A Notion of Love Read online

  Justin offered a wan smile before saying, “Hey, Henriksen. Have fun, you two.”

  “He’s being so weird,” I noted as Justin disappeared into the crowd, but Chris just shrugged, unconcerned as he gathered me close.

  “Can I kiss you?” he asked, smiling down at me, and I went up on tiptoe to kiss him in answer.

  We found the punch table and then danced. An hour later I was drenched in sweat, though my hair was holding out, thanks to Great-Aunt Minnie’s zillion bobby pins. I finally took a break to head to the bathroom and had just come out when Jo caught me, flushed and smelling like wine.

  “Oh Jilly, I was looking for you,” she said. “Me and Jackie are leaving for awhile.”

  “Is he okay to drive?” I asked immediately.

  Jo nodded with utter assurance, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. She said, “Don’t worry, we aren’t going far.”

  “Just all the way,” I teased her and she shook her head at me, laughing.

  “See you later,” she told me.

  Chapter Four

  October, 1986

  “I’d like an autumn wedding,” I’d told Chris back in the summer. We’d graduated in June and Chris formally proposed a week later, though I insisted I wanted to keep my peridot promise ring rather than wear a new and unfamiliar one; I did consent to switch its placement from my right hand to my left.

  Maybe we were too young to be married, maybe we should have thought more about college. But we were so happy and delighted to be free to make decisions for ourselves. Chris was working every day with his father at their cabinetry business, and would continue to do so; I would keep my job at Shore Leave, mostly since I couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing my family on a daily basis. We had decided to move in with Elaine and Tom for the time being, as their basement was equipped with a small kitchen and we could live there inexpensively until we managed to save enough for a place of our own. I knew Chris wanted to build us a house with his own hands; we talked about it and planned, drew pictures and cut images from magazines. Of course we called it our dream house, and Chris vowed someday he would build it for me.

  The Thursday before our wedding, Jo and Jackie, along with tiny Camille, flew in from Chicago. They drove up to Landon in a rental car and I was whole-heartedly glad to see my sister, who’d been away from me for over two years now. I had been despondent in her absence; Chris was the only person who’d been able to cast away the gloom. And it still made my heart ache; it was as though a part of my body had been cut off, a part of my soul. I had never been without my sister for more than a day or two in a row, and I hated Jackie for taking her from me, I hated that she’d been irresponsible enough to get pregnant, forcing their marriage. I had been all set to hate their baby, but the moment I held her and put my nose to her tiny, sweet-scented head, I realized how foolish I’d been.

  It was evening at Shore Leave, the trees in their full autumn splendor of scarlets, oranges and molten yellows, the lake a somber indigo, no longer the enchanting, sun-kissed blue of summer. The air had a bite, and I was bundled in a big white sweater and jeans. When the car pulled into the lot, I raced and practically dragged my sister from the passenger seat. She was laughing and crying at once as we rocked together, hugging. Jackie leaned into the backseat to unbuckle Camille and bounced her on his arm; she was adorable, with thick brown curls and Jo’s golden-green eyes.

  “Hi, Milla!” I said brightly to her, but she hooked a finger in her mouth and pressed her forehead against Jackie’s jaw, hiding her face.

  He laughed, reaching to hug me with his free arm. “Hi, Jilly.”

  Jackie looked exactly the same, though Jo had changed a little since her venture into wife- and motherhood; though she appeared otherwise content, there were hints of smudgy shadows under her eyes and her silky blond hair was cut short these days, just long enough to tuck behind her ears. She hugged me again and against my temple murmured, “It’s so good to be home.”

  “Here, Milla, go to Mommy,” Jackie said, but the toddler clung to him.

  Jo rolled her eyes, though with affection, saying, “She’s such a daddy’s girl.”

  Chris came bounding down the steps then, hugging everyone, smiling and exuding happiness, as always. The womenfolk were crowding out onto the porch and Jo ran up to greet them while Chris unloaded their luggage and Jackie carried Camille up the porch steps, where she was yet too shy allow anyone but him to hold her.

