Winter at the White Oaks Lodge (15 page)

“No, hon, you guys go hang out. I'll get this,” she told me.

I led Mathias to the living room but Millie Jo had other plans, tugging his sweatshirt and inviting, “Come see my fort!”

Mathias gave me a look with his brows raised and a smile on his lips; his eyes clearly asked me,
How can anyone refuse this child?

“Hang on, Millie Jo-Jo,” I told her. “Let Mama make sure our room is clean.”

I raced up the stairs and stuffed bras and dirty laundry into the closet and then leaned my hip into the bi-fold door to force it shut, before dragging the quilt up over the pillows in attempt to make the bed. I could hear Millie leading Mathias up the steps, and for a moment almost laughed at the absurdity of him seeing my bedroom, which was an undoubtedly intimate experience, under these circumstances.

He paused in the doorway and studied me somberly, certainly thinking something similar. I'd clicked on the lamp atop my dresser rather than the overhead light, lending the room a warm apricot glow. Millie ran to her blanket fort, stretched between the rocker and the dresser, ducking inside and telling Mathias to follow, but for that moment he remained motionless as our eyes held fast. I felt a leaping in my body, an awareness of him that overrode all sense. Goosebumps rippled up my spine and over my limbs as I stood near the bed, studying his beautiful, serious face in lighting that echoed that of a candle's flame. I felt a rush of heat then, sharp and insistent, and in my mind he crossed the room with determined strides and took me to the bed, kissing me as though the world would end before morning light. I swallowed hard and he gripped the door frame on either side.

Millie popped back out and I refocused on her, my face hot and my blood flowing erratically, but I found my voice and tried for a teasing tone, “Well, this is our room. Probably didn't expect to see it tonight.”

“You two share a room?” he asked softly. He still hadn't entered the space and his voice was a little hoarse as he asked the question.

I nodded, keeping my eyes on Millie, who was on all fours and watching us. I said, “It's easier to get her to sleep if we share a bed.”

Mathias crouched down and asked Millie, “So does your mama snore, or what?” and then I giggled, the tension effectively broken.

“Hey now, that's cheap,” I informed him, poking his knee with my toes.

He grinned up at me and said, “It's a fair question.”

Millie, ever loyal, said, “Mama doesn't snore. But I do!”

“You do not,” I told her. “Silly girl.”

Mathias gamely peered into the blanket fort, then rested his hand on the edge of my mattress as he rose back to his feet. He turned in a circle and said, “It's cozy in here.”

“Are you gonna watch a movie with us?” Millie wanted to know then, and Mathias nodded.

“If you don't mind, kiddo,” he said. “Do you have one picked out?”

Back downstairs we settled on the couch, Millie curling up possessively right onto my lap. I snuggled the afghan around us; there was about a foot of distance between my left hip and Mathias's right. We watched the first part of a Dora episode, truly only aware of one another, and it wasn't five minutes later that Millie fell asleep against me, sucking her thumb. I collected her closer and rose, whispering, “I'll be right back. Feel free to change the channel.”

He whispered, “I'll be right here.”

Now it would be up to me to judge the distance between us; I reflected on this as I came back downstairs. I wanted to curl up on his lap, again almost overwhelmingly, but couldn't allow myself this, not yet. Instead I sat back down just a hair closer than I had been. I curled my knees sideways, towards him, and reclaimed the afghan, snuggling under it; the house was always a little cold at night.

He said, echoing my thoughts, “Is it chilly in here? Maybe it's just me.”

I braved his eyes and heard myself ask, “You maybe want to share the blanket?”

His lips twitched with a smile he couldn't contain, and he said, “If you don't mind…”

Grandma and Aunt Ellen were still in the kitchen, but we would hear them if they came down the hall. Besides, I was almost twenty years old and sharing a blanket with a man was nothing to be concerned about. But I felt as though I was engaging in misbehavior as I resettled the blanket. Mathias moved just a little closer, enough that I could feel the heat of him. He drew the afghan over his lap and angled so that his knee was bent towards mine, almost touching me. I shivered and let the afghan sink around my hips.

“What are you watching?” I asked, mostly to banish the desire to move fluidly and straddle him.

“I don't know, I can't concentrate on anything besides the fact that you're so close to me,” he said, low, and my eyes flashed at once to his. He went on, speaking in a rush, “I know it's crazy, Camille, I do, but I want to…I feel like…”

“It's not crazy,” I told him again. “I sense it too. I can't explain it.”

“I know I never met you before last Thursday,” he said, as though trying to reason with himself. “But there must have been sometime…someplace. I know that I
know
you.”

