Winter at the White Oaks Lodge (11 page)

“See you later, sweetie,” Bull added.

Mathias looked back at me as he zipped up his thick coat, appearing nearly twice as imposing in all of his winter gear. I studied him with no smile, just absorbing his expression, which was every bit as somber as my own. Then he smiled as he wound his scarf and I felt everything inside of me leap, blood and heart and senses, towards him. I watched through the wide front windows as the six of them made their way back to their trucks; I was pressing my fingertips to the glass before I realized what I was doing. Out in the parking lot Mathias bent down and scooped up an armload of fluffy snow, throwing it over his brothers-in-law. Even through the glass and with the heater running, I heard their shouted threats as he laughed and darted away; Sam caught him around the waist and they wrestled around, almost tumbling to the snow. I giggled.

“That Mathias has always been crazy,” Grandma said, coming into the café carrying Millie Jo, stamping snow from her boots.

“Cwazy!” Millie parroted, and I reflected that they were both right, as my heart was going crazy just watching him.

***

This evening
Tina and I were supposed to work the dining room and Elaine the bar, but when I got there at quarter to the hour, I found the space empty of anyone but Mathias. He was wearing faded jeans and a black turtleneck sweater, and he held out his hand immediately when I came through the swinging door. I stopped and everything within me sprang fiercely to life; I had been on pins and needles driving my pick-up around the lake, knowing I would see him this evening, maybe even as soon as I got to White Oaks. And here he was, with sexy five o'clock shadow and his dimple flashing, holding out his right hand, palm down and curled into a fist.

“Hold out your hand,” he said, indicating with a tilt of his head in the direction of my hands, clinging to my server apron. I had begged Ruthie to come out to Shore Leave to fix my hair, and so Tish had driven her over in Mom's car, the two of them excited that winter break from school was fast approaching. Tish was a senior this year, along with Clinty. Ruthie had a crush on a boy in her grade, and they updated me on all the gory details that a big sister should know. In the meantime, Ruthann twisted my hair into an elegant knot on the back of my head, using the iron to add a little extra curl to select strands that she freed and artfully arranged. My sisters had agreed I looked good, also finding gold hoop earrings for me.

Wordlessly I obliged and held out my hand, taking in every last detail of Mathias's face, also noting the way his jeans fit him like a cowboy's and that his turtleneck sweater emphasized his shoulders really, really well. He held his fisted hand over mine and then, to my surprise, used his other hand to catch mine from beneath, holding it steady as heat galloped up my arm and then all through me. Watching my eyes, he dropped a small metal object into my cupped palm.

“The ring!” I said, taking it instantly between my index finger and thumb, holding it close. It was a smooth gold band, no more than a quarter of an inch thick.

“It's engraved,” he said, leaning over the bar beside me, and I tipped it at once so I could read the tiny words on the inside rim.

“‘My heart is yours for all time,'” I read, and felt a chill. My eyes flashed to his and I said softly, “Oh, wow.”

He shook his head, grinning at me as though in teasing, but something in his eyes was serious. He said lightly, “All right, I admit I thought it was a little bit romantic too. Back when I found it. If you don't mind complete clichés.”

“Clichés!” I repeated, almost indignantly, letting it rest on my palm. “No. This is heartfelt.”

“If you say so,” he said, again with a teasing tone, but his blue eyes held mine. He asked, “Did you bring the picture?”

I set the ring carefully on the bar, alongside my apron, and lifted my purse from where it was hanging against my right side. I withdrew the journal-sized notebook I'd found to keep the picture from getting bent on the way here and carefully extracted it to hand to him; Mathias pored over it at once.

“‘Me and Aces,'” he read. “Holy shit, this is a find. I don't mean to be inarticulate, but shit. And Dad thinks that this is Boyd Carter's little brother?”

“I would really like to find out what happened to him,” I said. “I feel like—” but here I stumbled to a halt, embarrassed; words seemed to pour from me in his presence, without my intending it.

“Feel like what?” he asked, still leaning over the bar but looking at me again. I felt the warmth of his gaze like a touch.

“It's stupid,” I said.

