A Notion of Love

by Abbie Williams

  That is, if he planned on going to the dance. Please let him go to the dance tonight.

  Twenty minutes later I’d cleaned up, slipped into my sexiest sundress and even applied a little make-up. Though my heart was firing on all cylinders, hard-core, as I saw that Justin’s truck was still in the lot, I had gathered up all my willpower to play it cool. I saw him out on the dock, his arms folded as he chatted with Joelle. I knew he was concerned about her and Justin knew better than anyone, being Jackson’s old best friend, just how much Jo had been in love with Jackie. And how much Jackie had obviously hurt her. I drew in a deep breath and forced myself to go outside, smiling as though I hadn’t a care in the world.

  Justin had turned to walk back along the dock to the grass, and his footsteps slowed for a second as he caught sight of me. I called over, aware that Jo was watching me, “Hi, Justin,” giving him my sweetest smile. We weren’t more than three car lengths apart and his eyes moved over me slowly, with so much heat that I trembled, but I couldn’t allow him to see that. He lifted his right hand in a wave, as though to speak was too difficult for him at the moment. I looked at Joelle then, calling over to her with my usual sassy tone, “Come on, Joey, I’m sick of waiting for your ass!”

  My sister groaned and grouched, “Oh for the love, Jillian.” But she joined me gamely enough; I tried to pretend I wasn’t acutely aware of Justin talking to his dad before driving away. I was longing to ask Jo if he’d mentioned going to the dance tonight, but reminded myself that would be pitiful.

  We walked over to town and spent the afternoon eating cheese curds and drinking tap beer while Jo caught up with old friends from school, pretending all the while that she was just fine and responding numerous times that yes, Jackie was joining her later this summer. No one suspected a thing; in her own way, Jo was just as good at pretending as I was. If I found myself sweeping the crowd—though my internal radar had not fired, which suggested to me that Justin was not yet here—I made even more effort to enjoy the conversation around me. It was a total act. In the deepening twilight we came across Clint and the girls; my son extracted himself and came over to give me a quick squeeze. For a moment I hugged him hard, smelling his scent that still called to mind my little boy, even though Clinty was far from little these days. It was just like him to give me a hug in front of everyone; in that way he was just like his dad, all sweetness.

  “Hey, Mom,” he said, drawing back and letting me ruffle his hair. He added, “Justin was looking for you.”

  Everything inside of me was instantly on alert. To cover my agitation, I took a long sip from my plastic cup and then asked, as casually as I could manage, “He was?”

  Clint caught sight of his buddy Liam and yelled, “Hey, loser, over here!” before responding to me. He said, “Yeah, he caught me just a minute ago and asked if I’d seen you here yet.”

  Really. My heart was all at once firing like a piston, my eyes darting through the crowd. Just a minute ago, Clint had said. Justin was here, finally. He was somewhere in the crowd. I realized my hand was trembling and lowered my cup so I wouldn’t spill the contents down the front of my dress. Liam joined Clint and punched his shoulder and then they both went darting away. And then Mom, Gran, Rich and Aunt Ellen found us in the crowd, Mom toting a cooler of icy-cold beer on a strap over one shoulder. I noticed Jo doing a quick inventory, looking for Blythe, but he was not to be seen. I wanted to tell her I knew exactly how she felt.

  “Dodge, over here!” Rich was waving and my heart flashed fire again; I was like a teenager in a Friday the 13th movie, jumpy as hell, not knowing from which direction Justin was going to approach. I rolled my eyes at myself, taking another deep drink and waving at Liz, Justin’s little sister, as Joelle swept her into a hug. Just down the slope of beach, Flickertail was enchanting in the dusky evening air, rippling with shades of blue from indigo to cerulean, lapping at the shore. Kids were running everywhere, shaking sparklers, laughing and dodging adults, while a local guy, Todd Kellen, strummed a few test chords on his guitar and then at last took the mic.

  “Evening everyone, hope you’re here for a good time,” he said, amid cheers and whoops, and then Untamed, his band, launched into some kick-ass country music, the kind that makes it impossible to sit still. I leaned into Joelle and practically yelled to be heard over the noise, “You having fun?”

