Wild Flower Page 10

  I see a hand mirror, small and wood-framed, lying on the floor near a discarded costume. I snatch it up and study my face, my slim pale face, with its eyes of two different colors, and the familiar loathing rolls in, swift as a springtime river.

  Oh God, let him come back to me, let him come back to me, oh God, I beg of you.

  Let him find me…please, I’ll do anything…

  I’ll do anything…

  Much later, I woke with a start. Suspended in sickening fear, it took me seconds to realize where I was, that I was safe and Mathias was near. I pressed both hands to my heart in an effort to calm my clubbing pulse. I was wet with fearful sweat, my chest tight. The dream had come crawling again, the sensation of being lost and alone, of being…

  Of being without him.

  Oh God, oh God.

  My hands bunched into frantic fists. It was just a nightmare, Camille, just a horrible fucking nightmare. But I could not shake the sense that it was somehow more and would not be pacified; my fear only increased.

  “Camille,” Mathias murmured in his sleep and I aligned my body with his, pressing close, my face at his collarbones. He shifted, arms circling, and stroked my hair with both hands. He put his lips against my forehead; he was more fully awake now, and whispered, “What is it, honey?”

  My tears were warm and wet on his chest, and I could not answer. He murmured soft sounds of love, comforting me, and at last I stopped trembling.

  Chapter Five

  THE EVENING WAS PERFECT FOR A BALLGAME; TWILIGHT cooled the air, and the sunlight was the sort that made my throat ache with its beauty, beaming across the freshly-shorn grass, radiating a brilliant, otherworldly yellow-green. Justin, Rae, and I joined the adults and littler kids lounging in camp chairs and upon picnic blankets rather than the small section of bleachers; those were typically left to the high school kids. In a town the size of Landon the teenagers saw each other often, even in the summer, but there was always an air of gossipy excitement surrounding them, one I remembered well from my own days of claiming the bleachers, giggling with Jo and the other girls as we admired the boys on the field.

  Justin’s little sister, Liz, and her husband, Mark Worden (known in Landon almost exclusively as Wordo) were already there and we settled beside them. Wordo had two kids from his first marriage, Lisa and Jeff; Jeff had long harbored a huge crush on Tish (one that, judging from their alleged make-out sessions, wasn’t totally unrequited) and was a fellow member of Clint’s baseball team.

  “Hi, guys!” Liz said, leaning to grab us drinks from her cooler. Liz was petite and cute, with the same coffee-brown eyes as my husband.

  “Hi, favorite sister-in-law,” I said, as Justin set up our lawn chairs.

  “Jilly Bean, you look like an angel, I’m dead serious,” Liz said, shaking her head. “That dress makes your eyes as blue as the sky. When I was pregnant I looked like a goddamn hippopotamus.”

  “You did not, and besides, you were carrying triplets, might I remind you. Most of us just do one at a time.”

  Justin caught me around the waist and bent to kiss the side of my neck, which was bare, as I’d pinned up my hair. He said to his little sister, “Jilly is my angel, that’s God’s truth.”

  “You’re a goddamn lucky man,” Liz agreed, indicating with a beer can that I should sit.

  “J.D., you gotta hear what Daryl thinks about…” Wordo said to my husband, but it sounded like maybe a sports thing, and I tuned him out; I settled beside Liz and accepted a can of lemonade. Justin crouched near Wordo and Daryl to join their conversation, cracking open a beer.

  “Mama, can I go play with those guys?” Rae leaned on my knee to ask, crinkling up one eye as she regarded me. She meant a group of little girls on a blanket about twenty feet away.

  “No hug for your Auntie Liz?” Liz asked, and Rae giggled, diving into her aunt’s arms.

  “Stay where I can see you,” I told my daughter, and she scampered away.

  I scanned the field, where the players were just warming up; I spied Clinty at once, number five for Richardson Plumbing, the sponsor of his summer league. They were playing Huber Auto tonight. I was a mother, but I was also more observant than most, and a girl standing near the tall section of chain link fence that separated the bleachers from home plate caught my eye; Claire Henry, Clint’s one and only girlfriend in high school. They had dated for part of both tenth and eleventh grades, before Claire broke it off with him. Clint was devastated for a period of a month, near Christmas of that year, before his naturally cheery attitude finally reestablished itself. And now here she was, openly studying Clint. I could tell from his easy posture and the way he was laughing with another teammate that he had not yet noticed her.