“It's not,” he insisted. “What?”

I picked up the ring and for whatever reason slipped it over my left index finger; it was a little snug there, not moving beyond the middle knuckle. I said, “I feel like I'm supposed to find out what happened to him. I don't know exactly why. I've been a little obsessed with it since finding the picture.”

He said, “It's not stupid at all. You sound the way I used to when I would go on about who had built what in the cabin, like the fireplace. That's how I found the ring, monkeying with the stones in it.” He studied the ring on my hand and said, “It isn't supposed to fit on that finger, you know.” And as though I didn't understand, he tapped my third finger. He had very strong-looking hands, wide and long-fingered, and I had the sense that he wanted to keep his fingertips on me just as desperately as I wanted him to; wordlessly I slipped the ring into its proper place, where it fit snugly. Mathias caught it between his thumb and index finger, not exactly touching me, but all of the breath in my body lodged in my chest, almost painfully.

“See?” he said, and his voice was a little hoarse. I studied his eyes, which I realized glinted with flecks of topaz in their depths, like gold dust beneath creek water. And just like that, insanely and yet with bone-deep certainty, I knew I had kissed him before.

“Boy!” we heard Bull calling in his gravel-pit voice, and I turned instantly away from the intensity that was churning in my blood.

Mathias straightened and I busied myself tying my apron, extra tightly, as though to punish myself for such absurd and irrational thoughts. It was sleep deprivation, most likely. My overactive imagination. Bull pushed through the swinging door and said, “The party of twenty is on the way, and so is Tina. You two all right until then?”

“Dad,” said Mathias with certainty. “I haven't forgotten how to pour a drink.”

“As though you'd forget such a thing at college,” his father joked. “And I see you found the picture. Ain't that something? Hi, Camille. Hon, you're so pretty you almost hurt my eyes. Look at you.”

It was great to have an excuse to be flushing; my cheeks burned brightly. Flustered as hell, I still managed to respond sincerely, “Thank you.”

It began to grow busy after that, Tina arriving for her shift no more than a couple of minutes later, breezing in with an air of merriment. She hugged her brother, telling him, “It's so good to have you home, Matty-pants.”

“Already with the nicknames?” he asked her, sounding pained. Facing away from them as I topped off the salt shakers on the dining room tables, I let a smile spread over my face.

“What about Bratty-pants? Hah! Remember that one? You were such a whiny little shit.” Tina was laughing.

“Why do I put up with this? You want a snake bite?” he responded and I peeked over my shoulder to see Mathias catching Tina around the forearm as she laughed and struggled against his hold. He said gleefully, “Remember
those
?”

“Sam said you threw snow all over him this morning,” Tina said, freeing herself from his grasp and reaching to rough up his hair. “And that you guys caught your limit.”

“We did at that,” he said and looked over towards me; as I was still peering over my shoulder, our eyes met and held.

“Hey there, Camille!” Tina called over. “I'll be right there to help you.”

The evening was busy and as Mathias was tending the bar, I had many lovely excuses to be near him, if for no other reason than to grab the cocktails I needed for my tables. I had never been quite so encouraging of my customers to keep drinking.

“Can I get this one with decaf instead?” I asked him towards the end of the evening; the dining room was empty except for a father and son from the twenty-top yet chatting over a last drink. The father had ordered an Irish coffee, but decided against caffeine at the last moment.

“Sure thing,” Mathias told me, turning away to dump the contents down the sink. I studied him shamelessly, the sloping of his wide shoulders, the way his faded jeans fit just so. As he faced me once more, I removed anything but politeness from my face. But again I found I hadn't quite the ability to look away from his eyes. He studied me wordlessly before catching a whiskey bottle from the shelf and pouring a shot into the mug, along with the coffee.

“Thanks,” I said, and delivered the refill to the table, chatting with them for a moment. When I turned back around, totally unaware, I suddenly felt as though someone had rammed a couple of fingers down my throat.

