by Claire Adams
My mother waved away my question. "I know it hurts, darling, and for that, I'm sorry. But I didn't want you to worry, and you were right. I didn't want you to interfere. I still don't want you to interfere."
The pain thickened my voice. "But you went to him instead."
Her soft hands swept over my cheeks. "He's always been my best counterbalance."
I squeezed her hands in mine and then dropped them. It was impossible, but I felt exactly like I had all those years ago, torn between two people and caught in a struggle I did not understand.
"Oh, my sweet boy. You need to talk to your father. And you need to get rid of that girl. I sense lies," Alice said. She blinked and looked deep into my eyes. "You're lying. She doesn't know who you are."
"I'm not a Templeton."
"Are you a Brightwater?" my mother asked. She smiled and shook her head. "I see it, what you think of me. But who is really the reckless and unattached one?"
"God, I'm glad I brought a human shield."
My mother's cherry-red lips curled in a smile. "Yes, me too. I can't wait to see how she holds up."
I caught her sleeves. "Please play nice."
"I could say the same to you. Why won't you at least listen to your father?"
My chest burned with frustration. "I don't want to hear a single thing that comes out of his mouth."
Alice's eyes pleaded with me. "Alcoholism is a disease, Penn. Your father never meant to hurt us."
"How can you say that? Here you are, the epitome of an independent woman. You teach people to trust themselves and to not let others hold them down."
"And I never would have found my truth if it wasn't for your father's mistakes."
I shook my head, feeling sick. "Those weren't mistakes. He was blind drunk, but he still managed to hit you. How can you just forget that?"
My mother gripped my arms. "I didn't forget, Penn. I forgave. I forgave your father, and it's time you do the same."
I reeled back from her. "This is insane. Next, you're going to tell me you love him."
"I do. I always did, and I always will."
"I'm going to be sick," I said.
"Grow up, Penn." My mother's strong voice stopped me. "Don't you know by now that people lose control? People make mistakes, and they hurt the people they love."
"Then it wasn't really love," I fought back.
Alice laughed, free and open. "You wouldn't know love if it bit you in the ass. I mean, have you honestly asked yourself why you dragged that stuffy, little blonde along? People do strange things when they are in love."
My mother was impossible to fight with. She flowed from intensity to humor and from obtuse claims to sharp observations at a dizzying pace. It was too much.
I held up both hands in defeat. "We're just here to have dinner and see how you are."
"Nonsense. You're just here to badger me about my treatments." Alice wrapped her arms around me and walked me back to the front of her yurt. "And I love you for it."
"So you'll forgive me for interfering?"
Alice watched my father and Corsica pick their way through the grass back to us. "Only if you listen to your father. He's trying to make amends."
"Without his checkbook?" I snorted.
Her bare foot crushed the arch of mine. "Stop being so stubborn. You're just like him. I can't believe he hasn't told you that he's in A.A."
"What?"
Alice breezed away from me and called out. "Lovely stew simmering, isn't it? We'll have it for dinner with some nice, fresh bread."
"Not unless you follow it up with a ten-day course of antibiotics," my father said. "I know there's a resort nearby that has a five-star restaurant."
My mother flapped down the hill like a bird to argue with my father. I was mesmerized by their amused smiles as they fired clever reasons and defenses at each other. I wanted to resist it, but there was something so comforting in watching my parents get along with each other.
Corsica stepped aside and gave my mother a nervous glance. Then, she stumbled in her black-heeled sandals as she climbed up the slope to join me. "I overheard there's a bus depot not far from here. I'll fake some roommate emergency."
I shook my head and laughed. "No one's going to buy that."
"So, why are they buying that we're a couple?" Corsica pinned me with a desperate look.
I didn't have an answer for her, and even if I did, it would have been lost in the blue sky of her gaze. I held out my hand and chuckled when she slipped into my arms.
"Thanks for making me look good," I said.
