A Notion of Love

by Abbie Williams

  “There’s nowhere I’d rather be,” I whispered back, hooking my right leg over his thighs.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I woke on my belly, the way I usually slept, and found Justin propped on one elbow, studying me in the soft morning light. His bedroom faced east, bathing the space in the radiance of an amber sunrise. His eyes were so warm on me, crinkling at the corners as he smiled. I smiled back, tipping my face against the pillow and snuggling closer to him.

  “Morning,” he said.

  And then in the next second I couldn’t contain myself, moving swiftly on top of him, fitting our bodies together, getting my arms around his neck and covering him with kisses. He laughed and rolled me along the bed, kissing my lips and chin and collarbone, ending with me angled just under him. His shoulders were so wide and my bare skin was shivery with delight as he slid one hand over my belly and clarified, “Damn good morning, if I do say so myself.”

  An hour later we’d showered and dressed, and Justin drove me back to Shore Leave under a sky as cloudless and silken-blue as a polished gem. Dodge was either already or still here, and Justin parked next to him. The yard and the porch were yet strewn with the remnants of the party last night; we walked beneath the strings of lanterns which were bobbing merrily in a gentle breeze, holding hands. Just at the edge of the porch I said, “Let me run home and change quick.”

  Justin tipped and kissed me, then said, “I’ll be in here.”

  I hurried up my steps and into my familiar little kitchen, pit-stopping to peek in at Clinty, who was snoring like a ripsaw, one long leg sticking out from under the covers. My heart swelled up with maternal affection, and I crept in and shifted his leg back underneath. As I did, he blinked sleepily, knuckling his eyes and then croaking, “Morning, Mom.”

  “Morning, honey,” I replied, perching on the edge of his bed. “You have fun last night?”

  “Yeah, it was great,” he said. “Did you leave with Justin?”

  There wasn’t a disingenuous bone in my son’s body; he asked this with sincere curiosity and I cupped his freckled cheek for a moment like he was still my little boy. I said, “Yeah. I really, really like him. Is that okay with you?”

  So I oversimplified a bit with that statement. Clint regarded me for a moment, before smiling and saying, “Of course, Mom. Jeez. He’s a good guy. And I can tell he makes you happy.”

  “You can?” I asked, feeling tears spark into my eyes.

  Clint stretched and then propped himself on one elbow. For a moment I marveled at how much he’d grown; he was just beginning to look like the man he would become. He was still slim and mostly knuckles right now, his face all planes and angles. But he was utterly composed, adult-like, as he said, “Well yeah, for sure. You smile so much around him. I’m glad for that, Mom.”

  My tears spilled over as I hugged him against me and whispered, “Thanks, son.”

  It was Friday but also the Fourth of July, so we closed the café after lunch. Jo and I helped finish cleaning the yard and the porch, wiped down the tables and put away party decorations.

  “You’re glowing again, Jilly Bean,” Jo observed as we hauled the last of the lawn chairs into the garage. Despite the melting heat outside it was damp and cool in the garage, where no one ever parked except in deepest winter. Years worth of tools, equipment, junk, broken furniture and cast-off belongings occupied the space, along with cobwebs, dust and the scent of lawn clippings. Dodge used the old rider mower every few days to trim the grass around the parking lot and porch. I smiled for a moment, recalling how happy he was that Justin and I were finally a couple. He’d told me last night at the dance.

  I wrapped my arms around my sister’s waist and hugged hard for a moment. She hugged me back, whispering into my ear, “I’m so happy for you.”

  “How about you?” I asked, pulling back and looking up into her beautiful golden-green eyes. Her hair was twisted up into a graceful knot, strands clinging down her neck, her cheeks flushed. I added as a warning, “You two aren’t fooling anyone anymore, I hope you know. Well, maybe Tish.”

  Jo tipped her head, cupping her forehead, and whispered, “Oh God, Jilly, I love Blythe so much. I need him. And I can’t have him, can I?”

  My heart twisted at her words; this was exactly what I’d feared, precisely why I’d tried to keep them apart. But it had been a monumentally worthless effort. Their attraction was practically gravitational and I could see plain as spilled sugar on the speckled counter at the café that Blythe loved her too. A whole lot. But then, I’d known that from the beginning.