I felt an unexpected swelling of tears and his eyebrows rose in concern. I rushed to explain, “I'm all right, it's not that…I just…I really know what you mean.”

“Say my name,” he said then, quiet and intent. “Please, I want to hear you say it.”

“Mathias,” I whispered, trembling.

“Camille,” he whispered back, his eyes driving into mine.

“Kids, I'm dishing up butterscotch pie, if you want!” Aunt Ellen called from the kitchen.

I blinked and Mathias breathed out in a rush.

“We're coming!” I called back, controlling the tremor in my voice. I felt as though I had been punched hard, right in the gut. As though something within me was shouting to wake up, to get it, to understand. Mathias rose and helped me to my feet, catching my hands. It was the first time my hands had been encased in his; he was warm and strong, his hands firm around mine, if only for seconds.

We joined Grandma and Aunt Ellen for pie, Mathias joking with them about how they stayed so trim with all of this good food, pretending as though nothing out of the ordinary was humming like live wires between us. By the time my grandma and great aunt had ventured up to bed, leaving us alone in the living room that was lit by nothing more than the Christmas tree, I felt as though I might shatter with the faintest touch.

“Come here,” I told him. “Sit with me.”

We sat facing each other on the couch, not yet touching, and he said softly, “When I think about you sleeping alone with your little girl it just about breaks my heart.” I didn't respond immediately and his eyes were tender upon me. He clarified, “It just seems so lonely. And I was so close all this time, just down in the Cities, while you were up here alone.”

“You had things to finish,” I reminded him. “You don't think I would have been in college if I could have these past years? It's important.”

“Not as important as raising a child,” he said. “Millie is wonderful. I hope she understands how lucky she is to have you and your grandma to take care of her. Nothing is more important than that.”

“I know,” I said softly. “I know. It's just hard being left behind. Or at least feeling that way. It seems selfish.”

“It's not selfish. You're young to be a mom. It would be hard on anyone. I remember after Tina had Beth and then Beth's dad ditched out on them. Tina and Beth moved back home for about a year, and I saw firsthand how tough it was on my sister.”

“I felt so stupid that I got pregnant,” I said, aching to tell him everything that was in my soul. “I mean, I've gotten over that feeling now, and I wouldn't change it. Millie means more to me than I could have ever imagined. But I felt so embarrassed at the time. It was like I had the plague. All of my friends just disappeared, and I begged Mom not to make me go to school in Landon. But she insisted.”

“And then girls like Mandy Pearson were mean to you,” he acknowledged.

“It's not like I'm that fragile, but it hurt. I mean, they called me a slut, a whore, like I had taken advantage of
him
. I'm the least slutty girl I know,” I said passionately, and then shook my head, embarrassed that I had said that, but Mathias smiled a little at my words.

“I mean…” I faltered, before saying, “But now I don't even have a high school diploma. And I was always at the head of my class back home in Chicago. So many things have changed since then. I don't even know who I used to be.”

“Would you have gone back to Chicago that summer if not for being pregnant?” he asked softly.

I nodded, explaining, “We only came up here for a few weeks every summer.”

He said, “Then I am eternally grateful that you took advantage of poor, innocent Noah Utley and got pregnant as a result.” He tipped his chin and looked steadily at me, concluding, “Otherwise you wouldn't be here right now. Otherwise I'd still be searching for you.”

My heartbeat seemed loud enough to hear throughout the room. I fumbled my hands free of the afghan, pulled haphazardly over my lap, and he reached for mine at the same time. He curled my hands into his and then did something that caught me completely off guard. But it seemed so right, as though instinct drove the action more than anything. He brought my hands to his lips and kissed the back of each, closing his eyes. His lips were so warm and I made a small sound in my throat. He opened his eyes and kept both of my hands in his left, reaching with his right to tuck hair behind my ear. His fingertips lingered on my cheek and he said, his voice husky, “Come here.”

I couldn't speak as he encased me against his powerful chest. He smelled so good that it was almost dizzying; I pressed my cheek to his thermal shirt and felt his arms come around me, holding me securely. The Christmas tree glowed in the corner, again creating a sense of candlelight, and I snuggled closer to him, letting my eyes sink shut, and he put his chin on the top of my head. Wordless, we clung to one another. But no words were necessary.

The front windows were silvery with approaching dawn when I opened my eyes next; I blinked a couple of times and drew in a breath as I realized that Mathias and I were still snuggled on the couch. He was snoring like a ripsaw and my left arm was completely numb from being under his body all night; we were stretched full-length, though I had no memory of that, Mathias curved protectively over me, the afghan tucked around my shoulders. Happiness melted over my soul like warm butter before reality kicked in; no matter how innocent, Grandma would not be pleased at this situation.

