Summer at the Shore Leave Cafe (12 page)

“But he could at least listen to you, believe that you meant it,” I said. “It's all because of his scars.”

“Well, yeah,” she said, with a
that's totally obvious
tone.

“Would you want to date him? What would Clint think?”

Jilly chewed her bottom lip, considering. “I really like him, Jo, and that's what was freaking me out last night when I was talking about Chris. God, today is Christopher's birthday, and all I could think about this morning was that I was worried about Justin drinking too much last night.”

I floundered for a response for a moment, not wanting to say the wrong thing. I finally concluded, “That's all right, you know.”

“All I can think about lately is Justin,” she went on, sounding so guilty that my own seemed pale in comparison. And I had far more to be guilty about, when it came down to it. “He was so tender that night, it was so beautiful. We couldn't get enough of each other, we made love four times. And then he held me against him and he smelled my hair. It was so sweet, it was almost more intimate than what we'd just done. I catch him watching me, but when I look back, he looks away.”

“I like Justin a ton,” I said honestly. “I always have, you know. He's a good guy who's been through a lot of shit the last few years. But if he can't acknowledge the truth about how you feel, if he's that bitter, then that pisses me off. You don't deserve that.”

“The funny thing is, I never would have guessed how much I could like him,” Jilly went on. “He's been around forever, but I didn't notice, at least not on the surface.”

“Jilly,” I said, feeling a pang for her. “If you like him that much, tell him.”

“I've been trying,” she said, braking as we took the exit onto Paul Bunyan Drive. “Do you really want to go to Walmart?”

“Yes, I need tampons,” I said.

By evening the storm had cleared out,
leaving the air washed clean, fragrant with roses and pine needles. The sun had appeared beneath a lingering ridge of cloud, casting jeweled light over the lake. The dull gray that had permeated everything since morning was shattered by the rays, igniting emerald and sapphire and topaz fire on the surface of the water. Jilly and I did double duty after getting home from Bemidji; Trout Days was over, and the usual crowd was back at Shore Leave. Rich and Blythe were busy in the kitchen; every time I sent an order back, I had an excuse to look at Blythe, to smile into his eyes (as long as no one else was looking), and bask in the warmth of his eyes in return. Once he winked at me, and I managed to keep a dopey grin from my face with extreme effort. I was only distracted from him for a few minutes, when Tish, Camille and Clint, who were lounging down by the dock, were joined by a teenage boy I didn't know; that in itself wasn't alarming. The fact that he wrapped one arm in a familiar way around Camille's waist and planted a kiss on her temple, however, was.

I was standing in my section on the porch, which was in full swing, loud with the chatter of customers admiring the lake, a tray of Labatt Blue balanced over my left forearm, and just by chance I observed this from my vantage point. Camille turned into him and laughed, in a private way, and her fingers linked with his momentarily. I was standing against the rail to see better in the next moment, then searching the café for Jilly, in order to point him out and get some answers. But the table that was expecting its beer called over to me, and I was forced to wait until the rush had died out.

“Jilly, who is that kid who got here earlier?” I asked the moment my sister had a break from running between the bar and her tables.

“What kid?” she asked, craning her neck to check out the crowd still seated in and outside. “One of my customers?”

“No, that kid outside with Clint and the girls,” I said, dragging her to a window. The four of them were playing fetch with Chief and Chester, laughing and running around.

“Oh, you'll never believe who that is,” she laughed.

“Who? You know I hate guessing,” I complained, watching him intently. He had designs on my child.

“It's Ben Utley's little brother,” she said, naming a classmate of mine from high school.

“No kidding?”

“Yeah, he's changed since then,” she observed. “He must be eighteen or nineteen, now…he doesn't normally hang out with Clinty…” her expression shifted from speculation as understanding dawned. She pursed her lips as my daughter and the “boy” collided, laughing, and struggled playfully for a moment in the evening sun. “Ohhhh. He's a good kid, Jo, his name is Noah.”

“Huh,” I said.

“You want to go meet him? Just let me grab another round for ten and then I'll introduce you.”

I followed Jilly outside, my insides hopping with expectation. Camille, to my knowledge, had never had a boyfriend. Boys who were friends, sure, but nothing more than that. I trusted that even if Camille didn't tell me, Tish would have given away the news just for the joy of pestering her big sister.

“Noah, this is Camille and Tish's mom, my sister Joelle,” Jilly said after we'd joined the group. The dogs scattered as Clint chucked the tennis ball into the lake, splashing like whales as they went after it in the deep blue depths. Camille looked just the tiniest bit apprehensive as she observed me assessing Noah Utley minutely. He was a younger version of his brother Ben, who I'd known well in high school. Same cleft chin, scattering of freckles, close-cropped blond hair and clear blue eyes. He smiled easily at me and offered a hand.

