Winter at the White Oaks Lodge (16 page)

“Noah,” Mathias said through clenched teeth. “Just came in here.”

“What?” I asked dumbly, startled at this pronouncement. My stomach went all at once hollow and cold. I looked over my shoulder as though expecting Noah to be standing there. I hadn't seen him in over a year.

“He's at the bar with Mandy Pearson,” Mathias explained. “Camille, you don't have to go out there, I'm telling you.”

“He can do what he wants,” I said, though nervous tension flooded me at the thought of the two of them sitting out at the bar. I felt sweat prickle between my breasts and beneath my arms.

Mathias said heatedly, “You know what I want to do? I want to go out there and fucking slam his head against the bar and then ask him if he knows what his little girl wants for Christmas.”

At his heartfelt if rather violent words, tears seeped into my eyes.

Mathias said intently, “Don't cry. Oh God, it breaks my heart and I want to kill him even more. I hate that he has this much power over your emotions.”

I drew a breath and turned to him, setting aside my order notebook and pen, reaching up to put my hands on his shoulders. His blue eyes were fierce with emotion of his own, and I said truthfully, “He has no power over me. But what you said…about him not knowing what Millie wants for Christmas…just makes me sad for my daughter. That the person who conceived her is so worthless.”

He caught me into a hug, fast and hard, kissing my temple. He said against the side of my forehead, “You don't have to go out there. I'll take care of that last table for you. Don't give him the satisfaction.”

I allowed myself to cling to him, this man whose scent seemed more familiar to me than my own these days. Whose powerful arms had tenderly cradled me every night this week, in whose arms I expected to be held later tonight. I said softly, “I'm not a coward.”

“I know,” he said at once, drawing back to look at my eyes. He smiled a little then, and tried for a little teasing, as though to get me to smile too, “But one word from you and—” and he pulled away enough to slam a fist into the opposite palm. He added, “I admit I would take pleasure in it. Shit.”

I did smile then, a crooked little smile. I said, “Quit it. He won't even notice me. I'll just finish up this last table.”

Mathias narrowed his eyes and looked back in the direction of the bar. He said, “I'll keep my eye on him.”

I ducked into the employee bathroom before daring to brave the floor. I had a shred of pride left, buried beneath the weight of my anger and resentment towards Noah Utley. I was going to assume that he didn't realize I was working here this winter. Surely he would not show his face at Shore Leave unannounced this way; he couldn't have known I was at White Oaks. At least I hoped he would have more class than to show up with his new girlfriend where the mother of his basically-unacknowledged child worked. Though nothing should surprise me about him, not anymore. I gave myself a quick, critical perusal before proceeding into the dining room.

But then my heart punched my breastbone as I saw that Tess French had also joined Noah and Mandy. Even though I knew that Mathias and Tess's relationship was over, had been over since high school, a white-hot poker of jealousy seemed to have been rammed down my throat. Noah may not have existed for all I cared about him at that moment. I realized I had stopped walking and was staring at them. Mathias looked over at me and his expression softened. His hands were braced on the bar, spread wide, like a bartender from an old-time saloon. My heart doubled its speed and I dragged my eyes away and proceeded to the far side of the dining room to check on my table.

“Why's Matty so upset at the bar?” Tina asked as I re-entered the kitchen to collect their mozzarella sticks. She added, “Crap, he looks like he's about to spit out a few nails.”

I shrugged as though I had no idea. A minute later Mathias caught up with me in the kitchen, his hands full of empty beer mugs, which he deposited with a clatter into the sink. He said, “He doesn't know you're here. He's pretty drunk. He tried to talk to me like we're friends or something.”

“Tess is here too,” I said, not intending to sound so pointed.

“I can't help that,” he said quietly.

A half hour passed. I wrapped up my last table and studiously avoided the bar, while Noah apparently proceeded to drink three whiskey Cokes, according to Mathias, who kept me informed. Tess and Mandy continued chatting, giggling and acting like morons. Not that I noticed or anything. I had cleared three tables in my section and it was going for 8 :30 when I realized that only Tess was still sitting there; Noah and Mandy had left. Mathias was nowhere in sight and so I let my shoulders relax incrementally, but it was barely a minute later when I was wiping down the last table that Noah said from behind me, “Hi, Camille.”

