And I woke with a gasp, my heart going like a jackhammer.
The sheets were twisted between my legs. I tried to draw a breath and couldn’t, feeling revved up in a way that I hadn’t in years. I closed my eyes and pressed my face into the pillow, wanting him so much that I felt mildly startled. I hadn’t honestly wanted someone like this in over a decade. I knew that wasn’t natural. But it was true. Suddenly the dearth was catching up with me, catching me terribly off guard. Especially since it had been…
“Justin,” I breathed, just to speak his name.
At breakfast I was still shaken. I remembered Minnie saying once, years ago, that when you dreamed about someone you knew, chances were you’d appeared in that person’s dreams the same night. I’d never given it much thought, except when my dreams would include Christopher, and I would wake to wonder if he was somehow thinking of me from heaven. Today, however, my cheeks were hot as coals imagining myself starring in a similar dream. Justin and Dodge had come in for coffee, as per usual, and to meet Blythe. Justin was wearing his work shirt, which was undone enough that I could see a little of his hairy chest. My fingertips literally tingled to touch him, picturing how he’d looked at me in the dream. How I’d touched him under the water. I’d seen his bare chest a million times in my youth, though not so much in the past years of adulthood. And here I was, imagining myself undoing—no, ripping—the rest of those buttons free and then…
In the bustle of everyone, I didn’t actually have to talk to Justin, which was an enormous relief at the moment. Though I kept shooting sidelong gazes at him, I didn’t know if I’d be able to meet his eyes directly without pushing everything from between us, forcibly, jumping in his arms and kissing him as he’d been about to kiss me before I woke up. I noticed every movement he made though. Just before he and Dodge left for the filling station he caught me as my back was turned. I jumped a little when, from behind me, he said, “Hey, Jills, can you refill me quick?”
I’d had my back turned, messing with the coffeepot, and when I faced him it was with a smooth, calm expression. But then I saw that he was grinning at me, as though he knew a secret, and I swallowed hard and felt a blush begin to burn over my cheeks once more.
“Time to switch to decaf,” he teased, holding out his travel mug for me to splash full.
His black eyebrows quirked up as I hesitated, staring up at him.
Jillian, I scolded myself. Pull it together.
His hair was always disheveled, like he’d tried to brush through it but hadn’t quite found time to finish. It was wavy, not curly, and practically begged for me to sink my hands into it.
“Here, I’ll help,” he said, again sounding amused with me. And to my chagrin, he put his hand around mine on the handle of the coffeepot and filled his mug.
My heart just about beat through my chest. And Justin, damn him, gave me a little half-grin, saying, “Thanks, Jills,” before heading after Dodge to go to work.
I wanted to put my head in my arms on the counter.
***
Much later that evening I sat on the dock, overwhelmed by a gloom that I envisioned hovering over me and trailing streaky rain wherever I went. My thoughts swirled around in a semi-panic; I was thinking of my motives for convincing Jo to stay in Landon, that her marriage wasn’t worth fighting for. Jackson had cheated, proving himself utterly untrustworthy. If that wasn’t enough to end a relationship, what was? But Mom had me second-guessing myself. Besides, what if Jo didn’t want to stay here? Was it selfish for me to hope that she would? Realistically I knew that I couldn’t make my happiness dependent on what my sister chose to do. I tipped my forehead against my fingertips for a moment. Goddammit, I was lonely. Somewhere in the back of my mind I was also thinking about my son, who had mentioned something about college just a few days ago. God, he’d be gone from Landon before I knew it. That’s what this was really about. The loneliness that had been punching me in the stomach for attention lately.
When footsteps reverberated behind me I didn’t turn around, assuming maybe Mom was taking pity on me, maybe bringing me a beer. At the last second I realized that Mom would have a much lighter tread and looked up just as Justin stopped and stood regarding me with a somber expression that matched my own. My heart flared desperately to life as I stared up at him, as it’d been doing with embarrassing regularity lately, suddenly terribly self-conscious of my grease-spattered jean shorts and limp tank top that I’d been wearing all day under my discarded work shirt. Undoubtedly I smelled horrible.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked, his dark gaze holding mine.
