He had to tip his head to look at me through the server window, he was so tall. Again my mind was overwhelmed with a startlingly vivid image of him and my sister locked in an embrace much like the many I’d been in last night. Damn, that was irritating. I would really have to keep an eye on this potential situation that I had not seen coming; Jo was in no position to be falling for this guy, as much as I truly liked him the more I got to know him. And of course he was hot as hell. But he had to be off limits to her. He was so young, and not planning to stick around Landon, and he would hurt her, inevitably. Then I would have to track him down and kill him. But again I couldn’t shake the sense that he was on a collision course with her.
He lifted his eyebrows at me in a teasing way and cupped both hands around his mouth, saying, “Earth to Jillian. Breakfast?”
I blinked and refocused on him; I’d been staring into the middle distance like a crazy woman. I said, “Sorry, late night. No, thanks though.”
“All right,” he said agreeably, shaking his head at me. I had the feeling he thought I was a little nuts, but in an affectionate way. Affectionately nutty. Again I giggled, thinking if this kept up I would have to slap myself. I hated gigglers.
“Jillian, can you grab the bleach bucket for me?” Ellen called from the bar then, and it was off to the races for another day.
***
By evening Justin hadn’t appeared at Shore Leave, nor called. I was flustered and irritable, and when I mixed up an order (which I never, ever did), I knew I had to find him. I rolled silverware with my fingers flying, deciding what to do and how to do it…should I call? Driving to his house seemed too desperate somehow, but I was this close to desperate anyway. I just wanted to see him. No, I wanted to see him and then jump into his arms and tell him I was in love with him. Dammit, Jillian. Dammit.
I was alone on the porch, sitting at a four-top, when his truck suddenly came bumping into the parking lot and I dropped the trio of silverware I was holding, my heart reacting like a trip wire that had just been sprung. I watched, my breath caught inside my chest, as he parked in his usual place, climbed down from the cab and started for the café. Not seeing me yet, I observed him and felt my heart sinking; he looked upset. Worse, he looked resigned. His hands were in his pockets, his chin tipped down, the last rays of sun slanting over his black hair and broad shoulders and long legs in faded jeans. He should have been running, skipping, leaping…like I’d been restraining myself from doing all day.
Before he got another step closer I got to my feet and made my way down the porch steps, untying my apron and pitching it over the railing. In jean shorts and a pale-yellow tank top, my cheeks hot with what was perhaps becoming anger, I stopped him in his tracks with just a look. He saw me and his feet stalled. I watched him swallow and his eyes grow even darker with longing. I knew it, but then he steeled himself; I saw that too. He said, his voice husky, “You look beautiful, Jill.”
Instead of saying ‘thank you,’ I asked, “But?” I didn’t allow the tremble in my throat to come out with that word.
“Walk with me,” he said.
We walked along Flicker Trail in silence until the café fell away behind us. He might have been a million miles away from me, and dread was pushing into my chest. That, and anger. Just as I was about to let loose he said, quietly, “I just want you to know you don’t owe me anything, Jills.”
I stopped and studied the ground at my feet, feeling like I could hit him. Like crying. Like screaming at him for doing this, for acting like me choosing to make mind-blowing, earth-shattering love with him was something I’d done out of pity. I was too riled up to reply, and he went on, “I just don’t want you to feel like…like you have to…” And then he sighed, and out of the corner of my eye I saw him cup his forehead with one hand.
I asked, this time the tremble in my voice overt, despite my best efforts, “Is that what you think?”
Silence.
I went on, facing him now, my voice rising in both volume and pitch, “You think I did what we did last night out of the goodness of my heart?!”
“That’s not what I mean,” he said, sounding like there was a husk in his throat. “Last night was incredible. The best night I’ve ever had.”
“Me too,” I told him, staring up into his dark, tortured eyes, thinking, Take me in your arms, Justin, just do it. Don’t be like this.
His eyes were begging me to understand. He said, again his voice low and hoarse, “But I think we made a mistake.”
He might as well have slapped me. I stared up at him, furious and so hurt, even if there was a part of me that understood exactly what he was doing. I glared at him then, his dark eyes and black hair, his long lashes and lips that I wanted everywhere on my skin, his livid scars.