"Are you sure it's working?" Corsica batted my overgrown beard away from her cheek. "I think your mother hates me."
"I told you, Alice has a way of seeing right through people."
"Yeah, well, it doesn't take the power of special sight for me to see I'm not welcome here." Corsica straightened her shoulders under my arm. "Besides, it looks like Mr. Templeton will be a good enough distraction. What's the story with those two, anyway?"
"A long one," I said.
"Let me guess. They were high school sweethearts, but you still don't like seeing anyone flirting with your mother."
I nudged Corsica with my hip. "I dare you to come to dinner and ask my mother what she was like in high school."
"See? I knew she didn't want me here. You're just teasing me."
I brushed back her hair and leaned down. My breath tickled the softly scented skin along her neck. "No. This is teasing you."
Corsica shivered as I pressed a light kiss on her fragrant skin. "What are you doing?"
"I don't know. I like you."
She shrugged and then tipped her chin up. "Sorry. Doesn't matter if you like me. You came to see your mother, and she most certainly does not like me."
I glanced up to see my mother watching us. Alice hid her smile when I caught her and then tossed her wild, dark hair. "I suppose our little princess up there needs a place with linen napkins; otherwise, she'll faint."
"Perhaps somewhere with a piano," my father added.
Alice's ears perked up. "She’s musical? Well, then, that settles it. We're staying here. There are no better acoustics anywhere than the canyon."
"What is she saying? What's happening?" Corsica clung to my side.
My father took my mother's arm and helped her up the hill. Her face was flush with the effort, but she waved away everyone's concern. "Don't worry, princess. I'm sure those good manners will shield you from actually enjoying yourself."
Corsica straightened up with sudden defiance, tossed her hair, and smiled. "Stew around a campfire sounds lovely, Mrs. Brightwater. Thank you."
Chapter Seven
Corsica
"Before we head down the hill for dinner, just let me grab my shawl," Alice said.
I turned with Penn's mother towards the yurt and smiled. "You have a beautiful home," I said.
Alice Brightwater snorted. "You know, dear, it's easy to hear when someone's thoughts and words don't match up."
I tried again. "How could I not think this is beautiful?" I gestured to the large swathes of bold fabrics, the layers of patterns, and the doorway curtain made of gauzy scarves.
"Because you still see it as a tent." Penn's mother sighed as he gave her a look. "I suppose I could let you see inside. Maybe that will change your mind."
I stepped inside the yurt behind her and covered my surprise with a small cough. The round room made of framing covered with canvas was hidden behind thick tapestries. Sumptuous rugs covered the dirt floor with large pillows scattered in place of furniture. Moroccan lamps hung from the ceiling and glowed with the flickering light of candles. A sleeping loft added space and also created hidden storage.
"This is wonderful," I breathed.
"But you wouldn't want to stay here," Alice said.
I crossed my arms. "Maybe I would if I felt welcome."
That sharp retort earned me a smile, and Alice patted my arm as she swept past me. For a woman sick with breast cancer, she moved gracefully.
I could see the frail bend of her shoulders before she pulled on the shawl, and the sight squeezed my heart with hard memories.
Alice's sharp eyes were on mine. "You will be welcome when you stop hiding. Your thoughts and your words should be one."
I wasn't about to share my painful memories. It always felt like losing my mother all over again. So, I didn't say anything. I just pushed aside the scarves and stepped back outside.
There was already a small knot of people around the large campfire when we walked down the hill. Before we reached the quietly chattering group, Penn hooked my elbow and pulled me aside.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Yes," I lied. "I just don't think your mother likes me. She doesn't want me here."
Penn shook his head. "That's not true. Alice loves everyone. She's just pushing you. She wants you to open up."
I saw the curiosity all over his face and felt cold. My backstory only ever elicited pity, and once people pitied me, they never saw me as anything else.
