“Thank you,” I whispered, but neither of us moved to the other. Instead I watched in heated silence as he dressed with quiet efficiency, donning his favorite jeans and a fresh black t-shirt, this time one with sleeves, shaking through his hair with both hands in a manly gesture I knew well. Damp, it hung in messy waves almost to his shoulders.
Now, in the intoxicating evening air, we came upon Shore Leave to see Joelle and Blythe waiting for us; Bly called over, “Hurry up, you guys! It’s gonna be busy already!”
“You can ride with us,” Jo invited, and minutes later Blythe had parked his truck about two blocks from Eddie’s, which was already hopping a good hour before the music even started.
“You weren’t kidding,” Justin said to Blythe. The small, familiar bar was packed to the brim, full as a fish belly as Gran used to say. We settled at one of the few remaining high tops in the back corner, Jo and I claiming seats while Justin and Bly fought the crowd to go buy drinks for us.
“They won’t be able to make it back here until the band starts,” Jo predicted, fanning her flushed cheeks. Her long hair fell over her bare shoulders. She was wearing a rose-colored tank top and gold hoop earrings, a light sheen of sweat decorating her tanned skin. Eddie’s didn’t have air conditioning, which wasn’t an issue when the crowd consisted of the ten or so regulars; tonight, with a full house, it was humid as a sweat lodge.
Jo said, “You look gorgeous, Jilly Bean.”
I rolled my eyes.
“I mean it,” she insisted. “Your eyes look bluer than the lake. And I think you’re putting Dolly Parton to shame.”
I giggled, my gaze dropping briefly to my breasts. “In my defense, they’re about all I have going for me right now.”
“You have never been anything but gorgeous, and you know it. You should see the way Justin stares at you. You’re the crystal-clear water to his dying of thirst in the desert.” Jo looked over my shoulder then, lowering her voice to add, “And not just Justin. Shit, that guy over there is totally checking you out.” Speculatively, she muttered, “I don’t recognize him.” Her eyebrows lifted. “He’s coming over here.”
I turned just in time to see Zack Dixon headed our way, clutching a drink and smiling with just about all of his shark teeth showing. My stomach plummeted to the floor.
Oh shit oh shit oh shit. You can’t confront him here.
But what if he was in your house today? What if he touched your underwear?
What if he has your spare key in his pocket, right at this second?
My insides curled over on themselves as he reached us. He said, “Hi, Jillian,” and then actually hooked his free hand over my left shoulder. Jo’s eyes widened and I shrugged irritably away. Unfazed, he gripped the back of my chair. Jo sent me a look that clearly asked, Who the hell is this guy?
“Jo, this is—” I felt compelled to say, but he interrupted me.
“You must be Joelle,” he said to my sister, with far too much familiarity. I could smell the sharp reek of whiskey on his breath. “Zackary Dixon. I’ve met most of the women in your family, but not you.”
“He’s from the college in Moorhead,” I explained to Joelle, sending her a message in return, Discourage any conversation!
“You look incredible, Jillian,” Zack said, with unpleasant emphasis, and combed his fingers through my loose hair.
“Don’t,” I ordered, with clenched teeth, angling my chair away from him, with some difficulty, as he stepped immediately closer.
“Did you get my note?” he asked. “I left you one today.”
For a horrible, frozen moment I thought he was actually admitting to being in my house and placing my panties on the counter, but then I recalled that he’d handwritten a message on a napkin at lunch. I was speechless for less than a second; forcing myself to meet his slimy gaze, I ordered, “Get the fuck out of here.”
“You’re even sexier when you’re mad,” he said, possibly believing that this statement was humorous. Before I could move, he reached and drew a line straight down my cleavage with an extended finger, concluding, “Fuck, you’re soft.”
Jo’s lips dropped open, her shock nearly as palpable as mine as Zack let his fingertip linger between my breasts. I shoved viciously at his hand, ready to outright kill him; a second later my husband appeared through the noisy crowd. Just the expression in Justin’s eyes was enough that Zack took an immediate and large step backward. Furious as I was, I almost smiled at this.