My heart twisted up into an icky little knot and for a second I considered just ignoring him. But I would not be a coward. I thought about how his parents had just asked if they could come to Shore Leave for dinner. How much they adored Millie Jo, and were kind to her. Even Noah's older brother Ben and his wife occasionally came to visit me and my daughter.

I turned around slowly and regarded Noah Utley, involuntary father of my child. He was standing with his hands in his front pockets, looking thoroughly drunk and even slightly shamefaced. I let my gaze take in the familiar: his clear, pale-blue eyes and close-cropped blond hair, the cleft in his chin. I sometimes wondered if Millie Jo would eventually have one on her chin, too. So far she looked mostly like me and I hoped it would stay that way. Noah seemed older, more filled out; he was tall and broad-shouldered in his navy-blue peacoat and had grown the lightest of goatees, which didn't really do much for blond men, in my opinion. But he was still handsome and I felt shabby in my server outfit, with grease stains on my apron.

“Hey,” I said at last. My hands became loose fists before I could stop them. And then I could not believe my eyes; Noah checked out my breasts, his gaze lingering, before looking back at my face. At once I felt the urge to deck him in the stomach and then, a devil perching on my shoulder, I thrust out my chest just slightly more.

Go ahead and look, you drunk dickhead. You're never touching me again
.

“How've you been?” he asked, rocking back on his heels.

“Millie is getting so big,” I said, only the tiniest catch in my voice. He flinched and I continued, “She's the sweetest little girl in the world.”

His eyes again flickering over my body, Noah asked, “When did you start working here?”

“Since November,” I told him distractedly. I realized that while Mandy seemed to have disappeared (perhaps in a puff of witchy smoke) Tess was watching us intently over her shoulder.

“I'll stop out and see Millie,” Noah told me. “I really will, I've just been so busy…” his voice trailed away and I refocused upon him with venom.

“I'm sure,” I said, putting every ounce of sarcastic innuendo into my tone.

“Listen,” he said, and his voice was slightly slurred. For a second I almost asked him if he needed a ride home. But that wasn't my job anymore. Against my will, I thought of the summer we'd been together, how many beers he had consumed then, how many times I had seen and heard him act exactly like this. Usually just before he would give me his most charming smile and start working on unbuttoning my jean shorts or slipping his hands beneath my skirt.

How could you have let him treat you that way? How could you not see that he was playing you?

Anger flared within me like brushfire; the rest of the dining room receded as I yelled in a whisper, “Listen to what? What could you possibly have to say to me?”

“Camille—” he began, pitifully, but I didn't let him speak.

“You haven't seen your child in over a year!” I hissed, stepping closer to him without realizing I had done it; we were practically nose to nose. Or we would have been if he wasn't quite a bit taller than me. I railed, keeping my voice low with extreme effort, “You haven't so much as called and then you fucking waltz in here with your fucking girlfriend—”

“Camille, Jesus, do you have to—”

“Don't you dare scold me!” I hissed and then realized that Tess French had come up behind Noah's shoulder.

“What's going on?” she demanded, also fairly tipsy.

All of the fury that had been broiling inside of me for the past two years was being given free reign. I rounded on her, my face blistering hot. I snapped, “None of your
fucking business
!” I was all about the f-bomb right now.

“Don't talk to me that way, you little slut!” she snapped right back, driving her pointer finger into my shoulder, hard enough that tears sprang to my eyes.

I thought the top of my head might come off as I went for her with my hands curled into cat claws; to my extreme surprise, Noah leaped forward, caught me around the waist and hauled me away, preventing me from actually doing any damage to Tess. A tiny part of me was able to be grateful that there were no customers present; unfortunately at that exact instant Mathias came pushing through the swinging doors, just in time to see Noah and I tumble over a chair; Noah's drunken state and my furious momentum caused him to stumble backward and we went tail over teakettle, taking the chair too.

