It reminded Jaymie of being back at school. She had forgotten how Brandi would abandon her friends to chat with guys. She didn’t mean anything by it, she was gregarious and she liked men. When they were on one of their camping trips she would stroll around the campground and stop to talk to people—men—often while their wives and girlfriends glowered. Occasionally she’d disappear for a night. She always said that vacation was a time to cut loose, and she lived up to that motto.
Courtney watched her closely. Jaymie was glad, now, that Courtney had come along because otherwise it would be up to one of them to get Brandi out of the fixes she always ended up in, with two guys fighting, or a guy getting handsy. Not that her behavior deserved such treatment, but it happened and it was uncomfortable. It had been a few years and Jaymie had forgotten about the bad moments Brandi had brought them. She hoped she wouldn’t be forcibly reminded tonight.
The door from outside opened, letting golden sunset light stream in. Mario, Kory and Hallie entered, taking stools along the bar.
“You know, I feel bad about what happened earlier,” Jaymie said to Melody, pointing over to Hallie. “The poor girl is clearly due any day. She’s tired and Brandi was rude to her.”
“She was rude first,” Melody pointed out, having to raise her voice over the music.
“She’s right, Jaymie,” Rachel yelled, a finger in one ear. “The girl was rude first. Brandi was rude too, but by now it’s probably forgotten.”
“Do you think so?” Jaymie fretted.
“Why do you feel the need to make nice with everybody, regardless of how they behave?” Melody asked.
Was that true? She twisted her mouth and thought about it. “I don’t like conflict, I guess.”
“I remember,” Melody said with a laugh, exchanging a bemused look with Rachel. “You were the peacemaker, the one who always stepped in between Gabriela and Brandi, who did Brandi’s chores in secret so no one would rag on her, who slipped her a ten when she was broke so she wouldn’t ask the other girls for money and start an argument.”
Jaymie glanced at her in surprise. “You knew all that?”
“Sure.”
“Jaymie, I hate to break it to you, but we all knew you did it,” Rachel said, leaning in so she could be heard over the band. The bass guitarist was having a good time with the bass line in “Smoke on the Water.”
“Why didn’t you say so then?”
“Why would I?” Melody replied. “It was your business.”
Brandi whooped to the song and shook her fist in the air, spilling her drink and laughing. Mario, at the bar, slid his glance past his pregnant girlfriend toward Brandi and her short shorts, and he watched her with an appreciative smile as Hallie and Kory chatted over drinks. The smile gave Jaymie the creeps, knowing what she knew and having heard what she heard. He must have a thing for redheads, given what he had said; Brandi’s wild mane of magenta curls bounced as she jumped and gyrated. Courtney seemed to have a sixth sense for Brandi’s male admirers; she caught sight of Mario and gave him a dirty look.
“Wow, if looks could kill,” Jaymie said to Melody and Rachel during a pause in the music. She told them what she had seen.
“Courtney seems possessive of Brandi,” Rachel commented. She pursed her lips and stared. “She’s still staring. It’s as if she’s waiting for that dude to do or say something out of line.”
Gabriela returned to the table from the bathroom, leaned in and said, “You have no idea! Haven’t you seen Courtney’s posts online? She takes a million pictures of Brandi, and you should see them out; she’s always watching over Brandi.”
“I’m not friends with Courtney online,” Jaymie said as Melody and Rachel nodded in agreement. “I didn’t know she existed until today.” Jaymie didn’t want to be a spoilsport, but she did have plans for their first night together and they didn’t include sitting in a bar watching Brandi get drunk. She explained her plight and said, glancing around the table at her friends, “What do we do?”
Gabriela said, “Let me handle it.” She went to Courtney and sat down next to her, then talked. The woman nodded and grimaced and nodded again. Gabriela came back to their table and opened her purse, putting her phone, sunglasses, and keys inside. “Let’s get going, then, shall we?” she said to the others.
