Winter at the White Oaks Lodge (8 page)

“But he's not a city boy,” Tina said. “He used to spend all summer in the cabin, without any electricity or hot water, like a crazy person.”

“Yeah, it's not like he didn't wander over to the lodge when he was hungry or needed a shower,” Elaine remembered, smiling.

Aunt Ellen set my pitcher on the bar and so I said, “I gotta grab that. You guys all right for now? Tina, that round of shots is on me.”

“I just fucking love you,” Tina said, winking at me. “Thanks, Camille.”

At the bar, I said, “Hey, Jake.”

“Hey,” he said in response. “How's everything?”

“Good,” I told him. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing much,” he said, and his dark brown eyes caressed my face. I felt my heart give an awkward thump. I studied him with a frown just edging my forehead, almost willing myself to fall for him. He was good-looking and kind, and I knew he liked me way more than he would admit. But to what end? It wasn't like he planned to stick around Landon; he had told me numerous times about how much he loved Minneapolis. Besides that, he was no older than me at nineteen, nowhere near ready or inclined to be someone's stepfather.

“I'm pretty busy,” I said, trying not to compare the expression on his face to the one I had surely worn when I looked at Noah two summers ago, adoring and wishing so badly for attention in return. At least I wouldn't take advantage of that with Jake. Although he would probably be open to far more than kissing.

Camille
, I scolded myself.

“You want to watch the sunset later?” he asked guilelessly, leaning on his elbows over the bar. He was wearing jean shorts and a junky white t-shirt, sandals with straps; he'd undoubtedly been out on Flickertail today. He liked to fish.

“Sure, if it hasn't set before I'm done,” I told him, catching up the pitcher and nodding towards my table. “I gotta go.”

He nodded and gave me a smile.

Later I collected Millie from Grandma before joining Jake on the dock; the three of us caught the tail end of the sunset. I held Millie on my lap, keeping her close as she wasn't wearing her life jacket, repeatedly smoothing her hair from tickling my face as the light breeze caught her curls. The sunset had an electric-pink glow this evening, my favorite, and I felt a small measure of contentment.

“Millie Jo, what's your favorite color?” Jake asked, keeping a running commentary with my daughter.

“Purple!” she yelped, then giggled, covering her mouth with both hands.

“She looks so much like you,” Jake noted, looking back at me.

“I'm glad,” I heard myself say, before immediately regretting the comment; it was the kind of thing that I should never speak aloud in front of Millie, especially when she grew old enough to understand that indirectly I meant that I was glad she didn't resemble her dad.

“Does Noah see her much?” he asked, low.

I shook my head. “Not since last summer. But what do you do? His parents still send me a check every month. I've been putting all of it into a bank account for Millie.”

“I'm sorry, Camille,” he said quietly, and his left hand twitched a little, as though he intended to reach for my right; to my relief he didn't, and my shoulders relaxed again.

“It's all right,” I said back, just as quietly. And then, to Millie, “What do you say we go read a bedtime book?”

“No, Mama!” she cried, flailing against me.

“And that means it's time to call it a night,” I informed Jake.

“Camille, I'm going to work up near International Falls for the rest of the summer,” Jake said then, a small catch in his voice, and I looked over at him, surprised. “I just found out.”

“You are?” I found myself slightly disappointed in this news.

He nodded. “I'm doing some stuff with the Forestry Department up there in Koochiching County. A couple of other guys on the volunteer fire squad hooked me up with a job.”

“Oh,” I said.

At that moment Mom clacked out the porch door and called down, “Millie Jo, come give me a hug good-bye!”

Millie squirreled free of my lap and I turned to watch her like a hawk as she navigated the dock and then ran up to the café. I saw Mom hold open the porch door to let Millie inside, before I turned back to Jake. The air around us was no longer tinted pink but instead the gray of advancing night. In this gloaming light, Jake studied me with his dark eyes serious.

“Can I kiss you good-bye, Camille?” he asked then. “I know we're not together like that…but I…but we…”

I felt a rush of pity and tenderness on the edge of my gaping loneliness. Without saying a word, I leaned to kiss him, putting my hands on his shoulders, suddenly determined to give it a second chance. He caught me instantly close, kissing me back with so much feeling that internally I writhed in shame. His lips were warm and he tasted sweet this evening, like spearmint gum. His tongue was in my mouth, his arms around me, and there yet wasn't one firework exploding in my brain. Instead I found myself analyzing what brand of gum he'd been chewing earlier.

