A Notion of Love (19 page)

For good measure I did tickle him then, and he yelped and inadvertently deposited me on the ground.

***

Twenty minutes
later the party had that low-key, end-of-the-evening feel. Eddie was still plunking out slow melodies on his guitar; a handful of couples were swaying along. Gran and a few of her friends were lingering over last pieces of cake and coffee. My son and my nieces and about ten other kids were lounging around the leaping flames in the fire pit, laughing and joking. I was still on Justin's lap; he'd set aside both the beer bottle and the cake plate and had both arms tight around me as we murmured to each other. When Dodge got up to go and mess around with the fire, I tipped my face up against Justin's chin and whispered, “Let's go.”

He nodded in response, rising and taking my hand. No one seemed to be paying close attention as we skirted the edge of the activity to his truck. He was almost tense suddenly; I could sense it in the set of his shoulders and the way he drove. When we got to his house, he took my hand again, leading me. In his bedroom (which I privately referred to as
our
bedroom) he clicked on the lamp, then stopped and drew a breath, turning me to face him. His eyes were steady on mine, though again I could tell he was almost taut with nervous energy.

“Jillian,” he said then, and his eyes were so dark and almost fierce as he looked down at me. Then with one smooth motion, he dropped to his knee and my breath caught in my throat. My knees began to tremble and tears had already gathered on my lashes as he took my left hand in his, pressing it to his lips and then holding it to his cheek. He said, his voice low and intense, “I want you to be my wife.” Tears spilled onto my cheeks as he went on, “I want to hold you close to me every night of my life. I want to kiss your sweet mouth and I want to hear you tell me you love me. I want you to tell me what you dream at night and I want to make you laugh and feel your hands on me. I need you, Jillian, and I love you like I've never loved anyone before. I want to be there for you always.”

Joy spread like a wildfire through me. I cupped his jaw on either side, smoothing my fingers over his face. Somehow I'd known this was my present all along. I whispered, “Yes, oh Justin, yes.”

His smile took my breath away again, it was so radiant. He said, “Wait, I have a ring, sweetheart, I almost forgot,” and reached into his pocket, presenting not a ring box but the ring itself, held carefully between his index finger and thumb. His dark eyes were tender as he took my left hand, kissed it gently, and then slipped the band over my knuckle. He curled my fingers and kissed my hand again. Tears were clouding my vision and I dropped to my knees to be closer to him. He whispered, “Do you like it?”

I inspected the golden band he'd placed on my hand. It was beautiful, slim and delicate, with a round solitaire sparkling in the apricot glow of the lamplight. I whispered, “I love it. It fits perfectly.”

“I asked Joanie for your ring size,” he explained, thumbing my tears away and then kissing my cheeks, first one and then the other, with infinite gentleness. “I asked Louisa, Joanie and Clint all for permission, just so you know, which they gave. And we can set the date for whenever you want. Like this weekend. Outside, at the café, if you want. At sunset, maybe?”

I giggled a little despite the depth of my emotion, getting my arms around his neck. I explained, “I'm supposed to be the mind reader, not you.”

Justin kissed me, then teased, “Don't be too sure I don't have a few powers in that department too, baby.”

“You've had this in your pocket all evening?” I marveled, again inspecting my ring at close range. “You sweetheart.”

“I checked that it was there about a hundred times,” he said. “But I didn't want to leave it here. I couldn't wait to get it on your finger. I almost asked you at the party, but I thought you might prefer a little privacy.”

I felt tears flood again. I said, “You could have asked me anywhere. This is the most beautiful birthday present I've ever gotten. Oh, Justin, I love you.” I kissed his chin, his jaw, ending on his lips. “I love you so much. You don't even know.”

“I know,” he assured me. “I know every second.”

With a smooth motion, he scooped me into his arms and placed me on the bed. Poised above me, he marveled, “We're engaged.”

I smiled at him with every ounce of my considerable happiness. I said, “Next weekend, right?”

“Hell yes, baby.”

I teased, “Shit, we better hold off until the wedding night then. You know, out of propriety.”

Justin played along, saying, “Yeah, that's a good idea, sweetheart. Propriety.” He traced my bottom lip lightly with his thumb, bringing me back to that moment right before we got together for good, then tipped and kissed me deeply, busying himself sliding the straps of my dress over both shoulders and then down my body, finally drawing back to ask, “What was that you were saying?”

“Next weekend…” I muttered, busy myself, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans and yanking them down. “Don't listen to me. I only fantasize day and night about you kissing me…and touching me…”

“And making you scream my name, don't forget that,” Justin added, grinning at me, and I squeaked a little in protest, even knowing it was true. He laughed, skimming off my panties and tossing them across the room before shifting fluidly and settling me astride him. I rocked my hips and straddled his hard length; his resultant gasp made me grin wickedly at him.

