Dogwood (17 page)

I swam to the edge and retrieved the bottle. The corkscrew was in the pocket of my jeans, so I had to get out and drip through the grass, enduring her taunts and whoops as I did. I jumped back in and worked on the cork. I’d never touched a drop of wine, not because I didn’t like it but because Carson had never supplied
any. We’d had his beer at our campouts, but we’d never moved past that.

“Where’d you get this stuff, anyway?” I said.

“My dad has a cabinet downstairs. There’s another bottle under the seat in case we finish this one.”

I laughed and shook my head, part of the cork stripping from the top.

When the cork finally popped, Karin gave a mock cheer and watched me pour a glass. She came close and leaned toward me, gripping the wine bottle and pouring a full glass. “What’s the matter?” she said coyly, taking a long drink. “Aren’t you glad you came into the pool?”

I coughed and that made her smile. I was in the water now, totally immersed, baptized in her beauty and leaning against the poolside.

She set the glass down behind my head and floated for a moment in front of me, the moon reflecting on her back.

It happened like a gentle breeze, a cloud floating by, a calf nuzzling its mother, or the lifting of a child’s hand to embrace its father’s. Her lips met mine, and I tasted the sweetness of the wine. With savage tenderness I pulled her to me, and for a moment there was no earth or sky, no air or water, just the two of us, suspended in that womblike pool, floating, mingling.

Karin turned away and laughed. She took the wineglass and floated on her back, a white figure in the moonlight. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? You acted like coming in here was the last thing you wanted to do.”

“I didn’t know
that’s
what you wanted to do.”

She took another long drink. “Happy birthday, Will Hatfield.”

We embraced, and with our mouths searching, it felt like I was drinking an ocean. Like a man who had just crawled across a desert, I was parched and thirsty. I kissed the water from her face
and her forehead. I kissed her eyes and pushed a dangling strand of hair back to join the others.

Karin seemed just as interested, holding my face with her hand. When she kissed my ear and whispered, “Make love to me,” I caught my breath, never envisioning this scene or set of events.

“At some point in your life,” my father had said when we were alone by the campfire one night, “a woman will offer herself to you. And if you haven’t made the decision before then what you’ll do, if you haven’t run through your mind what you’ll say and how you’ll act, I can guarantee you that your body will make that decision for you.”

I was quickly understanding what my father meant and how right he was. I probably would have given in to her invitation had we not heard tires on gravel. Lights scampered down the hill as they wound toward us, and we pulled from our embrace.

I snatched the bottle and the other glass and steered Karin to the deep end of the pool. “I told you somebody was going to find us,” I whispered.

She laughed. “Does that mean you’re not going to make love to me?”

“Stop. We’re in big trouble.”

“Maybe it’s your mother.”

We held each other, the bottle floating next to us, wine mingling with the chlorine, our heads just below the edge of the pool.

“Or maybe it’s my father.”

“Would you be quiet?” I hissed.

The car drove toward the tennis courts, where my car was parked, and I heard the unmistakable squawk of a police radio.

“We are seriously in trouble,” I whispered.

“I was led here under false pretenses,” she purred. “You overpowered me and threw me in. You are a wicked young man.”

“Stop moving. You’re making waves.”

The car parked near the pool, and we stayed as still as we could,
hoping the officer wouldn’t see us. He stopped, got out, and slowly walked toward the fence. A flashlight beam pierced the night, and the chain-link fence rattled. “I know you’re in there. Come on out.”

“Don’t move,” I mouthed.

“Don’t make me climb this fence and come in there.”

The beam of light searched the grounds, but I had hidden the quilt and our clothes well. Karin’s eyes were wide with a mixture of anticipation and delight.

The radio squawked again, and the officer returned to the car. He stepped back and yelled, “I’m goin’ on down the road a piece, and when I get back, you two better be out of there and gone or I’m gonna throw you in jail. You hear? We don’t allow that stuff around here.”

Karin stifled a laugh, and I put a hand over her mouth.

He drove away, swirling lights casting an eerie glow as he gunned the engine and sped up the hill.

I jumped out of the pool and reached for Karin.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she said.

“You heard what he said. Let’s go.”

She swam the length of the pool with perfect breaststrokes.

I shook the quilt out and dried myself, pulling on my jeans. I met her at the other end of the pool, throwing the quilt around her and retrieving her clothes. I turned as she got dressed, then helped her over the fence.