  She nodded at me, seeming sincere. I could see the almost visible relaxing of her shoulders as the music played and she could see how much fun the girls were having. Ruthie was hanging out with Liz’s kids, trading parade candy and giggling, while the adults (even still I had a hard time including Jo and me in that group, even though I was kidding myself if I thought otherwise these days) sipped beer and smoked and chatted. Clint had dragged both Camille and Tish to a table full of his friends; I made a promise to myself to watch for wayward cans of beer or flasks being passed in that group, although I knew better than anyone how impossible it is to stop teenagers from having a good time.

  “Here, let me take some of these to the kids,” Jo said, gathering up a few cans of soda and making her way into the crowd. I was talking to Liz a few minutes later, and didn’t realize at first that Joelle was no longer alone. Her face was unusually flushed and I narrowed my eyes to see Blythe right behind her, watching her steadily as they walked. Shit, shit, shit. Distraction. The music was pounding and when my sister sat back down I leaned into her and asked, “You wanna go dance?”

  She did, and I grabbed Liz too. Ruthie and the triplets joined us, and Camille, though Tish stayed with the boys at Clint’s table. A half hour later I was having a fantastic time, in spite of myself. I was drenched in sweat and needed a drink, so I threaded my way back towards Mom’s cooler, feeling eyes on me as I neared. I lifted mine and was suddenly looking smack into Justin’s. He was leaning on his elbows at our table, drinking beer. My breath, already short from dancing, lodged in my throat.

  Cool, play it cool, I reminded myself, totally unable to think about anything other than the last night we’d seen each other, pulling him down over me in the golf cart. I couldn’t tell in the fairy lights if his neck still bore my teeth marks.

  “Hey, guys,” I said, and slid opposite Blythe, who was on Justin’s left, smoothing my skirt gently beneath me as I sat. Justin’s eyes followed my every move, but when I dared to look up and over at him, he turned his chin a fraction, back towards the ongoing dance.

  “Hey, Jills,” Blythe said back.

  “Hey,” Justin added, though he kept his eyes just away from mine.

  “Here, Jillian,” Mom called from down the table, sliding a beer my way.

  “Thanks,” I responded, cracking the top. I took a long drink.

  Bly leaned over the table and commented, “You guys look like you’re having fun.”

  I smiled at him, unable to help it; he was so besotted with my sister that I felt a flash of guilt for attempting to drive a wedge between them, however subtly. But it was for both of their own good. With that thought on my mind, I realized the song was switching to a slow one and Bly’s gaze swept out over the dancers, catching and holding Joelle as she laughed and fanned herself fifty feet away, in a group that was pairing off all around her. Blythe was about to get to his feet, I could tell.

  “Justin,” I said, and his name felt so good in my mouth.

  He had been watching me talk to Bly anyway, and our eyes crashed and held while my heart took on a life of its own. I so wanted to say, “Dance with me,” but actually said, “Go dance with Jo.”

  He narrowed his dark eyes at me, as though gauging my motive; we hadn’t spoken since I’d been wrapped in his arms Monday night. I added, “For old time’s sake.”

  Liz darted up to the table just then and snagged a couple more beers; Justin looked intensely at me for another moment before rising and following in his sister’s footsteps. I found myself studying him as he walked away and was totally surprised when Bly, still leaning on his elbows, asked me, “So what’s with you and him
?”

  I widened my eyes at him in what I hoped was innocence, but he tipped his head and gave me such a knowing look, such an I’m calling you on your bullshit expression that I couldn’t help but laugh a little. I rolled my eyes and said, “Too much to explain.”

  “Well, he really likes you,” Blythe told me, as though it was news to me.

  I let my eyes scan the crowd and found Justin looking back my way. Blythe was watching them too, and he shifted restlessly, his eyebrows inadvertently drawing together at the sight of Joelle being held in someone else’s arms. Again I felt the weight of guilt on my shoulders. Besides, who the hell was I to think I had the power to stop anything between Bly and my sister?

  “What makes you say that?” I asked him then.

  Blythe managed to drag his eyes back to me and said, “It’s pretty obvious.”