“Mathias,” I whispered, leaning up on one elbow to study his sleeping face, tenderness flowing through me. He was positioned with his chin tipped up, mouth slightly open as he snored, his arms yet locked about me. He felt so good against me that I was loathe to wake him and be forced to move, but Grandma or Aunt Ellen would be up any moment. I gave in and touched his jaw, thick with stubble, letting my fingertips learn the feeling of his face. I couldn't resist and traced lightly over his lips and my entire body vibrated with desire.

He twitched, stopped snoring and rolled towards me, almost crushing me in the process, muttering without opening his eyes, “It's morning, isn't it?”

“Yes,” I whispered, snuggling against him, determined to delight in this for the last few seconds we would be allowed this morning.

He groaned a little and then shifted so that I was not smashed beneath him, tightening his arms and kissing the top of my head. He whispered, “Good morning then. I suppose I better get my ass home before we're in trouble.”

“I'm glad you stayed,” I whispered back.

“Me too,” he said. “The last thing I wanted was to go home and be without you last night. Well, now we've slept together, Camille. We better redefine our relationship.”

I giggled, muffling the sound against him, and he kissed my hair again, stroking it with both hands. I said back, softly, almost shyly, “Maybe it would be all right if I called you my boyfriend then.”

“Damn right,” he said, and reached to lift my chin with his fingertips. In the dimness of dawn, our sleep-smudged eyes held fast. He asked, “Are you free this evening?”

“I am,” I replied. “Will you be back?”

“Wild horses couldn't stop me,” he said and then crushed me close for one last hug.

“So he's your boyfriend now,” Jake said,
and his voice was full of disdain, clearly masking his hurt. It was Tuesday, the first day of Christmas break for Tish and Clint and Ruthie, and Shore Leave was packed even though we weren't technically open. Grandma, Mom, Aunt Ellen and Aunt Jilly were drinking coffee and planning what day to celebrate Christmas with the entire family, and at whose house. Rae and Millie Jo were settled in the corner booth, raptly engaged in playing dolls. Matthew was dozing in the playpen near the counter, bundled into a bright red footie. He had grown golden-blond curls all over his round little head, as beautiful as any storybook baby. Tish, Clint, Liam and Ruthie were playing Uno at table three, a big pan of pumpkin muffins taking up one of the chairs. Blythe and Uncle Justin were both at work; Blythe worked with one of Eddie's sons on days when Shore Leave was closed, in a woodshop on the outskirts of Landon, where he was learning to make cabinets. I had been in a stupor of enchanted daydreaming, sitting with my chin braced on my palm and gazing out at the snowy day, wondering just where Mathias was at this moment in his plow truck, and what he was doing and how many hours would have to pass before I saw him again.

He texted me about an hour after he'd left this morning, sneaking out just barely ahead of Grandma.

Thank you for a beautiful wonderful night
, it read.

I wrote back,
Your arms are so strong. Thanks for holding me in them
. Oh, how much easier it was to be bold in a text than in spoken conversation. I included a smiley face and then felt all quivery and pressed ‘send' before I could chicken out and change the wording.

My phone vibrated almost at once and I nearly dropped it in my haste to see what he'd responded. My face flooded over with heat as I read,
All yours.

Did he mean his arms? Or did he mean him in his entirety? Both? I could hardly breathe and wrote back,
Tonight?

His reply read,
No question mark. Tonight, exclamation point (!!!).

And now my daydreaming had been rudely interrupted by Jake, who'd ridden over with Mom and the girls for no other reason than to torture me. I was sure Mom was just trying to be nice inviting him for breakfast, as Jake's own mother worked quite a bit and he was often home alone, but I really wished he'd just stayed home.

I nodded, uncomfortable telling Jake so, but then again he was my friend, if nothing else. I could not help that he liked me more than I liked him. That was not my fault.

You kissed him. Twice.

But that doesn't matter now. It was a mistake, both times
.

I wouldn't be so cruel as to admit this to Jake, but the truth remained. He sat opposite me and I slipped my cell phone out of sight beneath the table.

“Isn't that a little fast?” he asked me. To be fair, he looked concerned too, not just hurt. “I mean, you just met.”

I longed to snap,
It's
not your business! Back off!

Instead I said, trying to infuse a little teasing into my voice, “Thanks, Dad.”

He tipped his head to the side and gave me an exasperated look. He said, “I remember him from back when, working on the fire crew. He's, like, nuts. I mean, like the kind of guy who'd race into a burning house because someone's picture album was in there.”

