Summer at the Shore Leave Cafe (9 page)

“I know you're right,” I breathed out at last. Gran nodded with asperity. Mom's shoulders fell a little, but Ellen poked her with the end of the spatula. I whispered, “But it hurts so fucking much.”

“Oh sweetie,” Mom murmured, cupping her palm over my knee again.

“Hey, it's Saturday,” I said then, as though just realizing it, my voice only slightly crackly. I wanted badly to change the subject.

“Then you and Jillian better get your asses into the kitchen and whip up some margaritas,” Gran said.

The full moon was a silver stunner
in the ebony sky. From across the lake, Trout Days was in characteristic, catastrophic full swing; it was classic rock at the dance tonight, and so “Old Time Rock and Roll” was bouncing across the water, as clear as though the band were jamming on the porch at Shore Leave. Amazingly, Ruthann was sound asleep on the ancient porch swing, her snores keeping it engaged in a gentle motion, the dogs curled on the floorboards beneath her. The rest of us, the Davis women, were deep into our third pitcher of drinks, the pitcher a relic as dated as the glider. Many thousands of frothy, golden-yellow, tequila-laced drinks had been poured from its smooth pewter belly. We each had our own special glasses, too; mine was a rippled green-glass goblet with a slender stem, one that would look more appropriate holding jellybeans on a dessert table, but it was what I'd used for this purpose since I was a teenager. Ellen and Mom had looked the other way, as long as Jilly and I had stayed home on our Saturday margarita nights.

“This is the kind of moon that we were under when I first met Mick,” Mom was saying, in her classic drunken ramble down memory lane. She leaned back and studied the stars, though they were dim in contrast to the brilliant wash of moonlight flooding down from above.

“Gran, were you ever slutty?” I asked her comfortably, slouching low in my chair, truly curious about the answer. Mom slapped at me half-heartedly for asking such a question.

Gran, also more than a little sloshed, snorted a laugh and then grew dewy-eyed in the light from the single candle lantern adorning the middle of the table.

“I was,” she responded with relish. “Aaron Owens, your granddad, turned me into a loose woman for a time. If you think Jackson is good-looking, you should have seen him. My, he had a way with his hands.”

We all laughed, and Aunt Ellen said, “Aunt Minnie used to tell us he had a lazy eye, remember, Joanie?” and Mom snorted a laugh, almost sending margarita out her nose.

Gran huffed and responded drily, “No, more like a roving one. He couldn't stay with just one woman any more than he could stay in one town. He was a wanderer. But, dammit, I think I would give about anything if I had heard from him just one last time. But I never did.”

“Oh, Gran,” I said, moved, though I'd heard that about a million times before. I reached for her hand, but she snorted and wouldn't allow me to comfort her.

“No, there's no point crying over spilled perfume, just like that song you like says,” Gran grumbled at me.

Jilly asked, “Mom, Clint wondered once if you had a picture of Mick anywhere. Do you?”

Mom was still studying the sky, her gaze dreamy. She said, “I have our engagement picture somewhere, and a few from that summer. He liked to take pictures more than he liked to be in them.”

“I wish I had more of Chris,” Jilly said then, surprising me. She didn't normally speak of Christopher when she'd been drinking. She went on, “He would be turning thirty-five tomorrow.” She glanced at her watch and then amended, “Today, actually.”

There was no trace of self-pity or even sadness in her voice; her tone was utterly matter-of-fact, but we all stilled and everyone's gaze settled gently on Jillian, just as they'd settled on me in my time of need earlier in the evening. She tilted her chin into one shoulder and held the position, clutching the margarita glass to her chest. She said, softly, “I just can't stop thinking of him tonight, guys, I'm sorry.”

For once Gran was likewise gentle-voiced. She murmured, “Jillian, it's natural, love.”

Jilly pressed her mouth hard against her shoulder. I felt my heart pang for my sister; all summer I'd been so busy wallowing in my own problems, selfishly. And she was hurting…time hadn't much dulled it for her, I knew, and my heart constricted again. I loved her so much.

“Jilly Bar, we love you,” I told her, voicing my thoughts. “We love you so much.”

She nodded. Across Flickertail Lake the music had stopped, and the night sounds around us seemed absurdly amplified; Ruthann, who'd slept through the last two hours without a flinch, suddenly sighed and shifted restlessly.

“I think it's time for bed,” Jilly whispered.

