A Notion of Love

by Abbie Williams

  Chapter Twelve

  A full moon was such a splendid thing. Especially the June full, which was called the Strawberry Moon. When I was a kid, Dodge had told me the name of each month’s moon; I thought back then that he’d made them up, but realized eventually that he’d actually lifted them from the Farmer’s Almanac. I remembered sitting on the top of the tire swing that used to hang from the big oak by the garage, drifting in lazy arcs, twining the rope between my fingers while Dodge used the hedge clippers on the raspberry bushes, his big voice soft as he told me about things like full moons and growing seasons and summertime constellations. Curling low on my spine, nearly thirty years later, I again heard him explaining why the June full was known as the Strawberry.

  The music from the street dance was rippling over Flickertail; we were into our third pitcher of drinks and I sipped yet again from my goblet, made of clear-blue glass with a long stem and a base that was curved like the petals of a tulip. Since my teenage years this had been mine for our Saturday margarita nights. This evening I clutched it like the old friend it was as the womenfolk talked and laughed, their words flowing and swirling around me like eddies in a busy stream. I lifted my eyes again to the silver-dollar orb in the sky, flooding us with its brilliance, casting our shadows which danced along the porch like the darker parts of our souls set free for this one night.

  I was thinking again of Justin with no relief in sight. What was he doing this evening? Certainly he was downtown. What was he thinking? I was still so wounded by his continued avoidance, his fear of daring to acknowledge his feelings. What would it take? I felt tears stinging my eyes and refocused on the conversation in progress with effort, suddenly recalling that Clint had asked me about pictures of my father, his grandpa. I hadn’t remembered to question my mother about that, despite the fact that it had been a month ago, when he’d needed pictures for school. Going through old albums had only cemented the fact that we, as a whole, possessed very few photographs of the men from our pasts, including my own husband.

  I found my voice and asked, “Mom, Clint wondered once if you had a picture of Mick anywhere? Do you?”

  Mom had also been studying the sky and she answered dreamily, “I have our engagement picture somewhere, and a few from that summer. He liked to take pictures more than he liked to be in them.”

  That I had known. I was drunk, and I was aching for Justin, and I was afraid that tears were about to fall over my cheeks and then everyone would wonder what the hell was going on. To top it off, I’d realized earlier today that tomorrow would have been Chris’s thirty-fifth birthday. I heard myself say, “I wish I had more of Chris.” From across the table I could sense Jo’s surprise at my sudden choice of words. To punish myself I went on, “He would be turning thirty-five tomorrow.” Though it was probably after midnight; I glanced down at the slim gold watch I wore when I worked and had forgotten to remove earlier, and added, “Today, actually.” The thought made me immeasurably sad, but I still felt like a flake, a faker, as I said, “I just can’t stop thinking of him tonight, guys, I’m sorry.” Because the man I truly couldn’t stop thinking about was Justin. But they couldn’t know it, not yet. For a moment I felt like such a coward, a total jerk, and I turned my chin against my shoulder and pressed my mouth there, wanting so much to give in and cry.

  Gran said, “It’s only natural, love.”

  Did she know? Her gaze was sharp and shrewd upon me. Maybe she meant that it was only natural to move on, to allow myself to love again. Maybe she was trying to convey that to me with those words, or maybe I was just reading too deeply into her obvious concern.

  Jo said, using her old version of Jackie’s nickname for me, “Jilly Bar, we love you. We love you so much.”

  I nodded in response, swamped with guilt, knowing that was true but wishing at least my sister knew the real reason I was so utterly torn up inside. From across the water the music had stopped and I whispered, “I think it’s time for bed.”

  Jo wasn’t satisfied with this and asked, the concern in her voice overt, “Do you want to take a walk, Jilly Bean?”

  She rose from her chair, stumbling a little as she made her way to me and cupped my head in her hands. Mom and Ellen both stooped to kiss my cheeks, and I sheltered for a moment in their collective love, letting its balm comfort me a little. I caught Jo’s hand in both of mine and at that moment I was struck with a Notion, right smack in the gut, of her and Blythe wrapped in each other’s arms. Tonight. Somehow, some way, it would be tonight, and there was nothing I could do to stop her from taking this path. I didn’t even want to anymore. I loved her; I loved Bly in my own way, and they deserved this happiness, fleeting though it may be.

