Wild Flower

by Abbie Williams

  I drifted then, like a small and vulnerable boat washed out to sea, a cork on the waves, swept along in a tide not of my own making. Hovering just above a scene that my soul ripped itself inside-out to avoid witnessing; a soundless shrieking that hollowed out my heart.

  Too late.

  He came back. He came back for me but I was not there. The remnants of the fire, still smoldering. Trampled grass, tracks leading south and east. And his agony as a punishment I would bear forever. Agony never extinguished.

  Don’t you see?

  Don’t you understand?

  My own voice called through a long corridor of time. Tell me, Cora, please, I beg you! Where are you? What happened?

  What happened?!

  I sensed I was on the edge of wakefulness and struggled away from it, desperate to hear her response. She was hardly a whisper now, faint as the smoke from a campfire in the distance. But she breathed, Close. So close.

  And I woke to the scent of the bitterroot blossoms that grew in profusion out there in the foothills.

  Chapter Thirteen

  BY MORNING’S LIGHT OUR BEDROOM WAS AGLOW WITH A rosy dawn. Justin was still snoring and would probably be a little late for work today; I moved to kiss the back of his neck as he slept soundly on his belly, as was his habit. I could hear Clint rattling around the kitchen and snuggled my cheek into my pillow. I dozed for another half hour before Justin roused and gathered me close.

  “Morning, baby,” he said, planting a kiss on my lips and then straying beneath the covers to kiss my belly. “And good morning to this baby too.”

  I still hadn’t managed to drag myself from the soft warmth of the bed by the time Justin left for work. I knew I needed to get up and go get Rae at Mom’s, but I was so relaxed, my limbs pleasantly sore from being wrapped around my husband most of the night.

  “Mom, I’m heading out!” Clint called from the kitchen.

  “Have a good day!” I called back, and resolved to haul my ass to the shower. It was just as my feet touched the braided-rag rug beside the bed that I saw it, and everything within me went still and cold.

  A lake rock, round and gray, very similar to the one that I’d tossed with all my strength into the woods yesterday evening, was centered on my nightstand.

  Oh God, oh my God.

  He’s been here again.

  When? How? Last night?

  Oh God, Clint was here alone, before we got back.

  This can’t be happening.

  I forced myself to draw a breath and then another, pressing both palms to my face.

  Think, Jillian.

  There has got to be a reasonable explanation for all of this.

  It’s a fucking rock. Probably Rae was playing with it and left it there.

  But what if…

  Oh God, what if…

  I dressed without showering, in too much distress to do anything but be near my family. I knew I needed to tell Mom and Aunt Ellen, I knew I should call Justin right away. But there was a part of me that felt so damn foolish, completely ridiculous for even considering that a rock retained some ulterior meaning. I felt nuts. I had always possessed an overactive imagination, had always been a little bit attracted to drama. I could just hear Mom now, reminding me of these facts.

  But you’re not imagining Zack’s behavior. He’s been way out of line numerous times now.

  But to the point that he’s invading your home? That’s way beyond serious. That’s a fucking criminal act.

  The sun shone warm on my shoulders, the day bright as a promise as I stalked through the woods; it was one of those rare July mornings when the air wasn’t already drenched with humidity. I got to Shore Leave just as Clint was leaving for work; he waved out the car window as he drove away. Inside, Mom and Aunt Ellen had served Rae breakfast at the counter. Her golden hair was tied in two ponytails and she was coloring with a box of crayons.

  “Hi, stink bug,” I murmured, catching her close for a hug. “I love you.”

  “Hi, Mama!” she chirped. “Daddy was here, too, Mama!”

  “Jilly, join me outside for a minute,” Mom said then, while Aunt Ellen took a seat near Rae. The tone in Mom’s voice was one I didn’t recognize; I followed her out to the porch, where she led me around the far side, as though to make sure that Rae was not able to hear a word.

