Winter at the White Oaks Lodge (22 page)

I giggled and covered his forearms with my own. Even though I hadn't told him that I loved him, I knew he sensed it; it was in my every look, my every touch. I said, “I get to pick the song.”

“Oh no,” he contradicted, and began humming the first lines of ‘Sneaking Around With You.'

“Oh that's my favorite one from
Best Little Whorehouse
,” I told him, giggling, and he closed his eyes and really let loose with Burt Reynold's part of the duet.

“Jesus Christ, Carter!” Skid yelled from the bathroom. “Put a cork in it!”

Mathias stood, lifting me with him, still singing. He paused to kiss my neck and then continued the song, full-force.

“You're crazy!” Skid shouted, though I could hear him laughing.

And that was the truth; Mathias was exactly my kind of crazy.

***

Two hours
later, snuggled into my own bed with Millie snoozing angelically at my side, I reached and opened the top drawer of my nightstand, extracting the picture of Malcolm Carter and Aces. I held it to my heart for a moment and then clicked on the lamp, squinting against the brightness of it, though Millie didn't so much as stir. In the splash of amber-tinted light I tilted the photograph, my eyes roving over it for the countless time, searching for any sort of clue.

Malcolm A. Carter.

What happened to you?

What were you searching for?

For some reason I didn't have the sense, in this image, that the loss had yet occurred. There was no way to be certain, but the photograph conveyed happiness, contentment even. This was not the photo of a desperate man, racing to find something even indefinable; it was a sharp contrast to the tone of the telegram, which he would deliver sometime in the next year.

Silently I implored him,
Why, Malcolm? You're Mathias's great-something uncle, I know you are. Tell me. Find a way to tell me, please. What were you searching for?

On sudden inspiration I crept from bed and bundled into my robe before sneaking down to the kitchen, lit only dimly with the last of the embers in the woodstove. I found what I was looking for with little trouble, my fingertips familiar enough with this space that light wasn't necessary. Back upstairs, magnifying glass from the junk drawer in hand, I reexamined Malcolm Carter and Aces.

He's so handsome. He does resemble Mathias, I can see that now. Same nose, same straight eyebrows. I wonder if his eyes were blue.

I shifted the tool slowly over the old black and white paper, with its thousand gray tones, fixating over his face, his hands. But then I saw something, the tiniest of details; without the magnifying glass it would not have been visible. Malcolm was wearing a piece of leather tied around his wrist, which I had noticed before, but clearly my eyes had been flowing over it without really seeing it; upon this closer inspection, however, I realized that there was a word carved into it, as though with the tip of a knife. I bent forward even more sharply, a pulse of excitement heating my blood, rushing through my veins, and placed the picture directly beneath the lamplight.

Cora
, it read.

A beat of awareness. I squinted and suddenly felt a trickle of sweat between my breasts. Impatiently I used my robe to swipe it away and questions swarmed into my mind. I debated calling Mathias right now, but he was probably sleeping and he had to get up early to start their route. Just as I had the thought, my phone vibrated and I was smiling even before I leaned to grab it from beside the bed.

Just wanted to say good night and I'll c u tomorrow(!!!)

Hey! I found a name
– I inadvertently bumped ‘send' before finishing.

That's great news!!! For what??

I giggled at his wording, hearing the way his voice would sound as he asked.

A name on Malcolm's wrist! Carved on his leather wristband!

What name?

Cora.

Doesn't sound like a brand name. Wasn
't Lorie the girl he was writing to?

Yes, but
– and here I gave up texting and pushed the icon to call him instead.

“Hey,” he said, softly, answering at once.

“Hey,” I said back, warmed through and through at the sound of his voice, all husky and low. He was most certainly in bed. Was he naked? Was the sheet covering him? My thoughts narrowed to a slim corridor of desire.

“Are you in bed?” he asked, and his voice and this question, so close to the one I had just been thinking, made my belly heat up. I thought of how he had touched and kissed me all evening, what incredibly lush lips he had. He added, with a hint of teasing, “Your thoughts that are making me blush and I love it.”

I giggled then, whispering back, “I'm just missing you, is all. Are
you
in bed?”

“Oh my God, I miss you too. I am in bed. I wish you were right beside me. I want to click on the lamp and see your face. I want to play the game where I try to decide if your eyes are more green or more gold.”

I giggled more, whispering, “I'm in bed too. I was just looking at the picture with a magnifying glass that I remembered was in the junk drawer. I can't believe I never thought to do that before. And then, just now, I spied the name. What do you think it means?”