  “There’s Claire,” I said to Liz, indicating across the field.

  Liz knew all about their history. “Regretting her decision, looks like.”

  “They were just friends all senior year, according to Clint.”

  “But he never dated anyone else,” Liz reminded me.

  “That’s true. He’s so shy in his own way. He’s young for his age, you know what I mean?”

  “He’s sweet as could be,” Liz said.

  Claire settled near a group of girls on the risers as the game began. I watched Clint lift his ball cap to swipe his forehead with the back of one hand, still clutching the baseball, and right at that moment he saw Claire. I could tell just by the way his hand lowered too slowly back to his side and his spine straightened.

  Oh, honey, I thought, wanting to run over there and hug him. It was never easy seeing your ex.

  And it was just as I had this thought that Liz asked, “Am I seeing things, or is that actually Aubrey?”

  My heart stuttered at these words, my gaze dashing in the direction of Liz’s. Sure enough, Aubrey Pritchard was mincing across the ballfield and it was also apparent that she was coming to talk to us.

  “God, Dad told me she was back in town,” Liz muttered. She leaned and poked Justin’s shoulder, as he was nearer to her than me, and still talking to Wordo. “J.D., I hate to tell you this…”

  Justin looked our way with brows raised. Liz indicated and then he saw Aubrey; I watched how his shoulders squared as though preparing for a confrontation. He rolled his eyes and muttered, “Jesus, here we go.”

  He moved at once to sit in his chair beside mine, angling closer, almost protectively. Probably I should have found this endearing; instead it just made me all the more irritated. I wasn’t afraid of her. I could hold my own. My heart clobbered my ribcage.

  “Hi, everyone,” Aubrey said upon reaching us, no more than fifteen seconds later. She looked totally overdone, even though you could tell she’d tried to look sexy; I assumed she was attempting to recreate her high school persona to some extent, as she wore jeans of the painted-on variety, a strappy black tank top, her auburn hair straightened to within an inch of its pitiful life. Heeled fucking sandals. She paused a few feet from my knees and angled herself with one hip jutting.

  When no one immediately responded, she heaved the tiniest of sighs and shifted so the other hip was prominent. A small part of me marveled at her bravado. She was far too tanned and it didn’t do any favors for her; that was not me being catty. It just didn’t. Her eyeliner was exactly applied and extra black. Maybe she was going through a midlife crisis. I almost spoke this thought aloud to my husband, choking it back at the last moment.

  Everyone in the vicinity, of course realizing that this was Justin’s ex-wife, stared at this potentially interesting situation, some with outright curiosity.

  Finally Liz asked, with thinly-veiled sarcasm, “So, how’s it going?”

  “Great,” Aubrey said shortly and then directed her mean little eyes at me, tilting her head to the side as though regarding a child. “You didn’t mention to these guys that we talked in the store?”

  Justin answered for me, which I really did not appreciate at this given moment, asking bluntly, “What do you want?”

 
I could tell from his tone that he wasn’t exactly angry; unfriendly mostly, and I could sense his concern for me. He moved his hand gently over my left thigh, patting me and then settling it there as though to communicate that everything was all right. Aubrey’s eyes zeroed in on this before flickering to my belly.

  It was the second time today that I’d been rudely examined by someone I disliked, Zack Dixon being the first. Feeling as though Aubrey would win some minor victory if I didn’t answer her question, I located my voice. “I mentioned it. And I am sorry for hitting your car. It was an accident.”

  “About that,” she said, flipping her hair to the other shoulder and then focusing upon Justin. Her tone when she spoke to him made my fingers curl into cat claws; it was the same one I’d heard her use when they were still married, a cross between disdainful and commanding. “I need that fixed by tomorrow evening.”

  Justin leaned back in his chair and shook his head, a smile with no relation to humor crossing his face; it was purely hostile. “Dad told you it would be done this week. And that’s the end of it.”

