Ten minutes later, when Justin came home, Rae in tow, I lay curled beneath the blankets in our darkened room, troubled far beyond anything that had happened with Aubrey; fear had effectively taken precedence over the confrontation with her. My internal wiring, that which had always connected me to an extra set of perception, seemed haywire—and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being messed with, on a level unknown to me.
But how? And why?
I heard Justin and Rae brush their teeth before he tucked her into bed and read her a book; the low murmur of his voice and her sweet, high-pitched lilting responses served to comfort some of my agitation. When Justin came in our room, quietly closing the door behind him, my first instinct was to tell him what had just happened—and how strange I was feeling in the aftermath. But something clamped hold of my tongue, a small resurgence of petty anger; I pictured Aubrey getting her hands around his t-shirt and my insides seized up all over again. She had told him she needed him. There was a part of me that wanted to kill her for thinking she had the right to say that. I heard Justin’s clothes falling to the floor; he hadn’t clicked on the lamp.
“Baby, I know you’re awake,” Justin murmured, drawing back the covers and sliding near. The temptation of his strong, warm, nude body was almost more than I could bear but I didn’t answer, hot with stubborn petulance, pressing my cheek to the pillow. I felt all jacked up, for too many reasons to name, and craved a fight nearly as much as I craved our intense lovemaking. I sensed him on one elbow behind me, studying my back. He finally whispered, “I’m sorry. I understand that you’re upset.”
When I refused to answer, he stroked my hair, just lightly. He murmured, “All right, then,” before lying down and rolling to face the opposite direction. Thoughts screamed through my head, each trying to win the upper hand.
Was there someone in our yard or did I just imagine that?
What in the hell is going on?
Do Aubrey’s words mean something to Justin? Would he rather not know that she feels those things?
I sure as hell could have lived without knowing.
Jillian. Talk to him, right now. Tell him what you’re thinking.
But in the end I fell asleep before saying anything.
Chapter Eight
BY EARLY EVENING ON THE FOURTH OF JULY, THE TRUCK was loaded to bursting. Though Mathias was as much of a slacker about housework as me, he was adamant about making sure we had everything we needed for our trip. In a flurry of impressive organization, he wrote two lists and together we had scoured Bull and Diana’s big garage, helping ourselves to their array of outdoor gear. The plan was to camp for the first two nights, then stay with Harry and Meg Carter in Bozeman for two or three more before turning the truck back east to head home. Two sleeping bags, a tent, two low-slung camp chairs, one cardboard box of camping supplies and one cooler later, the truck was ready to make the journey west. Remembering well the long drive from Chicago to Landon every summer, I lined up two bed pillows in the back window, for use on the road.
Mathias jogged back from stashing the truck keys in our apartment; the whole clan was gathered down at the dock, deciding whether to ride in the pontoon or the speedboat to watch the fireworks. I could hear laughter and chatter, and the familiar rise and fall of Tish’s and Clint’s voices as they argued with each other. Millie Jo squealed about something and I smiled, feeling a beat of anticipation. I loved watching the fireworks explode over the lake. I called, “C’mon, love, let’s go get a seat on the motorboat before it gets too full!”
Behind me, a car pulled into the lot; I turned in time to see Noah climb out and fix his gaze on the cafe. He was dressed differently this evening; normally he appeared about to attend a tennis match, or dine at a country club, never a golden hair out of place. Currently he wore a scruffy t-shirt and jeans. He glanced between Mathias and me, hesitating; I saw a sigh lift his shoulders before he approached. A few feet away from where I stood, he stopped and pulled off his sunglasses.
“Hey,” he said.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, not exactly rudely, but a little startled. He hadn’t called, and I definitely hadn’t been expecting him. “We’re going out on the boat in just a sec.”
There were dark shadows beneath his eyes; it was an understatement to say that he appeared troubled. “I know. I just…”
“Just what?” Impatience, and growing concern, heated my nerves.