She left the bottle in the pool but opened the second one under her seat as I spun out of the parking lot and made my way back to the interstate. There was no sign of the officer. The car smelled of chlorine and wine, and though we’d both dried off, our clothes stuck to our bodies. I avoided her eyes, somehow overcome with what had happened, and turned on the radio, settling in for the long drive.

Karin poured another full glass and drank deeply. “Well,” she said, not as a question but as a statement. She drew her feet up
under her and turned, smiling at me, flicking off the radio. “Are we going to talk about what happened back there, farm boy?”

“I really wish you’d stop calling me that.”

“What would you prefer?”

I checked the rearview mirror, then noticed dust on the dashboard and swiped at it.

“Will, look at me.”

I did.

“You want to say anything? do anything?”

I couldn’t tell if
she
was talking or if it was the wine. “I’m not
shore
I know what to say, missy. Other than that was about the purtiest swimmin’ hole I ever seen.”

The farm boy routine worked and lightened the mood. She put a hand on my shoulder and twirled at the back of my hair, her eyes twinkling in the oncoming traffic. “We need to work on your wooing. I made the moves on you back there, and it looked like you were one of the frozen chosen.”

“You don’t know how much I wanted to . . . and how much I’ve wanted to just kiss you. I don’t know if you can tell, but I really like you. More than just a friend. But I like to take things kinda slow. Plus, you wouldn’t have respected me in the morning if we’d have . . .”

Karin snorted—one of the little laughs I’d become accustomed to.

I wanted to tell her it was all I could do to hold back, that the ache in my body felt like I’d been shot with a cannonball through the chest.

Maybe our story would be different if I had made love to her that night. Maybe the story of our town would be different. My life.

She offered me a sip of wine and I refused until she pouted; then I drank some. The wine burned my throat and stomach and felt right, the perfect cap on the night.

“Where do you want to be in ten years?” Karin said, repeating her question from dinner. She curled like a cat beside me, putting her head on my shoulder.

I lifted my arm and she snuggled close, as if we were made to fit this way. The first pieces of a puzzle. “I’m still not sure about where, but I am pretty sure about who.”

“Missed your chance. You could’ve had your way with me.”

“Maybe you’ll appreciate that in a few years.”

Karin yawned and took another long drink, then settled beside me. In a few moments she was asleep.

I turned the radio on and rolled down my window so the rushing wind and music mixed. I wanted to taste and smell and feel this moment and know I was alive, truly alive and not dreaming.

I went to see Karin on Sunday after church. Lynda wasn’t feeling up to much of anything but a nap, so I drove over and found my sister in good spirits. She asked about my new job as she served tea. I told her it was different being in a small town police department, being the new guy, lowest on the ladder, and about the challenges.

“I don’t suppose you’ve stopped any bank robberies yet.” She chuckled.

“It’s been a lot like Mayberry,” I said. “Cats up trees and kids joyriding. We do have a missing person, but the chief thinks he might have come into some money and headed to Vegas or Atlantic City. Maybe he robbed those gentlemen’s clubs up toward Charleston.”

“Who is it?”

“Guy named Arron Spurlock. Worked over at—”

“The Exxon station!” Karin said. “I saw him not long ago. He made a point of saying hello.”

I took a sip of the bitter tea. I didn’t have the heart to tell her it needed sugar. “How did he seem?”

“He was okay,” she said. “He helped us get rid of our trash.”

“Us?”

“Ruthie and I. We were . . . we had a little trip.”

I sighed and nodded. “I suppose he’ll turn up one of these days.”

“Sudden money can change people. You heard about the couple in church who won the lottery?”

“Really?”

“Mr. Lundy was waiting for the coffee to brew one morning at the Fast Mart, and he just picked some numbers like they were blueberries and put the ticket in his shirt pocket. The next day he sees the numbers in the paper and pulls out the card—he still had the same shirt on—and they matched. Perfectly. Can you believe it?”

“What happened?”

“The Fast Mart got a percentage of the winnings, and Mr. Lundy and his wife sold their place and moved to Florida. Sounds nice, doesn’t it? Moving someplace where it’s warm all the time and you don’t have to worry about shoveling snow or falling down.”

“You can fall and break a hip in Florida just like you can here, sugarplum.”

“I know. I’m just saying it would be nice. I suppose we’re planted here for a while with the kids growing so much. Have you seen how big Darin is getting?”