  “Jo,” I said, my voice soft. “I can’t answer that.”

  My sister closed her eyes and refused to let tears fall. She straightened up and collected herself, whispering, “But not yet. Not yet.” She attempted a smile, asking, “You and Justin going to the fireworks later?”

  “Yeah, he’s stopping out after work. Clinty and I talked about him this morning. Clint told me he can see that Justin makes me happy.”

  “Even Chief and Chester can see that,” Jo teased. “And they’re dogs.”

  I giggled a little, swiping hair from my eyes and certainly leaving a streak of grime.

  “Come on, you need a shower,” she told me. “And then let’s go have fun.”

  ***

  The fireworks were always detonated over Flickertail, and we’d always taken out the pontoon that Dodge kept moored over at the filling station. Everyone in Landon with any form of watercraft elected to view the show from the lake, though the beach was always just as crowded, often with tourists. This year we were too great in number to allow for everyone to board the pontoon; Dodge, Ellen, Mom and Gran were joined by Liz, Wordo, Ruthie and the triplets. Jo was faking a headache and Camille had disappeared with Noah Utley, while Justin and I took Tish, Clint and Liam with us on the motor boat. Justin’s boat was one he’d gotten in trade and fixed up, a pretty snazzy Siemens outboard he mainly used for fishing. But it could certainly drag water skiers and got my son all excited with visions of surpassing forty miles an hour on the water.

  I’d always loved the rebel spirit that seemed to permeate the air on the Fourth. Justin picked us up on the end of the dock at dusk, Flickertail alive and glowing with watercraft of all kinds. People were shouting and laughing, drinking beer and soda; most of the pontoons were equipped with grills, which sent the spicy aroma of roasting meat dancing across the water. Small fireworks burst in crackling, sparkling arrays from every direction with snaps and sharp bangs. The kids were literally jumping with excitement; Tish and Clint leaped into the boat behind Justin, while gentlemanly Liam lent me an arm before boarding.

  “Wow, can we light these off?” my son was demanding, on his knees and rooting like a puppy through the cardboard box containing Justin’s stash of fireworks. Clint’s voice cracked as he yelped, “Roman candles! Sweet!”

  Justin laughed, catching me in a hug and kissing me on the lips, but discreetly. It was enough to send my heart cartwheeling, his scent and taste and presence that filled me with such buoyancy. He smiled into my eyes, his hair all wild from driving the boat over, his shoulders so broad and strong in a pale t-shirt. Over that he wore an unzipped white hoodie sweatshirt, along with his orange swimming trunks and bare feet. My own feet were bare, and I curled my toes against the forest-green outdoor carpet beneath them.

  The boys were freaking out over the box of goodies; Tish grabbed a package of sparklers and asked, “Aunt Jilly, do you have your lighter?”

  Justin tossed one to her and then reclaimed the steering wheel, saying, “Here we go, kiddos.” The motor growled as he backed out and then eased around, before saying, “Hold on!” and then revving it a little, taking us left and out onto the lake. I sat in the front seat to the left of Justin, curling up my legs and wrapping both arms around them, drinking in the marvelous view as we left behind the dock. The air out here was chilly; I’d worn cut-offs and a bright red t-shirt, but had hauled along a bag with sweatshirts and reached for it. Just
in said, “Here, baby,” and immediately shrugged out of his own. I snuggled into its delicious warmth, the kids laughing and chattering behind us, their voices carrying along in the wind created by our rapid movement. They had sparklers going, lighting their excited faces with flashing gold and magenta. I curved my shoulders and drew up the neck of Justin’s sweatshirt to inhale.

  “God, this smells so good,” I told him, speaking over the wind.

  He angled me a grin and gripped my right knee in one hand, squeezing. Moments later he slowed the boat to a crawl, piloting around the dozens of other crafts. The mood was pure circus under the darkening sky, where streaks of violet-tinted clouds drifted along the western edge of the horizon, which was still a pale yellow in the last of the sunset. Stars were beginning to glint, spangling the sky with diamonds, and I thought for a moment of my dream and the star I’d held in my hand. I slid my palm over Justin’s hand on my leg, and he flipped it over to thread his fingers through mine, his hand so warm and strong, holding me tightly.

