Butternut Summer (45 page)

“Is this all right for us to do?” he asked. “You know, so soon after your surgery?”

“It's fine,” Daisy assured him, trying not to squirm with impatience. “I asked Dr. Novack about it.”

He looked surprised. “You asked him if you and your boyfriend could have sex?”

“No. I asked him if I could start exercising again.”

“And?”

“And he said yes. He said to avoid strenuous exercise, but moderate exercise was fine.”

“Moderate, huh?” he said, unfastening her bra, sliding it off her shoulders and dropping it on the floor.

“Is that all right?”

“That's fine,” he said, with a caress of her bare shoulders that made her want to squirm even harder. “Moderate should cover a multitude of sins.” He smiled at her, his gold-brown eyes looking darker than they ordinarily did. “I love you, Daisy,” he said, and then he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

For the next several hours, it was quiet in the room, except for the soft, insistent sounds of their lovemaking. Occasionally, Daisy worried that they'd crossed some invisible line between moderate and strenuous. But in the end, she was fine. She was better than fine, really. Because by the time they fell asleep in each other's arms, the early morning sun shining through the window curtains and bathing them in a soft, pink light, Daisy felt absolutely perfect, not to mention completely and totally sated.

A
re you sure about this?” Jason asked Will that evening. They were at the highway junction outside Butternut that served as the town's bus stop.

“Yeah, I'm sure,” Will said, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other and wishing Jason looked less miserable.

“Because it's not too late to back out,” Jason said hopefully.

“Actually, it kind of is,” Will said.

“Yeah, I guess you're right.” Jason sighed. “I don't know who I'm going to play pool with now, though,” he added forlornly. “Or darts. Or cards.”

“You'll find someone,” Will said. But he knew that wasn't really what they were talking about. He and Jason had been friends for as long as either of them could remember. And now, with Will leaving, Jason was lost.

“You know, Will, I've been thinking,” Jason said, suddenly brightening. “I might enlist, too. I mean, I'm ready for a change, ready to see the world.”

“Sure, why not?” Will said encouragingly. But they both knew it would never happen.

They didn't talk about it anymore, though, because at that moment, Daisy pulled up in her mother's pickup truck. She parked, climbed out, and started walking over to them. But when Will saw the expression on her face, his heart sank. She looked more miserable than Jason, if that was even possible.

“Jason,” Will said quickly. “I need a favor.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Will you stick around while I say good-bye to Daisy, and then drive her home? You'll have to bring someone back with you later to pick up her mom's truck and drop it off at her place again.”

“I can do that,” Jason said, and he looked relieved to have been given something to do.

Daisy came up to them then, holding back a little so as not to interrupt them. But Will grabbed her hand and tugged her over. Then he stuck his other hand out to Jason. They shook hands, and Jason started to let go, but at the last second he held on to Will's hand and pulled him into a hug.

“Take care,” Jason said when he let go.

“You, too,” Will said, a little gruffly, because this kind of emotion wasn't something their friendship had ever specialized in.

Jason walked over to his truck then and discreetly looked away, and Will took Daisy in his arms and held her tightly, relieved that even though there were a few people milling around, waiting for the bus, there was no sign of it yet.

“Are you going to be okay?” he asked Daisy now. Her arms were wrapped around him, and her face was buried in his chest.

“I don't know,” she whispered into his T-shirt.

“Please tell me you're going to be okay,” he said, holding her tighter. “Please. I need to hear that. Otherwise, I'm not going to be able to get on that bus.”

She said nothing for a moment, then lifted her head, and said into his neck, “I'm going to be okay.” But he could feel her tears against his skin.

“I love you, Daisy,” he said, searching for her mouth with his and finding it. And he kissed her hungrily, not caring who saw them and marveling at the way the saltiness of her tears mixed with the sweetness of her mouth. He tried to memorize everything about her then, knowing he would need those memories over the long months ahead.

Then, on the periphery of their kiss, he became aware of two things at once. One was that the bus was pulling up, and the other was that it was starting to rain. Not a hard rain, just a dull, gray rain.
Perfect
, he thought. Even the weather was sad.