  I watched as her eyes narrowed and suddenly found myself confronted by an old, unwanted memory—this same field, but on a summer night now long past, way back in high school, when I’d seen Justin kissing Aubrey at the fence in front of the bleachers, gripping the chain link on either side of her. He was so passionate, and like it or not (and I fiercely hated it down to the blackest, lowest, pettiest part of my soul) Aubrey had once been on the receiving end of that passion.

  “It’s not the end of it,” she bitched. “I need my car.”

  “It’s completely driveable,” Justin said, retaining calm. I sensed that she wanted badly to agitate him, to cause a reaction.

  Rae came running to us then, diving for her daddy, climbing onto his lap. Justin cuddled Rae close, ignoring Aubrey; I was the one who couldn’t look away from her. Seeing Justin with his daughter seemed to dissolve something on her face. As I watched, a flicker of discomposure moved across the façade of self-righteous confidence.

  See that? You lost your chance. He’s mine now, I told her without words, sending the thought whistling through the air the same way I might have swung a bat toward her head. It must have connected pretty well, because Aubrey put a hand to her temple for a split second, before she resumed glaring at Justin.

  “Dad will fix it up for you, no worries,” Liz said, clearly trying to diffuse the tension.

  “Aubrey, could you move?” Wordo asked, with complete politeness. “I can’t see the game and Jeffy’s on the mound tonight.”

  Clint jogged over from the field, coming to a halt at Aubrey’s side and asking Justin, “Dad, you got the truck keys? Quick, I gotta grab my extra glove.”

  Justin hooked an arm around Rae’s waist to anchor her while he shifted to unzip the side pocket of the backpack we’d toted with. Finding the keys, he handed them up to Clint, who responded with a quick thanks and raced away.

  “‘Dad?’ ” Aubrey repeated.

  Rae tucked her chin on Justin’s shoulder, facing me, and implored, “Mama, I gotta go potty.”

  Justin told me, “I got it, baby. You stay here.”

  His eyes held mine and he said without words, Please don’t let Aubrey upset you. Please, Jilly.

  I’m trying, I responded.

  Justin rose, lifting Rae to his left forearm. In the evening sun I studied him momentarily through Aubrey’s eyes, a clear picture of what she left behind and what she could never have again; it wasn’t just that he was so incredibly sexy, with his long, lean build and powerful shoulders, his arms that rippled with muscle, his handsome face with its chiseled jaw and intense eyes. It was the sense of tenderness that he exuded as he carried his child to the brick restrooms on the far side of the field. He was a man who loved his family with his whole heart. A man who cared passionately for those he considered his. My eyes moved from following my husband and daughter, back to Aubrey’s face, and I didn’t need to be particularly observant to realize that something akin to regret was coursing through her as she also watched their progress.

  The game got rolling; Clint located his glove and jogged to join his teammates as they took the field. Liz shot me a look, eyebrows raised, nodding at Aubrey, who was still blocking Wordo’s view; he was craning his neck to see around her.

  “I’ll be sure to tell Dodge to call you as soon as the car’s fixed,” I said.

  Aubrey turned back in my direction, shading her eyes against the last of the sun to peer down at me. Two bracelets on her right wrist clacked together. She all but hissed, “I’ll call him myself, thanks.”

  This time I did nothing to disguise the anger that leached into my eyes. In high school I had been intimidated by her, terribly so, but that was long ago. I lifted my chin (Gran and Great-Aunt Minnie would have been proud of my assertiveness) and said, with venom, “Suit yourself.”

  Aubrey offered me an acidic glare before walking away, hips rolling.

  “For fuck’s sake,” Liz muttered, and Wordo laughed. People around us were looking between Aubrey and me, and I felt uncomfortably hot in my skin, as though it had been steamed and shrunk. My heart began to ease down to a more regular speed but the clenching in my gut would not settle. Even knowing that it was impossible, it needled me on some level to realize that she wanted Justin back; that she dared to even think there was a chance of that.

  Justin returned five minutes later, toting Rae, reclaiming his seat. He cupped the back of my neck, teasing the curls that formed there in the humidity. His touch sent little spikes of pleasure along my skin but I was not in the mood to be stroked, and twitched my shoulders; Justin recognized my frayed nerves and wisely refrained from commenting.

  It’s not his fault, I reminded myself, however grudgingly. You can hardly blame him for what his ex-wife does.

