Winter at the White Oaks Lodge (7 page)

“Thanks,” I said, nodding a little in acknowledgment. I drew a breath and admitted, “I get so lonely. I mean, I have Grandma and Mom, my sisters, Aunt Ellen…I should never complain, not really.”

“Shit, hon, complain all the time. Get it all out, it's the only way to survive,” Glenna said, and she and Tina laughed a little, sipping their drinks.

“I mean, I'm grateful for my family every second. But I feel so…so…” I trailed off, not exactly sure what I was trying to say. That my body sometimes longed so badly to be touched that I could hardly stand it; that my own hands on my skin would not suffice, and that I wanted something I couldn't even begin to explain. Sex? No…not just that. Much more than that.

I want Malcolm Carter
, I thought, and then almost laughed at my own absurdity, at what they would think if I were to voice that ridiculous thought.

“We understand completely,” Tina said, and I believed her. She added, “Come and have Elaine read the cards for you. She does that on the side and it's fun to see what she turns up.”

“The tarot?” I asked, intrigued.

Glenna nodded. She said, “It's all in good fun. Elaine takes it a little seriously, but we can laugh her out of it, usually.”

“Here comes someone who wants your attention,” Tina said then, tilting her head unobtrusively at Jake, as he made his way through the crowd to the corner booth. “We'll give you a little privacy, c'mon, Glens. It was good to talk to you, Camille.”

Jake smiled politely at the Carter girls as they took their leave, then said, “Hi. Can I join you?”

“Sure,” I said, studying his face, remembering Tish's words. I told him, “You look good, Jake, you really do. It's great to see you.”

He flushed, ducking his chin as he smiled. He said, “Thanks. It's good to see you too.”

“You're loving school, it sounds like.”

“It's great. I love the city. There's always something going on every night of the week.”

“Jake…” I began.

At the same moment he asked in a rush, “Maybe, if you'd want to, maybe we could go have dinner this week sometime? I have off from school until the second Monday in January.”

He spoke in a rush, his cheeks a deep pink.

“That would be nice,” I said, which was such a puke answer. But I didn't know what else to say.

He smiled then, wide and sweetly.

“Maybe tomorrow, since I don't work,” I said.
Besides
, I thought,
why delay it?

“If we're not snowed in,” he replied, still smiling. And then, serving to effectively punch me with guilt, “I can't wait.”

“If we're snowed in, maybe we can just watch a movie here or something,” I said.
Crap, what are you doing?
I felt a little uncomfortable twinge in my stomach.
It's all the food you've been eating, that's all
, I assured myself.

“That sounds good too,” he said. “Do you need a drink? Maybe a hot chocolate or something?”

“That would be great,” I said. “But I'll go get it. I was going to go and listen to the music anyway.”

I snagged myself a mug from the kitchen and used the hot chocolate machine, near the coffee makers. It made a noise like a chainsaw and thirty seconds later I had a steaming cup. I sipped gingerly, scanning the crowd from behind the counter. Jake was in the bar already, where he'd promised to save me a seat. I caught Mom's eye for a moment; she gave me a wink, looking flushed and happy, her belly round as a pumpkin beneath a white sweater covered in tiny blue leaping reindeer. I realized something and went to stand by their table for a second, tilting my head and scolding, “Mom, no, you don't. Come on.”

She knew exactly what I meant and started laughing, tipping her head back on Bly's shoulder as she said, “We're cute this way.”

“You
match
!” I groaned. Bly was wearing the same sweater, just in a reverse color scheme.

“I told them it was completely barf-worthy,” Aunt Jilly said, still cuddling Millie Jo. My daughter saw me and grinned, showcasing her four little baby teeth.

“I picked them out,” Blythe informed me, pretending to be offended. “You don't think we're cute this way?”

“Oh
please
,” I groaned at them. “At least don't make a habit of it.”

Uncle Justin came up with tiny, adorable Rae, whose big brown eyes were just like his. He said, “Jilly-honey, let's get the same set.”

