Deliciously Obedient (3 page)

“
Krysta.”

“
Krysta?
How do you know—”

“
Her
sister’s autism causes. Jeremy’s one of the biggest donors.”

Miles
cocked one eyebrow. “Good for you.”

The
tension cut by half, but there had been a
lot
of tension. The
fifty-percent reduction didn’t do much. Jeremy found himself
breathing shallowly, and responded with great relief when Pete
offered to show him around the grounds. Sandy pulled Lydia aside and
made a hand motion toward the men that indicated that they’d catch
up in a moment. Miles strode back to his little clown car and tootled
off without a word.

“
We’ll
put him to good use, don’t worry,” Pete
called
back to Lydia, and then he turned to Jeremy and said, “You a beer
drinker?”

“
Hell,
yeah.”

“
Thank
God. Let’s go crack one open and then I’ll get to know you. You
can tell a lot about a man by the kind of beer he drinks.”

What’s
the right kind?
Jeremy wondered.

The
cabin that Pete led Jeremy to was a working man’s cabin. About ten
by twelve, it was more of a shed, with two chairs, a sink, a small
fridge and a little TV right next to a propane heater. This time of
year, Jeremy imagined, the propane heater was starting to get a
little use, especially during early mornings and late nights. Fall in
Maine this far north meant crisper weather. Soon he’d pull out his
ski coat, and it would be time to hit the slopes whenever he bothered
to be in town, though he tended to ski in New Hampshire, not Maine.
Perhaps that would change this year.

He
hoped that would change this year.

Closing
his eyes as Pete dug around in the refrigerator, Jeremy stopped that
thought.
Hoped.
He wasn’t going anywhere. No need to hope.
He just
would
.

“
You
ever have blueberry beer?” Pete asked, pulling out two amber
bottles.

“
Did
you just say blueberry
beer
?”

“
Yessir.
You’re in Maine, we’ve got blueberry
everything
.”

That
made Jeremy crack a smile. Pete handed him a bottle of Sea Dog Blue
Paw. As he cracked it open and took a sip, Jeremy savored the feel of
the cool liquid, and the taste, with a hint of blueberry, caught him
off guard. He’d had his array of specialties from around the world.
Everything from eating stir-fried cockroaches to drinking cat-shit
coffee. The civets in Indonesia would eat the red coffee berries and
then someone—Jeremy had no idea whom—would collect the digested
berries, rinse them, roast them, and then sell the civet coffee.

Cat-shit
coffee.

Blueberry
beer, then, really wasn’t all that exotic. His second guzzle
actually tasted kind of good. By the third he was nearly done with
the beer and Pete cocked an eyebrow and asked, “That nervous, huh?”

Jeremy
caught his eye, finished the bottle without breaking contact and then
asked, “That obvious, huh?”, which garnered a friendly laugh that
put Jeremy at ease. Without hesitation, Pete reached into the fridge,
pulled out another one, handed it to Jeremy and then stopped. “Wait,
you wanna try something different?”

“
You
have something different?”

“
You
into Flemish red ales?”

That
got Jeremy’s attention. Pete rummaged around, put the blueberry
beer back in and pulled out a lovely, small bottle of what Jeremy
could imagine would be considered truly exotic here in the backwoods
of Maine.

“
Tell
me how sour ales came to be popular around here.”

“
Famous
brew pub in western Maine. The guy has every kind of Belgian ale you
can imagine on tap.”

“
On
tap?” Jeremy made a low whistle.

“
Devoted
guy. When you find your passion, you create whatever it takes to live
it.”

Pete
cracked one open, handed it to Jeremy, cracked his own open and then
clinked bottlenecks. “Cheers. To finding the unexpected.”

Jeremy
dipped his chin down in deference to the many layers that the toast
resonated through. “To finding the unexpected.”

Two
beers later, and Jeremy felt at home. Pete was taking him through one
of the many fingers—the roads throughout the campground off the
main one—where campers, and tents, children and the melee of
activity was centered.