“We'll see who's screaming what,” I challenged, as though he was my prisoner.

An hour later I was no longer speculating but certain I wouldn't be able to walk tomorrow. The covers were not on the bed. Neither were the pillows. We'd just energetically plowed through about every position I knew and a few I didn't, and I was at present sprawled sideways, my legs tangled in with Justin's, his hand curved over the back of my thigh. My hair was plastered to my temples with sweat. I needed a drink, but again, I could barely consider moving, let alone making it all the way to the kitchen.

He mumbled, “Did I mention that you're my soul mate, Jilly-Anne?”

I giggled, the sound muffled by the mattress; I was too exhausted to pick up my head. I tilted my face and managed to say, “You said something to that effect.”

“Never leave me,” he ordered, tightening his hand around my leg, and was snoring a second later.

I wiggled over to him and smoothed his hair with my left hand, admiring the sparkle of the ring he'd placed there. Then I kissed his temple, promising in his ear, “I won't.” And then I slept.

Part Two: Joelle

September, 2003: Landon, MN

I sat up fast, panicky, suddenly knowing
in my gut that something was terribly, terribly wrong. My hand was shaking and I couldn't press the right numbers. Blythe sat up at once and put his hands on my shoulders, steadying me.

“Joelle, what's the matter, sweetheart? What is it?”

I looked at him, terrified. My voice was shaking as I said, “Camille left me a message. It's Jilly. Oh Bly, something's wrong.”

Tears were already obscuring my vision but I could see the concern on his face. He took my phone in one big hand and dialed. Seconds later I could hear my mother's voice, and she was crying.
Oh God, oh God
. Frantic knocking on the front door, and my heart was pounding out of my chest. Blythe was asking Mom, “Joan, what's going on?”

Like someone in a horror movie, I couldn't move or think straight, as though enclosed, mired suddenly in tar. The knocking upstairs continued, and I shook myself together and grabbed my robe from the floor, hurried up the steps. I unlocked and flung open the door to see my girls standing there; my mother eyes did a quick, almost involuntary inventory, noting that they all appeared physically fine. But they were crying, and my heart continued to thunder in fear. Tish pitched into my arms and I sought Camille's eyes, knowing I had to remain calm and find out what was happening.

Bly was suddenly behind me then, clutching my shoulders. He pressed his face to my hair and his voice was harsh with pain as he said, “Jilly's in the hospital, Joelle.”

Camille sobbed, “Mom, they don't…they don't know…”

A soundless roar enveloped my head. Tish was clinging to me, Ruthie next, sobbing. Camille stood apart, her eyes locked on mine. Her beautiful eyes that were begging me to tell her that this wasn't happening.

“She was in a car accident,” Blythe said, his huge chest bracketing all three of us, me and my two younger girls. He bear-hugged the three of us. “Oh God, Joelle, she's hurt bad. They don't know if she's…if she's…” No one could bear to say it.

This wasn't right, somehow we'd deviated, someone was going to tell me this was just a big joke. I pictured my sister as I'd just seen her, yesterday evening on the porch, sitting on Justin's lap, wrapped in his arms, drinking a root beer float. In the intervening hours, how could she have been in a car accident? What in the fucking hell?

“Girls,” I ordered, finding a shred of control and exercising it; I had to know what happened. “Girls, what happened?”

Tish and Ruthie drew back, both knuckling their eyes, and Blythe led them to the couch, where he sat and kept one arm around each. Camille faced me, swallowing hard and replying, “She was driving home from Justin's last night and when…” my daughter heaved a breath and I put my hands on her shoulders; she felt so slim and slight beneath my palms. She managed, “When she was coming home a truck hit her broadside. It just happened a few hours ago, Mom. Some tourist guy was driving and he called 911, and they took her into Bemidji right away. We all just found out…” and again her voice trailed away into a gasping breath.

“Where're Mom and Ellen?” I asked immediately. “And Clint? Oh God, where's Justin?”

“Joan and Ellen are on the way to the hospital, sweetheart, and they've got Clint,” Blythe told me from the couch. “Joan said Jillian is in surgery right now. Dodge went to tell Justin just a little bit ago. I'd imagine they'll head there right away.”

I could barely ask, but I had to know, “How bad?”

“She got hit pretty hard,” Bly said, his voice low and rough. “Her collarbone and ribs…Joan didn't know anything else.”