  I whispered, “No, thanks though, Jo.”

  Mom and Ellen were flanking Gran on their way back to the house and Jo asked, “Hey, will you help me with Ruthie?”

  With difficulty we lifted her, half-asleep and floppy between us. We couldn’t help but giggle as we hauled her across the dew-damp grass and then up two flights of steps, to the loft the girls were sharing for the time being. Even without turning on the overhead light I could tell it was a wall-to-wall wreck. I scraped mounds of clothes from Ruthie’s bed to the floor and then we managed to get her into it. Jo tucked the covers up to her shoulders and kissed her cheek with affection.

  Back outside we stood for a moment under the amazing moon that was flooding the sky with its light; depending on my mood, the moon’s face took on varying expressions. At the moment it seemed censuring, disapproving. I was drunk enough to shiver slightly. In the next moment Jo asked, “Are you worried about the kids? Should I head over to town?”

  The air around us seemed tense, charged with something I couldn’t quite define. I sighed a little and then responded, “Nah, they’re fine, Clinty will bring them home now that the music is done.” I turned my face to Jo’s at last; she was watching me with a slightly wary expression, unsure what my tone was actually conveying. At that moment I longed to spill everything to her, confess why I was truly so ripped up, so hurting. But I had to let her go; I’d seen it. I sighed again and whispered, “Night, Jo.”

  As I made my way across the grass to my empty apartment, she called, her confusion at my attitude clear in her tone, “Good-night.”

  I wrapped around myself in my bed minutes later, my face scrubbed clean and finally managed to doze. It wasn’t until much later that I was awoken by the buzz of my cell phone, tossed carelessly onto my nightstand. It pulled me from a vague jumble of dreams and I pressed the button to answer without fully realizing that someone calling at this time of night had always meant no good. But I could sense my son in his room and so fear didn’t flash within me like so much lightning; I didn’t hear that nausea-inducing hockey buzzer in my head.

  “Hello,” I murmured into the stillness, my eyes still closed.

  “Jillian,” he said, as though breathing out in a rush, and my eyes flew open. My heart sprang to life as though electrocuted and I couldn’t respond. He whispered, “I miss you.”

  “Justin,” I whispered back, longing and desire and all of the wretched hurt he’d caused me these past weeks flowing through my voice. I could tell he’d been drinking, probably way too much, and my heart continued its agitated rhythm against my breastbone.

  “I’m sorry,” he said then.

  I wanted to ask him about which of the many things he definitely owed me an apology regarding, but for the moment I held back, finally whispering, “Where are you?”

  “Home,” he said then, and he sounded miserable. Though I hated that he was suffering it was a kind of consolation, knowing it. Not just me then. But deep inside I’d known all along. He knew how to change all of that, but he had to do it; I was more determined than ever. In the silence I could hear his breath and the pulsing thud of my heart.

  I wanted to tell him I’d be there in ten minutes. Five, even. But I heard myself say, “Good-night, Justin,” and though it just about killed me, I hung up on him.

/>   ***

  Morning came on with a dull, heavy sky the gray of concrete blocks. I made my way over the grass in the morning hours, craving coffee and a chat with Gran. But she was still sleeping, as were all of the kids besides Ruthie. Ellen looked me over with a practiced eye, making sure I was truly all right as I poured myself a steaming mug and then drifted outside to sit, at least until it started raining. Judging from the sky, that would be in about ten minutes. I knew Mom and Ellen were worried about today; it was Chris’s birthday, after all. I couldn’t help but imagine what we’d have been doing were he still alive and actually turning thirty-five today, and not just in my imagination. I wondered the same things at Christmas, or on Clinty’s birthdays. The western edge of the world grumbled with the approaching storm and the humidity in the air stroked all along my limbs. And almost instantly my thoughts turned to Justin, traitor-like. He’d drunk-called me, which I resented, while another part of my soul thrilled to the fact that he’d said he missed me. God, I missed him.