“Leave without Brandi?” Jaymie was worried. She watched Brandi, still flirting with the lead vocalist, and saw Mario getting up and heading toward the bathroom, veering away from that path as Hallie leaned in to talk to Kory. Instead of the bathroom he wove through the tables toward Brandi.
“I babysit her enough at home, I don’t want to have to do it on vacation,” Gabriela said resentfully. “When do I get a break?”
“What do you mean?”
“Brandi, she always needs a ride to work, or a babysitter, or somewhere to stay when her and Terry are fighting—which has been most of the time lately—or a reference for a job when she loses the one she has because she’s always late! If Courtney’s not around then it’s me, always me!”
“I didn’t know, Gabriela,” Jaymie said, putting her hand on her friend’s shoulder. The woman looked close to tears.
“I came away to have a good time, and now Brandi is ruining it. Yet again! And Logan hasn’t bothered to text me today. At all!” she said, gulping back a sob.
That was the heart of her emotional response, Jaymie thought . . . she was worried that her husband hadn’t responded to her multiple texts.
Rachel leaned in and gave her a hug. “I’m sorry. That sucks.”
The band launched into a loud intro, a clash of drums and cymbals and loud guitar squealing, then into music.
“Logan is probably busy with your little girl, right? Dads lose track of time,” Jaymie said in as soothing a tone as she could manage shouting over “Born to Be Wild,” the band’s sixties rock selection. They were apparently determined to do every song with the amp turned up to maximum.
Jaymie glanced over; Courtney was heading off Mario. She said something to him, and then turned to Brandi. Mario stood staring at them for a moment, then wandered off toward the bathroom. Courtney said something to Brandi, leaned in and apparently repeated it, and then motioned toward the rest of their group. Brandi waved at them, and smiled and nodded. And headed toward them, putting her drink down.
“So, what are we waiting for?” Brandi said, picking up her straw handbag. “Let’s go back to the cottage and get our camp on!”
Jaymie sent Courtney a thank-you look and mouthed it to her. The woman nodded with a tight smile, more like a grimace, and a shrug. Jaymie picked up her cell phone as it buzzed, the screen lighting up. Who could be calling her? A photo flashed on the screen of the lower part of a male anatomy with the abs and exaggeratedly etched lower stomach muscles displayed. There was a message attached from someone with the screen name 1BuffDude, saying Tell me ware 2 meat U 4 funn. What the . . . ? Eyes wide in shock, she examined the phone and realized it was similar but it wasn’t hers, it was Brandi’s! She laughed and handed it back to Brandi. “A message for you, my friend,” she said with an embarrassed laugh. So that’s how she met guys?
They emerged from the restaurant to the sunset’s lovely golden glow over the town of Queensville on the far banks of the river. As the door closed behind them, the noise of the band dulled, and Jaymie took a deep breath, looking across the river to the setting sun. Maybe now her vacation could begin. “Let’s go,” she said. “Back to the cottage!”
Five
They started back to the cottage with one brief pause when Gabriela ducked back into the restaurant, saying she had dropped her cell phone, typically scatterbrained for her. Then they walked back to the cottage in the cool of the evening, cicadas still chirring, a nighthawk squawking and the occasional soft splash of a fish in the river. Laughter and voices echoed in the evening, but otherwise as they got farther away from the restaurant the night became peaceful. Once home, Jaymie let Hoppy out. He wobbled to his favorite spot for a piddle and then
joined them as they drew chairs close around the firepit. Rachel, ever helpful, carried wood to pile nearby so they wouldn’t have to wander into the dark to get it later.
Jaymie smiled up at her friend as she knelt by the firepit, a shallow depression rimmed by stones gathered over the years from the riverside. “There’s a laundry basket over there near the woodpile,” she said. “You can put wood in that to bring over.” She stacked kindling in a crisscross pattern, then created a tripod of longer pieces over the top. She then tossed in balls of newsprint and dryer lint she kept in a bag in the cottage.
“What the heck are you doing?” Rachel asked.