“I’d like to talk to you for a second,” Noah said, not exactly a demand but his tone was much more assertive than normal. I sensed more than saw Mathias’s shoulders square but he refrained from making any comment. Noah seemed to be holding his breath, his eyes weary but steady upon my face, and I was reminded uncomfortably of Mathias’s words about how he thought Noah looked longingly at me; there was maybe a trace of that on Noah’s face, I was not imagining it. I rarely thought of the summer Noah and I were together, preferring not to recall my own vulnerability, or how ridiculous I had acted in those days, like a puppy dying for any little affection he offered, but I suddenly remembered that Noah had first told me he loved me on the Fourth of July.
And like a fool, I’d believed his every word.
I looked at Mathias and his expression was patient, carefully hiding all traces of misgiving.
“Do you need his permission?” Noah asked, venom in his tone.
Mathias tensed, anger in his posture—but he knew he needed to let me handle this; there wasn’t an overt threat on Noah’s face, but challenge nonetheless.
Shit, I thought. Why now?
I cleared my throat and said quietly, “No, I don’t need permission and I resent you implying so.” I let that sink in before asking, “What do you need to talk about?”
“It’s about Millie,” Noah said. Then, seemingly to impress me with kindness, he changed his tone and used my nickname, “Will you please give me a minute, Milla? I want to talk about our daughter.” He emphasized our just enough.
Mathias took those words like a blow across the face; I didn’t have to be looking at him to realize this. I was not exactly in a position to disagree, as much as the thought of having to talk to Noah about anything, even Millie Jo, only exhausted me.
“Just say what you need to say,” I said, sidestepping whatever game he was trying to play.
“It’s all right,” Mathias said. He smoothed a hand down my back, the briefest of touches, before saying, “I’ll be on the boat.” And without another word he strode across the yard, toward the lake. I watched him, the evening sun dusting his hair and his wide shoulders; it took about everything he had not to look back, I could tell.
“Listen,” Noah said. His eyes were oddly intense in his pale face, which unsettled me. I had never in my life been frightened of Noah Utley—I’d been spurned by him, enraged and disgusted by his actions, but never afraid. And I would not start now. Without further preamble, he continued, “I don’t like him making decisions for Millie.”
I swore I heard the sound of my anger flaring to life like the business end of a struck match. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
“I am definitely not kidding.” Noah sounded like my father when he spoke in his lawyer voice.
“Mathias and I are engaged,” I said, as though Noah didn’t realize. “He loves me, and he loves my daughter, and he is…” At the last second I bit back the cruel comment, despite the fact that it was true that Mathias was far more a father to Millie than Noah, and instead spit out, “He is going to be her stepfather for the rest of her life. He and I will make plenty of decisions that affect her.”
“I would like a little respect,” Noah said heatedly, his expression taking on a fire I was not accustomed to seeing. “I am getting my act together and I want to see Millie more often. I want equal custody of her.”
I would not let the roaring in my ears obliterate all sensibility; I would not grab the nearest heavy object and brain him. But my voice shook hard as I asked, “Since when?”
“S
ince now. I want—”
“Bullshit!” I interrupted furiously, anger borne of fear supercharging through me. I stared at him with open loathing and demanded, “Why all of a sudden? What’s changed?”
He looked hard into my eyes and I didn’t want to see what was present in his; I wanted him to get in his car and drive away, and I never wanted to deal with him again.
Before he could answer, I said, “Millie is mine. She is my baby and I will never let you take her from me, not even half-time.” My chest ached with anger. “You left me and I didn’t think I’d be able to make it on my own. But you know what? I did. I found Mathias, and I love him. I love him with all my heart!” I was yelling now and Noah was regarding me with the kind of grimacing expression a person might wear when being confronted by a lunatic.
“Camille,” he interrupted, brusque with impatience. “Stop! Jesus. I fucking panicked, okay? And I’m sorry. When you told me you were having a baby, I couldn’t deal with it. Maybe it doesn’t mean shit to you now, but I just want you to know that I regret that. A lot.”
