“Ah, you’re being…smarty pants, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
She squeezes my shoulders and then turns and holds my arm again as we return to walking around the hot springs. “I was married. For nearly twenty years to only one man. I was…ah, traditional, as they say. I, ah, couldn’t have a baby, though. We tried for years, but found out I couldn’t have one.”
I look down and see the pain cross through her azure eyes. Oh, she wanted a baby. She’d wanted it badly.
“I’m so sorry.” My heart squeezes at seeing her face and the pain.
She pulls on a brave smile. “I wanted to adopt, but he wouldn’t have it. We drifted apart.” She looks at one of the pots of bubbling water. It’s green. She points to it, making me wonder if she knows that’s my favorite color. If she knows me.
“I’m sorry, again.”
“I did everything right in my marriage.” She talks to the green water. “I followed the rules. I didn’t adopt, even though I wanted to. I was a good wife, I think. Yeah, I was. But then…he….we drifted apart. When I realized he was seeing someone else, I was relieved. Our divorce was more amicable than the last few years of our marriage.”
She nods to herself. “I, ah, I like sex, yeah? You don’t think less of me for this?”
I shake my head. “I like sex too.”
“I met Johan at an anthropologist convention. He is anthropologist too, but not forensic like me.”
“Oh.”
“We had sex all the time. That’s all I wanted, I told myself. I limited myself because I thought that was all I was good for. I was divorced. Wasted. A middle-aged woman. Did I say that right?”
“Yes, but you aren’t—”
“I am that old, if that is what you were going to say.”
I smile. “You could pass for my sister, you know?”
She laughs. It’s so happy and boisterous. It fills my heart with something warm and yellow. “You are so kind to me. Ah, but I always put limits to myself and my love.” She waves at her husbands and they wave back enthusiastically. “Johan told me he loved me, and I tried to break things off with him. I knew I was in love with him too, which I thought was a bad thing. I didn’t realize how limiting I was to him and to me. I didn’t want to feel like a waste of time, but that is how I felt. Does that make sense?”
I swallow, knowing a little too well how that feels. Nodding my head, I can only reverently listen to her. I have no words but crave to hear what she says next because I know, like how I know my baby is inside my body, that it’s about to change my life. Sometimes, it takes just one person, just one word, to change everything.
“Johan was patient and kind with me.” Greta sips in a breath. “I found Werner in the meantime, because I wanted to push Johan away. I thought taking another lover would make him run from me. I wasn’t thinking well. I felt I was a waste of time and space. And there were two men who were contradicting me, and, oh, how I wanted to believe them. But I was invested in my thoughts. I was invested in that terrible thought because I was so scared, scared of love.”
She releases her hold of my arm and turns toward me. “I think we are to meet now so I can tell you my story and to tell you about my fear. I think, but I could be wrong, you need to hear how I almost threw away two men because of my fear.” She points with the tilt of her head toward the red parkas and the two black ones in the center of the group. “They might be friends. Just friends. And that is all right. But don’t push them away if you are afraid.”
I blink as a tear spills over. I catch it with my white-gloved hand.
“It is the greatest thing to be loved and love in return, you know? You think I’m funny for wanting to be loved by two men?”
I shake my head.
“Maybe a little funny?”
“No.”
“Maybe you are scared you want the same? Or maybe you are just scared of love?”
17
The snow that meets the windshield is soft and fluffy, making me drowsy. Or I could be exhausted from Greta’s questions. H and Jay saved me from answering her.
Am I scared I want what she has?
Yes.
Am I scared of love?
Oh god, yes.
But I never told her. Although, I have a feeling that if I had, she would’ve embraced me and made me feel better for it, like Enna used to do when I’d scrape my knees bloody.
Somehow, H and Jay talked a ranger into letting us go to Swan Lake. The Wrangler’s in four-wheel drive and has chains on, which was the only way the ranger allowed us to travel. Usually the road would be closed this time of year, and as it is, it’s packed with snow. But H is driving slowly and in the tracks made by some other adventurous soul.