Setting our drinks on the table and subsequently freeing his hands, Justin moved into the space Zack had just vacated and asked as though conversationally, “How much do you value your life, buddy?”
Zack smiled and said, “As much as you value yours, I’m sure. You got something to say, or what?”
Justin rubbed the knuckles of his right hand against his jaw and asked through his teeth, “You have a death wish, or what?”
I jumped in at this point, addressing Zack as I said, “This is my husband, you moron. And he will wipe the fucking floor with you if you don’t get out of here.”
Blythe was also back from the bar, and Zack, though clearly buzzed and maybe even spoiling for a fight, seemed to perceive the intensive threat to his wellbeing. He lifted both hands in surrender, still clutching his drink. He shot Justin a dark look but chose to say nothing more, and shoved his way back into the boisterous crowd.
Justin inhaled a deep breath through his nose, bracing both hands on the table. His eyes were as black as flint chips. “Shit, my blood pressure is off the charts. Who was that? I’d like to know his name before I go rip his head off.”
I put my hands atop his, which were curled into hard-knuckled fists, and hastily explained, “That was the guy I was telling you about a few weeks back, remember?”
“That was the guy from lunch, wasn’t it?” Bly asked. “You didn’t want to take his order.”
“The one you said you had a bad feeling about?” Justin asked, eyes further narrowing as he stared in the direction Zack had disappeared. “He’s been back to Shore Leave? You should have told me.”
“I know, I’ve been meaning to,” I said lamely.
“He touched you,” Justin said with grit in his voice. His wide shoulders and arms were taut, his powerful biceps tense and bulging. He would make good on his threat about killing Zack if I said anything else right now, I could see plainly.
“I’m all right,” I insisted, not about to let him get in a fight. “I’m just fine. Don’t let him spoil the night.”
Blythe set their beers on the table and stepped nearer to Jo, gently gathering her loose hair in his hand, caressing her neck with his thumb. He said, “Jills, I would have kicked him out today.”
Jo said, “Wait, I’m missing something here. Who is this guy? I can’t believe he touched you, Jilly Bean.”
A muscle ticked in Justin’s cheek, and I mustered my sternest tone. “It’s all right. It’s done now.”
Justin finally claimed his seat and I released the tense breath I’d been holding. He drew my chair immediately closer to his and lined his arm possessively along the back of it.
“Jills, is this the same guy that Camille has mentioned?” Jo asked. “What’s the story?”
I curled one hand around Justin’s left knee, which was closest to me, and backtracked, knowing I had to explain. “That first morning he stopped out at the cafe, I had the thought that there was something wrong with his eyes. Something just slightly off. He asked me to walk him to his car that morning and I said, ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ and he seemed embarrassed, so then I actually felt bad for snapping at him.”
“He wanted you to walk him to his car?” Justin repeated in disbelief. “What the hell?”
“And he’s stopped out for lunch a few times. Camille’s had to wait on him.”
“He’s the one she said was being an asshole to her,” Jo said. “She mentioned that before they left.”
“And then he was at the counter today,” I said. “Before I stopp
ed out at the station…”
Justin’s eyes were tight with concern. As I trailed to silence, he concluded quietly, “And then you didn’t think of it again.” He shifted position, scanning the crowd in search of Zack, before his eyes came back to me. “What else has he said?” He was too good at reading my face. He insisted softly, “Jilly, I know there’s more.”
“He’s been out of line,” I admitted, which was the wrong thing, as Justin’s eyes grew even darker with repressed anger.
“How so?”
“He told me that I was sexy…and asked me if you told me that enough.” My voice trembled over the words, thinking of what else Zack had said. “That’s when I asked Blythe to take the order for me.”
They all spoke at once.
“This was just today? Why didn’t you tell me?” Jo demanded.
“I would have put him out on his ass,” Blythe said. “Jeez, Jills.”