“Well good for you,” I muttered, glaring at him, breathless with consternation. “You can be the first to tell that to Millie someday.”
“I fucked up,” he said, and suddenly there was a naked desperation in his eyes, stronger than before. He continued in a rush, “I’m so sorry. I would hate myself forever if I didn’t at least tell you that.” He took my shoulders in his hands. “I’m at a point where I can take care of you now. You and Millie. I’m ready. I want that.” He saw the disbelieving stun in my eyes and his hands dropped away.
“I think you should go,” I whispered, recovering the power of speech. “Please, just go.”
“Do you hear what I’m saying? I’m telling you I want to try and make it work. We never even tried…”
For a moment I was rendered truly speechless.
“Camille, did you hear what I said?”
I found my voice and spoke quietly. “It was never meant to be between us, Noah, that’s all. We had sex a few times and I got pregnant, and I thought my world was ending, too, if I’m completely honest.” He narrowed his eyes, as though he didn’t understand, as though I might have an ulterior motive. I reflected that Noah had never really known me at all. “Even if I wasn’t engaged to someone I love, I wouldn’t take you back now. You think you can make your mistakes go away with an apology? No way. If you want to be a better dad to Millie, I’ll let you. I won’t stop that. But don’t come here and tell me you’re ready to take care of us now. Haven’t you ever heard of actions speaking louder than words?”
“You really love Carter that much?” he asked after a pause, my words floating as though alive in the air around our heads. His voice was rough.
“I do.”
Noah’s chin jerked and he looked away. His lips twitched, jaw clenching, but he said with perfect calm, “I guess I knew that.”
I suddenly had a horrible thought, one that made my blood ice up.
No—you’re wrong, Camille. You’re dead wrong. Noah would never spy on you and Mathias. There was no one watching you the other night while you were swimming. No one.
I tried to be nice then, to compensate for what I’d been thinking. I whispered, “I appreciate that you’re trying more with Millie. That’s something.”
“I love her. I really do. I want you to know that.” Noah’s eyes filled with tears, which he did not allow to fall.
I kept my voice gentle. “Then show her.”
“She looks just like you.” He sat down on the porch steps, cradling his head in both hands. From that position he whispered, “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t just using you that summer. I know you think I was. If I could go back and change things, I would.”
“Don’t,” I begged.
Just as abruptly he stood, startling me. His eyes were red. “I won’t fight you for custody. I only said that to hurt you.” He cleared his throat, roughly, and added, “I would still like to see her on the weekends. I’d like to try to be her…dad.” His voice choked on that single word, almost a sob, and my heart clenched in pity. I had no desire to see him in pain, despite everything.
With quiet firmness I said, “You are her dad.”
“I do feel bad for him,” I told Mathias much later, snug in our kitchen after the fireworks on Flickertail. We sat facing each other at the kitchen table with its mallard duck salt and pepper shakers, left over from when Aunt Jilly lived here. Millie slept soundly after the evening’s excitement. I wore an old t-shirt of Mathias’s as a pajama top, over a pair of lacy g-string panties. It was a strange combo, I knew; I needed to do laundry. Mathias, in his faded blue pajama shorts and absolutely nothing else, sat at a right angle to me. I’d told him everything that Noah said earlier, and he’d listened quietly. Roughing up my damp, loose hair with both hands, I sighed and concluded lamely, “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Mathias cupped my elbow. He was so warm, his touch so welcome on my bare skin. The back of his neck and the tops of his shoulders were sunburned, the rest of his powerful torso a rich brown, his thick hair wet from a recent shower, both on his head and chest. His muscular forearms were peppered in dark hair and if Bull was any indication of the future, one day his back would be quite covered as well; at the thought, I almost smiled. The gold flecks in his eyes shone in the glow of the light above the kitchen sink; he appeared uncharacteristically somber.