I brushed my hair back over my shoulders and then twisted it into a tight bun. I didn't want pity. I wanted to be my own person and make my own way in the world. That meant leaving the past where it was and not digging it up every time someone was curious.
"Are you sure your mother's not just a bully?" I asked.
Penn laughed. "No. I'm certain she's a bully. Don't let her get to you. I'm living proof that you can survive without following Alice Brightwater's advice to the letter."
"What about Xavier? Does he follow her advice?"
"Looks like it," Penn muttered. He watched the billionaire settle his mother onto a log strewn with blankets. Xavier then took a seat on the soft dirt in front of her.
"They look happy together," I ventured.
Penn pulled a sour face. "Who knew that was even possible."
"What? That two people could make each other happy?" He slipped his hand into mine and squeezed as he pulled me into the circle. "Actually, I think I'm starting to figure that out."
"Billions of dollars at Mama Brightwater's feet," a camper was laughing to his companion.
All around the circle were comments about Xavier's suit and his shiny shoes. For a crowd that had been camping under the stars for an untold amount of time, they were certainly up to date on the latest tabloid headlines.
"Is it true that you appropriated a Native American tradition in order to make your conference calls more efficient?" another camper asked Xavier directly.
The tension around the circle was palpable, to everyone except Xavier Templeton. He laughed, "No. Though, funny enough, that article made some good points, and now we might try it in the future."
Penn's employer took every jab, every attempt at an accusation, and every curious question in stride. I watched him with awe and wished I could learn his easy, unruffled responses to people. He loved the attention, even when the comments turned personal.
"You're trying to heal your shattered past," a dreamy woman in a blue dress told Xavier.
He nodded, not at all put off or defensive. "And I'm not so foolish to try to do it on my own. Anymore. I've joined Alcoholics Anonymous."
The group was stunned by his openness, and then pleased. They showed it by nodding and moving on to other topics of conversation. Even as Xavier Templeton complained about the texture of the stew, pointed out the inefficiencies of the camp, and gently mocked their lifestyle, he was accepted.
I, on the other hand, was ignored. Too much of an outsider to even be acknowledged. A few campers caught me choking down my stew. I felt their whispers more than their eyes assessing my outfit. The green sundress had seemed like a good idea this morning, but now it felt too prim and tailored.
The biggest problem was I liked the dinner. The food might have been too rustic for me, but the atmosphere was magical. All those faces glowing in the light of the campfire. I loved how the eclectic group debated and teased as they all sat together. As the conversations flowed around me, I daydreamed about what it would be like to live there. I could just give up everything and keep this peaceful feeling all the time.
Then, I remembered the last time I had walked away from an entire life. Even the warm glow of the campfire was not enough to ward off the chill I felt.
"Uncomfortable?" Alice asked me from across the circle.
All eyes were on me. "Dinner was delicious. Thank you," I said.
Alice shook her head. "Those perfect manners, they really are a detestable shield."
I forced myself to try again. "I'm enjoying myself. Your camp is very, ah, magical."
Penn stepped in before his mother could pounce. "It takes some getting used to, and everyone here knows it."
Alice would not be put off. "What word did you really mean, Corsica?"
"Magical," I repeated. "The fire glow on the leaves, the hints of stars. It's very peaceful, and I like it."
"What aren't you saying?" Alice asked. "It's dirty? It's strange? You don't know why anyone in their right mind would trade the luxury of a hotel for the hard ground and the woods?"
I stood up, my eyes riveted on Alice. "Stop judging me by the way I look and dress. I've camped before, and I love camping. I spent my childhood camping and hunting and fishing. I could live out here for a week and be nothing but happy if you weren't harassing me."
"There you are," Alice said with a smile. "Hello, Corsica."
Irritation gripped me. "You were testing me?" I snapped.
Penn gently pulled me back into my seat. "Not a test. Alice just demands a high level of honesty."
The irritation turned to fear, so I was relieved when the camper on my other side spoke up. "Sometimes the clothes you wear are lies. They can cover up who you really are."