“
We’ve
got plans to put in another smaller hall here,” Pete explained,
pointing to another wooded area that looked untamed. “But that’s
gonna be a little while; we’ve gotta cover the expansion of the new
twenty acres.”

And
as Pete explained all of the plans for the future, Jeremy found
himself wondering whether there was a role for him in any of this.
Should
he be more attentive to the specifics that Pete was laying out? What
was Lydia up to right now?
He
imagined her mother grilling her, and what would Lydia say? “Well,
Mom, the job in Iceland didn’t work out, but now I’m sleeping
with Michael Bournham’s best friend, who Michael sent to watch over
me.” That would go over about as well as a Yankees sweatshirt up
here, he imagined.

Pete
poked his forearm and said, “Hey, you, too many beers?”

His
curious face was trying to get Jeremy’s attention, and he realized
that Pete had been talking to him and expected a response. “No,
sorry, uh…lost in thought.”

Pete’s
eyes narrowed. “This is a lot for you.”

“
No,
no,” Jeremy protested, “it’s not a—”

Pete
interrupted him again. “We can be a lot. The whole family is a bit
overwhelming, a little too much for people. You raise a big family
like I have, and when the one girl brings the first guy ever back
home…”

Ever.
The
word rang through his head like a gong in a Buddhist temple.
Ever?

Pete’s
voice continued. All Jeremy could hear was that word.
Ever
.

“
I
can’t believe you’re back!” The squeal of joy, and the feel of
Krysta’s arms around her neck, made Lydia wonder if she was in a
different reality.

“
What
are you doing here?” she mumbled into Krysta’s ear as the two
embraced. Sandy’s beaming face told Lydia exactly what had
happened. She looked at her mother and said,“You planned this?”

Krysta
shrugged. Sandy owned it: “Of course I planned it. Your best friend
needs to come to one of our famous talent shows.”

“
But
you have a family reunion,” she said to Krysta.

“
This
was more important.”

Tears
sprang to Lydia’s eyes. The day was emotionally difficult, full of
joy and also full of failure, of loss, of not knowing. Right now she
pushed all of that aside and smiled at her best friend.

“
And
you brought Jeremy here,” Krysta whispered, giving Lydia one of
those looks that only your best friend can give you. The kind that
combines a thousand-mile stare with a cocked eyebrow and a
no-bullshit expectation.

If
Sandy hadn’t been there, Lydia could have given her the real
answer—but she
was
there,
looking at Lydia with an expectant expression that made Lydia realize
that her mother was practically wedding-dress shopping in her mind.
Because Lydia had
never
brought
a man back to the campground. Ever.

“
He
must be special, if you’re bringing him here,” said Sandy.

“
I
don’t want to talk about that,” Lydia hissed.

“
Well,
he must be special if you brought him home,” Sandy insisted. “He’s
out having a beer with Dad and getting the grand tour.”

Lydia
knew what she should say. The right thing to say was that he
was
special, and that this was an amazing event in her life. But all she
kept thinking about was Mike.
Where
was Mike? Why had he disappeared? Was she using Jeremy as some sort
of replacement, or did she really want Jeremy on his own, as he was,
for who he was? Was Jeremy with her for the right reasons, or was he
just a playboy
who
was babysitting a fellow playboy’s toy?

The
whirlwind of her life meant that she never got to slow down on the
inside or the outside, to just see things for what they really were.
Here, at the campground, she had a shred of a chance of that, and
maybe that was her answer. She brought Jeremy here so that she could
make time stand still just long enough to figure out what she was
doing.

“
So,
Sandy,” Krysta said, winking at Lydia. “Tell me about your talent
show.”

Oh,
thank God,
Lydia
thought.
You
are my best, best, best, best friend.
Lydia
gave Krysta’s hand a squeeze and mouthed, “
T
hank
you.
”

Krysta
mouthed back, “
Y
ou
so owe me.
”