“Feeling sorry for myself,” I admitted at last.
Exactly as I had that August night on the boat landing, Justin moved behind me and then sat on the edge of the dock to my left, though he kept a good twelve inches of acceptable, proper distance between us. He said, “I thought I had the market cornered on that.”
The air was still and soft, and I was so conscious of him beside me that my entire body felt wired. He sat with his long legs bent, forearms draped over the top, staring off over the lake in the same direction as me. His hair was even more wild than it had been this morning, his shirt stained with motor oil and sweat. But dammit, he was more appealing to me than I could even admit to myself. Because it was equal parts terrifying and exhilarating.
I said, “No, God no.”
“So what was up this morning?” he asked, his voice low and with just a hint of teasing, despite everything.
I angled a quick look his way, but back out over the lake almost instantly. I swished my bare feet in the water, buying a moment. Justin looked at me and his gaze skimmed over me, not lingering anywhere in particular, but I felt the heat in his eyes, to the point that my knees went weak. I wracked my mind considering how to make him look at me that way all the time. But by the time I dared to meet his eyes, he had hidden away anything but polite interest.
“Nothing,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Just tired.”
“So what are you feeling sorry for yourself about, Jilly-Anne?” he asked. The nickname came out of the ancient past; the summer I’d crushed so much on him, it was one of many he’d invented, making my first name into two. “Do I need to start yelling at you, or what?”
I smiled a little at both his teasing and the old nickname, and then said, “I was just missing Jo. And thinking about Clint moving away from here in a few years. I can’t bear the thought.”
“He got to be a teenager so quick,” Justin said. “I remember seeing you around town with him by the hand, seems like yesterday.”
“Yeah, it does seem like yesterday,” I agreed. It felt so good to talk with him; his voice moved over me like something warm and almost caressing. I realized I was hugging myself around the middle and casually let my hands drift back to my lap.
“He reminds me so much of his dad,” Justin said then, catching me off guard. “I can’t imagine how that must be for you.”
My throat was a little thick, but I said, “He’s very much like Chris.”
“You’re lucky to have him,” Justin said.
I nodded agreement, not trusting my voice for that moment.
“I always wondered what it would be like to have a couple kids,” Justin went on.
“Didn’t…you guys didn’t…” I started to say and then trailed off, not sure what I was asking.
But Justin seemed unruffled, saying, “We tried. Aubrey wasn’t entirely sold on the whole having kids thing. Now, though, I’m relieved. She would have taken the kids with her, probably, and that would have killed me.”
Before I could think about it I said, “You’d be such a good dad. Like Dodge.”
Justin laughed a little and from the corner of my eye I saw him shake his head. He said, “Well thanks. But I’m glad Aubrey and I didn’t have any. I wouldn’t want kids to have to go through a divorce. And I know from experience how much it sucks. Even as an adult.”
“Do you hear from your mom very often?” I
asked, looking over at him. His voice was uncharacteristically gentle and I realized he hadn’t sworn once, totally unusual for him. I wished I was brave enough to curl the fingers of my left hand around his right, which was closest to me.
“At Christmas,” he said, though there was no trace of self-pity in his tone. “Liz misses her a lot more, especially with the triplets. But at least Dad is here. And he’s a great grandpa.”
“I love him so much,” I said sincerely. “He’s more like a dad to me than anyone I’ve ever known. Thanks for sharing him with Jo and me, truly.”
Justin shifted a little, his eyes still over the water, but his gaze came to rest on me as he said, “Dad loves you too. You know it, Jillian.”
For a moment our gazes clung and I was overwhelmed with pure, simple want. I wanted him to pull me close, I wanted to kiss him, I wanted to breathe against his neck. He looked at me hard for a moment, deeply, before drawing in a breath and tilting his gaze back out over the lake. I was crushed with disappointment, but said, to keep him here with me a little longer, “Thanks.”