Justin’s expression was outright dangerous; he said, with deceptive calm, “I’ll be right fucking back,” and pushed away from the table. I caught his forearm in both hands and could feel the fury flowing in waves from him. Despite my restraining grip, he stood and cracked the knuckles on his punching hand. He’d always been known for his right hook.
“You guys,” I said desperately. “It’s fine. I think he’s just an asshole, like Camille said. He’s the type that likes to make people uncomfortable.”
Justin’s voice was low and pained. “You’ve been going through all of this on top of everything else. You should have told me.”
“I didn’t want you getting upset over nothing!”
“It’s not nothing,” Justin insisted. “I’m going to go and have a little conversation with him right now.”
“J,” I said breathlessly. “No. Please, no. I won’t have you getting into a fight.”
“Baby, I’m not going to get in a fight. I’m just going to talk to him about what’s appropriate and what’s not.” I knew he was doing what he sincerely believed was right, but I vividly imagined all the ways this plan could go south in a moment’s notice.
I looked at my sister for help but she only shrugged; her expression said, I think he has a point, Jilly.
Blythe said casually, “I’ll join you,” and Justin acknowledged this with a nod. My husband and my brother-in-law disappeared in the shifting crowd and I stood, my chair scraping along the floor.
“Jilly, it’s all right.” Jo flew around the table as though I was perched on the edge of a fifth-floor window ledge, catching my arm. I shook free of her grip, but Jo clamped my elbow and tugged me back.
“Dammit, Jillian, you’re pregnant! Don’t make me sit on you.”
“You’re not at all upset that your husband is headed for a potential fight?” My nerves were raw and blistered. “Like that would be a smart thing for him!”
“Now you’re just being mean,” Jo said. Her voice rose. “He’s not going to get in a fight!”
“I’m glad you can read the future now! Maybe you can tell me how this all turns out!”
“Maybe you should be glad we have men who care enough about us to stand up for us! Justin is doing the right thing. You’re the one who’s being ridiculous!” Jo’s eyes flashed with brimming anger. We hadn’t gone after each other this badly in years.
“Maybe I don’t want to have to accept collect calls from my husband while he’s in jail!” I stormed, and with that I’d pushed too far. Jo’s eyes narrowed and her lips compressed; she’d been forced to do that very thing three summers ago, when Bly was behind bars in Oklahoma.
“Maybe you should shut your mouth!” Tears glinted on her lower lashes. “You’re being such a bitch and I don’t understand it at all!”
I was about to hurl a response at her, only to realize that Justin and Bly were already back to the table, both of them obviously a little stunned by this evidence of a heated argument. My face was flushed and Jo turned away from everyone, discreetly swiping at the wetness in her eyes. I felt terrible, not that I would admit it at the moment.
“He’s gone,” Blythe told us, moving at once to his wife’s side, rubbing one hand along her back. She acknowledged this with a half smile, keeping her eyes from me. I heard him murmur, “Do you want to go, sweetheart?”
She shook her head, taking a deep breath and reclaiming her seat, lifting her drink for a small sip. “No, I’d like to hear the music.”
Bly sat beside her and there was little choice but to rejoin them at the table.
Justin had about a thousand questions for me, as I easily discerned, but he said only, “He’s not here anymore, we even checked the bathroom. If he shows up at the cafe, or anywhere near you for that matter, I want you to call me right away.”
“I will,” I promised, my heart slowly regaining a more regular pace. I leaned against my husband, so very grateful for his presence; he latched one arm securely around my waist and planted a kiss on my temple. I kept my eyes away from Jo as I admitted, “I appreciate that you were willing to talk to him. But I hate the thought of you getting in a fight. It makes me sick.”
“It’s not that I want to get in a fight,” Justin defended himself. The music was starting and he leaned closer so I could still hear him over the din. “When I saw him touch you I just about came unglued. I thought the glasses in my hands might shatter, I’m not kidding.”
“That’s how I felt this afternoon,” I said, referring to Aubrey. “Her thinking she could put her hands on you, and say that stuff to you.”