Aunt Jilly slapped his ass and he laughed, snuggling Rae and kissing her cheek. He said, “Your mama is a little temperamental, isn't she, baby girl?”

Tish ran up and snagged my hand. She said excitedly in my ear, just loud enough for me to hear, “I just heard that you and Jake have a date tomorrow night!”

Mom sent me a questioning look, lifting her eyebrows, but I was not about to announce this in front of everyone. Instead I asked Aunt Jilly, “Do you mind holding Millie Jo a little longer?”

“Not one bit,” Aunt Jilly responded, smoothing my daughter's dark hair. “You go relax for a little bit.”

Tish dragged me away; Jake had saved a bar stool for me, and I claimed it trying to pretend that I didn't have a heavy feeling in the vicinity of my heart.

***

“It was
terrible,” I murmured. Beside me on the mattress, curled beneath her own downy-soft quilt, Millie Jo slept on, oblivious to my woe. She had nursed for a few minutes before dozing off, leaving me alone here in the darkness, only the moonlight coming through the windows to offer me an ear. What I really needed was a shoulder upon which to cry. But I hadn't wanted to disappoint Grandma and Aunt Ellen, who had been so hopeful as I prepared to go out for dinner with Jake earlier in the evening. When he dropped me off they were waiting up at the kitchen table with cups of decaf, clad in their bathrobes and obviously expectant, and so I had lied, “We had a great time.”

“He kissed me,” I whispered into the silence of my bedroom, moving to lie flat on my back, draping a forearm over my eyes. “It was like kissing my brother. If I had one, that is. Dammit to hell, why did it have to be that way?”

Jake had tried so hard that I felt like a gigantic bitch for my current thoughts. He picked me up just on time, drove us to dinner at the Angler's Inn, just across the street from Eddie's Bar downtown. He told me he'd wanted to go somewhere in Bemidji, but the weather was uncooperative, stranding us in Landon. We ate snow crab legs and during this part of the evening Jake had told me all about his classes and the various foibles of his professors, some of the more memorable fellow students he'd met since August. It was interesting, and on the one hand we talked really easily. I enjoyed that part of him, the friend. It was later, sitting buckled into the passenger seat of his truck and thanking him for the date that I felt that crawling in my stomach again.

“I'll walk you to the door,” he said.

“That's not necessary,” I said, already climbing out of the truck.

But he'd followed and at the door I felt obliged to say again, “Thank you for dinner.”

“No problem,” he said, really studying my face. I looked up into his eyes the color of melting chocolate and willed myself to want to kiss him, to put a little heart into the effort.

He looked at me so seriously and then bent and kissed me softly, barely touching his lips to mine. I lifted my chin, my lips opening just a little, and then…

“He put his tongue right in my mouth,” I whispered. I felt crazy, lying here talking to myself in the darkness of my bedroom, my child snoozing a foot away. Probably this is exactly what I should get used to; surely this was my future. Soon all I would need were six or seven house cats. I went on, as though dictating a diary entry, “He tasted like seafood. It was awful. Oh God, I hate myself.”

Even worse was the fact that Jake had been into it, had breathed harder and caught me into his arms. He'd wanted to keep kissing me, but I'd ducked gently from his embrace and said, “I gotta get inside. See you!”

Tears seeped over my temples, hot and fast.

“Dammit,” I muttered again, digging my fists into my eyes then, rubbing until I saw a checkerboard pattern in oranges and blues; probably I shouldn't press so hard. It had been a while since I'd cried at night, but I let myself tonight. It was two nights before Christmas, four nights before my nineteenth birthday, and I felt like I was at the bottom of a well, peering up at the distant moon that I had no hope of ever touching.

May 2005

“Well, the b
oy graduated. We all drove
down there for it,” Bull told me. “Now he's looking for a new job in the city. Got himself a prissy little girlfriend too. Poodle-like, really. I tell you, Camille, I don't understand it.”