  I wanted to press him for answers, but in the next moment Justin was headed back our way. Blythe abruptly got to his feet and said, “I’ll see you guys later,” and disappeared into the crowd without further explanation. I sighed and stood up too, flustered and angry and, God help me, horny as hell. The lyrics to “Fire Down Below,” the old Bob Seger song, were suddenly pounding through my mind as Justin reached the table again and studied me as I stood helplessly, feeling caught in a trap; I was fully aware that my entire family was just a few feet away, though engaged in chatting and drinking, and fortified my will to appear at ease.

  We stared at each other until I was sure that a fire would flare to life in the air between us. I was determined to wait him out, let him walk away first, but in the end it was me. I bit my lip, so frustrated, wanting to shove against his shoulder as I skirted past him on my way back to the dance floor. I joined my sister and threw my heart and soul into appearing to be in a good mood, shaking my hips and melding into the dancing crowd. But when I turned back that way, Justin too had disappeared.

  ***

  I dreamed about Chris just before dawn, the first he’d visited me in my sleep in years. In the dream I was wandering along the edge of Flickertail under a sky that could only occur in the sleeping world, with an inky black palette studded by stars in every glowing jewel-tone imaginable, ruby and topaz, sapphire and peridot. These small, impossibly green stars caught my eyes especially as I ambled along, using a long stick to poke at the water where it met the sandy shore. When one fell from the sky with a sizzle and appeared to land just a few hundred yards ahead, I abandoned my stick and hurried after it, desperate to retrieve the treasure. I pushed heavy tree branches from my way, felt the soggy ground leak into my shoes, though I was moving away from the lake. My breath was coming hard, hurting my chest, but at last I found the fallen star, glinting at me from the grass. I picked it up and held it in my right palm, feeling a measure of calm.

  When I straightened back up, Chris was there, just as I’d last seen him, twenty-two years old and smiling. My heart seemed to expand and fill my entire chest. He was here in front of me, for this moment and not just a memory.

  “Oh, Chris,” I whispered, my hands cupped around the pulsing green star, so tiny and fragile. In the sky it had appeared so large, so vital, and here it was just a fleck of gemstone. I felt an intense need to protect its light, though I wanted to touch my husband. But I couldn’t drop the star. I looked up and into his kind, familiar eyes with their colors mixing like the surface of a pond scattered into ripples by a stone. I implored him, “Help me, Chris.”

  My husband moved forward and closed my hands around the star. Although I could see him touching me, I couldn’t feel any pressure on my hands. He smiled at me and I tried to speak to him again, to reach for him, but the star was suddenly hot against my palms, hot and glowing steadily brighter. I dropped my eyes in wonder, watching as beams of green light burst from between my interlocked fingers. I made a small sound and when I looked up to see what Chris thought, Justin was standing there instead, scars and all, his dark eyes steady on mine. He closed both of his big hands around mine, warm and solid, and said, “Come on, Jilly.”

  And then I woke up.

  I felt so fragile, as though just a touch might shatter me into jagged fragments.

  My room was dim and gray and tears were flooding over my cheeks. I rolled to one side, aching, not knowing what to make of the vividness of the dream. I bunched up the covers and pressed them to my belly, wrapping around the bundle I’d created as though it was a baby, or something that needed protecting. I cried and cried, muffling the sounds, until I eventually fell back asleep.

  Hours later Clinty tapped on my door and peeked into my bedroom, dressed and combed, and asked softly, “Mom, you okay?”

  My sweet boy. He added, “Everyone’s here for breakfast, and Justin just asked me where you are.”

  My breath caught in my throat. Justin was over at the café and he’d asked where I was. Justin, oh God, come over here yourself. I need you so much. I need you to crawl into my bed and hold me, just hold me. I need to breathe against your neck. Oh, God.

  To my son, I said, forcing cheer into a sleepy tone, “Honey, I’ll be over later. I’m just tired from our late night.”

  “K, Mom,” he said, dashing back through the house and then outside. I heard his footsteps pounding down the steps and for a moment was entirely grateful that my only child was a boy; any of Jo’s girls would have heard something in my tone that wasn’t right, plopped on the bed and demanded to know what up. But Clinty accepted what I said and ran off to eat more of Ellen’s caramel rolls, which she’d been prepping yesterday.

  I groaned and rolled to my other side.