Justin heaved a sigh and admitted, “Yeah, it pretty much sucks. But dammit, Jilly, I’m not vulnerable to her the way you are to this guy. That shit he said to you. What the fuck? Who talks that way and thinks he can get away with it? If you see him again, call me.”
“I will,” I promised.
We listened to the music for a good hour. When the band took a small break, I sent my sister a silent message that I was sorry for being a bitch. She met my gaze and nodded a little, about half-acknowledging that she accepted my apology.
I asked, “Have you heard from Camille and Mathias? Have they gotten to Montana?”
“Milla called us this afternoon,” Jo said. “They were just crossing the state line.”
Blythe said, “We should drive out there with the kids next summer, maybe do some camping. Do you think Matthew will be old enough to ride in the car that long by then?”
I studied my brother-in-law, with fondness; he was so handsome, and kind. I loved him for making Joelle happier than I’d ever seen her. I’d finally become accustomed to Blythe’s facial hair—which he’d grown from a goatee into a full-fledged beard, complete with mustache; no one would ever guess that he was actually twelve years younger than Joelle. His long, wavy hair was tied low on his neck, as he preferred, and Jo gently stroked her fingers through its length as he talked. I knew, just like me, that she preferred when her man’s hair was long enough to dig her fingers within.
“He’d probably sleep most of the way,” I said.
“We could all go,” Blythe said. “That would be great. You think the kids would be up for it?”
“Dad took us camping all the time at that age,” Justin said. “We should take the kids over to the state park a few times first, see how they handle it. It’s all fun and games until it starts to rain and everyone has to crowd into one tent.”
“I’m in,” Blythe said gamely, taking a long swallow from his beer. “We could go this next weekend maybe, what do you say?”
“That might work out,” Justin agreed. I knew he liked Blythe a great deal, considered him a little brother. I recalled the day that Justin taught Bly how to replace some belt in his truck’s engine, and smiled at the memory. Justin was a good teacher, and could be patient when he chose.
Jo’s cell phone began buzzing on the tabletop. “It’s Ruthie. I’d say that’s our cue.”
Ten minutes later Bly dropped us at Shore Leave to collect Rae, but she was sleeping in Camille’s old bed at Mom’s house, and Mom
insisted that she would bring her home in the morning.
“You two go on home and have a nice evening,” Mom insisted, kissing my cheek at the front door, and I wondered if she meant that as in, Go have some amazing sex and forgive each other, or was just offering a pleasantry.
The forest path was lit by the almost-full moon, which was terribly romantic. The crickets serenaded us, the moonlight throwing patterns all over our bodies as we walked side by side beneath the pine trees, along the familiar route back to our cabin. I was so aware of my husband that I could hardly catch my breath; he didn’t try to take my hand and I felt horribly deprived.
Dammit, it’s up to you to apologize, I thought, and took a breath to do just that, when Justin suddenly said, “I smell pot.”
I did then, too, even though it wasn’t something we’d ever partaken of with any regularity, even as younger versions of ourselves. I heard my son’s laughter next, in chorus with a couple of other boys, and we came out of the woods to spy Clint, Jeff, and Liam all gathered on the porch and passing a burning joint. Instead of going apeshit, which was my first instinct, I said only, “Clint Daniel Henriksen, you get your butt inside right now.”
Their laughter fell away as if a guillotine blade had dropped on it. Clint leaped to his feet and his voice cracked through about an octave as he cried. “Mom! I didn’t think you’d be home for hours!”
“So that excuses this?” I demanded, drawing abreast of the three boys; Liam and Jeff could hardly meet my eyes. Clint, who had been holding the joint, chucked it to the grass and ground it into oblivion with the toe of his flip-flop sandal.
“Boys, why don’t I take you home?” Justin said to Liam and Jeff, and I couldn’t tell if he was angry or actually just restraining laughter. I thought the latter, but he wouldn’t dare admit to it, at least not in front of the boys. To me, he said, “I’ll be right back, hon.”
“Uncle Justin, you’re not gonna tell Dad, are you?” Jeff started in right away, and Justin shook his head at me as he herded the boys toward his truck, parked in our driveway.
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