“Using dryer lint! It helps the paper catch fire.” Jaymie touched the barbecue lighter to the dryer lint and it flared up, the tiny dancing flame catching on the paper, then the kindling and finally the bigger pieces of wood. “This is why you never let dryer lint build up in your dryer vents!” She sat back on her haunches watching; the next few minutes were critical to make sure she had created a fire that would continue.
“You can hear fall in the air,” Melody said as she set one of the chairs closer to the fire.
“What do you mean, hear fall?” Jaymie asked.
“Sounds; I associate sounds and smells with different times of year. Don’t you?”
“I guess I do,” Jaymie said. She stopped and listened. “The wind in the poplars . . . that’s summer.”
“And the smell of poplars when it rains . . . they have their own scent, kind of nutty, aromatic . . . it’s a pleasant scent. But that faint rustle of the leaves . . . it means they’re drying out; it’s almost fall.”
Jaymie smiled. “That’s why I like your books. The sights and sounds and scents help locate the story in time and place. Like in a historical, when you describe the pop and crackle of coal in a fireplace, the oddly clean smell of horse dung and the dust created by sweepers cleaning it up, or the sound of a carriage driving over straw put down to dampen sound, past a house where there has been a death. I can imagine it clearly.”
“How do you write the ones set in England?” Rachel asked, leaning her cheek in her hand and watching the author. “Do you go over and do research?”
Melody laughed. “You know me better than that, Rach. Remember when you wanted me to go to Jamaica with you, and I said I had wisdom teeth surgery that week?”
She nodded, then sat upright, her eyes wide. “You lied!” she yelped.
“I did. I’ve never gotten wisdom teeth.” Her expression was one of chagrin, but she shrugged. “Sorry . . . really, I am. I feel like such a schlub sometimes. I’m no traveler. My idea of a big trip is going to the grocery store. This . . .” she went on, waving her hand around, “was a huge undertaking. I almost bailed.” She glanced over at Jaymie. “Sorry, kiddo, but . . .” She shrugged.
“It’s okay, Mel. Tell me the truth if you don’t want to do something,” Rachel said.
Jaymie said, “We don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do, you know.”
“I promise, I will. I told myself I’d tell you the truth and try not to fib anymore. I’ll make a resolution: tell no lies, except in print.”
Gabriela shivered. “Fall is coming. It’s getting chilly at night.” She pulled on a cream cardigan. “Brrr!”
Jaymie laughed and took the chair beside her. “Only you could find it cold near a roaring fire!” She glanced at her friend in the firelight and pulled a long red thread from the cream wool, tossing it in the fire, where it blackened and shriveled. “Come on,” she said, putting her arm around her friend’s shoulders. “Get closer and you’ll soon be warm enough!”
Brandi broke out a bottle of tequila for those so inclined, just her and Courtney. Melody and Jaymie chose tea, while Gabriela drank nothing and Rachel stuck with water. They chatted for a while, reminiscing about school, living in Canada, and past camping trips. Courtney was quiet. Jaymie tried to draw her out, but she smiled and stayed silent.
“She doesn’t talk much,” Brandi said. “That’s why she’s the perfect friend for me.”
“What about the friend who has put up with your crap for fifteen years?” Gabriela groused. “She’s no longer the perfect friend?”
“Brandi didn’t mean it like that,” Jaymie said. “Come on, Gabriela . . . she was joking.”
“No, let her talk!” Brandi said, glaring at her across the firepit with a flare of anger. “Miss Perfect needs to vent or she’ll be a witch all vacation long. All she did on the way here was whine and moan.”
Courtney hid a smile.
“I was surprised that you hauled Courtney along when she wasn’t invited,” Gabriela said, her cheeks red and her lip trembling.
Courtney’s smile died.
“That wasn’t necessary,” Melody said.
Gabriela retreated into a sulk, crossing her arms over her chest and grumbling, “Just because you’re the oldest, Mel, doesn’t mean you’re the boss. We aren’t teenagers anymore.”
There was a five-minute stretch of silence.
“Jaymie, didn’t you say there was some dessert you wanted to make?” Rachel said with a smile, her face glowing in the firelight.