“Thank you for understanding.” I smoothed my palm over his forearm, skimming the surface of his skin as I stroked the hair there one way and then the other, almost meditatively. “Thank you for not playing his game.”
“Yeah, it hurt to leave you alone with him, I’m not gonna lie. But I could tell he was hoping to pick a fight. He wanted me to step in so he’d have a reason to react.” He paused, searching my eyes. “I hate that he said those things to you, but I promise to try not to let it bother me.”
I cupped his stubbled jaw, love for him expanding my heart, cracking it wide open; it was his unconscious way, opening me to feelings beyond anything I’d ever known. “I love you, Mathias Carter.”
Later, I threw together a small bag of extra clothes and our bathroom things, including my glasses in their hardback case. We planned to leave at midmorning. Mathias had explained that it took a good ten hours to reach our first stop, a state park in eastern Montana.
“And that’s not counting rest stops, and sightseeing stops, and stops to get out and smell the sagebrush. And make love,” he added, his usual good mood restored, grinning at me over the unzipped canvas tote on our bed. I was about to close up the top when Mathias leaned forward to extract something from its contents.
“Honey, what’s this?” he asked sternly, holding up a pair of transparent, turquoise blue undies. I leaned past him to root around in the bag, producing the matching bra, not much more substantial than dental floss. He swallowed hard and tried to maintain a strict expression. “I don’t think these will protect you from ticks.”
I said innocently, “They’re rated number one in that outdoor catalogue you made me read.”
He stepped closer, lowering his brows. I giggled and evaded, getting the bed between us. He offered up his slow, smoldering grin, twirling my panties around his index finger in a lazy fashion.
“Do we make love before or after we smell the sagebrush?” I asked wickedly. “And isn’t sagebrush sharp? Prickly, I mean?”
“It’s not sharp,” he informed in his know-it-all voice. “It’s soft, and smells incredible. The best is to rub the leaves between your fingers,” and he demonstrated on my panties.
Oh, I said without sound, and my knees went a little weak.
“I can’t wait for you to see the mountains,” he said, grinning just as wickedly as he continued stroking my undergarments. “And we can ride horses.”
“Bluebell and Renegade!” I cried, giggling. “Where are we camping tomorrow night? That place with the funny name…” I was thrilled at the prospect of rea
l camping. I hadn’t been on a camping vacation in years.
“Makoshika State Park,” he reminded. He pinned me with his gaze and ordered, “Come here.”
I shook my head, shivery with anticipation. “I’m not ready for bed yet.”
He dove over the mattress and caught me close.
“Me, neither,” he whispered.
In the morning, I cried more at leaving Millie Jo than she did at the prospect of me going on a trip without her. I hugged her for a third time, inhaling the scent of her curly dark hair, kissed her cheeks, and then took her little face in my hands. I said, “I love you, baby. You be good for Grandma, all right?”
“I will, Mama!” she said, cheerful as always. And then, as Mathias picked her up for one more hug, she added, “Bye, Ma-fias!”
He kissed her cheek and whispered around a lump in his throat, “Bye, my sweetheart.”
By early afternoon we’d cleared the Minnesota state line and were well across North Dakota. I kicked off my shoes and propped my bare feet on the dashboard; Millie and I had painted our toenails a brilliant neon blue the night before last. Mathias cranked the radio and we sang along with the CD currently spinning in the player, Travis Tritt’s greatest hits. The landscape grew ever more rugged as we cruised west, the long, flat expanses of wheat fields in central North Dakota finally giving way to undulating foothills and towering outcroppings of rock that suggested a hint of the mountains to come. I could not wait to lay eyes upon the Rockies. The ridges in the distance were rounded at their peaks, tinted by variegated shades of rich brown, dark as chocolate in one spot, streaked through with pale amber in another. We drove with the windows rolled down, not minding the rush of wind; the air flowing into the cab of the truck smelled fresh and herbal.
Wild Flower Page 15