauling boats with outboard motors, cars with luggage racks strapped on top, enormous RVs loaded with families heading back to Minneapolis after a weekend of camping.

  “So, what did he say?” she pressed.

  I hadn’t been exactly forthcoming after Blythe had opened the door to Shore Leave for me, his eyes on my face. I had sensed his reluctance to go to work as though nothing had happened between us last night, but we didn’t have a choice. Ruthann was eating a caramel roll (the three older kids were certainly still in bed) while Jilly was working to keep everyone involved in conversation, attempting to ignore me as politely as possible. My instinct had been to go directly back to my own bed, but then Mom had trumped up the necessity of a trip to the supermarket, and I had been summarily loaded into the car.