Wild Flower (22 page)

I looked frantically at my sister for help and she shrugged, clearly saying without words,
I think he has a point, Jilly.

Blythe said casually, “I'll join you,” and Justin acknowledged this with a nod. My husband and my brother-in-law disappeared into the shifting crowd and I stood up in a frenzy of nerves, feeling like I might vomit.

“Jilly, it's all right,” Jo said, jumping up as though I was perched on the edge of a building ledge, catching my upper arm. I shook free of her and tried to shove through the crowd, but Jo skirted the table and tugged me back.

“Dammit, Jillian, you're pregnant,” Jo said. “Don't make me sit on you.”

“You're not at all upset that your own husband is walking into a potential fight?” I snapped at her, not sitting down, my nerves raw. “Like that would be a smart thing for him!”

“Now you're just being mean,” Jo said. Her voice rose and she added heatedly, “He's not going to get into a fight!”

“I'm glad you can read the future now! Maybe you can tell me how this all turns out!” I yelled at her.

“Maybe you should be glad we have men who
care enough
about us to take care of us and
stand up
for us! Justin is doing the right thing. You're the one who's being ridiculous!” Jo yelled right back, her golden-green eyes absolutely flashing with anger. We hadn't gone after each other this badly since our teenage years.

“Maybe I don't want to have to accept collect calls from my husband while he's
in jail!
” I stormed, and with that I had gone too far. Jo's eyes narrowed and her lips compressed into a line of rage; she'd had to do that very thing three summers ago, when Bly had been behind bars in Oklahoma.

“Maybe you should shut your mouth!” Jo shouted, and now there were tears in her eyes. “You're being
such a bitch
and I don't understand it at all!”

I opened my mouth to fire a retort, only to realize that Justin and Bly were already back to the table, both of them obviously a little stunned by this evidence of Jo and I fighting. My face was hot and Jo looked away from everyone, discreetly trying to swipe at the wetness in her eyes. I felt terrible, not that I would admit it at the moment.

“He's gone,” Blythe told me, moving at once to his wife's side, gently caressing her neck. She acknowledged this with a sort-of half smile, keeping her eyes from me. I heard him ask her, “Do you want to go, sweetheart?”

She shook her head, taking a deep breath and then sitting down again. With determination she caught up her drink and said, “No, I'd like to hear the music.”

Bly sat near her and kept one hand lightly on the back of her neck. There was little choice but to rejoin them at the table, and Justin and I did so.

Justin had about a thousand questions he wanted to ask, as I clearly discerned, but he said only, “He's not here anymore, we even checked the bathroom. If he shows up anywhere near the café, or anywhere near you for that matter, I want you to call me right away.”

“I will,” I said, my heart slowly regaining a more regular pace. I kept my eyes from Jo and told my husband, “I appreciate that you were willing to talk to him. But I hate the thought of you getting in a fight. It makes me sick.”

“It's not that I want to get in a fight,” Justin defended himself. The music was starting and he leaned closer so I could still hear him. “But when I saw him touch you I just about came unglued. I thought the glasses in my hands might shatter, I'm not kidding.”

“That's how I felt this afternoon,” I said, referring to Aubrey. “Her thinking she could put her hands on you.”

Justin sighed and then a grudging smile lifted his lips. He admitted, “Yeah, it pretty much sucks. But dammit, Jilly, I'm not vulnerable to her the way you are to this guy. That shit he said to you. What the fuck? Who talks that way and thinks he can get away with it? If you see him again, call me.”

“I will,” I said again.

We listened to the music for a good hour. When the band took a small break, I sent my sister a silent message that I was sorry for being a bitch. She met my eyes and nodded a little, about half-acknowledging that she accepted my apology.

“Camille called us this afternoon,” Jo said then. “They were just rolling into Montana.”

Blythe said, “We should drive out there, next summer maybe, do some camping. Do you think Matthew will be old enough to ride in the car that long by then?”

I studied my brother-in-law with fondness. I had finally gotten used to his goatee, which made him look a little older than he actually was; no one would ever guess that he was twelve years younger than Joelle. His long, wavy hair was tied back on his neck, as he preferred, and Joelle was absently stroking her fingers through its length as he talked. I knew, just like me, that she liked when her man's hair was long enough to sink her hands into.