“Daisy,” he said, pulling away from their kiss and looking down at her upturned face, “the bus is here.”

“I know,” she said, with a little hiccup. He smiled at her and bent to try to kiss the tears off her cheeks.

“Will, promise me something,” she said as they heard the squeak of the bus door opening.

“I'll promise you anything.”

“Promise me this isn't the end.”

“It's not the end,” he said, kissing away another tear. “It's only the beginning.”

The driver had come down the steps of the bus now and had opened the baggage compartment and was helping the few passengers who were there stow their luggage.

“Now you promise me something,” he said, giving up on kissing her tears away. There were just too many of them.

“Okay,” she said.

“Promise me you'll go, now, before the bus leaves. Jason will drive you home and come back later for your truck.”

“Go now?” Daisy asked, looking a little panicky.

“Yes, now. I'm sorry. I know it's cowardly of me, but I can't watch you, standing here, when the bus pulls away.”
Because then I'll make them stop the bus, and I'll get off it. And then I'll have nothing to offer you, Daisy. Nothing except my love. And that won't be enough forever
.

“Please, Daisy,” he said, aware that the passengers were boarding the bus now.

“All right,” she said, a little sob escaping her.

He hugged her again, then let go of her. And Daisy, swiping at her tears with the back of her hand, tried hard to smile.

“Good-bye, Will,” she said, and then she turned away and walked over to Jason, who, Will saw with surprise, gave her a hug. She hugged him back, and Will knew this was his cue to get on the bus. He stowed his duffel quickly in the baggage compartment and climbed up the steps, randomly choosing an empty seat next to a window. And he was relieved to see when he looked out that Jason and Daisy were already driving away in Jason's truck.

Good
, he thought, knowing that Jason would get her home safely. But his relief was followed, almost immediately, by an ache that was both new to him and, in its way, already familiar to him.
So this is the downside of love
, he thought wryly, to distract himself. He already knew the upside. The upside was making love to Daisy in the big brass bed at Mr. Phipps's cabin as the sun rose outside.

And then, to stop thinking about a memory that was suddenly more painful than pleasurable, he looked around at the other passengers. A mother was sitting across the aisle from him, holding a fussy baby on her lap. And in front of him was a sulky-looking teenager, listening to his iPod.

Will looked back out the window, where the gray rain was falling harder, and felt so lonely that it made his throat burn and his eyes itch. The driver boarded the bus then and took his seat, pulling the lever that closed the doors. As the bus's engine came to life, Will felt a sudden desperation. He'd try to sleep, he decided. That would be the best thing, really. He yanked off his sweatshirt, rolled it up, and wedged it in between himself and the window. Then he rested his head on it, like a pillow, and closed his eyes. He felt the bus lurch forward and pull onto the highway. He kept his eyes closed.

W
hen Daisy got home from seeing Will off, her mother was hovering in the front hall of their apartment, waiting for her. But if her worry for Daisy was apparent in her expression, at least she knew better than to ask Daisy how she was. If she had, of course, Daisy's crying would have started all over again, and it had already taken the entire drive home for her to get it under control.

“Daisy, honey,” she said, gently, “I know you might not be hungry, and if you decide you're not in the mood to eat, we'll understand. But your dad's got some steaks on the grill downstairs, and we'd love it, both of us, if you'd have dinner with us.”

Daisy hesitated. She didn't want to have dinner. She wanted to go straight to her room, lock the door behind her, crawl into bed, pull the covers over her head, and stay there until she had to leave for college later in the week.

“Daisy, look, I know the timing's not great,” her mother said. “I'm sorry. But there are a few things the three of us need to discuss. If not tonight, then tomorrow, maybe, over breakfast.”

“Does this have anything to do with Dad staying here now?” Daisy asked, gesturing at a suitcase parked in one corner of the front hall.

“Well, yes, your dad's going to be staying here with us, at least until you go back to college. And after that, well, that's what we want to talk to you about.”