“Are you sure you don't mind if I explore out here a little while?” I asked him, neatly changing the subject as Bull was rather prone to rants. It was a humid, overcast spring afternoon and I'd driven over from Shore Leave to pick up something that Bull had found for me; he was tickled pink that I was so interested in Carter family history and its connection to our own. Grandma was watching Millie for me and Bull had said I could check out the homestead cabin if I wanted; he was busy at the lodge, but had taken the time to walk me through the woods to the right spot.

The little cabin was sturdy-looking even yet, with few chinks in the plaster between the logs. It was perfectly square, with a tiny loft and a fireplace crafted of stones. Even with dead leaves covering the floor and over a century of disuse, I thought it beautiful. There were two windows, one missing the glass in the bottom right quarter-pane, patched with a piece of fitted cardboard and duct tape.

“The boy fixed up that window back when he was a teenager and it's still holding. Huh. And I don't mind one bit, sweetie,” Bull told me. “Explore all you like. Just padlock that door when you leave, otherwise the local kids get a notion to hang out in here, do some drinking and necking, if you know what I mean.”

I giggled at the old-fashioned expression and said, “I will. Thanks, Bull.”

“Anytime you want a job at White Oaks, you just tell me,” he said for the countless time, tipping the brim of his baseball cap as he took his leave.

In his absence I sat on the top porch step and breathed in the scents of the forest, hanging heavy in the air along with the humidity; my hair was wild with curling frizz. I fantasized about putting a hammock between two oaks adjacent to the porch, a perfect distance apart for one. It was peaceful here, away from the hustle of the lake and its springtime traffic, both tourist and local. The tree branches were thick with jewel-green leaves, grapevines curling all along the ancient porch railings, as though I was sitting in a tropical jungle rather than northern Minnesota. At last I opened the envelope that Bull had found, taking great care with the old paper. My heart tripped over itself as I drew forth what appeared to be a telegram.

“1876,” I noted, my eyes flashing over the old typeface, all in capital letters, as if the sender was shouting the words.

SEARCHING STOP UNABLE TO RETURN HOME STOP SENDING MY LOVE STOP MISS YOU ALL SO MUCH I HURT STOP REGARDS MALCOLM A. CARTER

My heart seemed to stop each time the word appeared on the telegram; I knew that it simply indicated a pause in the transmission over the old telegraph wires but it struck me as creating an even greater sense of urgency in the message. One would have been charged money for each word, so that explained the succinct nature of it, the awkward syntax. All I really noticed was the name Malcolm A. Carter. What was the ‘A' for? What was he searching for and why was he unable to return home, especially when he said that he was hurting? He missed his family so much he hurt.
Oh Malcolm.

Jesus Crimeny, you're nuts, Camille
, I thought as I pressed the telegram to my lips. Somewhere in 1876 he had dictated this message to be sent to…

“Boyd Carter,” I noted, reading the name handwritten on the back of the envelope. His older brother, Bull had thought. And then I wondered aloud, “Why? What was happening? What were you looking for?”

A breeze stirred the birch leaves near the cabin, sending a restless whispering into the air. I shivered then, my imagination getting the best of me.

“I want to find you so much,” I said to the trees, though addressing Malcolm, surely just a step from being totally insane, sitting here fantasizing about a man from another century and wondering if his spirit was maybe near. I had not yet gone to have Elaine read the cards for me, as Tina had invited last winter, and was typically skeptical about such things. But at this moment the air seemed alive with mystery and magic, and I accepted this as a sign of my impending insanity.

I couldn't help but smile a little, allowing myself that, as I walked back through the forest a little later, clutching the telegram, to the parking lot of White Oaks Lodge. There I paused, standing near the old pickup I drove, which Dodge outfitted with tire chains every October, staring in outright admiration. It was a lovely A-frame building with balconies high and low, spacious and grand, situated just a few hundred feet from Flickertail Lake. And for the first time, I considered taking up Bull on his offer.