When he drew away, he said at once, “I know you're not ready to date, I do. But promise me the second you are, you call me. All right?”

I nodded weakly.

Jake collected me back against him. His neck, where my nose was pressed, was warm and smelled like the lake. He kissed my hair and then said, “I'll miss you, Camille.” And though there was nothing accusatory in his voice, his words still cut into me with guilt. He whispered, “And I'll never quit hoping that sometime you'll miss me a little bit too.”

November 2005

“Bull asked if I could help out at the bar in the lodge this winter,” I told Grandma. “He said through New Year's, if that's all right with you. I think a change of pace would be good.”

Grandma said, “I know you like it there, sweetie. How many nights a week were you thinking?”

“Just Fridays and Saturdays,” I said. “So I can still pick up lunch shifts at Shore Leave. What do you think, Grandma?”

“I think you look excited about it,” Grandma said. “And that's enough for me. You don't get out, sweetie. I worry that you don't visit with any young folks.”

“Tish and Ruthie,” I countered.

“You know what I mean,” Grandma said. “What about Jake?”

I said softly, “I like Jake so much, Gram, but not…I don't…” I stumbled to an awkward halt.

“I know,” she said. She studied me unblinkingly for a moment, before saying, “Why don't you tell Bull that you've agreed to take the job?”

***

I started
the very next day, Bull giving me the grand tour through the place as I listened with rapt attention. He told me about each part of the structure, which Carter ancestor had added what. The original building, constructed by Boyd Carter back in the 1860s, now housed the check-in desk, which Diana managed.

“Camille, it's good to have another history buff around,” she told me. “Bull would talk the hind leg right off a donkey, if we let him.” Diana was an older version of Tina, Glenna and Elaine, with navy-blue eyes and thick red hair shot through with silver threads, cut into shoulder-length waves. She regarded her husband with fondness and said, “And we've heard all your stories, haven't we, hon?”

“You love them,” he teased her right back.

Tina and Elaine also worked in the bar on the weekends, and Elaine showed me the ropes the first Friday. The bar and adjacent dining room were housed in the section of White Oaks that had been built in the 1970s, by Bull's father. It was designed a little like an old-fashioned saloon, the bar top a gleaming expanse of polished oak built over rough-cut logs, like the side of a cabin. Each bar stool was handmade and unique, as were all of the chairs in the dining room, sturdy and upholstered with varying shades of leather in tones of brown, from coffee to caramel. The floor was constructed of reclaimed barn wood, according to Bull, and a long mirror framed in logs graced the wall behind the bar, along with all of the top-shelf liquor. The tables were covered in creamy linen, arranged artfully around the massive stone fireplace, which contained a cheerfully crackling fire. Three pool tables shared the expansive space, along with a glowing jukebox and three dart boards.

The best feature of all was closed off for the season, an expanse of floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the wide front balcony that ran the entire length of White Oaks and offered a panoramic view of Flickertail. Even now, with snow dominating the landscape, it was dazzlingly beautiful. The sun was just setting on the far side of the lake, throwing red sparks on the icicles and over the glittery frozen surface of the water. I sighed a little, studying it, and Elaine followed the direction of my gaze, agreeing, “It's lovely, isn't it? I've lived here my entire life and I've never grown tired of the view.”

“I know what you mean,” I said. “I mean, I didn't grow up here, but the past few years have made me appreciate that I live here now.”

“Yeah, it's not exactly a hotbed of activity up here, but I wouldn't change it for the world,” Elaine said. She looked my way and smiled. “Now, we're not busy quite yet, since it's early in the evening, but we'll be bumping in about an hour.”

White Oaks was booked with guests through New Year's, but was also a destination for the local crowd. I didn't recognize the two families seated in the dining room at the moment, and so figured they must be tourists. ‘Out of towners,' was the expression people around here used, speaking it so quickly the three words blended into one.