I sat straighter and actually paid attention at this statement. I asked, “He did that?”

Jake nodded vigorously. “Maybe six summers ago. This lady was freaking out that her wedding album on the coffee table was going to get burned up and before anyone could tell her it was way too late, sorry, Mathias ran back into the burning house and saved it. I mean, it was a little singed…”

“That's
brave
,” I corrected, though I could hardly bear to think of Mathias in harm's way, endangering himself for a bunch of pictures. Not even a kid or a pet, but pictures.

“It's
nuts
,” Jake repeated. “And he's a total player, Camille, ask anyone.”

My temper flared. Of course I had no reason to believe this, but a tiny part of my brain acknowledged that someone as damnably good-looking as Mathias could well deserve that description. Then I reassured myself that most rumors like that were not true; I was hardly the slut everyone believed I was, right?

“Look, it's not your business,” I said at last, trying not to allow my voice to sound to overtly angry.

“I get that,” he said, his dark eyes on mine. His voice grew slightly pleading as he added, “I just worry about you.”

I softened and said, “I know. I get that.”

Mom came over then and said, “Can I steal you away for a sec, Camille?”

I nodded, grateful for this inadvertent rescue. Jake nodded too and moved to join Tish and those guys.

“What's up?” I asked Mom, following her into the bar.

She looked over her shoulder, covertly, as though expecting to have been followed, and then said, low, “I was just trying to save you.”

I lifted my eyebrows at her.

Mom went on, “Tell me about Matty Carter, huh?”

Before I could even speak she said with certainty, “Camille, you just lit up like a firefly. I knew it. What's going on between the two of you?”

“We…we just…”

“Shit,” said Mom, but she softened this with a half-smile. She added, “You're falling for this guy.”

There was no hiding it and I smiled back at her.

“God, I haven't seen that smile on your face in a long time,” she said softly, reaching to smooth my hair with both hands. “Oh, hon, I just hope…I mean, I just don't want you to get hurt.”

“He's not like that,” I said, even comprehending how absurd it surely was to make this sort of statement when we had just met last Thursday. When I hardly knew him. But I couldn't explain to Mom that I had known him forever, somehow. That we'd been searching for each other. Despite a fairly romantic nature of her own, she would drag me away by the ear.

“Grandma told me you talked to her about it last night. That you were going to take it slow,” Mom said this last part with over-exaggeration and I shrugged irritably from her grasp.

“I'm not planning to get pregnant again,” I snapped. My shoulders sagged and I said almost right away, “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be sorry,” Mom said. “And I know you would never
try
to get pregnant…”

“I'm not as stupid as I used to be,” I said, closing my eyes.

Probably I'm even more stupid
, but I didn't vocalize that.

“Hon, it's not about being stupid,” she said gently. “It's about being in love.”

“Mom, please just understand,” I asked her, looking deeply into her eyes. “I don't know why but I trust him. And if it doesn't work out—” my insides seized in rebellion at this pronouncement but I forced myself to finish, “If it doesn't work out then I'll deal with it. But I'll never know if I don't give it a chance.”

Mom smiled and reached to smooth my hair again. She corrected me, “You mean
we'll
deal with it.”

***

By Friday
night I had spent every evening with Mathias. On Wednesday I helped him move from his parents' house to the apartment in Pine Ridge, which was a lovely opportunity to see the house where he'd been raised and the place he would now be living.

“Superman posters?” I asked, giggling as I turned in a slow circle in his childhood bedroom, which was mostly bare, his belongings tucked into cardboard boxes and duffle bags, many of which were patched with duct tape, his go-to fixit tool. The walls in here were painted indigo blue and the bed and furniture had all been loaded into Mathias's truck out in the driveway. Bull and Diana had a beautiful two-storey house on the north side of Flickertail, about five minutes' walk from White Oaks.

“Hey now,” he said, catching me around the waist for a sideways hug; his right arm was burdened with a cardboard box. He added, “You don't have to move any of this stuff.”

“I'm here to help you,” I reminded him. “And besides, how else would I know that you wore boxers with tiny green elves on them?”

I presented these with a flourish and he yelped and tried to grab for them, but I darted away, laughing. I had found the Christmas boxers stuffed into a box of what appeared to be top-drawer things, socks and t-shirts, and couldn't resist. Other than hugging and cuddling, we had not so much as kissed yet, and so I had not come close to seeing his underwear in person besides this pair.

“Not reindeer or snowmen, but elves!” I pronounced gleefully, giggling and evading him. He dropped the box and managed to corner me, advancing menacingly, his shoulders curled forward.