“Yes!” Jaymie said, thankful for the reminder. They needed something to break the tense silence. She jumped up and retreated to the trailer, coming back out with the tools and foodstuffs. “Pie irons . . . remember me doing those around the campfire once when we camped?”
“It was five years ago, not a million,” Brandi said.
“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Courtney said. “What’s a pie iron?”
“There you go,” Melody said with a smile. “Someone who’s never heard of pie irons. Have at it, Jaymie!”
Jaymie stuck her tongue out at her friend and knelt down by the small table she had moved close to the firepit. She described making the (to her) delectable treat of pie iron pies. “Pie irons are these,” she said, picking up the long-handled hinged devices with two bread-slice-shaped indented sides. She had two in aluminum and one in cast iron, and she was anxious to see which worked best. It might become a “Vintage Eats” column—her food column in the Wolverhampton Weekly Howler newspaper—in the near future, so she’d be taking photographs.
“Bread first; white bread, no substitutes—this is never going to be a health-conscious dish—and buttered on the outsides. Spray the pie iron with cooking spray,” she said, as the hiss of the spray echoed in the quiet woods around them. “Then one slice of bread, butter side against the iron . . . fill the center with pie filling.” She opened a can of cherry pie filling and spooned some on the bread. “Then the other slice on top of it, butter facing up, and clamp the pie iron shut,” she said, closing the device and engaging the clamp that held the other long handle firm. “There will be some extra bread . . . let that burn off.” She picked up her camera and took a few shots of her concoction.
Rachel reached out. “I’ll toast,” she said, “while you make another.”
“Thanks, Rach!” she said with a grateful look. She could always count on Rachel to step in and help, even when she wasn’t feeling her best. Her friend seemed a little off; not depressed exactly, just quiet and more withdrawn than was normal. If there was something wrong, she would suffer in silence, though. Unlike other people—Jaymie glanced at Gabriela and Brandi, pointedly ignoring each other for the moment—she was not about to inflict her personal drama on the others. She’d have to check in with her friend tomorrow, though, when she could grab a moment alone. She put together a blueberry-filling pie iron pie and clamped it shut.
“Can I try?” Courtney asked, reaching out one hand.
“Of course! Watch Rachel, and turn it after about five minutes or so to get the other side toasted.”
Melody watched her and smiled. “You’re in your element, aren’t you?” she murmured to Jaymie.
“I love camping,” she said, glancing at the author, then returning to her task, making the next pie. “You know how much I did it as a kid with Dad and Becca.”<
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“But more than that. You like showing people how to do things. You always have.”
“Really?” Jaymie paused, head cocked to one side. She thought back to cooking demonstrations she had held back in the day in their rented house, where she was always showing someone the best way to cook scrambled eggs (to not torture them on high heat, but gently, slowly, let them set) or how to use the slow cooker. “I guess that’s true.” She handed Melody her camera. “Can you take some pics of the pie irons on the fire while I go on with this?”
“Sure. I take a lot of photos for inspiration.” She took some pictures of the pie irons on the fire from different angles, then returned to her chair by Jaymie’s food prep table. “You know, you should do vlogs, besides your written blog. Or a food podcast!”
“I never considered that.” Her long-term goal was to publish a recipe book, but it was taking longer than expected. The one editor she had spoken to said that she needed more exposure, and to gain a following, so she had been working at it with the food column and blog. “Though I have been teaching Jocie a lot of crafts and projects lately. And I did a food demonstration for her class at school!” Maybe that was good practice, though she hadn’t done it for that reason.
Melody watched her for a minute, biting her lip.
“What’s on your mind?” Jaymie said, glancing up at her friend. It was unlike Melody to stay quiet about anything with her.
“I hope you don’t believe that Jocie . . . that is . . . no matter what anyone else says,” Melody said with a grimace toward Gabriela. “Jocie is your daughter. I’ve never seen you so happy. And at your wedding Jocie glowed with joy. You are truly her mother, in every sense of the word. You’re not replacing her birth mom, but you are her mother.”
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