“Do you want to take a walk, Jilly Bean?” I asked her, standing with only a little tipsiness, and moving around the table to cup her head in my hands. I smoothed her soft, short hair for a moment. Aunt Ellen leaned to kiss her cheek, then Mom, before they moved with one accord to help Gran.

My sister caught my right hand in hers for a moment, pressed it to her face. Then she said, “No, thanks though, Jo.”

She helped me cart Ruthann over the path to the house, where we giggled at the difficult process of hauling her inert body up to the third floor. So much for all three girls sitting on my bed for a good long talk tonight. Ruthie mumbled something that sounded like “flower child” as we tucked her into bed. I bent and kissed her soft round cheek, and then followed Jilly back down the stairs. Outside, under the full moon, we stood for a moment, side by side, and studied the sky. Mosquitoes whined and buzzed around us, and I slapped at one on my ankle. It was impossibly still, creating the sensation that we were on a sound stage rather than outdoors; the splendid, spotlight-quality of the moonlight only added to that impression. It would be the moment in a play when the lead character would reveal a truth or insight.

“Are you worried about the kids? Should I head over to town?” I asked at last. I wouldn't drive after consuming so much tequila, but I could certainly walk over to Landon. I craved a walk anyway; my legs were restless, my spirits unsettled. The air seemed electric, unresolved.

“Nah, they're fine, Clinty will bring them home now that the music is done,” my sister said. She gave me a long look, seeming resigned. She whispered, “Night, Jo.” And then she turned and made for her garage apartment.

“Good-night,” I called after her retreating back, feeling a little abandoned. The porch was empty, too; Mom, Ellen and Gran had come in while we carried Ruthann upstairs. I noticed the candle lantern was still flickering, and moved to blow it out.

Chief was still dozing on the porch as I climbed the steps moments later, leaving the house in quiet darkness fifty yards down the shoreline. He thumped his tail at me and I knelt to rub his shaggy head.

“You wanna take a walk, boy?” I asked him, and he got immediately to his feet, tail flopping like a flag in high wind. Chester, our other lab, must have gone home with Mom. The night air was warm but I pulled the rubber band from my ponytail, letting my hair act as a sort of neck-shield from mosquitoes. I leaned and blew a breath into the candle flame, releasing a tendril of smoke into the night air, and then slipped on the tennis shoes that Mom had left on the porch earlier in the evening.

“Come on, buddy,” I muttered to Chief, and started for Flicker Trail, hoping I might spy the kids returning from Trout Days any moment. I knew they were more than old enough to navigate the wilds of Landon without me, but it was late, and I was a mother. I couldn't help but worry.

I walked along the familiar path in the darkness, imagining all of the times I'd had Jackson by my side on this same stretch of road, holding my hand, laughing as we talked about everything and nothing, sometimes detouring to find a sheltered spot between the trees to make love. I'd given myself so completely to him in those days. I recalled laughing and gasping as I'd clutched the slim trunk of a maple, bent over, jeans bunched around my ankles, with Jackie behind me, clutching my hips and hurrying to come before we got caught, or too bug-bit. It was a wonder I hadn't gotten pregnant long before senior prom.

My face felt hot, and I pressed both my palms there, drunker than I'd realized, flushed with liquor and these damnable memories of my husband. Other times we'd swim naked in Flickertail Lake, pressing our slick, wet bodies together, laughing as he slipped in and out under the silky lake water. My nipples were round and aroused at just the thought of those days. I sighed then, cursing myself, moving my gaze to the ground, where the spilling ivory moonlight created faint leaf-shadows at my feet. In the next moment I heard the sound of an engine, and headlights came beaming from around the bend. I thought it might be the kids on the golf cart before I realized it was a much bigger vehicle, as the twin lights bounced over me and Chief.

Blythe was braking his truck just a few feet from me in the next moment, his window rolled down. My body seemed to pulse, an electric current of pure and simple want. Oh, how I wanted him.

He asked, sounding amused, “Isn't it a little late for a walk, Joelle?”

I fiddled with my hair, feeling ridiculous. I finally said, “I was worried about the kids.”

“Actually that's why I'm headed over,” he said. “The kids want to stay and watch the fireworks. Jim Olson's shooting them off over the lake. I tried calling the café, but no one answered.”

“Oh,” I said, genius-like. “I forgot about the fireworks. Thanks.”

He asked then, “Do you want to go and watch the show? I'll drive you.”