  ***

  Because Trout Days was still in full swing in town, we closed the café after lunch. By early evening the western sky was tinted a rich, creamy pink, the air still and sweet with the fragrance of the rose bushes beyond the porch. It always seemed to me that dusk lifted fragrances high into the air, made them almost tangible. I leaned against the railing and breathed deep, catching all of the smells of summer I loved best:, the lake, fresh-cut grass, mingled with rose blossoms. Across the parking lot Milla and Tish were trying to climb into the golf cart, piloted by my laughing son, who kept inching forward so they couldn’t quite board. I smiled a little, despite the ache that had settled behind my breastbone like a leaded weight, dense as guilt. I was glad the kids were oblivious to anything but themselves, headed for an evening of fun just like Jo and I did once upon a time. The activity from downtown danced across the water in waves of laughter and bursts of firecrackers; the music would get rolling in an hour or so. Just down the shore, my sister sat on the dock with her legs crossed, her gaze fixed on the kids, too; her own low mood was practically visible in the air above her head, a gray cloud streaking rain over her shoulders.

  Behind me, Ellen was firing up the charcoal grill; I turned with a sigh and went to retrieve drinks for everyone. When I came back out, Jo had climbed the porch steps. I called over my shoulder, “Ruthann, grab your mom a beer, will you, honey?”

  Jo plunked into a chair near Gran, her eyes ringed with shadows, her shoulders drooping. For a moment I was exceedingly grateful that it was just us girls for the evening, no menfolk in sight. I slid across from Mom at the table just as Gran piped up, “Jillian told us about the divorce.”

  Jo glared instantly at me, twisting her long hair over one shoulder. I only tipped my head to the side and asked her with my eyebrows, What do you expect, it’s Gran? In truth, I’d only commented that Jo had better stick around here and not even consider going back to Chicago. I hadn’t mentioned divorce, but Gran had read between the lines in our conversation earlier today.

  “We aren’t getting divorced yet,” she said, just a hint of acid in her tone, which she drowned with a long swallow of beer.

  Mom’s eyes brightened at this, and she patted Jo’s knee. She said, “Oh, Jo, I’m glad.”

  My heart clenched up at my sister’s expression. I was just about to say something when Ellen, her back to us as she flipped burgers on the grill, said,
“Joan, how is the girl ever supposed to trust Jackson again?” Gran nodded with satisfaction, while I exhaled slowly, relieved beyond measure that Ellen had neatly contradicted Mom. She went on, “Jo, I just don’t feel like Jackson deserves you. Not now.”

  I realized that none of the womenfolk suspected anything about Jo’s attraction to Blythe. At least, not yet. They were all so focused upon Jackson, and how Jo was dealing with him, that no one had noticed what was right beyond their noses. Well, maybe Gran. But she hadn’t breathed a word to me, not yet.

  “Not ever,” Gran added, immediately lifting her hand as Jo’s eyebrows drew together and her lips parted to respond. Gran hurried on, “Joelle, he was the best looking boy in Landon, I admit it. Those eyes, and his easy way of talking. I know you loved the boy. But re-examine the man, honey. You are better off without him. You know it.”

  Jo’s eyes sparkled with tears; she realized the truth in Gran’s words, and I sent Gran a surreptitious look of relief and gratitude before turned my expectant gaze back to my sister. Jo studied Ruthie, who was down the shore playing fetch with the dogs, and her face reflected everything she was grappling with; the decision to leave her children’s father was sharp and pointed and potentially painful as the tip of a knife. I pressed my own lips together and conveyed a telepathic message to my sister: You know Gran is right. You know it, Jo.

  At long last Jo released a shuddering breath and said, “I know you’re right.”

  Gran nodded, pleased. I felt the tension in my shoulders ease just a fraction.

  Jo added, “But it hurts so fucking much.”

  “Oh sweetie,” Mom said low, patting Jo’s knee again. I was pleased that despite Mom’s differing opinion about Jackson, she was being supportive.

  Jo’s lips twisted as though she was trying not to cry, but she managed to say, “Hey, it’s Saturday.”

  Gran winked at me and then added, “Then you and Jillian better get your asses into the kitchen and whip up some margaritas.”