  Much later Jo and I had found a moment to sneak out to the dock, though sitting under a mid-October evening sky was vastly different than a summer one; the air was still and chilly, crackling dry, with none of the stroking humidity of just a few weeks earlier. The stars appeared brilliant and jagged-edged on the black backdrop of the sky, and I had toted the afghan down from the house to drape around my shoulders while Jo was wrapped up in Jackie’s thick jean jacket.

  “I’m so happy for you, Jilly,” Joelle said as we shared both the glider and a cigarette, our elbows bumping. For a moment I imagined us back in middle school, pre-boyfriends, when Jo belonged only to me. She went on, “And Chris is so cute. He can’t keep from smiling. You guys are just so meant to be.”

  I tipped my head onto her shoulder for a couple of beats and then asked, “How are you guys doing, really? How’s Chicago?”

  Jo sighed and then took a long drag on the smoke. Exhaling she admitted, “I still miss it here so much. Jackie is so busy finishing school I barely ever see him.”

  “Stay here,” I pestered her. “Just move home.”

  “Jackie loves it there,” she said, as though talking to herself. “He loves the city and the glamour and the bustle. We used to talk about moving back up here, but I don’t believe that’s a possibility anymore.”

  My heart constricted. I said, hearing the petulance in my voice and hoping it overrode the fear, “Then you move home.”

  Jo laughed a little and said, “Yeah, right. Like I could do that.” She sounded so defeated. She sighed and said immediately, “God, I’m sorry Jills, this is your wedding weekend and I’m acting this way. I’m sorry. Forget I said anything.”

  I echoed her words, “Yeah, right, I’m just gonna forget. Just think about it, Jo, please. You could move back in here.”

  She shuddered lightly. “Back in with Mom, no thanks.”

  I sighed and held out my hand for the cigarette, which Jo passed over, as though it was a joint. I’d hijacked one from Minnie’s pack on the windowsill and she preferred menthols, prompting us to share just one. Jo went on, “Besides, after Saturday you’ll be a married woman and you won’t miss me so much then. You’ll probably have ten kids before you know it. Chris can barely keep his eyes off of you, so I would imagine his hands aren’t far behind.”

  I felt my cheeks heating up and shifted my head so that my long hair partially sheltered my face. Jo knew me far too well to be fooled and bumped her shoulder against mine. I admitted, “Chris wants a ton of kids. He’s always hated being an only child. And Elaine has already been hinting about grandchildren.”

  “See, you’ll be busy with babies. God, it’s weird to imagine you having a kid. I can barely keep up with my own.”

  “She’s so adorable,” I said. At dinner Camille had finally relaxed enough to sit by me.

  “But exhausting,” Jo said. “That would be one great thing about moving back home…the womenfolk would be around to help me take care of her.”

  Up on the porch the screen door clacked and Jackie called, “Jo, you coming to bed?”

  Jo lowered her voice and whispered, “He’s thinking sex since Milla is sleeping in with Mom.”

  I giggled a little, teasing, “Yeah, I’m sure it’s been ages for you two horn-dogs.”

  “You’d be surprised,” she said, turning over her shoulder to call, “I’ll be right up, honey!”

  “Go and make some lovin’ and I’ll see you in the morning,” I said, and we hugged hard before she climbed up the incline to Jackson.

  Min
utes later Chris found me, pulling me onto his lap and snuggling me against his chest, resettling the afghan around us. He said for the millionth time, “I’m so happy, Jilly Bean.”

  I twisted around to peck his chin, teasing, “No one would ever have guessed.”

  He kissed my left ear and then tightened his arms. “Well I’ve only wanted to marry you since the fifth grade.”

  “Really?” I thought I knew everything about him, but this was a new one.

  “Yeah, Mrs. Beasley’s class, you sat two seats ahead of me. All I could think about that year was how much I liked you.”

  “And you waited until tenth grade to ask me out?” I badgered him, lining his forearms with my own. “What about all of middle school?”

  “I was too chicken,” he admitted. His voice was husky with sincerity as he added, lips against my temple, “But now we’ve got our whole lives to spend together, Jilly Bean.”