“He'd probably sleep most of the way anyway,” I said.

“We could all go,” Blythe said. “God, that would be fun. You think the kids would be up for it?”

“Dad took us camping all the time at that age,” Justin said. “Bly, we should take the kids a few times over to the state park first, see how they handle it. It's all fun and games until it starts to rain and everyone has to crowd into one tent.”

“I'm in,” Blythe said, taking a long swallow from his beer. “We could go this weekend maybe, what do you say?”

“That might work out,” Justin agreed. I knew he liked Blythe a great deal, considered him a little brother. I recalled the day that Justin had taught Bly how to replace some belt in his truck's engine, and smiled at the memory. Justin was a good teacher, and could be patient when he chose.

Jo's cell phone began buzzing on the tabletop, and she said, “It's Ruthie. I'd say that's our cue.”

Ten minutes later Bly dropped us at Shore Leave to collect Rae, but she was sleeping in Camille's old bed at Mom's house, and Mom insisted that she would just bring her home in the morning.

“You two go on home and have a nice evening,” Mom insisted, kissing my cheek at the front door, and I wondered if she meant that as in,
Go have some amazing sex and forgive each other
, or was just offering a pleasantry.

The forest path was lit by the almost-full moon, which was terribly romantic. The crickets serenaded us, the moonlight throwing patterns all over our bodies as we walked side by side beneath the thick trees, along the familiar route back to our cabin. I was so aware of my husband that I could hardly catch my breath; he didn't try to take my hand and I felt horribly deprived.

Dammit, it's up to you to apologize
, I thought and I took a breath to do just that, when Justin suddenly said, “I smell pot.”

I did then too, even though it wasn't something we'd ever partaken of with any regularity, even as younger versions of ourselves. I heard my son's laughter next, in chorus with a couple of others, and we came out of the woods to spy Clint, Jeff and Liam all gathered on the porch and passing a joint.

Instead of going apeshit, which was my first instinct, I said only, “Clint Daniel Henriksen, you get your butt inside right now.”

Their laughter fell away as if a guillotine blade had fallen. Clint leaped to his feet and his voice cracked through about an octave as he said, “Mom! I didn't think you'd be home for hours!”

“So that excuses this?” I asked, drawing abreast of the three boys; Liam and Jeff could hardly meet my eyes. Clint, who had been holding the joint, chucked it onto the grass and ground it into oblivion with the toe of his flip-flop sandal.

“Boys, why don't I bring you home?” Justin said to Liam and Jeff, and I couldn't tell if he was angry or actually just restraining laughter. I thought the latter, but he wouldn't dare to admit to it, at least not in front of the boys. To me he said, “I'll be right back.”

“Uncle Justin, you're not gonna tell Dad, are you?” Jeff started in right away, and Justin shook his head at me as he herded the boys towards his truck, parked in our driveway.

“Of course I'm going to tell him,” Justin said. “Shit, you think I want him finding out I
didn't?
”

I restrained the urge to take my son by the ear. I ordered, “Go and sit at the kitchen table.” Clint obeyed me without another word. I stood in our yard and watched Justin climb behind the wheel of his truck. He rolled down the window and I called to him, “Hurry back.”

“I will,” he assured me, his voice softening, and then I followed in Clint's footsteps to find him in his chair, watching me with wary eyes. The only illumination in the room came from the small light above the stovetop.

Instead of pleading with me, Clint said, “I'm sorry. We hardly ever smoke pot, Mom, I promise. We do drink sometimes.”

I sat across from him with a sigh and said, “I know, son.”

“Are you disappointed in me?” he asked plaintively.

I reached to curl my hands around Clint's; I squeezed them in mine and experienced a sting of awareness that his hands felt like a man's, no longer my little boy's. I said, “I could never be disappointed in you. Don't ever think that, sweetheart. But I'm disappointed that you made this choice, especially on the heels of telling Dad and me that you don't want to go to college. Can you see how we might interpret that as a troublesome thing?”