  “There’s everybody!” Clint yelped then, pointing with his sparkler like a magic wand, and we caught sight of the pontoon, where Dodge was manning the grill while Ruthie and the triplets were busy waving their own sparklers.

  Justin maneuvered the boat over to them, where he killed the engine and Dodge tossed a lead rope over, which Justin expertly knotted around the railing, keeping us tethered together. He was so good at so many things, so capable. That in itself was so totally sexy. Good with his hands, indeed. Well, I now knew for a fact how very true that was, and my cheeks kindled and glowed at just the thought. Ten feet away, on the deck of the pontoon, the womenfolk were passing out chips and hot dog buns, sodas and plastic forks. Gran was curled in a lawn chair with her yellow can coolie, and she blew us a kiss. Wordo was joking with Dodge in his loud voice, busy lighting sparklers as fast as the kids burned them out. A radio from someone’s nearby boat was playing the local country station out of Bemidji.

  “Hey, guys!” Liz called, waving at us with her free hand, the other clutching a beer bottle. She was grinning widely; I knew just how much she loved her older brother, and worried for him, and that he was happy was probably almost as heartening to her as it was to me. She moved over to the railing nearest us and said, “Jilly, you look so pretty.” And then, “Clint, you’re getting so tall. What in the hell? You’re supposed to be a little kid.” Liz had inherited the Miller penchant for swearing, but was as kind-hearted as anyone I’d ever known.

  My son said, “I ain’t done yet,” in a teasing way.

  “Thanks, Liz,” I told her, smiling back.

  Over his shoulder Justin added, “Heya, sis.”

  Tish called, “Grandma, can you give us some hot dogs?”

  Justin, finished with the knot, grasped my hands and pulled me to my feet, then neatly enfolded me in his arms and sat us back down, with me on his lap. He leaned back comfortably into the chair, which curved up like the seat of a car, and fit his arms around my waist. Again I thought I might hear myself suddenly begin to purr. He was so warm behind me; I snuggled against him and linked our fingers over my belly. His chin was just at my temple.

  “Jilly, Justin, you two want hot dogs?” Mom called over, smiling at us. She was wearing a bandana printed with an American flag tied over her braided hair, and red and white feather earrings. She looked a little like a biker’s girlfriend and I suppressed a giggle at the thought.

  “No thanks, Joanie,” Justin told her, and I agreed. “Maybe later, though.”

  I was soaked in happiness, drenched in it, and let myself feel that. It had been so long, so very long since I’d felt this way. Truly, maybe never. Justin Daniel Miller, who I’d known my entire life. Whose name I was linking with my own in my thoughts these days: Jillian Rae Miller. Mr. and Mrs. Justin Miller. But I was too superstitious for much of that. I couldn’t get ahead of myself, would simply enjoy this moment in time to the core of my soul. Justin, holding me against him like I was the most precious thing in his world. Feeling his heartbeat against me, remembering how I’d held him as he sobbed, as he’d let go of some of the ancient hurt. He loved me and had finally told me. My heart thumped with pure, undiluted gladness. I let the excited chatter of the people I loved, both of our families, permeate me as I relaxed against him.

  “It’s too bad Mom has a headache,” Tish said as she fished another soda from the cooler behind the front seats. “That sucks.”

  Joelle, Joelle. I knew for a fact that right now she was tangled up in Blythe’s arms, with anything but a headache. That had been a total ruse. But I didn’t blame her; I understood completely. In a month she’d was supposed to pack up her girls and head back to Chicago; I was quietly sure she wouldn’t make this decision, since I’d had a Notion I’d kept absolutely to myself. I knew she would stay here, which made my heart dance with joy, but it would come at the price of her own heart breaking. I’d seen that too. Dammit. And I hated the thought of Blythe leaving Landon, though it was nothing compared to how Jo would feel; I adored him and would miss him bunches. If only…

  “Mom, can we let off a Roman candle?” Clint pleaded from the stern of the boat.

  “Ask Justin,” I said, in the same tone I would have said, Ask your dad. Behind me Justin said, “Sure, but let me help you.”