“Not his mother,” he said, speculating. “Not a sister, either; I mean, I love my sisters, but I wouldn't wear a bracelet with their names.”

“It's not exactly a bracelet…more like a wristband.” I studied the strap around his wrist even more closely. “It's braided, but there's a smooth spot on the top and that's where it says her name. This is so exciting!”

“It is,” he agreed. “Can I come over right now?”

“Yes!” I encouraged, before giggling again. “Oh God, Mathias, I would tuck you right into bed with me.”

He groaned and said, “I'll be right there.”

“Don't tease me,” I told him.

“I'll see you tomorrow after work,” he promised.

I love you
, I wanted to say. Instead I whispered, “I'll be here. Sleep tight.”

“You, too,” he whispered back.

“Millie Jo made you a cupcake,” I
told Mathias on the phone. It was New Year's Eve and he was coming for dinner. I was wearing a new sage-green sweater Mom had given me for Christmas, my favorite jeans, and gold-tinted eyeliner, just enough. Tish and Ruthie had been over all day, along with little Matthew, who Grandma and Aunt Ellen were watching while Mom and Blythe went for dinner in Bemidji. They liked to eat at the Sparkling Waters Café, where they'd had their first date back in 2003. Matthew was crawling all over the place, while Millie Jo followed a step behind and bossed him quite joyously. Ruthie, whose hand was far steadier than either mine or Tish's, painted my nails a meticulous, sparkling gold.

“She did?” he asked. “I can't wait to see it. But she won't be there, will she? Isn't she having supper with the Utleys?”

She was; Noah's parents had called me to ask if she could spend the evening with them. Though it made my stomach feel slightly hollow, I allowed that they loved her too. And Millie adored them; I wouldn't deny her to them, at least not when it was an occasional request. I didn't know if Noah would be there or not. I had not heard a word from him since the night at White Oaks before Christmas.

“Yes, they're picking her up at 5:00.”

“Shoot. I'll see her tomorrow then. Unless there's two feet of snow tonight, Skid and I are taking the day off.”

“Good, you deserve it.”

“I'll see you soon, sweetheart,” he said then, and I felt a beat of anticipation; we hadn't exactly discussed it in so many words, but my period was over and I had taken the first birth control pill today…and I thought that maybe tonight…maybe we could…

“Milla!” Tish called from downstairs. “Come help me with your kid! She isn't listening!”

“Be right there!” I called back. I told Mathias, “See you after work.”

Curt and Marie Utley pulled up in their station wagon that evening but to my amazement, who should come up the snowy sidewalk but Noah, holding his mother Marie's elbow as she walked carefully, bundled in her puffy red parka, hood up. I felt a splash of complete nausea; what would I say to my daughter? I didn't know if she saw Noah when she visited her grandparents (and it happened to coincide with him being home from Madison). I hadn't ever asked and Millie had never mentioned a thing. To my knowledge, he hadn't actually seen her since she was four months old.

Grandma was behind me then, leaving Ruthie, Tish and Matthew in the kitchen, where the girls were talking and laughing about something, and she observed, “Noah's with? Oh, Camille…”

Millie came running too then, crowing, “Gramma Marie!”

“Better answer the door,” Grandma said, and I put on my best game face, which is what my dad would have said.

“Camille! Hi, dear,” Marie said warmly, as though there was nothing unusual or long overdue concerning her son accompanying her to see his child. I'd learned long ago that Noah, as her youngest, seemed to be excused for a great deal of wrongdoing.

Noah studied me with unreadable eyes, but he offered politely, “Hi, Camille. Hi, Joan.”

Millie peeked around my legs and cried, “Hi, Gramma!”

I opened the door enough to allow them to enter, as Marie bent to scoop Millie Jo close, kissing her cheek. She told my daughter, “I have some Christmas presents for you! Grandpa and me were in Kansas at your great-aunt Iris's for Christmas.”

“I know!” Millie reminded her. “'Member, Gramma, you called me on the phone?”

“Yes, that's right,” Marie said. She rose and gave me a hug, and then said to Grandma, “Joan, Happy New Year!”

Grandma said, “Good to see you,” and her eyes flickered to Noah to include him in the pleasantry. I looked up at him, then away; he was studying Millie with somber eyes.

“Hi, Noah!” Millie said then. So I wouldn't actually have to introduce the bastard to his daughter.