  At that moment I caught sight of Jo making her way across the grass and wondered suddenly how her night had gone with Blythe, a welcome distraction at the moment. I couldn’t act as though I knew anything, but I watched her watching me carefully, knowing that if anyone suspected it would be me. For a second I almost smiled at how warily she approached, and said cheerfully, “Morning,” as she climbed the porch steps. She relaxed a little and I asked, “What time did the kids get back last night?”

  She hedged with me, grabbing my coffee cup and taking a sip before saying, “Late.”

  I followed this with, “How about you?”

  I wanted her to tell me what had happened and sent her silent messages to confide. She fiddled with my cup and had just opened her mouth as though to speak when Justin’s truck came pulling into the lot. My heart propelled blood through me hard enough to cut off any words I intended to say; my eyes were locked on them. Jo noticed that my gaze had snapped from assessing her and she turned to watch as Dodge climbed out of the passenger side and called, “Hi, girls!”

  Dodge winked at us as he climbed the steps. Justin followed in his wake, silent and pale beneath his tan, sunglasses still in place. I couldn’t pull my eyes from him, my face at once flushed. I hadn’t yet managed to reply, grateful that Jo didn’t seem to suspect a thing; she replied, “Morning.”

  Dodge clacked through the screen door calling cheerful greetings to Ellen and Mom, but Justin stopped at our table without a word. My heart was thundering. Jo teased, “A little under the weather this morning, Mr. Miller?”

  He grimaced slightly, the side of his leg braced on the edge of the table closest to me. I was breathless, and wholly grateful that Jo was unaware of my distress. Justin murmured, “Don’t ask.”

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

  I looked over at her at that, surprised at this statement. I figured Blythe had come to Shore Leave. I asked, “You went into town?”

  Jo seemed to realize that she’d said too much; I could almost read her thoughts as she backpedaled for a moment. At last she admitted, “Yeah, I saw the fireworks.”

  Yeah, I’ll bet, I almost teased. But suddenly Ruthann flew through the screen door with the cordless phone from the counter in her hand, effectively cutting off any comment I might make.

  “Mom, it’s Daddy!” she informed Jo, whose face went slightly green.

  I watched in sympathy as Ruthie’s eyebrows lifted and she wiggled the phone at her mom, not understanding why Jo wasn’t jumping at the chance to speak with Jackson. Justin pushed back his sunglasses and my eyes flashed immediately back to his face, noting that his eyes bore the marks of a sleepless night.

  Jo reached for the phone and I forced some cheer into my tone as I addressed my niece, saying, “Ruthie, come with me and let’s get another muffin, huh?”

  Jo gingerly brought the phone to her ear and then disappeared in the direction of the dock. Ruthie galloped back inside with no further encouragement and left me stranded with Justin. I met his gaze and my heart clobbered against my ribs; he was studying me in silence, his eyes shadowed with smudges. After a moment he said, his voice low, “Poor Jo told me when we were dancing that Jackie loves someone else.”

  “She did?” I asked, hardly aware of what he was saying I was so caught up in his eyes. I drew a breath and pulled myself together. I tried my best to keep the tremble from my voice as I added, “Leave it to Jackson.”

  Justin’s eyes burned into mine. I wanted him to mention that he’d called me last night, though I sensed that he was waiting for me to say something first. Neither of us noticed Blythe until he’d cleared the top step and said, “Hey, guys,” by way of greeting. I jumped a little and Justin shifted his gaze to Bly, replying, “Hey.”

  Blythe gave us a knowing look as the first raindrops began pelting out of the sky. He was about to continue into Shore Leave but in the next moment he changed course, moving swiftly to the porch rail nearest the dock, bracing both hands around it and asking, “What’s Joelle doing down there?”

  “Talking to Jackson,” I tattled to his back, and watched as Bly’s huge shoulders squared with tension. Everything about his posture became instantly both threatening and protective. Down below, Jo was pacing with the phone, her free hand moving as though she intended to punch something. Or someone. Rain was flecking the lake with pockmarks, and Blythe pushed himself from the railing, ducked inside the door and re-emerged seconds later with the raincoat from the tree rack.