  “No, don’t move,” I complained, and he kissed the side of my neck from behind.

  “I’ll be right back,” he promised.

  The Roman candles were pretty awesome, I had to admit. I curled my legs under myself and laughed with as much delight as the kids as Justin launched the fireworks off the end of the boat, amid the cheers of everyone in the vicinity. Clint and Liam crowded him, getting in the way, but he was patient and let them do some of the fuse-lighting. Tish joined me, bundled in her own sweatshirt, tucking her arm through mine. It always touched me when she showed affection and I held her wiry little arm tightly against me.

  “Justin’s so cool,” she said. And a bit later, her voice soft, “I miss my dad.”

  At that I looked over at her; the sky was almost totally dark and the real fireworks would begin any moment. There was still plenty of illumination from lanterns and mini explosions and in those tinted lights I studied her with concern. For all his failings, Jackie was a good dad, and I knew the girls loved him and couldn’t see his faults. And Jo was mature enough to keep her more uncharitable thoughts about Jackson to herself.

  “Aw, Tish,” I said. “He misses you guys too.”

  “Does he?” she asked cynically. “He hasn’t come up here like he said he would. And he has a new girlfriend.”

  “But he still misses you,” I told her firmly. “No matter what. You know that, Tisha.”

  She shrugged. With unknowing perfect timing, Justin looked back at us and called, “Tish, you want to light the last one?”

  She beamed and leaped to her feet to do the honors. In the next minute the first low-pitched boom sounded, announcing the beginning of the show. Justin tossed the remnants of the candles into the box, brushed off his hands and left the stern seats to the kids. He rejoined me; I held out my arms and he grinned at me, his eyes flashing into mine. Again he swept me into his arms and tucked me against his chest. The crowd had quieted with almost reverent silence, other than the collective ooohs and aaahs. My happiness was so overpowering that I trembled a little; Justin reached and grabbed a blanket from beneath the seat, swirling it over us and snuggling me close. I kissed his jaw, whispering with passion, “I fucking love you so much.”

  His chest bounced with a laugh. He whispered back, “I told you I love it when you talk dirty.”

  “What’s your favorite kind of firework? You like those really loud ones that sound like mortar fire, don’t you?” I asked, braiding the fingers of our right hands together. With his free hand, Justin stroked the length of my bare thigh, safely hidden beneath the blanket; I shivered more at his touch.

  He kissed my hair and said, “Yeah, I like those. And the gold ones that look l
ike weeping willows after they explode. What about you?”

  “I like when they try to make a shape. Remember the star from last year?”

  “That was pretty cool,” he agreed. I tipped my chin as the next one exploded, watching the colors paint his face with green and silver. He lowered his lashes and looked down at me, then tightened his arms around my waist and kissed me, with so much feeling that I made an inadvertent sound in my throat and turned in his arms, threading my fingers into his hair. Everyone was looking at the sky, no one paid us any mind in the darkness. But I wouldn’t have cared anyway, and the fireworks that mattered most in the world were happening right here, between us.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Jillian, you mean to tell me this kid has had no behind the wheel experience?” Justin teased, a few weeks later on a lazy Saturday evening after dinner rush. He leaned over the back of the chair to my right; I was busy rolling silverware and Clint, on my left, had just begged me to take him driving.

  “Well, not much,” I admitted. “It scares me to let my little baby boy drive.”

  “Mom!” yelped Clint in protest, his voice racing through an entire octave.

  I laughed, shaking my head. “Just kidding. But it does scare me a little. Why, are you offering to take him?” I raised my right eyebrow at Justin, who winked at me.

  “For sure. This kid needs to know how to drive a manual. Shit, I was driving one by eleven.”

  “And crashing into hardware stores by twelve,” I teased, and Clint hee-hawed a laugh while Justin’s dark eyes told me he’d like nothing better than to bend me over his knee. I wanted him to bend me over the table, but that would have to wait until later.

  “Can we go right now?” Clint begged. “Please, Justin?”

  Justin said, “As long as it’s all right with you, Jilly.”

  “Of course,” I said. “Clint, listen to Justin though. No fooling around.”

  “Who, me?” Clint wondered aloud.