I’m not sure why H and Jay want to go to Swan Lake. I have a feeling, though, it’s because they thought I’d want to. And I do. The trumpeter swans there are magnificent for shots; although, being that the lake isn’t connected to the warm rivers, I wonder if we’ll see any fowl. Add to that, we’re losing daylight and the storm, even if it is a soft and gentle one, is absorbing whatever sun there might be. So I’m not sure what kind of shots I’ll be able to take.
H and Jay are quiet and I am too. I’m dying to know what the German tourists said, but instead I ask, “Did you talk to the poly tourists about the finer points of football?” I try to bring levity into my voice, but I think I sound a tad sad.
H shakes his head, but Jay says, “Nah, we mainly talked about the sights to see, where we’ve been to. Stuff like that.”
H fists the steering wheel, making his large knuckles turn white. Glancing at the road, I try to determine if the way is slippery, but everything seems fine.
H clears his throat but doesn’t say anything.
“What did you and Greta talk about?” Jay asks. There’s a note in his voice, something a little serious, that makes me take notice.
Looking over my shoulder, I say, “Actually, we talked a little about some of the disasters we’d been to. We’ve been to many of the same events at the same time. Yet it took being in Yellowstone for us to actually meet. I wanted to talk to her about her job. Forensic anthropology is fascinating.”
Jay nods. “Yeah. Does she work with cops a lot? Or the German federal cops?”
I shrug. “We never got to that. She told me about her divorce before she got married to Werner and Johan.”
“Oh?”
I nod. “Yeah. I—” My breath hitches. “You know, I really underestimated her. I feel bad about that.”
“I did too,” H says quickly. “I underestimated that whole group. I kind of thought they were perverts. Is that what you thought?” He glances at me.
I shrug, trying to hide my instant blush. “I—I didn’t think them perverts.”
“I don’t think they’re perverts.” Jay interjects.
“I did, though—” I sigh. “I didn’t think they could be very smart. Not very accomplished. I don’t know why I would think that. They’re here from Germany and that must have cost a lot. I mean, I don’t think accomplishments are only measured in money.” I tsk. “God, I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”
“Maybe,” Jay says, “you’re just saying they’re outliers. I mean, it’s not every day you run into a tour bus full of polyamorous people. And since they are outliers, one doesn’t expect much from them.”
I find it difficult to breathe, because what Jay’s said is profound. It does seem to be human nature to find the different as bizarre or silly, doesn’t it?
“Yeah, I—” I smack H’s arm playfully. “You thought them perverts?” What I’m not asking but kind of dying to is: You thought them perverts when you kissed me mere seconds after your friend did?
H feigns that I’ve brutally assaulted him, rubbing his arm, but then he answers. “Okay, look, I grew up in a really normal house. I grew up very middle-class with a stay-at-home mom who made dinner for me every night.”
“Wow, what’s that like?” I can’t help but ask.<
br />
“Yeah, what’s that like?” Jay asks too.
I look over my shoulder again. “Your mom didn’t make you dinner?”
He shrugs. “Aunt Moe did most of the cooking in our house while my mother worked on her PhD. She’s a psychoanalyst.”
I gape. “She’s a head shrinker? Cool!”
Jay rolls his eyes. “Not so cool when you’re going through puberty and everything you do is analyzed to death. But other than that, yeah, it’s cool.”
I laugh which makes him chuckle.
Then I glance back at H. “I just noticed that you still haven’t answered, mister.”
H shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess, having a stay-at-home mom is one of those things you just take for granted until you grow up. What’s it like having a nanny?”
Again, I find breathing difficult.
“Sorry.” H winces. “I shouldn’t have asked like that.”
“No. It’s fine.” I swallow. “I should tell you that I grew up kind of rich. But I didn’t take a dime after college. Well, until now. My mother found out I was staying in Ennis and upgraded to that lodge we have now. I had a reservation for a small cabin, but…and I probably should have said no, but…see…”
Jay wraps his big hand around my shoulder. “You okay?” He’s probably picked up on my sheer frustration whenever I talk about my mother.