Though I didn’t truly think it was about her, I heard myself ask, my voice clearly shaking now, “This is about Aubrey, isn’t it?”
His face jerked backward, as though I’d slapped him. There was true surprise in his voice as he said, “Of course not.” He looked at me intently, as though to read my thoughts, and added softly, “I just…I don’t expect—”
But I was not about to hear it. I shoved aside the hand he reached toward me, my heart thrashing my ribs. I said, “If that’s what you think then fuck you!”I was even more furious that my voice didn’t emerge as the angry shriek I had intended.
I whirled away from him and headed back to the café at a fast walk.
He called, “Jilly!” but I didn’t look back, knowing that if I disappeared inside he wouldn’t dare follow and make a scene in front of everyone. Once in the parking lot though, I switched course and made for my apartment, knowing I was about to give into full-scale weeping and sure as hell didn’t want to explain why to anyone.
***
I sobbed for a long time, huddled around myself in my bed as the evening faded to night. My head ached, my thoughts snarling all over themselves, but it was nothing compared to my heart. I thought about Chris and what we’d had. I thought about how I hadn’t actually made love since he’d died. That wasn’t normal. That was insane. I’d wanted to but it had never been right. Not like last night. Last night I’d felt as though all of the unresolved parts of my soul were at last brought together. Justin was who I’d been waiting for. God, how could I have only just realized this?
I rolled to my other side, clutching myself around the middle. A part of me had always loved Justin, I knew that now. I traced back through my memories, combing and teasing out every last picture of him from the past. Our childhood and teenage years, our marriages to other people, and then he’d been in the accident and his scars had dominated his life. I thought about Aubrey leaving him and the way he’d basically shut down. In some ways, like I’d shut down after Chris. A question hit me like a ton of bricks: did he still long for that bitch; did he still love her?
Last night, I realized that I had fallen in love with him somewhere back along the years. I hugged myself harder and remembered last night and knew he was trying to protect me by pushing me away. He was afraid because of his face, his scars, trying to reconcile his bitterness with the strength of his feelings. He was terrified of being hurt, and even if he wouldn’t admit it, this was about Aubrey, to some extent. She had left him vulnerable, which I understood as I lay in my bed vacillating between fury, hurt, and bouts of philosophy, understanding his motives but wanting to shove him in the chest because of it. And, dammit, because I had been longing all day to make love with him. I had thought about it every other second, and my body was aching for goddamn Justin Miller right now. With a soft moan I flopped to my other side and pressed my face into the pillow, slipping a hand over my belly and touching myself lightly, still feeling him within me. There were burns on my neck and breasts from his stubble, pale-blue bruising on my hips from his fingers. But these were the marks of intensity, and I only knew I wanted more, and then more of him.
Joelle would be here soon, and I comforted myself with this knowledge. I wouldn’t
tell her about Justin. Not yet. Everything was too raw. And it wasn’t over - I knew that. I clung to this truth for even deeper comfort. I had to be patient, I had to wait for him to find the courage to tell me how he felt. In the meantime I would act as though everything was fine.
I could be chipper and perky and hide the real me deep inside, for now.
Chapter Ten
A week passed and Justin avoided the café. Dodge still came out every morning, and I had to forcibly restrain myself from begging him to tell me what Justin was doing, how he looked, if he was as miserable as me. Only Gran noticed his absence, and made a point of asking me, which clued me in on the fact that she hadn’t missed anything either. I wouldn’t go so far as to say she knew we’d made love…but she knew something was up. She was Louisa Davis, the most observant woman I’d ever known, other than myself.
“The boy hasn’t been out with you all week,” she observed to Dodge just this morning, and he’d shrugged good-naturedly.
“He’s been out of sorts,” Dodge allowed, finishing his coffee with a flourish while Gran trained her suspicious gaze on me, where I’d been refilling the coffee maker and eavesdropping.
“Out of sorts, huh?” my gran had responded, while I cringed internally and tried to appear busy.