I felt my knees growing weak and reached out to cling to Camille. She caught me around the waist and I hugged her hard, smelling her hair, breathing against her for strength.

Oh God, Jillian. Fight, you have to fight like you've never fought before. We need you so much. You can't possibly even think of leaving us. Oh, dear God
. I sent my sister all of the strength of my silent plea, knowing somehow she'd hear. She had to; there was no other option. My limbs were starting to get shaky and I knew I had to act, had to move.

“I'll get dressed and we'll go,” I ordered, and hurried back downstairs.

Fifteen minutes later we had loaded into the Toyota, the girls clinging to each other's hands in the backseat; I clutched Bly's right hand in both of mine as he steered us onto the highway, and he angled me a concerned gaze, squeezing me tightly. I knew he longed to tell me that it would be all right, but he didn't dare. But it would, it had to be. I clung to him and we rode in silence to the hospital in Bemidji.

I felt as though I had again entered into a nightmare as we crossed the parking lot under blinding sun fifteen minutes later. I saw Dodge's car, and Rich's pick-up, but no station wagon.

“Where's Mom?” I wondered aloud, scanning the vehicles.

“Jilly was driving the wagon,” Blythe said quietly.

The ancient shitty wagon, which would have offered no protection in a crash. My stomach was ill, swirling with fear as we rode the elevator to the fourth floor at the direction of a nurse. The elevator doors slid open soundlessly upon a waiting room that was glinting in the sunlight. Despair, however, was radiating from everyone within. Mom and Ellen were sitting on either side of Justin, who was bent over his knees, clutching his head. Their hands were on his back, offering what solace they could. My heart flew into my throat, thinking the worst. But Dodge's big hands caught my shoulders and he pulled me to him, saying in my ear, “She's in surgery, Jo, she's alive.”

I looked up into his devastated eyes, knowing he'd tell me the truth. The girls flooded to Clint, who was sitting by Rich. Rich had his arm securely around him, and Clinty was leaning against the older man's chest. My girls descended like a flock of maternal birds.

“How is she, Dodge?” I whispered.

Dodge said, “She'll make it, Jo, she has to.” But his eyes were scared. He looked back at his son and whispered, his voice in agony, “My boy. He can't handle this.”

“Did you tell him?” I asked, letting Dodge lead me to a chair. He sat near, keeping one arm around me. Blythe sat on my other side and I caught his hand again in mine. Between him and Dodge, I felt a measure of security, and I clung to that.

Dodge nodded, his eyes crinkling at the corners as tears flooded. He wiped his eyes roughly on one big shoulder, saying, “He thinks it's his fault since he didn't drive her home like he usually does.”

“Aw, Justin, dammit,” I said, low, aching for him. His passion was intense, I knew from Jillian, but when misdirected it was potentially devastating.

Somehow the morning passed. Blythe and Rich went to get some breakfast for all of us, though only the kids were able to nibble anything. Justin pulled himself together, though the sight of him just about killed me. He'd been weeping and looked haunted, the shadows beneath his dark eyes bruise-like. The moment Justin stood up, Clinty went to him, his own eyes red-rimmed and sorrowful. Without a word he curled into Justin's arms and clung. Justin held him tightly, tipping his face down against Clinty's dark hair. It was so fatherly, so endearing, that tears filled my eyes yet again.

“It'll be okay,” I heard him murmur to Clinty, and for whatever reason his words comforted me too.

It was early evening before a slim, balding doctor spoke to us: Jillian's left shoulder, upper arm and collarbone had all been broken; in addition she'd suffered three cracked ribs on her left side, a punctured lung and multiple lacerations. At the moment she was still considered in critical condition and hooked to a breathing tube.

“Can we see her?” Mom asked, her voice hoarse, holding Ellen's arm. For the first time I realized that today was Wednesday, and we had planned to scatter Gran's ashes off the dock.

Oh Gran, what I wouldn't give to have you here now. Oh God.

I went immediately to Mom's other side and bolstered her, willing myself to stay dry-eyed despite what the doctor had just described about my baby sister, my Jilly Bean.

He nodded. “But just for a moment. And not everyone, I'm sorry.”

Mom looked to Ellen for guidance and my aunt said decisively, “Joan, you take Jo and Justin with you. And Clint.”

I held Mom's elbow against my side as we followed the doctor down a long sterile hallway, Justin and Clint just behind us. Clinty, sweet boy, was still clinging to Justin's arm like a little kid. The room we entered was on the right, small and containing a single twin bed and an array of machinery. I made an inadvertent sound at the sight of Jillian in amongst all that medical equipment, so tiny and frail, her eyes closed and a tube protruding from her mouth. Mom sagged and I held her, then reached my arm for my nephew as Justin went to the bedside and sank to his knees, gripping the metal bars and tipping his forehead against the topmost. Clint was crying again, almost soundlessly, and I held him as best I could with one arm, but Mom said, “Clinty, come here, sweetheart,” and caught him close.