I turn and look at his blue eyes. In the spectrum of blue they are the opposite of my mother’s. They are so much brighter. Cobalt. So captivating I feel transfixed, a need to keep staring at him. Maybe because of that I tell him everything.
“My mother and I have never gotten along. If it weren’t for my nanny, I doubt I would ever trust a woman. I mean, I know that sounds weird, but my mother she’s—I’ll never be good enough. I was arguing with her on the phone when you guys first saw me. If I hadn’t been talking to her, I would have driven better. But I always get trapped into trying to explain myself to her, to defend myself. I don’t know why. I know I’ll never win. I never have so far. And I know I’ll never get my worth or validation from her, but—” I stop when I feel H’s warm hand on my knee and the Jeep decelerating.
He pulls into what during the summertime would be the parking lot for Swan Lake. There’s still signs visible, but all the planking and concrete are hidden by layers of white snow.
“I can’t imagine not having my mother validate me.” H says, squeezing my knee. “I really can’t imagine that. I know my mom wasn’t keen on the idea of me becoming a navy man, especially a SEAL, but she was prouder than hell, nonetheless. And the only reason she didn’t want me to join was because she knew I might not make it. I—” his voice cracks, “—shouldn’t be the fuck up I am because I always knew she was proud of me.”
I shake my head. “You’re not a fuck up.”
“LT, what the hell are you talking about?” Jay asks, leaning forward and frowning at his friend.
H shakes his head. “Never mind.”
“I don’t think so, buddy.” I wrap my hand around his, squeezing. “You’re not going to never mind us. You’re going to talk about this. Remember?” I point to Jay and me. “Two against one?”
H actually chuckles and looks at me and Jay as he parks. It’s desolate here, and I think we needed to be alone. We have so much to say. So much I’m scared to say, scared to feel.
“Yeah, two against one,” Jay says, then he looks at me. “Why I do feel like I’ve reverted to a five-year-old when I say that?”
Now, I’m laughing.
“Let’s get out and help Dee take some shots while there’s still some light.” H opens his door, but I grab his wrist.
“Are you doing this—helping me with my shots—as a ploy to not talk? Because we’ll make you talk.” I turn and look at Jay. “Grab the crowbar. We’ll make him talk.”
H gives my hand another squeeze while he’s smiling. “Okay, I’ll talk when you start taking some pictures.”
We’re out of the Jeep fast and we do talk. But H doesn’t tell us why he thinks he’s a fuck up. I guess, it’s one of those things where if you think you’re sure about something, you don’t want to be proven wrong. Even if being proven wrong will mend your heart. Because sometimes we go through life with our hearts bleeding eternally, knowing what could heal us, but so scared of the cure we’d rather just bleed to death.
I wonder if that’s what I’ve been doing so far. I know my wounds regarding my mother are open, exposed, and often they’re oozing blood everywhere. I know because the men I’ve met so far only exacerbate my wounds. Most of the friends I’ve had augment my internal injuries. It’s like I keep trying to find cures for my broken heart, but what I’ve thought would heal me makes me feel all the worse, especially when I’d wish a man would instantly fall in love with me during a one-night affair.
I’ve been hoping for love, hoping for bandages to stop my bleeding, but I’ve looking in all the wrong places.
I wonder if I know how to look in the right place.
With that thought, I can’t help but glance at H and Jay.
“Jesus, will you look at that?” Jay asks.
The lake is frozen over, so all creatures have abandoned the place. However, there, floating from the white sky, beside the puffy snowflakes, are three swans. They skid across the lake, landing awkwardly because of the ice, but they find a hole, large enough for them to dive into. They’re honking loudly, happily, to each other, stroking each other’s necks and beaks, splashing the water in a frenzy of ecstasy.