Mathias was at my side before I could blink, let alone collect my bearings. He caught me around the waist and lifted me at once from the pile-up, clearly astounded. He put his hands on my shoulders, ran them carefully down my arms, asking, “Holy shit, are you all right?” And then his eyes flamed with anger as he addressed Noah, still flat on his back beside the chair, “What in the fuck? Put your hands on her again and you will fucking regret it!”

“No…no…it's not like that,” I tried to explain, winded from the fall and with adrenaline pulsing through me. I said, “I was…I was just…”

“You're crazy!” Tess hissed at me, hands on her hips. “Fucking nuts!”

“Stay out of this!” Mathias ordered her.

“Fuck you!” Tess yelped back, shoving at his shoulder and flames came into my eyes again.

“Don't touch him!” I hissed at her and she narrowed her eyes at me, as though in speculation.

She purred, her boozy breath reaching my nose, “I'll touch him all I want. Tell her, Mathias. Tell her how we fucked all over your apartment the night you moved in. Just this Wednesday.”

Scalding water to the skin would have hurt less than those words. I sensed more than saw the stun that crossed Mathias's face at her pronouncement and I wanted so badly to believe that she was bluffing.

Oh God, oh God, oh God. What if she's not?

He didn't come over until at least two hours later that night.

And it was Wednesday.

How would she know that?

His voice tightly controlled, Mathias said, “That is not true.”

Noah muttered, still on his back and obviously a few paces behind, “Camille is not a slut.”

I blinked and though horror was coursing through me, I heard this quiet pronouncement. I could feel the shakes starting in my knees but I bent down and offered Noah my forearm. I experienced a flash of redemption at his words; at least he could acknowledge this about me.

“Camille,” Mathias said intently, but I couldn't look at him; my heart was roaring in my ears. Noah gripped my arm and I helped him sit, the trembling moving into my upper body now.

“Are you all right?” I asked Noah, even though my lips felt numb.

What did you expect?

So stupid, Camille.

She's lying. She's trying to hurt you.

Noah nodded and used the edge of the table to attempt to get to his feet. I didn't bother to stick around to see if he managed, shoving past Mathias and Tess, whose smirk seemed to fill up my entire vision. Mathias came after me at once, and then I ran, slamming directly into Mandy Pearson, who must have been in the bathroom. I was going to have bruises all over from this evening. She yelped in surprise but I disentangled myself and dashed through the kitchen.

“Camille, wait!” Mathias said behind me, his voice hoarse and frantic-sounding. I was tripped up at the door, out of necessity, needing to grab my coat and purse so that I could drive home. My hands were shaking so badly that I could hardly manage to retrieve these things from the hooks by the back door, tears flooding over my face.

See, you've let a guy do this to you again.

Mathias caught my shoulders in his hands and turned me to face him. His eyes were blue darts into my soul and he said intently, “She is lying. She said that to hurt you and it's not true.”

I was a tear-streaked mess, turning my face towards my left shoulder and consequently away from his, sobs coming hard and fast now. Mathias made a choked sound and insisted, “Camille, oh God, don't cry. It's a lie. I know it's hard but you have to trust me.”

And then I shoved at his hands and almost screamed, “I don't have to do anything!”

He appeared stunned and I stumbled blindly out the door and into the freezing winter night. Again he was right behind me and so I ran across the icy parking lot, my purse bumping my hip. At my truck he cornered me against the driver's side door, our breath appearing as clouds of blue-white steam in the icy glow of the streetlight.

“Camille, don't go,” he implored, sounding aghast. “Don't believe her. It's what she wants.” His eyes intense upon my face, he asked, “Where are you going?”

“Home of course,” I said shortly, my voice broken up with half-sobs. And then I cried, “I can't do this. I can't handle it. I'm so scared…”

“Don't go,” he said again, taking my upper arms into his warm hands; he had to be freezing. The wind was biting and he had no coat. “Oh God, don't go. Please.”