  I turned and expertly straddled him, smiling into his eyes. My heart thumped hard as he clutched my hips and held me close. I smoothed my palms over the sides of his face and ran my fingernails through his hair, which I knew he loved. Words couldn’t express what I wanted to say, what was in my heart, so instead I tipped my forehead against his and forced the strength of my feelings directly into his eyes. Chris’s crinkled at the corners as he smiled and his hands moved up over my waist, to my neck and at last my face, which he tipped to the right to kiss me properly.

  ***

  Our wedding service was small, held at the ancient Presbyterian church in Landon where the Henriksens had been members since long before my birth. I’d wanted our ceremony to be on the porch at Shore Leave, under the sunset sky, but I kept that to myself, knowing Chris would be torn; it was important to his parents for us to marry in the same chapel where they too had been wed, twenty-two years ago.

  Jo was my attendant and Chris’s best friend Neil Gorman would walk her down the aisle. I wore a satin dress (the color wasn’t quite white, but instead called ‘candlelight’ and it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever owned) and I never felt more gorgeous or fairy-like in my life; Jo was in charge of my make-up, Minnie my hair, into which she pinned two seed-pearl combs that had belonged to her mother, Myrtle Jean Davis, founder of Shore Leave. My dress was a sheath, with cap sleeves and a semi-open back decorated by delicate strings of pearls. And my shoes…they added over two inches to my height and were matching satin, with straps that wound up my calves. I clung tightly to Dodge, fearful of tripping on my way up the aisle.

  Dodge was suspiciously red-eyed and kept clearing his throat as we waited in the vestibule, my arm tucked securely against his side; the little church was filled to the fifth row of pews and my heart was beating hard and fast, though we’d rehearsed everything seamlessly last night before the groom’s dinner. That event had been held at the café, loud and boisterous, with barbecue chicken and ribs, baked beans and steak fries, apple fritters and chocolate cake, all of Chris’s favorites. Justin, who’d come solo since Aubrey was out of town (which was preferable to me, though I wouldn’t have admitted that) had previously teased me about the less-than-gourmet menu and made sure to ask if our ceremony was going to be held in a barn and feature square dancing while I wore a checkered dress? His own wedding had been just a few months earlier and Aubrey, as expected, had insisted the on top-of-the-line and the pretentious (Dodge’s words, in private, to Aunt Ellen).

  I caught Justin’s eye for a moment, as he sat in the pew near Jackie and his little sister Liz, everyone peeking back to see when the wedding march would begin, and felt the urge to stick out my tongue. See, I look fantastic, I wanted to say. Nothing like a square dancer or a tomboy. But then the music swelled (we’d settled on Canon in D, after much dickering) and Chris was coming in from the side to take his place on the altar. My heart moved from double to triple-time, seeing my man up there in his tuxedo, his hands folded and his eyes fixed on the back of the church.

  This was it, my wedding. After today Chris and I would truly belong together in every sense of the word.

  Dodge tightened his grip on my arm and cleared his throat again, asking gruffly, “You ready, little one?”

  I watched as Jo, on Neil’s arm, made her way up the aisle in the plum-colored gown she’d purchased in Chicago; I hadn’t been picky on anything but color. Next was Dodge and me, and everyone was standing in anticipation. I gulped a little but I kept my gaze on Christopher, who was grinning like a little boy, and I said to my almost-father, “I sure am.”

  ***

  The dance was held at Rose Lake Lodge, a ten-minute drive from Landon, but one of the most beautiful places in the vicinity, and much larger than Shore Leave. Considering that I planned to dance the night away with all of the people I loved, we needed the extra floor space. Eddie Sorenson’s nephew, Theodore, had a band and we’d hired them to play; by the time Chris and I arrived at the Lodge, most of the guests were already there, drinking and enjoying the spectacular view of the lake out the wide front windows. Neil had taken Chris and me, along with his own girlfriend Sarah, on the “scenic route,” which meant Neil drove the backroads while Chris, Sarah and I passed a bottle of champagne and then did a few shots of coconut rum. The downfall of only being nineteen at your own wedding: no drinking in public. Chris and I didn’t stop kissing until Sarah threatened to pour rum on us. Even still I kept my hand tucked around his arm, still in disbelief that he was mine, that I was a married woman.