I nodded and smiled.

“And little Tarin has so much energy that I run myself ragged trying to keep up with her.”

I sipped my tea and watched my sister flit about the room in her Mary/Martha mode, trying to keep my cup full. “You remember Ernie from my unit in the army, don’t you? Big muscular guy from Louisiana?”

“Head like a bowling ball?”

“You got him. Well, he’s coming through this summer. Said he wants to stop and see the family.”

“Well, you should invite him to church. If he needs a place to stay while you fix up your place, we have extra room here.” Karin’s eyes lit up. “I’d love to see him. Is he married?”

“At the moment.” I laughed. “We’ll see how long it lasts.”

“Tell him I said hello. I remember how much you two liked each other.”

“Wouldn’t have lasted long without him. Have you spoken with Mom and Dad?”

“They came over to play with the kids last week. I’m hoping I can convince Dad to go with us to Camden Park. You and Lynda should come.”

“I think her ankles would swell up bigger than the Cloud 9 if she tried walking around there.”

Karin laughed, and it was good to hear that genuine belly laugh. She hugged and kissed me as I left and held on to my hand as I walked out. “We sure had some fun times as kids, didn’t we?”

I looked into her eyes and saw something of the old Karin there. But not much. “Other than that hornet’s nest.”

“Take care of yourself, Bobby Ray.”

“Tell me more about him,” Ruthie said one day, turning down the country music station she listened to.

I was trying to forget about Will and move on with my life, but for some reason she wouldn’t let go, so I launched into a spiel about Richard, how I’d met him after some horrible relationships, how he accepted me as I was. She noticed my hesitation, which was always the wrong thing to do with Ruthie. She had an innate sense of when you were giving her your heart, lying through your teeth, or just plain holding back.

She probed again, and to spite her, I guess, I told her of boyfriends past and the vagaries of my dating life. I felt nothing but shame about those years, but Ruthie didn’t seem shocked. It was the first time I had regurgitated the past without someone trying to clean it up or make it pretty. But the more the story gushed, the better it felt, stumbling through piles of my own dirty laundry.

I thought of Ruthie’s belief that women, especially young ones, don’t listen to their gut, that inner voice that tells them something is wrong and needs to change. I suppose I’ve done that a thousand times in little ways, pushing my feelings aside.

“Do you know where those gentlemen are now? Have you ever talked with any of them?”

I laughed. “They’ve probably all moved on to executive posi
tions or jobs with the government. The funny thing is that my parents thought a lot of those guys were knights in shining armor. They couldn’t understand why I married a preacher.”

“They don’t like him?” Ruthie said.

“I guess they’re happy for me, though they don’t understand how we’ll possibly make it on his salary. I tell them that love conquers all, but my mother doesn’t believe it can conquer the mortgage
and
the MasterCard bill.”

Ruthie bent over Tarin and smiled, as if giving a blessing. Ruthie’s skin looked even more wrinkled next to that baby face. She was such a kind woman, and I wondered if I could ever be thoughtful like her.

“I moved in with my parents after a particularly bad relationship and let them think what they wanted . . . that I needed some direction. I looked at my mother’s cabinet full of pills more than once. But something kept me going.”

“He knew,” Ruthie said. “He was there with you.”

“God?” I said, laughing. “I don’t know if I’ve ever felt as far away from God as during those months. It felt like, ‘You abandoned me. I’ll abandon you.’ I didn’t put much stock in him during that time. Then the preacher came along, and my ship stopped listing. At least for a while. Now I still think God might have abandoned me.”

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Ruthie said. “Maybe it’s
someone
you’re not telling me about.”

I excused myself to her bathroom, a quaint, quiet escape. A bouquet of flowers sat haphazardly in front of the mirror. The sink was tiny but elegant, the wallpaper festooned with eagles soaring above the mountains. It would have looked kitsch in any other bathroom in the universe, but it spoke to me of Ruthie here.

She had stitched a quote and framed it with a beautiful, weather-beaten piece of wood. It hung at sight line of the toilet, unavoidable. I wondered if it was there for me or another of her
disciples who happened to find themselves sitting there. Words penned by Mark Twain, perfectly positioned.

Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.

The words sank deep, like an injection of adrenaline. I had been afraid so long. After all the empty and broken dreams, I had come to a place where safety was the prize. Could God restore the dream? Could he patch the torn sails of my life, fill them, and push me into deep water?