  “Mom, what’s—”

  “Why in God’s name didn’t you tell me that this Zack Dixon has been making inappropriate comments to you?” Mom’s familiar eyes snapped with concern. As was her habit when flustered or upset, she clutched her long braid and drew it over one shoulder, twisting it in her hand. Before I could respond, she carried on, “Justin was just here, adamant that we not allow him back on the property. I’ve never seen Justin look so angry. He said to call him if Zack showed up here again, and that he’d deal with him. And then he told me how this young man treated you last night. And the things he’s said to you.” Mom rattled through her words, clearly in distress.

  “Mom,” I began.

  “Don’t ‘Mom’ me in that tone, Jillian. I’m so upset that you didn’t tell me what’s been happening. Why didn’t you? I would have told him exactly where he could go, and how to get there!”

  Tell her about the rocks, the underwear. God, tell her right now.

  But in the end I couldn’t manage to vocalize my thoughts, still embarrassed at the absurdity of it. I only said, “I’m glad Justin told you. But I don’t want him getting in a fight, Mom. I really don’t. I would be horrified if that happened.”

  Mom pulled me close, rubbing my back with both hands. She whispered, “You’re so little and sweet, honey, I worry about you. And you’re pregnant. We all feel so protective of you, you know.”

  And here I’d always thought my family considered me pretty tough. Yes, I was the littlest, but I could deal with things. I could hold my own.

  “I called the college in Moorhead and left a message with the director of graduate studies,” Mom said. “I asked him to call me back as soon as he could. I also informed him that one of his students is a son of a bitch and needs to be reprimanded!”

  I knew she would have phrased it just that way, no glossing it over. I said, “Mom, I’m all right. But thank you.”

  As it was Thursday, I worked lunch, glad for the routine. Ruthie came over with Jo and Blythe to watch Millie and Rae; Matthew was home with Blythe’s mom, Christy. Just before it started to get busy, Justin called to tell me that he and Dodge were driving over to Rose Lake to check out a boat that Dodge had been eyeing in the classified ads, and wouldn’t be back until late afternoon.

  “Thank you for telling Mom about everything,” I told my husband, balancing my cell phone between ear and shoulder as I wiped down a porch table. “I’m glad she knows. I wasn’t sure how to tell her.”

  “Jillian. Woman. I would do anything for you,” he said. “Joan and Ellen were pretty upset.”

  “Yeah, I heard all about it, believe me.” And then, more softly, “I’m all right, honey.”

  “I still worry about you,” he said. “You are more precious to me than anything in this world. You and our kids.”

  “Hurry home to me. I already miss you.”

  “I will, baby. See you later.”

  “Noah’s out on the dock,” Jo said after lunch rush, gazing over my shoulder. We sat rolling silverware on the porch, enjoying the hot sun. She mused, “I wonder if he tried to call and I didn’t get it. Camille didn’t know if he planned to see Millie this week, or not.”

  I craned my neck to see Noah sitting on the glider, his forearms braced over his lap, staring toward the far side of Flickertail. He was very still. It didn’t take a genius to observe the sadness that hovered about him. Though I was still struggling to accept that my Notions seemed out of reach for now, that my awareness seemed altered (I prayed temporarily), I understood that Noah needed help.

  “Do you think he would resent it if I tried to talk to him?” Jo asked as she watched her granddaughter’s f
ather. We were talking as though everything between us was peachy, which it was not; Jo was still mad at me, and had only spoken to me with small talk, the kind normally reserved for strangers, since the night at Eddie’s. She was doing this to communicate that I had hurt her feelings, I knew.

  “I’ll talk to him,” I said, on sudden inspiration. “He doesn’t know me very well, but maybe that’s a good thing. And that way Camille won’t be upset with you for doing something like butting in where you maybe shouldn’t.”

  Jo sighed a little, knowing I was right. She muttered, “Well, there’s no time like the present. I’ll finish up here.”

  I pushed back my chair and stood, tying my ponytail on the way down to the lake. The parking lot was empty of customer cars, but I noticed Noah’s beneath the lone street light. He must have been deep in thought, because he startled almost comically as I walked along the dock boards. Though my footfalls were nearly silent, as I was wearing tennis shoes, the dock trembled in the wake of my passage along it, alerting Noah that someone was joining him, whether he liked it or not.