I couldn't stop laughing, breathless and quivering, hiding the boxers behind my back as he pinned me with both arms, one on either side of my shoulders. His blue eyes drove straight into my heart and I bit my bottom lip as he smiled down at me and said, “Now, give those here and I'll let you free.” He lowered his eyebrows and clarified, “For now.”

I shook my head and then giggled and gulped at the same time as he leaned just slightly closer, as though executing a push-up against the wall.

“One,” he began. “Two…”

“What happens on ‘three'?” I asked, and was embarrassed at how faint my voice sounded, as though I'd been running miles.

“Why don't you wait and find out?” he asked, his eyelids lowering seductively, and my heart almost thrust through my ribcage. At the last second I darted, ducking beneath his right arm. He chased after me and we bumped into Tina in the hallway, also here to help, along with Sam.

“Whoa there, kiddies,” she said, flattening against the wall to avoid us. Mathias had me around the waist from behind and he felt so good that I was only weakly struggling.

“Tina, take these!” I begged her, still laughing, and tossed the boxers her direction.

Tina whooped with laughter and held them up by the waistband.

Mathias did not release his hold on me, his arms locked around my waist. He said to Tina, “Joke's on you. I was just wearing those.”

“Matty!” she shrieked, flinging them down the hall. “Eeeeew!”

“He wasn't,” I contradicted weakly, my stomach hurting from laughing so hard. I was practically limp in his grasp.

Tina punched his shoulder and said, “Nice one, Bratty-pants.”

Skid's apartment at Pine Ridge was a small two-bedroom. The apartment complex was on the far side of a parking lot, bordered on three sides by dense pine forest. By the time all of Mathias's things had been unloaded it was late evening, and I had to be getting home. It was just us and Skid by then; Skid was a tall, gangly and awkward guy who hadn't yet grown into either his hands or his nose, besides being the same age as Mathias at twenty-two. He was an amiable guy, if slightly immature. Skid was currently in the bathroom, Mathias and I standing in the little kitchen; his things were stacked and scattered haphazardly all across the floor of the adjacent living room.

“I better get home,” I said then, with reluctance, catching sight of the green numbers on the microwave display. I tried not to feel a prickle of panic at the thought of how I couldn't even look forward to spending very many evenings here, unless I carted along my daughter. Mathias had driven my pickup here, me in the passenger seat, while Tina had driven his truck.

Mathias saw the change in my expression, which had been lighthearted all evening to this point. He took my shoulders into his hands and asked, “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” I said, shaking my head.

“Not nothing,” he said at once. “Camille, what's wrong?”

I closed my eyes for a moment and then said, “I was just wishing that I could stay here and hang out with you and I can't. I can't just do those things.”

“Then I'll come to your house,” he said.

My eyes flashed open and into his; he looked so serious. Though I wanted him to more than about anything, I wouldn't be that girl. The clingy kind. I said, “No, you have lots to do here. It's all right.”

He asked, “Will Millie be asleep yet?”

“Pretty soon,” I said, lost in his eyes. Behind us, the toilet flushed and Skid came clunking down the short hallway.

“I'll get a few things done here and then I'll be there. Will Joan be upset?”

“No,” I said, happiness shivering through me, chasing away the panicky flutterings in my gut, the terrible thoughts that he would eventually, probably sooner than later, grow tired of waiting around for a girl with a child of her own.

“Come here,” he said, taking me against his chest. Skid came into the kitchen and cleared his throat, then moved unceremoniously around us and helped himself to a beer from the fridge. Mathias stroked my hair with both hands and said into my ear, “I'll be over in a little while. I promise.”

I nodded and hugged him hard, then drew back and managed a smile. I wanted so much to believe in him. I said, “I'll be there.”

***

I worked
Thursday night at Shore Leave and then Friday at White Oaks, and basked in the glow of Mathias's gaze as he tended the bar with Elaine. Tina was on shift too and we were incredibly busy, as it was the day before Christmas Eve and White Oaks would be closed for the holiday weekend. Bull didn't book guests over Christmas, instead reopening the day after. I was wearing two glittery red poinsettia barrettes clipped into my hair, which was twisted up high on my head; it was late into the evening and I was fantasizing about what I might be able to give Mathias for Christmas, which was just a day away. Grandma and I had Millie Jo's Santa presents covered; we'd made a special trip last August to the Mall of America near the Cities. I was considering where I could find a present for Mathias so last-minute, dallying over the computer monitor as I typed in last order of mozzarella sticks (warning the two cooks Burt and Jerry that we had a late table) when Mathias came bursting through the swinging door. I looked up in surprise; he looked furious.