I moved to stand beside Justin, whose breathing was harsh. I had no words, so I sent Jilly another telepathic message, forcing myself to look at her pale face which appeared at present so lifeless that my heart shrank in my chest. Her long dark lashes lay fan-like on her cheeks. I would have given just about anything to see the incredible blue of her eyes.

Jillian, Jilly Bean. Don't leave us. Oh God, don't even think of it. Jilly, we love you so much. We need you so much
.

Justin lifted his face and again his expression was one of a man being tortured to his own death. With infinite gentleness he touched the edge of Jilly's hand, which lay limp upon the white bed sheet, palm up, her slim, delicate fingers curled slightly inward. Her engagement ring glinted in the light.

“Sweetheart, I love you,” he said, looking intently into her face. Tears washed over his cheeks almost as though he didn't realize. “Jillian, I love you. I'm right here. I'll stay right here until you wake up.”

Hear him, please hear him
, I begged her, letting my fingertips touch the blanket over her leg. So gently, as though she was a baby bird. I was reminded uneasily of the cloth that had covered Gran just a few days ago when Cal Price had taken her away, and forced that from my mind instantly.

“Mr. Henriksen, may we have a moment?” the doctor was asking then.

Justin looked up in confusion and I realized, a step behind, that the doctor was assuming Justin was her husband. And Jilly's last name was, of course, Henriksen.

“Yeah,” Justin said, his voice hoarse. He looked back at Jilly for a long moment, before slowly following the doctor into the hall.

Mom and Clint moved to my side. Mom smoothed the blanket over Jilly's leg as though tucking her in, echoing Justin's words, “Sweetie, we'll be here the whole time.”

Clint added, “Mom, I love you. Please hear me. Please hear that, Mom. I love you.”

“Oh, Clinty, she hears you,” I reassured him, concentrating all of my love towards my sister. “She knows.”

There seemed to be a small commotion in the hallway. I heard someone say, “He's fainted,” and moved swiftly to see what was happening; sure enough, Justin had collapsed onto the floor, though his eyelids were fluttering even as a nurse swooped in to take his pulse. He sat up and yanked his hand away, looking to me in desperation.

“She's pregnant, Jo,” Justin whispered then. “Jilly's pregnant.”

My eyes flew to the doctor's face, and he confirmed, “According to the hCG levels in her blood, probably no more than a few weeks.”

“Is the baby alive?” I demanded breathlessly.

“There's no reason to think not, despite everything,” the doctor said. “We'll be able to tell more in a few days.”

***

Justin would
not be moved from Jilly's bedside. He became practically feral if anyone suggested he go home for a rest, even Dodge. For the next three days Jillian remained unchanged, floating in darkness while we waited. So far she hadn't miscarried, which was a good sign. We all took turns sitting with Justin, who talked to her constantly. Blythe and I stayed late each of the nights; Justin's darker side emerged as the sun went down and the bustle of daytime routine in the hospital quieted, and I was so incredibly grateful for Bly, who took things in stride, who seemed to know just what to say when Justin grew utterly despondent.

“I can't bear this,” Justin said harshly the second night, near one in the morning. He sat with his head in his hands, fingers plunged into his hair. “If anything happens to her I'll fucking die. I will shoot myself.”

My heart clenched at his tone, and I couldn't help but admonish, “Justin,” but Bly shook his head just slightly at me, hooking a hand over Justin's shoulder and squeezing him.

“God, I love her so much. I have never loved anyone like this,” Justin went on, his voice low and ragged, punctuated by harsh breaths. “I should have known that the moment I found happiness I'd get knocked down again, kicked in the teeth. Oh God,
Jillian
…”

“Justin,” I pleaded, so worried for him, wanting him to stop talking that way; Jillian would hate that he was saying such things. I looked again at my little sister, so very still on the bed, begging her to wake up, to be all right. None of us would be able to bear it, but I didn't say that to Justin. I couldn't bear to even think it.

Bly kept his hand steady and after a moment Justin said from behind his palms, his voice still shaking, “I'm sorry, don't listen to me. I'm just so damn scared…”

“Don't be sorry,” Bly said softly. “You love her, and she loves you. Remember that night we went to Eddie's and you two played pool? God, if I could have bottled the attraction between you two that night.”