  “Hi,” he said, clearly flustered.

  “Can I join you for a minute?”

  “Sure,” he said, and then, in a rush, “I’m sorry. I didn’t ask to sit out here, I hope that’s all right.”

  “Of course it is.” I sat on the opposite end of the glider and followed his gaze across the mid-afternoon lake, gorgeous under the sunlight. Motor boats whined in the distance, kids on water skis cutting paths on its surface. The water rippled with blues and golds, lapping the moorings of the dock with tiny breakers. I could tell the poor guy was uncomfortable as hell, so I kept my tone casual. “No one cares if you sit out here. I just thought you looked upset. You maybe want to talk?”

  He glanced my way as though gauging my sincerity. Sounding exhausted, he murmured, “I don’t know.”

  I met his eyes, startled at the defeat present there. It made my gut twist up; gone was the confident, even arrogant, college student who had impregnated my niece three summers ago. Noah’s eyes were full of suffering. I quelled the instant maternal instinct to wrap him in a hug and pet his hair. Surely he would not welcome such a thing.

  “Hey,” I said, and concern leaked into my voice. “Can I help you? Is this about Millie Jo, or Camille?”

  His jaw clenched at my words, like someone trying to hold back a sob. He cleared his throat and whispered, “I fucked up so bad.” He sighed and then apologized. “I don’t mean to swear.”

  “It’s all right,” I said. “Fucked up with Camille, you mean?”

  He closed his eyes and nodded, and then his words came spilling, “She hates me. No, she doesn’t even have that much feeling for me. She just wishes I was gone, I can tell. So that Carter can be Millie’s dad without me in the picture.”

  Shit. He was more perceptive than I gave him credit for and the longer I waited to respond the more he would know that what he spoke was for the most part true. Camille did wish Mathias was Millie’s dad, I knew well. Trying to sound as though I wasn’t fumbling for words, I said, “Noah. Hey. Listen to me. No matter what, Millie is your daughter. And you have a choice. You can be a good, decent, loving dad to her even if you aren’t with her mom. Camille won’t prevent that. She wants Millie to know you. And it seems like you’re trying more than you have in the past. That’s a good thing. You understand?”

  He cupped his head in his hands and I could barely hear his muttered, “Yeah.”

  “Are you here to pick up Millie now?”

  He nodded again.

  “What are you two going to do?” I prodded, truly concerned for him.

  “She’s coming for dinner at our place,” he said at last, drawing another deep breath. “She might spend the night, if it’s all right with Joelle and Joan.” Noah looked over at me and the sincerity in his eyes punched my chest. He whispered, “I love my daughter. It took me a while, I admit it. I was so scared. I didn’t want to be a dad. But I love her now. I really do.”

  “I know you do.” I rubbed a hand between his shoulder blades. I couldn’t help it; I was too much a mother. I insisted, “And that’s what really matters, you know?”

  He nodded, scraping a knuckle beneath his nose. He said hoarsely, “Thanks, Jillian.”

  “If you need to talk, please feel free to find me. Anytime. I mean that.”

  Noah asked, “Is Millie over at Joan’s house?”

  “She is, with Ruthie. You want me to go get her?”

  “No, I’ll head over there.”

  I hooked an elbow over the back edge of the glider, watching as he walked slowly up to Shore Leave. I considered what Joelle would say when I told her about this conversation. She was no longer at the porch table; she probably felt too much like she was spying while I came down here to talk with Noah. He disappeared around the far side of the cafe and I turned back to the lake, processing what he’d just told me. I better call Camille and tell her about this, or at least tell her the minute she gets home from their trip; she needed to know what Noah was feeling, even if she didn’t want to hear it.

  It was then that I spotted a small green canoe approaching our dock, and everything inside of me went on instant alert, snapping to furious attention. I hadn’t noticed his beat-up car in the lot, but it had to be Zack. After all, we were the ones to tell him he could put in at our dock. The nerve of the asshole; after everything that had happened, he still dared to come near the cafe.

  No longer, though.