Daisy nodded distractedly and walked over to the entranceway to the little dining room that she and her mom rarely, if ever, used. Tonight, though, the table there was set with Grandma Pearl's wedding china, fresh flowers, and lit candles. A salad and roasted new potatoes had been set on it, too.

“It looks nice,” Daisy murmured, and then she turned away from the dining room and wandered over to the hall table, where something else had caught her attention. It was a framed photograph, and when Daisy picked it up and looked at it, she remembered the night it had been taken.

“Your dad brought that with him,” her mother said, seeming suddenly shy. “He'd like to hang it with our other family pictures, but he wanted to make sure it was okay with you first.”

“Of course it's okay,” Daisy said, with something close to a smile, still looking at the picture. It was the photograph of her and her dad the night they'd gone to the fish fry. They'd talked about her mom that night, she realized, talked about her without ever actually talking about her.

Daisy smiled, thinking about that, and she was just putting the picture back down on the table when her dad came through the front door, carrying a platter of steaks.

“Daisy,” he said, pleased to see her, but obviously worried about her too. Daisy sighed. There was no hiding her red-rimmed eyes and blotchy skin. He looked questioningly at her mother, and she raised her shoulders in a little shrug. “Daisy hasn't decided yet if she wants to have dinner or not,” she told him.

“No, I've decided,” Daisy said. “I'm starving. And those steaks look great.” Both of those were lies. Food was the furthest thing from her mind right now. And the steaks, especially, looked unappealing, probably because her stomach felt as if it already had a lead weight sitting inside of it. Regardless of how she felt, though, she knew it was important that she have dinner with her parents tonight. A sea change had taken place in their relationship with each other, and her dad's suitcase and the framed photograph were only part of the story.

“That's great, Daisy.” Her dad grinned. “I'll get these steaks on the table.”

Daisy followed him and her mom into the dining room, and the three of them sat down, a little awkwardly, at the dinner table. It was all so new, she thought. So strange. And it occurred to her then to say something sarcastic about the situation, something like
Well, it only took eighteen years, but the three of us are finally having a family dinner together
or
Better late than never
. But she didn't say either of those things. It wasn't in her nature to be sarcastic, or to deny either of her parents their hard-won happiness. And it
was
happiness. She could see it, feel it. It was there, right beneath their concern for her, a deep, glowing happiness that gave off more light than the candles on the table. It made her mother look ten years younger, as if the tiny worry lines she'd had on her forehead and around her eyes had been magically erased. It made her father look different, too, Daisy thought, trying to figure out how. Then she realized what it was. It was the first time since she'd seen him again, over a year ago, that he hadn't looked lonely, that he hadn't looked as if he was somehow missing a piece of himself.

Now Jack looked at Caroline and Daisy and asked, a little self-consciously, “Do you two mind if I say something now, before we start dinner?”

“Of course not,” her mom said, pleased, and Daisy tried to smile her encouragement at him.

“Okay,” he said, taking both of their hands. “I'm not in the habit of saying grace, maybe because I've always had a kind of . . .
complicated
relationship with God. But as you may know, in AA we have to trust in what we call a higher power, and tonight has me wondering if that power, for me, at least, isn't God after all. I mean, how else to explain the fact that here we are, eighteen years later, sitting down to dinner together?”

He continued, “But whatever's behind it, it's more than I deserve. I know that. And I'm going to work very hard, every single day, to finish earning back the privilege of sharing my life with two beautiful, strong, intelligent women who are as kind as they are forgiving.”

Jack paused, then, and looked at Daisy. “And, sweetheart? You need to know something. If you decide, one day, that you want Will to be a part of this family, we'll make room for him in it too.” Daisy thought he said this a little pointedly, for her mom's sake, but apparently that wasn't necessary, because as he was saying it, her mom smiled at her, squeezed her hand, and murmured softly, “It's true, honey.” Daisy squeezed her hand back then, and, for the first time since the beginning of the summer, she felt their old closeness returning. She hadn't even realized until now how much she had missed it, how much she had missed
her
. She felt her eyes blur with tears.