Another man across the fire agreed. "Clothes are status symbols, and because of that, people often choose ones in order to project an image that is not really theirs."
"Like me?" Xavier asked. He gave me a sympathetic wink.
Alice laughed. "Oh, no. You don't get off that easy. Your clothes have always been one of the most revealing things about you."
"Good. I was beginning to think my tailor was slipping," Xavier said.
The campers laughed, and I hoped the conversation was over. Then, Alice glanced at me again. "Sometimes clothes and images are like armor. They keep us safe from letting people see too much."
"And here I thought you were making fun of me for wearing a little sundress in the woods," I snapped.
Alice appreciated my retort and picked up a light quilt. The campers passed it around the circle until Penn helped settle it around my shoulders. I was angry and defensive, but I had to admit the quilt was as comforting as a hug. I wrapped it around me and kept my eyes on the ground.
It was impossible not to hear the truth in Alice Brightwater's words, even though it hurt. I did choose my clothes specifically to project an image of affluence and privilege. Most people in college had not thought twice about whether or not I belonged there. My style had gotten me jobs and promotions, things that my past might have jeopardized. I had very good reasons for the image I projected, and Alice was right; it was like armor. Even if they weren’t designer labeled.
"There, now she looks just like every other one of you dirty hippies," Xavier said.
Again, the campers chuckled at his light tone, but Alice shook her head. "How can you not want to see more, know more about her?"
"Some people like their privacy, Alice. You forget that she's a guest, not one of your disciples."
Penn slipped an arm around my waist. "It's okay. They don't mean any harm."
I looked up at him and blinked hard. "I don't want you to think I'm a liar."
He leaned close so no one else could hear. "You're not a liar. We just don't know each other that well. Yet."
"Shh," I whispered. "Isn't the whole point to pretend like we do?"
"Exactly, and thank you for doing that." He kissed the top of my head and then cleared his throat. "Isn't it about time you star
t lecturing me on my tattoos, Mother?"
Alice rolled her eyes. "Yes, please. Why don't you tell the circle how well your tattoos have changed who you are?"
Penn chuckled. "They changed how people looked at me, and that was what I wanted. Like you said, some people's images are like armor. Well, these tattoos are my shield."
"You can't hide who you really are," his mother said.
I ran a hand over the intricate tattoos on his arm. "I don't think they're a shield. They are such a part of you that sometimes I hardly even see them."
That confession startled Penn almost as much as me. "I thought you didn't like them."
"I hardly even see them anymore." I was amazed, but it was true.
Alice smiled at us and then cleared her throat. "So, Corsica, you are starting to see Penn for who he really is underneath his image. When are you going to offer him the same? Why do you hide behind your dresses? Why do you style your hair after the movie stars and models? Why do you insist on wearing clothes like that when you'd really be more comfortable in something else?"
"Are you really comfortable in the suits you wear?" I asked Xavier in a plea for help.
This time, he nodded his head. "I am comfortable in my suits. I know it seems strange, but this is how I feel most like myself."
I was jealous. Even sitting on the packed dirt at the edge of a campfire, Xavier Templeton looked impeccable in his gray, tailored suit. It didn't stop him from lounging against Alice's knee. And he was right. He looked perfectly comfortable. My sundress pinched at the fitted waist, and I felt like I couldn't take a deep breath.
Still, I had to defend myself and my choices. I needed to keep my armor in place. I stood up and shed the heavenly quilt. "I've earned these dresses, and I'm proud of them. I came from nothing; I never had anything, not even a proper name. So, I think it's perfectly normal for me to want everything."
"Your name?" Penn asked.
"Corsica," I snapped. "It's not a name; it's just a place. Corsica, South Dakota. Just a nothing place where I had nothing."
Alice was beside me, her thin hands pulling me into a fierce embrace. "But you kept your name. That means there is something there."
I tried to pull away from her, the hot tears embarrassing me.