  You aren’t getting out of this one, fucker, I thought viciously, squaring my shoulders and throwing all of my anger into the air like a net meant to ensnare him. My heartrate increased, fueling my blood with adrenaline. I could tell the instant Zack spied me, as he sat a little straighter and then angled the bow deliberately in my direction. I watched him approach, hardly blinking. At the last second I stood, feeling too vulnerable to remain sitting.

  He wants to scare you, I realized. Don’t show him any fear.

  When he was a few yards away, he quit paddling and hopped nimbly from the canoe, drawing it closer to the dock, knee-deep in the lake. The same sunhat shaded his eyes, his t-shirt dirty and stained. The stern of his canoe was loaded with a cooler, fishing supplies, and another, smaller tote. The afternoon sun danced over the water, disturbed by his motion.

  “Well, this is an unexpected gift,” he said, walking through the lake to stand as close to me as he was able, right at the end of the dock.

  “Why did you do it?” My voice stayed steady despite the nauseous churning in my gut.

  He cocked his head to the side, as though not comprehending. “Do what?” I leaned forward, braving the pale flatness of his unwavering stare. “I know what you fucking did.”

  I expected signs of immediate retreat. But he moved a step closer. “Yes, I wrote on that napkin. Yes, I touched you at the bar. And yes, I am drawn to you. I’m not apologizing for it.”

  Nervous sweat slicked down my spine; God, he was so horrible. It was the wrong thing to engage him this way, I realized too late, but still I said, with venom, “You know I don’t mean those things.”

  “Then what do you mean?” he asked, perfectly composed, and I knew he was messing with me, I knew it, and at the same time I understood that I could never prove this; did I actually expect him to confess?

  “You know exactly what I mean,” I hissed, burning with frustration. “You were in my house.”

  His weight shifted slightly forward as the canoe bumped the backs of his knees. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Crawling with anger and unease, I insisted, “I know you were. And I want you out of here. For good.”

  “Thank goodness it’s a free country then,” he said. He was lean and strong, undeniably intimidating, and he took another step closer; he could have reached and gotten his hands around my thighs. His eyes slowly tracking all along the front of my body, he murmured, “But if you want me in your house, just say the word. I’m free right now.”

>   I could not quite suppress the trembling in my knees. “Never come near me or my family again. You are unwelcome on this property.”

  “Or what?” he asked lightly, and there was a distinct edge of menace in his tone, even as he kept a smile pasted on his face. His unsettling eyes glittered. “Will you tell your scar-face husband? What would he think if I told him that you’ve been meeting up with me lately, while he’s at work? What if I tell him that we fuck?”

  I stared at him in blank shock. “You’re insane.”

  He laughed at this and then said, “I think I could love you, Jillian. I think I could love you a whole lot.”

  “Fuck you,” I whispered, numb and ill.

  He winked at me as he stepped back into his canoe, sending it rocking. Catching up the oar, he said, as though we were old friends, “I’m sure going to miss you. I really am.”

  Before I could respond, he paddled away; his small green canoe moved swiftly over the surface. Rage, and simple disbelief that someone had actually spoken to me like that, erupted beneath my skin. He didn’t look back as the canoe skimmed across the lake.

  “Where’s Mom?” I demanded upon entering the dining room no more than a minute later.

  Jo, sitting at the counter with Christy, Rich, and little Matthew, looked up in surprise, startled by my tone. Without answering my question, she asked, “What did Noah say?”

  “He said—never mind, I’ll tell you later.” I peered around the cafe, searching for Mom.

  “Jillian, look at you,” Christy was saying, standing to give me a hug.

  Flustered, trapped in the necessity of being pleasant in this moment, I hugged Christy in return. She drew back and smiled, her pretty, smoky-blue eyes just exactly like Blythe’s. She gushed, “Aren’t you lovely? Look at you, so cute and pregnant! It’s good to be in Landon. I’m so happy Junior lives here now.”

  “Jilly, you want me to make you a sandwich?” Rich asked. “You look like you could use something to eat, hon.”

  Dear old Rich. I drew myself together and assured him, “No, I’m not hungry. But thank you.” I said to Christy, “It’s good to see you too. Your grandson is pretty adorable.”