“Hi, Millie,” he said, and it sounded like there was something lodged in his throat.

Grandma took control of the situation, affecting her parent voice and telling Millie, “Honey, grab your coat and your boots now.” Millie galloped to the closet. To Marie, she added, “I have a loaf of that banana bread that you said Curt likes so well, with the coconut flakes.”

“Bless you, Joan,” Marie said, removing her hood. She was a small, plump woman with the same cleft chin as her son. To my further stun, she asked me suddenly, “Camille, would you like to join us, hon? Ben and the kids are over too, and…”

“Thank you, Marie,” I stumbled, interrupting her. “But I have plans this evening.”

Marie nodded and said, “Next time, maybe.”

Noah was all but shuffling his feet with discomfort. I moved to help Millie zip her jacket and secured her hat and mittens in place. I hugged her close and told her, “Gramma Marie can call me if you want to come home, all right, baby? But you have fun.”

“I will!” she said gaily.

Grandma returned from the kitchen with a bread pan wrapped in aluminum foil, which she passed to Noah. Behind Grandma, I caught sight of my sisters crowding in the archway leading back to the kitchen, anxious to see what was happening out here.

“We'll have her home by ten or so,” Marie promised.

I hugged Millie and then watched out the window as she held Marie's hand on the return trip to the car. I watched as Marie helped settle her into a car seat and Noah climbed in the driver's side. Grandma put her hand on my back and patted me twice.

***

Mathias came
over an hour later and entertained all of us with stories of his day spent with Skid, removing snow and sanding parking lots. My sisters adored Mathias, I could tell, and Grandma and Aunt Ellen did too, mostly, as they confided to me, because he made me so happy. I had told them all about the cabin and Mathias's plans for it (conveniently leaving out the part about how he was building it for us, as I felt certain they were not ready to accept this fact). Grandma may just lock me into my room.

“You've only known him a few weeks,” she'd protest.

It was hard to explain to her that I'd known him for much longer than that. Grandma was pretty darn open-minded, but I didn't want to try her patience too much.

“So, you guys see who can fart the worst in the plow truck? Since you're trapped in there?” Tish was asking, her mouth full, laughing at the same time.

I smiled and rolled my eyes at this male ridiculousness; Mathias was flushing, even as he nodded affirmation. He said, “It's great if you've just eaten a burrito, one of those huge gas station ones, since then—”

“Yuck!” Ruthie yelped, giggling.

Little Matthew, in his high chair near Aunt Ellen, banged his fists on his messy tray and grinned angelically at us. He was so dang cute that we all looked over at him. His pink-cheeked face was round as a full moon, his head covered in golden curls. Mathias grinned and said, “Little guy, you agree with me, right?”

“He does not!” Tish protested. “And that's just gross! Aren't you a college graduate?”

Mathias tipped back in his chair, laughing. He managed, “That's a good point.”

After supper we helped Grandma put away the food and the girls asked if we wanted to watch a movie. Mathias tipped his head at me, asking without words,
What do you think?

I said back, silently,
I'd rather be alone with you
.

He swallowed and I told my sisters, saying the first thing that came into my head, “We're stopping out at White Oaks for awhile.”

Minutes later, bundled and in his truck, Mathias asked softly, “You want to go to White Oaks?”

I could tell he was trying to leave this decision to me, to be patient, and it was all I could do to say calmly, “Not just now. How about…I thought we could maybe…”

He said, “We could go to our cabin, but Dad and Sam and those guys are snowmobiling and if they saw a fire in there, they might stop in…”

“Is Skid home at your place?” I asked, as a trembling moved downwards from my belly. I was glad it was dark enough that maybe he didn't notice.

Mathias said quietly, “No, he's over in Bemidji at his kind-of girlfriend's place.”

I looked over at him and his eyes held mine, completely serious, no trace of a smile. My heart just about came through my ribs, but again I kept my voice calm as I decided, “Let's go there.”

We drove in complete, heated silence. Once there, I waited as Mathias hurried around the hood of the truck to open the door for me. He cranked it open and our eyes held steady. I could feel my pulse like a springtime river, my nipples as firm as cherries beneath my nursing bra; I hadn't a sexier one to wear tonight, to my dismay. He reached and lifted me down slowly, his gloved hands warm on my waist; once on the ground, he caught my hand in his and led the way up one flight of stairs to his apartment. He fumbled a little unlocking the door and I felt a swell of tenderness, replacing a little of the fiery nerves coursing through me at the moment.