“But that gives us perfect time to teach you a few of the specialty drinks,” Elaine went on. She was the youngest of the Carter girls at twenty-eight, which she had rubbed in with a great deal of glee on the eve of Tina's birthday at Shore Leave. Unlike her sisters, who were energetic and talkative like their father, Elaine was quieter, more observant. Her husband Mike worked for the Department of Natural Resources as a surveyor; they had two daughters. She regarded me for another moment and asked, “Can I tell you something?”

“Sure,” I said gamely.

Elaine tipped her head and pursed her lips as though fishing for the way to best express her thoughts. At last she settled for, “Tina told you that I read the cards, right?”

I nodded.

“Well, I do, but I also get these strong senses of people. I can't quite figure out what I'm sensing with you…” she trailed off, tapping her index finger on her chin. I felt a little shiver dart up my spine and my arms broke out in goose bumps. Elaine noticed and said, “See, you get what I'm talking about! All I can speculate is that there's a…this sounds weird, but it's what I'm getting…there's a rip in your soul. An old one, from a long time ago. And it needs to get stitched back up.”

I shivered again, as though in acknowledgment, fascinated by her words in spite of everything.

“I know it sounds crazy,” Elaine said. “See, your soul, like everyone's, has been around forever, and it—”

“Laney!” Diana called then, her nickname for Elaine, coming through the swinging door that led back to the kitchen, just like at the Shore Leave. Diana's face was radiant with a smile. She asked, “Guess who's coming home for Christmas?”

Elaine cried, “No way! The little shit is able to get some time off?”

“
Elaine
,” her mother scolded. “But yes!”

“Well that's the best thing I've heard all day,” Elaine said, giving her mother a quick hug before asking me, “And on that note, how would you like to learn how to make a White Oaks Wizard?”

At home in bed that night, I pondered Elaine's words about the rip in my soul. I was not normally swept up in those kinds of abstract comments; I had been the one who scoffed at my friends from back in Chicago when they got all excited about their horoscopes and birth signs.

But you believe Aunt Jilly. Her notions are never wrong, so there is certainly something more to the world than you can see
, I acknowledged as I lay on my back, Millie snoring gently beside me. Did Elaine mean past lives? I hadn't a chance to ask her this evening, working by her side learning all of the various drinks featured at White Oaks in the midst of an ever-increasing crowd; people were in the holiday spirit, as Thanksgiving had come and gone, opening the avenue for full-scale Christmas merriment.

I'll ask her tomorrow
, I thought, and rolled to my right side, drawing up my knees before I fell asleep.

***

The mountains.

I could see their hazy peaks on the distant horizon as I walked slowly along, my feet bare, the ground beneath them almost painful as it prickled into my flesh. Tall grass on all sides of me, the sun about three hours past noon. I was so thirsty that my tongue seemed twice its normal size and I was having trouble thinking of anything other than water. Even my own despair seemed minimized by the desire for liquid. But in the next second it surged back to the surface, as brutal as a fist landing a blow to my heart.

Where are you?
I begged then, pausing and directing this unspoken question to the enormous and mocking sky that arched over me. My body was desperate to sink to the ground and I battled with this temptation.

Don't stop walking
, I reminded myself.
You cannot stop walking. That means death. Stopping means death.

I can't die.

He's looking for me.

I know this
.

Ragged sobs choked me then, and longing for him radiated outward from the center of me.

He won't stop searching.

Goddammit, keep walking
.

He will find you.

***

Silvery morning
light, indicating yet another cloud-covered day, touched my eyelids and I blinked once, then twice, sitting up slowly. I had the strangest sense of a nightmare; the essence of it lingered in my mind in shreds, before being swept completely away as I came fully awake. I reached immediately for Millie Jo and saw that she was not in bed; my heart kick-started, punching me, but then I realized that I could hear her down in the kitchen with Aunt Ellen. The scents of coffee and bacon pressed on my nose and I likewise pressed a palm to my heart, attempting to slow its frantic pace; the normalcy of a Saturday morning like any other calmed me a fraction and I drew a deep breath. Beside my bed, on the nightstand, the picture of Malcolm Carter, along with his letter and telegram, were still front and center; the photograph had been there for nearly two years now.