“Nice to meet you,” I murmured. Camille, just behind his shoulder, sent me a warning with her eyes. He appeared innocent enough, but he was young and very cute, and had probably been trying to talk my daughter out of her clothes since the beginning of June, without me even suspecting a thing.
Jeez, Joelle,
I reprimanded myself.
When did you become such a hag
? I forced myself to remember that not all teenagers behaved the way Jackson and I used to behave.

“You, too,” he said.

“How're your parents?” asked Jilly. “I haven't seen them out here in a while.”

“Fine,” he responded, directing his smile in Jilly's direction. A man of few words.

“Ben just took over for Curt,” Jilly told me. Curt was Ben and Noah's father, and had run a farm near Landon since the time of Gran and Great-Aunt Minnie's salad days.

“Well that's good,” I said. “What are your plans, Noah?”

Camille with the warning look again.

Noah asked, innocently, “For tonight, or do you mean, like, life plans?”

Ha, ha. What a joker.

“Mom, we were hoping to take out the paddleboat,” Camille jumped in, her tone just shy of outright pleading.

I decided to back off for now; it was apparent that Clint and Tish were joining them, and if any two people could stop romance in its tracks, it was my nephew with his hee-hawing laughter and Tish's sarcastic attitude.

“Go, have fun and don't stay on the water past dark,” I told them.

“Thanks, Mama,” Camille gushed, using her own special name for me. She leaned and kissed my cheek, and I felt a flood of tenderness as I recalled holding her as she'd cried last night.

Tish wrinkled her nose at me but allowed a quick hug, and then the four of them ran off, pursued by the dogs.

An hour later, the crowd at Shore Leave had dwindled to two bar tables and an older couple from Landon, chatting companionably with Aunt Ellen and Jilly as they sipped gin and tonics. Outside the sky was a blend of mellow rose and smooth, pale amber, and I stopped for a moment on the empty porch, tipping my hips against the railing and untying my apron. From inside the café I could hear the low murmur of voices; Mom and Ruthann were at a table rolling silverware, chatting with Gran. Chester and Chief were lying under the porch swing. I sighed.

“I was so worried about you this morning,” Blythe suddenly said, coming from around the side of the café, his own apron in his hands. He came to within a foot and a half, then leaned beside me and looked out in the same direction, towards the sunset. I, however, could not tear my gaze from his profile, so unbelievably sexy there beside me. His shoulders hunched slightly forward as he curled his big hands over the top railing. It was stunning to me that less than twenty-four hours ago I had been wrapped in those arms, being kissed as I had never been kissed before in my life. My heart was thudding like a freight train; probably he could hear it from where he was standing.

It struck me what he'd said and I asked, “You were?”

He angled a glance my direction, though I could sense he was trying to appear nonchalant. I wanted so much to put my left hand over his right, where it rested on the railing. Truly, I wanted to be straddling him, kissing him until my jaw ached.

“Yeah,” he said, sounding as though he couldn't believe I didn't realize. “I got here this morning just when you were heading out to the dock, on the phone with…Jackson. And then it started raining and I could tell you were freaking out, and I couldn't do anything about it. Finally I had to bring you a raincoat, I couldn't stand it anymore…”

He trailed off while I listened, again in open surprise.

“Oh, Blythe,” I whispered, a lump of emotion suddenly in my throat. It felt so good to say his name, I almost said it again.

He went on, his voice slightly hoarse, “I know it couldn't possibly do any good, but I would love to knock out that son of a bitch for you, Joelle. Gramps told me the whole story—I'm sorry, but I asked him, and after what he's done to you and his kids…”

“Mom! Grandma said I could have a sleepover with the triplets!” my youngest called from inside at that very inopportune moment. Seconds later she popped out the pass-through door with a wide smile. I turned to gather her into a hug, my baby who was so quick to offer affection. I rocked her side to side, contemplating Blythe's words and yet not wanting to mix up Jackson into any of my time with Blythe.

“When, honey, tonight?” I asked her, seeing Mom following in her wake, clutching a green tub of silverware in her hands.

“Jo, Liz called and asked if Ruthann would like to come over. They're having a bonfire.”

“Sure, that's fine,” I told Ruthie, and she beamed.

“I was just heading back to town, I could drive you two,” Blythe offered smoothly, sounding so innocent.

Ruthann scrambled from my arms as my heart started up again, flooding my body with humming warmth. My back to the café, I studied Blythe's expression; he caught my eye for a fraction of a second and his lips tipped up incrementally.

“Oh, that would be great,” I said, just as off-handedly.