“I'm so nervous,” Mathias admitted once we were inside. I stood in the entryway as he clicked on the kitchen light, not even moving to unwind my scarf or pull off my mittens, I was so terribly nervous too. Mathias tossed his coat onto the kitchen table and then moved towards the living room and began collecting couch pillows and what appeared to be laundry piled on the living room floor. I watched him try to tidy up the space and felt a fraction of the tension in my belly ease, replaced with affection, a wide, warm rush of it. I crossed the space, tossing my mittens aside so that I could touch him with my bare hands and put both on his back, stilling his frenetic movement. He was bent forward as I did so and I caressed him, spreading my fingers against his sweatshirt, my heart saturating me with hot blood.

He straightened slowly and turned, and his eyes made my heart fire so hard that I made a sound in my throat. My hands moved up to cup his jaws and he caught me around the waist and pulled my hips firmly against him.

“I'm so glad we came here,” he whispered. “Camille. You're still in your coat. And I'm shaking like a teenager.”

He was and it thrilled me. I was trembling too, weak-kneed. I pressed my thumbs gently to his bottom lip, stroking it, and he shuddered and closed his eyes, his arms tightening around me at once.

“I want this so much,” I whispered back. He opened his eyes and studied me, our hearts matching rhythms against each other, faster and faster. Mathias brought his lips to within a breath of mine and spread his hands over my back. He reached with one hand and slipped the band from my ponytail, letting my hair loose. He curled his fingers into it and I could smell his breath, sweet with mint from the candy cane he had eaten earlier, and his own scent, which sent longing all through me.

He asked softly, “Can I take this coat off of you?”

I smiled back at him with all my heart.

“Yes,” I told him, and in response he lifted me into his arms and carried me through the living room, my hands resting on his shoulders. He brought us down a short hallway and into the bedroom on the right. Once there, he set me gently to the carpet and then clicked on a bedside lamp. I turned in a circle and observed his space; despite having been in the apartment numerous times, we had dutifully stuck to the couch to cuddle. The walls were painted a neutral cream, his closet overflowing with his outdoor gear, a tall bureau with t-shirts and underwear crammed into too-small drawers. And his bed, made up with a dark-blue and forest-green quilt that I recognized from helping him move, three pillows sprawled haphazardly. My heart was beating so loudly I was sure he could hear it.

He caught my hands into both of his and brought them to his lips, kissing the back of each. Then he unzipped my coat and set it carefully aside. I could hardly breathe just watching his eyes, so serious beneath his straight black brows as he studied me intently, lifting the scarf I was wearing over my head, placing it on my coat. And then he took my shoulders into his hands.

“Camille,” he said softly and intensely. “Do you know how much I love you?”

Tears sparked into my eyes and my throat choked up even as my heart glowed, a million fireflies springing to instant and delighted life. Though it was the first time he'd spoken the words, I whispered truthfully, “I know it. I do, Mathias.”

He thumbed away the tears that fell over my cheeks. He said, “I love you so much my heart feels like it might burst apart with it. I fall asleep thinking of you, Camille, and wake up with you on my mind. Right here,” and he indicated his bed with a tilt of his head. He kept my eyes captive in his gaze and whispered, “And I know you've been hurt before but you have to know that I would never hurt you, not ever.”

“Mathias,” I whispered, just to say his name. I touched his face, caressing him. He turned his lips to my right palm and kissed it. I told him, “I love putting my hands on you. Oh God, I dream about this all the time.” And I was crying, trembling in his arms, but I had to tell him. “I love you, oh God, I'm so in love with you. And I've been hurt but I trust you, Mathias, I trust you with all my heart.”

“Camille,” he said, and I knew I would never tire of hearing my name on his lips. Tears were in his eyes too and then he kissed me, so sweetly. Against my lips he whispered, “I have never known exactly where I was going until I found you. Since I was a kid I've been waiting to find you, I swear.” He brushed hair back from my face, tipping to kiss my neck with warm, lingering kisses. I held his head to me and felt those kisses all through my body, along every last nerve ending to the center of me. He whispered, “You taste so good,” and then his lips were upon mine, his special brand of deep, lush kissing. I pulled him to the bed, where he braced over me on his forearms, our hips aligning perfectly. Both of us were breathing hard and his cheekbones were flushed in the golden lamplight, his eyes as hotly blue as the bottom of a candle flame. He told me, “I fell in love with you the moment I saw you, but I realized it when you slipped my ring on your hand that night.”