“You think they’re like the German tourists? Polyamorous?” H asks, a tiny smile on his face.
“No, trumpeter swans are monogamous,” I say as I look at the trio through my camera’s lens. “They mate for life. More than likely they’re siblings, hanging out.”
As soon as I say that, one of the swans tries to mount another.
“Er, maybe they’re—” I try to stop from giggling, as the apparent males take turns mounting their female, all while shrieking loudly and rather joyfully too. “Now, I don’t know what they are.”
H is laughing. “Maybe those German tourists talked to them? Maybe they were monogamous, but they decided to take a third.”
We all chuckle, but there’s tension in our voices. We don’t sound happy and free like the swans. As we leave and give the birds some privacy, I’m realizing I have to delete a couple shots I’ve accidentally taken of swan porn. Further, I’m not too sure what to think of the men, of the silence following us. But it’s hard not to notice this building tension H, Jay, and I have.
“Did you read that story when you were a kid?” Jay asks as we’re settling back into the Jeep. “The one about the ugly duckling?”
“Yeah,” I answer for H and myself since H is nodding his head.
“Those swans made me think about that story.”
“Mmm,” I add, smiling.
“Do you think they’ll mate, all of them, for life?”
I can’t answer because, like usual, the thought of marriage, even of mating for life, has my throat closing shut. It hurts. I know if I try to talk, I’d sound strained and probably as sad as I feel. God, all the times I kept telling myself I didn’t want to get married, I didn’t want the white wedding, I didn’t want the hassle—I was lying.
I couldn’t admit it to myself.
Peeking at H and Jay as we drive through the falling snow, I wonder what more I can admit to myself now.
* * *
“We’re closing the road overnight, while the storm blows over,” says a park ranger when we return to Mammoth. The storm is now a strong force, making visibility almost impossible and sending so much snow down it looks like a thick curtain of white, especially against our headlights.
H nods, his window rolled down to talk to the ranger, as we’re parked on the side of the road. “Is there room in that hotel?” He points with his head in the direction where the hotel used to be but is made invisible from the storm.
The ranger nods, white fluff accumula
ting on the brim of his large black hat. “We’ll make room for you. I’ll radio you in.” With that, he signals that we’re to head in the direction of the hotel.
A tad nervous, I want to ask when we can return to Ennis, back to the lodge, but he probably knows as much as we do about the storm. Being a woman, born and raised with brutal blizzards, the storm doesn’t scare me too much. Other than the fact that we’ll have to sleep in hotel rooms tonight.
Glancing over my shoulder, I check on Jay, who’d first talked about the blizzard earlier today. “That was smart to have us pack up.”
He looks away and shrugs. I’m not the only one who has a hard time taking a compliment.
In a blur, we park, grab our things, and rush into the hotel’s lobby, snow clinging to everything. The instant I’m inside, the flakes in my hair, on my coat, glisten and melt. It’s warm inside. Wonderfully warm.
The empty lobby is decorated in scarlet and creams, making me think of red velvet cake. Or maybe I’m thinking of food because there’s this savory scent wafting throughout the lobby. I haven’t liked savory food since I became pregnant, but now, my baby’s craving everything.
“You hungry?” Jay asks, standing slightly behind me in the lobby’s entrance as we’re trying to get our bearings from the winter weather.
I glance at him then realize I’m touching my belly. “Baby’s hungry. Something smells great in here.”
“I’ll find out what it is and get you some,” H says, turning at once and making his way to the check-in.
I glance at Jay, perplexed that H has run off like that. Jay is looking down at me, at my stomach with something deliciously warm filling his eyes.
Do men want to have children like women do? I’ve always thought not. I’ve always thought men were aloof to plans about babies and kids. They’d grunt and give in to having children because the way to get one is so much fun for them.
Oh, I like sex too. And that’s always been my problem. I like sex too much. Something about kissing and being fondled turns my reasoning into mush.
Fly (Wild Love Book 2) Page 14