  The guys in the band were setting up on the wooden dais in the far corner. The windows of the lodge allowed for a panoramic, utterly breathtaking view of Rose Lake, slightly larger than Flickertail to the west, which glittered under the late-afternoon sun. The far shore was radiant in fall colors, predominantly deep reds and brilliant flame-oranges, with birch trees scattered here and there like spilled golden coins. I sighed in contentment, tugging on Chris and insisting, “See? If we’d had a July wedding the view would have been different.”

  Chris was flushed and still grinning; he almost looked stoned and I giggled, my own cheeks pretty warm. He bent and kissed me flush on the lips, then said, “Whatever you say, Mrs. Henriksen.”

  I giggled more at that, still a little stunned that my name was no longer Davis. Although, being a Davis was in my blood, bones and heart; it mattered little that my name had changed. And I was so delighted and proud to be Jillian Rae Henriksen. My own grin was as wide as a dinner plate.

  Jo came and caught me in the growing crowd, hugging me close and saying, “Come on, little married lady, we have to get your train buttoned up so you can dance.”

  Dance we did. Theodore’s band, called Uprising, was fantastic and catered to the numerous shouted requests. They started the evening with more mellow numbers, but then picked up the beat as the night progressed. Even the most reluctant were drawn to the dance floor when they played “I Knew the Bride,” during which I was passed from one set of arms to another in a whirlwind. I ended up with Justin and he gave me an extra spin as the music ended and Uprising slid seamlessly into “Wonderful Tonight.”

  “How about it, tomboy?” he asked, giving me his old teasing grin.

  “Sure,” I managed to say, out of breath and sweaty, my face hot from exertion and a damn strong buzz. I’d discarded my shoes hours earlier and yet still stumbled a little; though I think Justin would have kept us in a waltzing stance, I slid my hands up around his neck for stability. His moved more slowly to my waist and over the thin, satiny fabric of my dress.

  “Well, congratulations,” he told me, no longer grinning, dark eyes serious on mine. Though Justin was much taller than me, I still found myself slightly disconcerted by how close our dancing embrace put our eyes; but that was ridiculous, since I’d danced this way with every other male guest all evening. Chris was equally in demand with the women; other than our first two dances, I’d hardly seen him.

  “Thank you,” I said, and my voice was unnaturally reedy, certainly from drinking too much. I felt drunker than ever, now
that I’d slowed down. I heard myself say, “And I don’t look like a square dancer.”

  Just a hint of his grin this time. I caught the scent of whiskey on his breath as he replied, “No, nothing like a square dancer.”

  I realized that I wanted him to compliment me and for a strange, unexpected moment my heart beat a fluttery rhythm against my breastbone as he swayed us to the music and our eyes held. His hands were very warm on either side of my waist and I felt that he was attempting to span it with his palms.

  The song ended.

  “There’s the little bride!” Dodge was saying then, jovial and red-faced, his shirt collar open and the scent of booze preceding him like a trumpet section. But then again, it was a day of celebration. “Next dance is mine, little Jilly.”

  I blinked and moved into Dodge’s arms, and he swept me away as the next song started up.

  It would be more than a decade and a half before I allowed myself to remember my wedding-day dance with Justin Miller.

  Chapter Five

  November, 1987

  “Jilly Bean, look at our little baby,” Chris said, tucking his chin on my shoulder. “Look at his little nose, it’s so perfect. And his fingers. They’re all there, all ten.”

  I kissed the soft, fuzzy little head and smushy face of our boy. I added, “Of course they’re all there, goofball. He’s just perfect, isn’t he?”

  Chris cupped the back of my neck and kissed my temple; with his other hand he gently nudged at the baby’s fist, which opened and then clung to his daddy’s finger. I giggled, watching, while beside me Chris swallowed hard and I didn’t have to look to know that tears were building in his eyes. My throat thickened immediately.

  “Hey, buddy,” Chris crooned. “Hey, little man. What should we call you?”

  “I was thinking Danny,” I said, after Dodge, despite the fact that he wasn’t actually my father. We’d talked about Daniel, or Thomas, after Chris’s dad. “Or does he look like a Tommy?”