***

Three weeks
later Jake was home from college and called me to ask if I was free Saturday night.

“I have to work,” I said, which wasn't even a lie. We had continued communicating through email; I was the coward who didn't usually answer the phone when I saw that he was calling. Now that I knew he was home, however, it would only be a matter of time until he stopped out to Shore Leave anyway.

“I'll come and hang out there,” he said, anticipation in his voice, and I groaned inwardly. We had never declared ourselves as a couple, not even close, but he was surely on the verge of asking me to go out with him, to consider him my boyfriend. I cringed away from that thought.

“Maybe if it's not too busy,” I said.

“I've really missed you,” he replied. “I can't wait to hang out.”

Oh God
. I heard then in his voice the tone that had once been in mine, back almost two years ago now, when I had first dated Noah. That puppy-dog quality and I hated myself for recognizing it, but I knew I wasn't wrong. I had to stop this from progressing, if for no other reason than out of respect for him. I said quietly, “Jake, I'm not ready to date yet. I'm just not. Please understand.”

“I'll wait until you're ready,” he insisted, though gently. “I don't mind waiting.”

Don't do this to yourself,
I raged silently at him.
Don't you have any self respect?

I may have been directing a little of that at myself, though long after the fact.

“I might be working up near International Falls this summer,” he said then, changing the subject when I remained stubbornly quiet, vacillating between resentment and guilt. Then, softly, “I really will wait until you're ready, Camille. I don't want to rush you.”

Goddammit
. I closed my eyes and sank to the glider, out at the end of the dock. I had just finished a dinner shift on this Tuesday evening, and Millie Jo was busy playing with Rae out on the front lawn in the long, slanted golden light of a spring sunset, Ruthie keeping an eye on them. The glider rocked beneath me, gently, and I opened my eyes, studying the lake as it lay flat and smooth as the sheared-away top of a polished agate. The blues and the golds combined to make a dazzling display on the water and a part of me reflected how much I had come to love this place, how just the sight of the sun sinking behind the trees on the far western ridge across the lake brought me a sense of total peace, if fleetingly. This evening the branches of the pines over there were backlit with a burning, peach-tinted light.

“Are you still there?” Jake asked.

“Yes,” I told him. “And I really mean it when I say I can't date yet. Please understand.”

“I do,” he said after a minute. “Can we still maybe just hang out anyway?”

“Of course,” I said and felt a slight shifting of guilt; we could be friends. And I had made it clear that this was all I could handle. If only he hadn't kissed me last winter.

“See you soon then,” he said.

“Okay,” I whispered, and then disconnected the call.

“Milla! You down there?” It was Mom, bracing her hips on the porch rail to call to me.

“You can see me down here, can't you?” I responded bitchily. I was extra touchy today, having heard from Tish, who'd seen them around Landon, that Noah was dating Mandy Pearson. Tish claimed she was only guessing, but I was sure it was true, and honestly, those two deserved each other. I didn't care one bit. I covered my face for a second, reminding myself,
Not one bit
.

“Come on up and help me roll silverware! You snuck out of it, you little weasel you.”

Dammit, I was hoping she'd let me get away with this for tonight. But then I reminded myself that Mom was surely even more tired than me, as her and Blythe's son had been born in March. They named him Matthew Blythe and he was a doll, a chubby and amazingly complacent baby; I couldn't help but feel as though I had done something wrong because my own baby had cried so vociferously for the first four months of her life.

“I'm coming!” I called, reflecting that this was my life and so I better get used to it, let alone appreciate it. Rolling silverware, chasing my toddler hither and yon, yet nursing her to sleep at night. But it was so much easier than preparing a bottle, and I loved snuggling her close, letting her drift to sleep cuddled against me.

“Hi you guys,” I said as I approached. Ruthie and the girls were sitting at the picnic table near the porch, playing with a plastic tea set. Rae and Millie Jo had crackers on their plates and Millie was busy pouring water into Ruthie's cup.