“It’s true,” he said, but I could hear the undertone in his voice, as though he was struggling a little to keep it casual. The knowledge of that made me swell with hope.
“So…” he said after a moment of silence.
And at the same time as he spoke, I asked, “Doesn’t that just make the whole evening worth it?”
I pointed to a beam of sunset light that had suddenly broken free of the indigo clouds grouped low on the horizon to strike the tops of the budding trees on the far side with a golden ribbon. It was the kind of thing that made my throat ache a little, no matter how many incredible sunsets I’d watched from this exact spot.
“Yes,” he said, soft and slightly hoarse. But for that moment he was looking at me.
Chapter Eight
May, 2003
Two weeks passed and I didn’t get another moment alone with Justin. But I kept my disappointment hidden away, concentrating on the fact that in just over a week now, Joelle would be home and then I could start testing my plan to keep her here forever; the problem was, Blythe had inadvertently thrown a wrench into the whole deal with his very presence. After working with him nearly every day, I’d grown incredibly fond of him. He was sweet and had a good sense of humor; he treated Clint like a little brother, shooting hoops with him and his friends some evenings after the café was closed and everything cleaned up for another night. He joked around with me, easily; in that way, he was almost like my own little brother, the one I’d never gotten even after begging Mom for an entire winter, until she threatened to sell me to the gypsies.
He asked me about Joelle a lot. I could tell he was trying to be casual, but then again he didn’t realize my powers of observation, with just a hint of precognition thrown into the mix.
“So your sister likes Billy Idol?” This after Clint had dug out a wire basket full of old tapes that had belonged to Jo.
“When is your sister’s birthday?”
“Do you two talk very often?”
“Does she like it in Chicago?”
“How long is she staying in Landon?”
“Joelle’s husband cheated on her?” This he’d at least had the presence of mind to ask me when we were relatively alone, cleaning up the dining room after a busy Thursday dinner rush. Now that May was advancing, business would steadily grow busier. Upon seeing my surprise, he admitted, “Sorry, I asked Gramps about it.”
“Yeah, he did. But don’t let on that you know. She’s pretty ripped up,” I told him, keeping my eyes on the table I was wiping down.
Again I could almost hear his thoughts. He said, “That’s really shitty.”
“Yeah, but if you knew Jackie, you’d understand how it happened,” I said. “Everyone saw this coming a long time ago, except Jo.”
I could tell he was dying for me to elaborate, but I felt like I couldn’t keep going, not with Joelle’s personal business. I concluded, “But she’ll be all right, if I know her.”
Clint burst through the door just then, saying, “Mom, I need those pictures for school tomorrow.”
I leaned back and thought for a moment, then said, “The shoebox above the fridge,” and he darted off, to reemerge minutes later toting the box of loose pictures, which he set on the counter to dig through. Finding two, he said, “Thanks, Mom,” and then took off again, a perpetual whirlwind. Unable to help myself, I grabbed one from the top of the pile. Junior prom. I smiled, though my heart also made a sad, almost involuntary little fist as I looked at Chris and me, posing right here in the café on that long ago April afternoon. We’d been so happy that night. I traced his face with my index finger just as Bly came up behind me.
“Lemme see,” he commanded, again like a little brother. “More pictures?”
“Clinty needed one of me and his dad,” I explained, passing it into his big hands.
“Wow, your hair was so long then,” he said, tipping it this way and that. “And that’s Joelle.”
He sounded almost…reverent.
“Yeah, that’s her. And that’s Jackie, her husband. Well, boyfriend then. The asshole.”
He was studying the photo intently.
“When is she getting here again?” he asked quietly.
“Not fast enough!” I replied, choosing for the moment to ignore the tone in his voice, holding out my hand for the picture. Bly seemed to gather himself and surrendered it to me.
“You miss her a lot?” he asked, settling onto a stool at the counter and pulling the bandana from his forehead.