  Lightning flashed like a beacon in the next instant, and it must have been some signal to the sky to unleash a downpour. I squeaked a little, jumping up to go and haul my sister out of the storm, but Justin caught me lightly around the upper arm and said, “Jills, he’s got it,” before drawing me closer to the café, under the awning of the roof. My skin pulsed where Justin’s hand held me. I couldn’t make myself meet his gaze though I felt his gaze upon me as we stood within a few inches of the torrent. Instead I stubbornly watched Blythe make his way through the rain, down to where Jo was pacing and shouting, though her words were drowned out by the thunder.

  At the last moment I looked up at him and he let go of my arm. Our eyes collided and I wanted nothing more than to hurl myself against his chest and hold him, feel his strong arms around me. I almost gulped at the expression in his eyes, before making myself say, “Come on,” and led the way inside the café.

  ***

  A half an hour later I had managed to get Jo buckled into the front seat of my car on an improvised trip to Bemidji. She was just as shredded up as me, but for very different reasons. As I angled north onto Interstate 35, I felt her sharp gaze needling me and knew I had to tell her what had happened with Justin. I couldn’t hold back any longer.

  But I played it cool for another moment and teased her, saying, “You know, we’ve had that phone since we were in high school. I was kind of attached to it.”

  “I didn’t mean to chuck it in the lake,” Jo responded instantly, redirecting her eyes out the windshield.

  “So, what did he say?” It had to have been about getting a divorce, the way Jo had reacted. I would only have acknowledged it under torture, but that was my fervent hope. It would solidify Jackson’s status as an asshole of the lowest order, and further ensure that Jo would remain in Landon. But I hated that she had to get hurt in the process.

  Jo was silent for a long moment. When she at last spoke she said, “I’m sorry about the phone, Jills.”

  I rolled my eyes and said, “Fuck the phone. What did Jackie want?”

  “He wants to marry Lanny,” she said in a rush, as though needing to spit out words with a rotten taste. She pressed her fingertips to her forehead, hard.

  “Really,” I said, injecting as much scorn for him into my tone as possible. “Well, let him. What a bastard.”

  “You know, he really thinks he loves her,” Jo went on, still looking out the front window at the rain-spattered highway. “And you know what,
I hope he’s happy. She just better be good to the girls when they visit, or I’ll kill her with my bare hands.”

  I looked over at her, pleased at how sincere she sounded. I observed, just a little hesitantly, “You seem okay with it.”

  Jo shrugged and re-wrapped the raincoat that Blythe had given her more snuggly around her torso. She settled into the seat a little more deeply and I heard myself say, just above a whisper, “Jo, I made love with someone.”

  My sister’s head whipped around and I could sense her stun like an enormous helium balloon in the air between us. Before I lost all nerve I added, “With Justin.”

  Jo squeaked faintly, “Huh?”

  My words were spilling like lemonade on a tablecloth, soaking into the space around us. “We sat on the dock one night, just about a week before you and the girls got here. I was Saturday, and I was a little drunk, and we were talking about the old times.” Or at least, I’d been, about skinny-dipping. My heart was racing just remembering that moment. And then he’d taken my shoulders in his hands and I had pulled him down to me… I went on, breathlessly, “And I kissed him, Jo, but the crazy thing was, I really wanted to kiss him, and just hadn’t known it until that moment.”

  Jo was getting over her surprise and now sounded rather smug, questioning, “And?” She poked me in the ribs for good measure and I could sense her giddiness at this totally unexpected news. Shit, I hadn’t made love since my husband, which she well knew, and so I figured she was thrilled for me.

  “He was so passionate,” I continued, gushing now, shivering at the remembrance. He was singularly the best kisser I’d ever known. “And then I remembered Aubrey always talking about what a great kisser he was, all the way back in high school. It was so amazing, Jo, it felt so good.”

  “And?” she asked again, sticking me in the ribs a second time.

  My agitation was bordering on bitchy now, and I flung an elbow her direction, snipping, “Ugh, don’t. And nothing. I don’t know why I tell you shit!”