“Yeah,” Dodge said, and I heard the note of worry in his voice. My heart sank. I had been a wreck, at least internally, all week. Clinty had no idea; he was finishing up the last two weeks of his freshman year of high school, and basically oblivious to anything other than the fact that summer vacation loomed on the horizon like an oasis of unimaginable beauty. I had been so close to calling Justin that my insides ached; I had even gotten behind the wheel of my car to drive to his house last night, the house he’d shared with Aubrey for all of their marriage and where he now lived alone, and had for the past three years. Justin, Justin. Stubbornness and pride prevented me from driving over and beating down his door.
The only thing that had kept me going this week was the thought that Jo and the kids would be here tonight. I couldn’t wait to see her. At that moment my cell buzzed and I plucked it from my apron pocket, noticing that it was my sister, as though sensing my need for her presence.
“We just left Milwaukee,” she told me as I answered. She sounded exhausted and depleted.
“Yay!” I told her, not even having to force cheer into my tone. I was that glad that they were already on the second leg of their journey. “Drive safe and we’ll leave the lights on for you.”
She giggled a little; I could hear the girls in the car, bickering about something, and the radio in the background. She said, “I can’t wait, Jilly Bean.”
“Me, neither,” I told her. I looked over and saw Gran beckoning for the phone. “Jo, Gran wants to say hi, too.” I handed over my phone, glad that Gran would be occupied and therefore unable to grill me about Justin.
Dodge had finished his coffee and ruffled my hair with affection. Justin looked more like his mother than Dodge but he reminded me of Justin enough that my heart ached again. I wanted to burrow against his warm, comforting side and confess that I loved his boy with all of my heart and most of my soul. I was astounded by the strength of my feelings, now that I’d finally acknowledged them. Surely I was resonating at some perceptible level, like a tuning fork.
“See you later, honey,” Dodge said. “Lou, you too.”
Gran waved, still on the phone with Jo, and I went back to work, determined to make the day pass quickly and get my sister here.
Evening came and went; Clint rode his bike into town for a ballgame, arriving back at Shore Leave in time for a late supper. The Saturday traffic was still light this time of year, since the tourist season wasn’t yet in full swing, and by nine the place was empty but for us. Rich and Bly had the kitchen spotless, but they were both lingering; Rich to greet Jo and Blythe for the same reason, though no one but me was aware. He had been uncharacteristically silent all evening, taut with nervous energy. After he’d broken a glass I took pity on him and ordered, “Why don’t you go grab a beer. I’ll get the garbage out.”
He looked gratefully at me and nodded. Dammit, I didn’t want him to hurt my sister, however inadvertently. But he was so sweet in his own way, and I had to admit I adored him. Maybe Jo would be too distracted by Jackson’s cheating ass and her own problems to take notice. My eyes skimmed over Blythe’s huge shoulders as he headed towards Ellen, who was restocking the beer fridge. Fat fucking chance, I thought, and rolled my eyes at myself.
“Ma, where’s Clinty?” I asked, coming out of the kitchen bearing a heaping bag of garbage.
“He and Gran went up to bed,” she told me. “Poor kid could barely keep his eyes open.”
“Shit, he’ll be disappointed,” I said, banging out the screen door. I walked over behind the garage and was stuffing the bag into the dumpster when headlights beamed across the parking lot. My heart began thumping in excitement and I shrieked, “Mom! Aunt Ellen, everybody, THEY’RE HERE!”
Jo parked and the girls tumbled out and raced at me, hooting and laughing. They caught me at the edge of the parking lot and we tumbled over and into a heap. Chester and Chief were going apeshit, leaping on us; Chester caught hold of Tish’s shorts and began tugging her. She laughed and shoved at his big wet nose as Mom, Rich and Aunt Ellen flooded outside to wrap Joelle into their arms. I noticed that Blythe had not been bold enough to venture after them. I hugged my nieces tightly, loving the scent of their girly perfume and flowery hair products; they smelled like Jo and me, once upon a time. I managed to extract myself from them and then bolted across the parking lot and launched myself at my sister.
She hugged me tightly, still taller than me by a good three inches. I clung to her, breathing in her particular scent, familiar to me as my own, or my son’s. The girls were passed around for hugs, everyone chattering at once.