“But how will you get back here, Jo?” Mom asked, perplexed.

Again Blythe was ready with an answer, “It'll be perfect timing for me to come and pick up Gramps. We drove together anyway.”

“True,” Mom shrugged, then turned back to call after Ruthann, “Be sure to grab your toothbrush, honey!”

Alone on the porch again, I felt my cheeks flaming as though I was leaning too close to a bonfire, speaking of such things. Blythe let a more self-satisfied grin play over his lips, tipping his chin just slightly and giving me a long look with his deep blue, long-lashed eyes. Holy hell, what he could do to me with just an expression. I tried to draw a deep breath, but could not. He grinned even more deeply.

“Thanks,” I told him.

He murmured, “You'll thank me later,” and then shoved gracefully away from the porch rail.

***

Ruthann and her
duffle bag shared the space in the middle of the bench seat of Blythe's big truck. We drove with the local country radio station playing, and Ruthie, excited to be attending a party to which her big sisters had not been invited, sang brightly along with Trisha Yearwood. Blythe smiled at me over the top of her head as he navigated Flicker Trail, his right hand at six o'clock on the steering wheel, just like before.

“Take the second right off of Fisherman's,” I directed, and we were soon pulling up to Liz and Mark Worden's split-level. I could hear laughter coming from the backyard, and seconds later the triplets (I still didn't have their names straight) came barreling around the corner of the house. There were two girls and a boy, and one of the girls was running with a marshmallow roasting stick. I made a sound of protest just as Wordo, who'd been in my high school class, came tearing after them.

“Jo!” he called in welcome, catching his wayward child and scolding, “Fern, you'll take your eye out! Not to mention someone else's!”

“Hi guys!” my baby called excitedly, and was swept into their crowd.

Wordo jogged over and scooped me into a bear hug. He was just as huge as I recalled, perhaps about thirty pounds heavier, and bearded. He looked downright jolly, and I almost giggled at the thought that Justin's little sister, tiny Liz, was now his wife. In high school Wordo had dated my friend Missy, who'd been built like a linebacker with double-D cups.

“Hi Mark, how's it going?” I laughed as he put me down and then reached to shake Blythe's hand. Liz came banging out the screen door, her arms full of chocolate bars and graham crackers.

“Hi, you two want some s'mores?” she offered. “Thanks for letting Ruthann come visit, the kids have been begging.”

“Oh, that's great,” I told her. “Tish and Camille have been making a lot of friends but Ruthie doesn't have as much opportunity.”

“How about a couple beers, you two?” Wordo offered.

Though I knew it would be fun to hang out, I also knew that Blythe and I had limited time this evening, and I was not about to waste one speck of it.

“Thanks, guys, but Blythe drove us over and we need to get back to the café,” I said. “Rich doesn't have a ride otherwise.”

“Okay, no problem,” Liz said. “I'll bring Ruthie home tomorrow after breakfast.”

“Sounds good,” I told her, and then called good-bye to my daughter.

Back in the truck, the air was charged and I felt an electric current running from my heart to the tips of my extremities.

“We could have stayed for a bit,” Blythe said easily. “But I'm glad you said we had to go.”

My pulse was drumming hard, and I was beginning to tremble a little.

“Me, too,” I managed to whisper.

“What would you like to do?” he asked then, his voice low and husky. My legs were trembling so much I cupped my hands around my thighs, lightly, as though that might help. I was suddenly self-conscious of my outfit (cut-off jeans and a green tank top, tennis shoes) and the state of my hair, which was still slung back in a ponytail that surely smelled of the fried fish I'd been serving since afternoon. I hadn't even reapplied any make-up since my rain-drenched fight with Jackson this morning.

“How long have you known Rich?” I asked, biding a little time.

“Since I was little. I lived in Oklahoma most of my life. Dad and Mom split up when I was five or so, and Mom took care of me. You knew her, right?”

“A little,” I told him. “The summer I met her was the first year Rich and your grandma, Pamela, were married.”

“We didn't visit up here very much,” he stated, and I watched him without replying, my breath caught in my throat.

“Your mom and Ellen, and Louisa, are such great ladies,” Blythe went on, as I silently studied his profile. . “I like their independence. Louisa really grilled me when she heard I'd been in jail. She didn't think Joan and Ellen should hire me, at first.”

“What changed her mind?” I asked him, my voice hardly more than a whisper. We had driven back through Landon and were rounding the lake again, but on the opposite side. Shore Leave would be visible through the trees, had I looked back across the water. Blythe angled onto a side road, one that led into the dense woods, and finally came to a halt, far off the beaten path. We were in a clearing I knew well, one of the old state park campsites, where I'd spent many a merry teenage summer night.