“You look pretty,” Ruthann told me, and I rolled my eyes at my youngest sister, prompting her to insist, “You really do.”

“Pwetty Mama,” agreed Millie, giving me her special grin, the one that crinkled up her eyes and wrinkled her nose.

Rae silently held out a crumbling, half-chewed cracker for me.

“Thanks, Rae,” I told her, accepting it and pretending to eat a bite, making a lot of noise. She smiled happily at my efforts, clapping her sticky little hands. To my daughter I said, “And thanks for the compliment, Millie Jo-Jo.”

“No, Mama!” Millie said, just about her favorite two words on the face of the planet, still grinning. She followed up this statement with, “More tea, Aunt Rufie?”

“Yes please,” Ruthie said gamely. “I can watch them longer if you need to help Mom.”

“I do, and thank you,” I said, leaning to kiss the top of her head. Ruthie smelled exactly the same as she had as a little girl, of her favorite strawberry-scented conditioner. I told her, “I'll be done in a minute or so.”

Inside Blythe was changing Matthew on the counter, Grandma watching critically and offering advice.

“Not so much powder,” Grandma said. “For heaven's sake, Bly.”

“This has to be against health code,” I said, joking. There were no customers at the moment anyway, save Clint's best friend Liam, and he was practically family.

Mom was sitting at table three with a tub of silverware. She said, “Mom, Matthew has such a bad diaper rash. I remember with the girls cornstarch always helped…”

“I think it looks a little better,” Blythe said, and for just a second I allowed myself to covertly admire him, still in awe that someone who looked like that was technically my stepdad. Little Matthew was just lying there, utterly content despite the fact that his bottom was the main topic of discussion, holding his toes in his chubby hands.

I sat on a stool near the action and stroked a finger along the baby's satin cheek, murmuring, “Hi sweet little guy. Aren't you the cutest little thing?”

“My little man,” Bly said adoringly, bending to kiss Matthew's tiny feet, one after the other. To Grandma he added, “But Joan, I swear he pees too much. I mean, every hour or so his diaper is full. And he's peed all over me about fifty times already.”

Grandma and Mom just laughed and laughed.

“Don't even get me started on the other stuff in his diaper,” Bly went on, grinning in response, snapping up Matthew's onesie and scooping his son into his arms. He held Matthew up on his shoulder and kissed the baby's cheek. I happened to glance over at Mom then, and the expression on her face went straight to my heart; she was looking at Blythe holding their baby with love pouring from her golden-green eyes and lifting her lips in a sweet soft smile, her face a tableau of quiet joy. As a mother, I understood that overwhelming rush of love for your child; as my mother's daughter, a selfish and childish part of me wondered achingly,
Did she ever look at me in my own dad's arms that way?
And then I simply acknowledged that she was happy, and didn't allow anyone to see the pricking tears that I could barely even explain to myself.

***

Two nights
later Elaine, Glenna and Tina were at Shore Leave with exciting news. At least, to them it was exciting. I leaned one hip against their high top in the bar, between orders as I waited for a second pitcher of Leinie's for another table, watching with private amusement as the three sisters bickered good-naturedly.

“He finally broke up with the poodle-girl,” Tina informed me, just slightly drunk; apparently tomorrow night was her birthday, and the girls had taken her out for some pre-party partying.

“Your brother?” I asked, distracted as I noticed Jake come into the bar from the corner of my eye. It was the second night in a row he had stopped out, just because. Last night we sat on the porch with Clint, Liam, Tish and Ruthie and played Monopoly for almost three hours, until moths were beating down the outside lights and mosquitoes nearly carried away the game board, while Millie Jo snoozed in the playpen in the café. Jake had said not a word about anything even slightly related to dating, but I felt his eyes lingering on me time and again; he didn't think I noticed, it was obvious.

“Yes and it's about time,” Elaine elaborated. “But he still thinks he should stay in Minneapolis.”

“But he has a good job there,” Glenna countered.