I drew back from Jo and studied her for a moment; she was so beautiful, even if she wouldn’t believe me if I said so anymore. She’d been spurned, and Jackie had taken up with a younger woman, and no one could convince Jo that this was anything but commentary on her desirability. But as she stood there and regarded me with her golden-green eyes, her soft lips with a fond smile, I knew Blythe was going to eat his heart out when he saw her. Shit. Trouble, that’s what that was, and she was about to walk right into it, totally unknowing. Jo had let her hair grow out long again, making her look more like her teenage self than ever. It was soft and golden-blond, hanging over her shoulders. She wore a faded blue t-shirt with what was probably a coffee stain on the lower front, faded blue jeans; her feet were bare. I knew she thought she looked terrible, but all I could see was what Blythe would: a lovely woman who still had a knock-out bod, and whose husband had cheated. Someone who might possibly need a little convincing that she was still sexy.
Tish was asking me, “Aunt Jilly, where’s Clint?”
To silence my worried mind, I grabbed Tish in a headlock and gave her scalp a thorough knuckling. I told her, “Not here, punk. He must not care that you guys were coming.” Of course she knew this was a total lie.
Minutes later Ellen had hustled the kids inside and Rich took his leave. I joined Jo at the porch rail, where she leaned for a moment, drinking in the familiar sights to comfort her soul. I knew the feeling. I leaned on my elbows beside her and she tipped her head to my shoulder for a moment.
“You okay?” I murmured. I knew we’d have a good talk after everyone else went to bed.
She lifted her head and sighed, but then asked, “Rich’s grandson? He doesn’t have any kids, does he?”
Here we go. I said, “Actually it’s his stepdaughter Christy’s son. You remember her, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I guess, vaguely.” She thought a moment. “Boobs and big hair, like 1978, right?”
“Yeah, that’s her. She stayed with him and Pam that summer. Crap, it seems like a million years ago now,” I said, and sighed a little too. “Anyway, she had a kid, and now he’s staying with Ric
h in his trailer, even though Pam’s gone. Mom hired him to help in the kitchen this summer.” And finally, “He’s actually here now, having a beer.”
“Dammit,” my sister muttered, and I could sense her annoyance at him infringing on her homecoming. Her eyebrows drew together and she demanded, “Is he even old enough to drink?”
“Yeah, he’s in his twenties,” I told her. And then, because she had to know, “And he was in jail.”
Jo’s head snapped around and she stared at me with her eyebrows now raised in shock. She asked, breathlessly, “What?”
“Seriously, I freaked a little too, but Rich insists he’s a good kid,” I said, purposely using that word, though Bly was the furthest thing from a kid I’d ever seen. I didn’t tell her how sweet he was, or gorgeous, or how much we all liked him. Maybe she wouldn’t notice these things. I saw then that she was truly upset and said quickly, “He stole a car and some cash in Oklahoma, two years ago.”
I watched as Jo looked back at the café and could almost hear her thoughts churning. She whispered, “Jilly, what was she thinking?”
At that I couldn’t help but laugh, so glad to have her here beside me on the porch again. I was going to do everything in my power to keep her here forever. I ran my hands through my hair and squeezed her arm, teasing, “It’s not like you have to whisper, Jo. I don’t think he has superhero senses.”
Mom climbed the porch steps now, and Jo wasted no time rounding on her, snapping, “Mom, how could you?”
Mom didn’t immediately answer, reaching into the front pocket of her overalls to extract her smokes. She passed one to me, lit her own, and then handed over the lighter. I lit one and blew smoke over the railing, ready to act as referee. Finally she said, “Honestly, Jo, he’s a good kid. Do you think Ellen or I would’ve hired him if we didn’t think so?”
“Because of Rich,” Jo bitched at our mother. “You couldn’t say no to him, you know it.”
Mom shook her head and I elbowed Jo, telling her to cool it. Mom bitched back, “Rich wouldn’t have taken him in, even in honor of Pamela’s memory, if he thought Bly was dangerous. Criminy, Joelle.”
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