Yes, yes, I did, very much. But I was afraid that if I climbed into that truck the way I was feeling right now, it wouldn't be a good idea for anyone involved.

I heard myself reply, “Do you care if Chief rides along?” and nodded at the dog. There, the golden lab would keep me utterly virtuous.

Blythe laughed, a warm, deep sound. “Hell, no, now get in here. I'm holding up traffic.”

I walked around his truck and watched as he leaned to open the door for me. Chief bounded into the tiny backseat, while I climbed more slowly, again feeling parts of my body seem to expand and glow with desire. My breasts, my belly, my fingertips, my mouth. I settled onto the worn seat, absorbing the gift of this time alone with him, with Blythe. The truck smelled like leather and like him. Warm and faintly of cologne, just a hint of something really good. I kept my gaze fixed straight ahead as he reversed and cranked the wheel to head back into town. He drove with his right hand at six o'clock.

Blythe turned to look at me from two feet away, and I braved a peek in his direction to find him grinning. My heart splattered against my ribs. He asked, “Did you by any chance pour tequila over your head this evening?”

I heard myself giggle, and asked, “Is it that bad?”

“Saturday margarita night,” he observed. “I can dig it.”

“How do you know about that?” I asked, somewhat astonished.

“Gramps, of course,” he replied easily, referring to Rich, as he slowed down to turn back onto Fisherman's Street. The festivities were still going on, lights twinkling, people moving towards Eddie's Bar. I turned in the seat as I spied Justin in a group, but he didn't notice me before disappearing into Eddie's. Blythe drove to the end of the street and parked, and moments later he, Chief and I were making our way through the crowd, headed for the beach. It felt strange, walking with him, as though we were a couple. Again I wondered about his girlfriend, and contemplated what she must look like, and if, certainly being local, I knew her. Probably I had baby-sat her once upon a time; I scoured my drunken mind, considering girls I used to watch when I was a teenager. And then I tripped over an abandoned bottle, and Blythe caught my right arm in his left hand and kept me safely upright.

“Shit, thank you,” I told him, mortified. He kept his hand braced around my bare upper arm for a moment longer, studying my profile.

“Anytime,” he responded gently, and stroked me lightly with his thumb. It was just a flickering touch, but my blood zinged and my breath caught. As we started walking again, Blythe was just slightly nearer than before, and I was aware of him along every inch of my skin.
He caressed me
; I couldn't help thinking, marveling at it. I could not be imagining that touch for anything but what it was, and my belly was again weightless with equal parts desire and wonder.

The beach was mobbed in the moonlight, kids still running everywhere despite the late hour. I peered around in vain, searching for my own, but a resounding crack signaled the first of the fireworks, and there was no hope of finding them now. Above the lake, the air exploded in a firebomb of sizzling red sparkles. Cheers absolutely erupted, and Chief barked excitedly, tail thumping again. Blythe took charge and said, “Come on,” leading us through the crowd towards a picnic table close to the trees.

It was darker here, slightly away from the rest of the crowd. No one had claimed this table because its position allowed for a slightly impaired view of the fireworks over the lake, but I didn't care. The only fireworks I was interested in were occurring inside of me. We sat on the table, bracing our feet against the bench seat. I sat first, allowing Blythe to choose the distance between our bodies; he moved close, his left arm brushing my right. I felt faint and thrilled, terrified and joyous, all swirled together under my breastbone. As the fireworks shot up and over the lake in a continuous radiance of shimmering color, Blythe turned to look at me again. He said, tipping his lips near my right ear, “I'm glad I found you walking tonight.”

I couldn't look at him, though I wanted to, my entire body thrumming and my cheeks practically blistering. I curled my hands around my bare knees, trying to still the trembling. He allowed no quarter, following these words with a soft, “Thanks for coming with me.”

How should I respond? “You're welcome” seemed absurd. I wanted to say,
Blythe, if you only knew what I fantasize about you, if you only knew what I am feeling right now
…

His hand, his strong, warm hand pressed against my lower back then, lightly, skimming along the edge of my worn blue t-shirt, and he trailed his fingertips along the skin bared there. We were virtually alone, anonymous here in the darkness of my hometown. I couldn't help but gasp a little; his touch sent such trailers of pleasure through my limbs. He felt the trembling in my body, I was certain. Still I couldn't look at him, because if I did I would give in and I would kiss him, and then all I would want was to make love until I couldn't walk.