He blew out a breath and replied, “Yeah, I do. But I'm not a pot smoker, Mom, I'm not. I don't even know why we were smoking just now, except that it seemed like fun.”

“Where did you get it?” I asked, releasing his hands.

“From Lisa,” he said, knuckling his eyes, naming Jeff's sister, Wordo's oldest daughter. Shit, it was just another thing we'd have to tell Wordo and Liz. As if they didn't have their own hands full enough.

I sighed again and then said, “No more, all right? Promise me?”

“I promise,” Clint said. “I really do. I'm sorry.” Half teasing, he asked, “You won't send me away to college, will you?”

“Go to bed, I can't deal with you anymore,” I teased right back.

Clint stood and walked two steps before he turned to look at me again. He said quietly, “Hey,” and his eyes held mine, serious and steady. He looked more like a man than he ever had as he said to me, “Mom, you belong with Justin. I can tell you're mad at him, but don't be. Please don't.”

“Clint,” I said, my heart aching at his soft words. “I'm not really mad at him. I'm just mad…at the situation.”

“I've never told him that I can see how much he loves you,” Clint said, and it sounded like he had tears in his throat. He whispered, “But I do see it. He loves you so much, Mom. I can only pray that I find a girl I love as much someday. When he looks at you, I can see how much you mean to him. Tell him you're not mad anymore, promise?”

Tears washed down my cheeks, and I said, “I promise.”

***

It might have been the
weed, but I could hear Clint snoring from his room no more than five minutes later. I slipped from my sundress and into the tank top I favored as a maternity night shirt, and then washed my face, water streaking over my neck. Free from any make-up, I studied my somber eyes in the mirror. So much had happened today, I couldn't process all of it, but I knew Clint was right. I knew that I had to stop being unreasonable and I was so sorry for how I had acted that my throat ached just remembering.

It seemed to take too long for Justin to get back from dropping off the boys, but probably he was stuck in a conversation with his sister and Wordo; I wondered if Jeff had spilled the beans on the way home and Lisa was now in trouble too. I lay on my back on our bed, smoothing one hand over my belly, listening to the owls in the woods, the wind chimes softly tinkling, restless and sensitized; my thoughts kept uncomfortably circling back to the strangeness of finding my panties on the counter this afternoon. I had almost made up my mind that it was nothing, that probably Rae had been playing in my things…

The truck grumbled into the driveway then and I rolled to one elbow. Less than a minute later Justin came in through the screen door and I heard him washing his hands at the kitchen sink. Electricity seemed to pulse through me while I waited for him. As he came into our darkened room and gently closed the door behind him, I sat up with some difficulty, a sob stuck in my throat, and whispered, “Justin.”

Before my next breath I was in his arms. I clung to him, tipping my cheek to his chest, as he swept tangled hair from the side of my neck to press his lips upon me. He lingered there, cradling me to him, and I could feel his heartbeat, thrashing along at a pace to match my own. He stroked my back and I gripped him around the torso, my hands spread like five-pointed stars.

“I'm so sorry,” I whispered, drawing back to see him. In the gray dimness of our nighttime room I framed his face with both hands. I said again, “I'm so sorry I let Aubrey make me that angry.”

“Baby,” he said, his voice rough with emotion, arms locked around me. “I'm sorry too. I hate that she upset you this much.”

“It's because I let her,” I whispered, my throat still swollen. I used one shoulder to swipe at my tears, unwilling to let go of him for even a second. “I let her make me that angry and I'm so sorry.” My heart lurched at how ridiculous I'd been, and I traced the sides of his face, tenderly smoothing his dark hair. “I shouldn't have let her.”

Justin leaned and kissed my forehead, breathing against me for a second. He whispered, “She wanted that.”

“I wanted to kill her for touching you, for saying those things,” I admitted, my fingers soft against his skin.

“Yeah, I saw that in your eyes,” he said, and there was just the faintest hint of humor in his voice. “And a part of me is even appreciative of that. But you're also carrying my son.” He drew a breath, his chest rising and falling, before he continued, “She's a horrible person and she makes me sick to my stomach, but you think I was going to stand by and let you get into a fight with her? Jesus, I just about had a heart attack when you lunged at her.”