“Hell yeah,” I said, sitting near him and studying the picture again. Without asking permission he leaned over and began riffling through the shoebox of photos. I shoved it his direction. “God, I hope she stays here. But don’t tell anyone I said that. Mom would shit a ring around herself.”
Bly regarded me with amusement for a moment. He said, his voice with its hint of an Oklahoma accent, “It’s so funny to hear you swear. Why would Joan do that?”
“Because she adores Jackson,” I said, not questioning why I was spilling these things to him. I suppose because I considered Rich family, and Blythe was Rich’s grandson. He probably knew half this stuff anyway. Besides, Blythe struck me as a good listener.
“Even after he treated his wife that way?” Bly asked, finding a wallet-sized senior picture of Joelle, the only pose in which she wasn’t offering her glowing smile to the camera. Instead she was looking off across the lake, her knees bent, arms draped over them. We had always laughed about how fake-serious she looked in this one, like a model reacting to a photographer coaching, “Now, let’s see ‘contemplative!’ That’s it!”
“Mom has always loved Jackson,” I explained. “She thinks he made a mistake. She thinks Jo should forgive him.”
“That’s a pretty serious mistake,” Bly commented, his eyes still locked on Joelle.
“See, you understand,” I said, finding a shot of Jo and me jumping off the dock, probably around 1975 or so. Gran and Minnie had been in the canoe, out on the water, to snap this one.
“When did they get married?” he asked next. I thought for a moment that he was actually going to put the picture in his pocket; I had the sense that if I hadn’t been in the room he would have. But he blinked and then looked over at me.
“Just after senior year,” I said, sighing again at the memory. “God, I was so sad. I couldn’t believe he was taking her away from me. But they didn’t know what else to do, since she was pregnant.”
He nodded and I went on, “I hated him for that, and her too, a little, if you want to know the truth. She got pregnant on prom night, how’s that for cliché? But it wasn’t even that she was going to have a baby, it was that they moved so far away. I felt like a piece of my soul was torn off. It was totally selfish of me.”
“No, I get it,” he said, again diving into the pictures. “Wow, is this their wedding?”
“Yeah, that’s from the dance,” I confirmed. “Poor Jo
had morning sickness so bad she couldn’t eat anything.”
Bly bit his bottom lip and I found myself noticing again how attractive he was. He was so muscular he appeared chiseled and had the broadest shoulders I’d ever seen in real life. His hair was long and wavy, his lips beautifully soft, his eyes very intense. And he was far more mature than his age would suggest. Shit, shit, shithole. Warning lights flickered to life again in my mind as I imagined how Joelle would react to him; he was certainly smitten with her, despite the fact that he’d never even met her. I had such a strong sense of the two of them, and wondered again how I could keep her from being hurt. I would do just about anything, truly.
At that moment I noticed Justin’s silver truck pulling into the parking lot and my heart came instantly to an agitated life. I heard myself ask, “What’s he doing here?”
Blythe turned and followed my gaze, saying, “Oh, this morning he asked if I wanted to grab a drink after work.”
I watched, again slightly spellbound by the sight of Justin climbing from his pickup and heading across the parking lot. I heard him call hello to Mom and Ellen, out on the dock, before taking the porch steps and banging through the screen door, same as always.
“Hey guys, you in the mood for a drink or three?” he asked, catching sight of us.
“Yeah, that sounds good, actually,” Bly said, replacing the photographs in the shoebox.
Justin, in his dirty faded jeans, came right over and leaned beside me, checking out the array of pictures. Having him so close made me incredibly squirmy. His work shirt was unbuttoned two past the collar, again allowing for a glimpse of his dark chest hair. He smelled like motor oil, the outdoors, and a trace of cologne or maybe aftershave from this morning. I felt a keen, itching urge to lean near his bare neck and inhale, unobtrusively. But of course I didn’t.
“Shit, the good old days,” he laughed, finding one of Jo, Liz, himself and me posing with a stringer of fish. I couldn’t remember that day from a thousand others like it, but Justin added, “This was the afternoon Jo got a leech on her leg. That was so funny.”
A Notion of Love Page 8