  There was plenty of noisy bustling in the crowd as the game continued beneath the evening sky, darkening now to indigo; the field lights blinked to life. Clint was crouched low over second base, forearms to thighs. He rocked side to side, eyes intent upon the batter, Wordo’s son, Jeff. The pitcher wound up, then released the ball in a flowing motion, graceful as a dancer. Jeff connected with a crack like that of a rifle shot in the distance and Clint became a blur. The crowd erupted as Jeff sailed past first base and flew for second, Clint rounding third for home.

  “Go, Clinty!” screeched Rae, bouncing on Justin’s lap.

  Clint ran full-bore, arms churning; we were all screaming for him. I marveled at my little boy all grown up, a high school graduate, the same boy who’d slept in my bed for years after his dad died, the both of us comforted by one another; I would wake up during those nights with his heels pushing against my tailbone, forced to carefully unwind the blankets from him so I wouldn’t freeze. He crashed into the catcher in a flurry of limbs and was a second later declared safe. I smiled, clapping wildly, as Justin whistled and Rae tried to imitate him, hooking her pinkies in her mouth. I giggled at the sight. Clint stood up and brushed dust off his backside, grinning widely, looking adorable. I saw Claire watching, standing now, closer to the chain link fence, her solemn eyes fixed on my son.

  And I reflected again that it really did suck to have to run into your ex.

  “Mom, can we get ice cream?” Clint asked after the game, lying on the grass at our feet, arms flung to either side. Jeff sprawled in a similar fashion, ball cap over his face.

  “Ice cream!” Rae picked up the chant and Clint directed his grin at her. He knew well how to get her stirred up, and she was always on his side. Rae turned to Justin and caught his face in her little hands, patting his cheeks as she wheedled, “Please, Daddy-Daddy?”

  Justin’s eyes were soft with love and tenderness as he regarded our daughter, and I felt a familiar tug in my heart. I thought of the evening three summers ago when Justin and I had sat on the dock at Shore Leave, before we’d been a couple, and he’d mentioned that he wanted kids of his own. I smoothed my right hand over the lower curve of
my belly, love for him overriding all traces of irritation. Justin looked my way and winked; he knew exactly what I was thinking.

  “If Mama says it’s all right,” he allowed, kissing Rae’s nose.

  “Ice cream sounds good,” I agreed. “We picked about five thousand strawberries today, didn’t we, Rae-Rae? Should we go to the cafe and make strawberry sundaes?”

  “Oh, Mom, for real? That sounds so good,” Clint enthused, rolling to catch one of Rae’s feet in his hand, jiggling her leg. She laughed and wiggled down from Justin’s lap to climb all over her brother.

  “You guys up for sundaes?” I invited Liz and Wordo.

  “You know what, Dad is bringing the kids home in about fifteen minutes,” Liz said. “So we better head back.”

  “Can I go, at least?” Jeff asked from beneath his hat. “I want ice cream.”

  “You’re welcome to sleep over at our place,” I told him.

  “Isn’t summer the best?” Liz reflected, rising and folding her lawn chair. “No school, endless sleepovers, and ice cream.”

  “Right,” I agreed, stretching out my hands to Justin so that he’d help me from my chair; he would have anyway, but I was also communicating, All is forgiven, I’m done being bitchy about Aubrey with the gesture. He took my hands, dark eyes warm on mine, and bent to kiss my knuckles like a cowboy from an old movie. On my feet, I snuggled into his chest, hugging him close. He kissed the top of my head, clearly replying I know, baby.

  “Boys, meet us at the cafe,” I told Jeff and Clint, who’d biked to the field.

  Ten minutes later we had parked at home and then walked through the woods to Shore Leave, where Mom, Blythe’s step-grandfather, Rich, and Aunt Ellen sat having their evening smoke at a porch table, enjoying the twilight air. Flickertail was calm under the darkening sky, while a chorus of crickets about a million strong harmonized with the low-pitched, intermittent chirping of the pair of mourning doves nesting in one of the cedars near the cafe. A cardinal was perched somewhere, serenading the rising moon. Clint and Jeff pedaled up on their bikes and coasted in lazy circles around the parking lot.