Tess French had come into the bar and was settling herself atop a barstool. She was wearing black skinny jeans, fitted black boots and a vibrant purple down jacket. From behind she actually looked a lot like my mom, with golden blond hair that swung down her back and long, long legs. But then I caught sight of her mean little face and the resemblance to Mom vanished instantly. I supposed a guy wouldn't find Tess's face particularly mean; it was more that her attitude showed through and I saw only that.

Mandy Pearson, who had been so cruel to me, was one of her good friends; the first time I had ever seen Tess had been two years ago this month, actually, when I'd had the misfortune of running into her and Mandy at the gas station. Upon seeing me in line to pay, Mandy had whispered something and Tess had responded, loudly enough for me to hear, “So
that's
her.”

I remained frozen on the opposite side of the dining room, but heard Tess ask in a purring voice, “Hi, sexy, what are you doing later?”

Dirtbag, dirtbag, dirtbag
, I thought viciously, though it was totally unfair. So Mathias and I had exchanged a couple of glances and had a decent conversation.
So what?
It meant nothing and I was undoubtedly reading far more into it than him. Here was proof of that loud and clear.

“Miss?” asked one of the customers behind me, where I had just dropped off the Irish coffee. He hurried on, “Sorry to be a bother, but I could get one of those too? I need a warm up.”

“Sure thing,” I said, echoing Mathias.

Dammit to hell
. Now I couldn't sneak out unseen. And then I squared my shoulders and thought,
Fuck them. Why should I feel uncomfortable?

But it was all worthless bravado; I was uncomfortable as hell approaching the bar and even more so because Mathias watched my progress, using a bar towel to whisk dry a row of brandy glasses, one at a time. Tess was still gabbing, but her eyes flickered up and then she tilted to look over her shoulder at what was drawing his attention from her.

“I need one more Irish coffee,” I said lamely, halting on the far side of Tess. “You want me to grab it?”

“No, I got it,” Mathias assured me, throwing the bar towel over his left shoulder. Tess regarded me as one might a dead bug in a garden salad, with utter distaste.

“Camille Gordon?” she asked then, over-enunciating my name. “When did you start working here?”

“Just about a month ago,” I said, my heart thundering in discomfort, though my voice was level. “In November.”

Tess lifted her eyebrows as though in disdain and then addressed Mathias, asking him, “Can you make me a vodka cranberry?”

He nodded, busy filling a second mug for me. When I reached my left hand to grab the handle, I realized I was still wearing the old ring from the fireplace. Mathias saw that at the same moment and his dimple appeared as a smile spread across his face. A ripple of anger shuddered through me then, that he would dare be
amused
by me, and I took the mug without a word of thanks. At the table once more, I asked with exaggerated politeness, “Do you guys care if I settle up with you? I'm headed out for the evening.”

This way I could sneak out as I had originally intended. Without looking over at Mathias and Tess, I walked through the triple-wide arch that separated the dining room and bar from what functioned as a reception hall. As I walked I slipped the ring from my finger; Bull and Tina were both in here, seated at a separate bar used only when the hall was rented out, going through a stack of receipts. Tina was smoking and in the middle of a sentence, but she cut herself short as she caught sight of me and said, “You heading out for the evening?”

“I am,” I said and then asked them, “Can I give you this? Mathias let me see it earlier and I forgot that it was in my apron pocket.”

“Sure will, hon,” Tina said, anchoring her smoke between her lips and holding out her cupped palm for the ring. She studied it and then asked, “Is this that old one Matty found when he was a kid? God, I'd forgotten all about this. He always said his wife would wear it someday.”

Goodie for her
, I almost said, meanly. Instead I said, “Thanks you guys. See you tomorrow.”

“You need a ride, sweetie?” Bull asked. “Here, I'll walk you out.”

“No, that's not necessary,” I told him. “It's not far.”

And thirty seconds later I was making my way to my pickup; it was snowing and the flakes appeared crystalline in the blue-white glow of the single streetlight in the parking lot. I paused for a second, listening to the quiet sound of the snow falling; to look straight up during a nighttime snowfall was almost akin to the feeling you get after riding the merry-go-round a few too many times, but I looked up anyway. It wasn't as though I could feel much more off-center anyway.