Skinny Dipping Season (25 page)

I raised my head. “J. D.? Are you okay?” I should have never said it. “Oh God, I just ruined everything.”

Gathering himself, he pulled his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. His breathing started again, heavy and ragged. I ran my hands across his back, trying to calm him down.

“I'm sorry, I'll take it back if it really bothers you.”

When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “No . . . no . . . it's all right. I just—give me a moment to let it sink in.”

“Okay,” I said. I stroked his back and prayed that he wasn't about to run away.

He turned his head. “Are you sure you want to say that? I mean, I pretty much made a fool of myself in front of half the town last week.”

“Actually that was me.”

“Listen, E, do you understand what you're getting yourself into?”

I crawled over the sheets until I straddled his lap. I placed my hands on his shoulders. “Just because you were in trouble as a kid doesn't mean you are hopeless for the rest of your life. In fact, you're stronger than anyone I know. I mean—my God, J. D.—you've built a whole new life for yourself.”

He grabbed my arms and removed them. Struggling not to feel hurt, I leaned away from him. “It's me, isn't it? Listen, I know I'm a mess that you don't want to clean up. I completely understand that. I just want you to know that I love you. Is that so awful to hear from a crazy lady?”

He paused before blurting out, “I've never heard anyone say that to me before.”

“You never heard anyone say
I love you
?” I leaned forward and cradled his head in my hands. “Do you want me to take it back?”

The corner of his mouth tilted up. “Just let me get used to it.”

“Well, you may want to think about it carefully—you've met the Livelys. You already know about my OCD issues. My family could easily employ a team of psychologists for years. Believe it or not, my little brother is the most normal one of us. It turns out the other relative who I always loved, but was told my whole life was a trashy, crusty old lady, was the best of the whole family. That's the most ironic part. Grandma was better than all my upper-crust Lively relatives put together.”

J. D. reached out and pulled me to him. “You take after her.” Tears rose in my eyes.

“Oh my God, J. D., I swear I've cried enough in the last few days to turn the Gobi Desert green.” He kissed the tears at the corner of each eye.

“For the record, J. D., anybody—and I mean
anybody
—could have responded the same way to that idiot Schraeder. He was such a jerk that I almost crawled over the crowd to go at him myself.”

“Yeah, but I'm law enforcement. I should have known better.”

“Yeah, well, I'm a teacher, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to act like a kid once in a while! I am so sorry.”

“Elizabeth, stop apologizing for what happened. I forgive you. But if you ever do something like that again, I'm going to throw you back in the muck.”

“I promise.”

We sat holding each other, listening to the distant thunder.

“So?”

He was involved in kissing a spot just behind my ear.

“So?” I said again.

A smile that I couldn't see but I could feel was making it difficult for his mouth to kiss me properly. I waited. And still he said nothing. I wiggled and pulled away. He reached out and held me. I was making him happy in all the right places.

“Okay, buddy. You have to respond somehow here. Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about.”

A low rumble began in the back of his throat, joining a departing rumble of thunder in the distance. The thundershower was moving away.

“So . . . hmmm,” he teased me, bringing a finger to his lips. “Do you want to talk about something?”

If he made fun of me any longer I was going to clobber him far worse than he had clobbered Dylan Schraeder. He must have sensed that I couldn't take much more. Bringing my hands to his mouth, he planted a gentle kiss on each of my palms.

Then he met my gaze. “What can I say? From the moment I met you, I lost my mind. You made me madder than anyone—well, except Dylan Schraeder, but I hate to put you in his company. You and your junk-food loving—”

“Hey, I threw out the Twinkies—”

“This is my speech, stop talking!”

I nodded submissively.

“Okay, where was I?”

“Something about how wonderful you have felt since you met me.”

“Oh, yeah, you have been a pain—well, you also have made me feel incredibly wonderful, and accepted, and cared for, and—”

“—and loved.”

“Elizabeth!”

“Oops—sorry.”

“And . . .” He held my chin and looked me straight in the eyes. “I love you.”

“You do?”

“I just said it.”

“You really do?”

“This is new for me, you know. I have to ease into it.”

“Yeah. But I said it first, so you have to say it several times to be even.”

He flopped backwards on the bed with his arms out.

“You win! I love you, Elizabeth! I love you! I love you!”

I had won.

T
he next morning, I sat in the parking lot of Our Lady of Perpetual Peace. My clammy hands clutched the steering wheel. J. D. sat in his SUV parked next to mine and stared straight ahead. Neither one of us wanted to climb out of our cars and face the town for the first time since Booties lost its top, so to speak.

J. D. made the first move and exited his truck. He stood tall and straightened his hat, squinting up at the sky.

The rain last night had taken away all the humidity in the air and the sky was a blue topaz that was startling in its clarity. By all accounts it should have been a perfect day. But I would have preferred a root canal in the middle of a hurricane.

J. D. bent down and knocked on my passenger window. I put my hands across the steering wheel and buried my face in them. He knocked again.

I couldn't avoid it any longer. I opened the door and stepped out, wishing I was back in bed with his arms around me. I gazed across the roof of my car at his sympathetic face.

“Are you okay?”

“I think I'm going to throw up,” I said, without even trying to hide the whine in my tone.

“That makes both of us.”

“This is going to be
s-o-o
awful. I haven't seen anyone but Nestor and the girls since Booties. Based on Nestor's reaction, I can't imagine the rest of the ladies are going to appreciate the sight of me.” My complaining was slightly exaggerated because I wanted to take his mind off his own plight. I had it easy compared to him. Walking around town, knowing everyone knew you'd sent Dylan Schraeder down the bar like a bowling ball, was going to be tough.

I bit my lip. “We make a pathetic pair.”

“We have to show our faces sometime,” J. D. said.

I took a deep breath. “Everyone is either going to turn their backs on us or stone us.”

He moved his lips back and forth, considering that possibility. Then he smiled. “They won't do that. But they might make you burn that bra.”

He reached out his hand and I met it with my own and squeezed for encouragement. Then he let go and moved off down Main Street.

Watching J. D.'s squared shoulders as he walked under the Timberfest banner reminded me why I loved him. He didn't shy away from what needed to be done. What a man!

Keeping my eye out for flying rocks, I pocketed the keys and crossed the road. A mother was trying to fit a toddler into a stroller ahead of me, and a teenager was talking on his cell phone near the entrance to the diner. I pushed on the door, trying to keep the bell on top down to a mild jingle. Taking a brief glance around, I noted the usual Wednesday crowd.

I figured it would be best if I confronted Corinne and Marva right away. I skirted a group of older ladies and tried to avoid eye contact. Someone called my name. Would it be rude to act like I didn't hear anything?

“Hi, Elizabeth! Want some coffee?” asked Flo. She must have missed out on the latest gossip if she was being so friendly to me.

I smiled weakly. “Thanks, Flo, but I have to talk to someone first.”

“Well, you come on back when you're ready for some refreshments. We're all talking about the craft tent at the Timberfest and we need your opinion.” The ladies at the booth smiled and nodded their heads.

I thanked her and waved as I stepped backward. I made my way to the counter where a group of women stood looking at a display board. I peeked over their shoulders to see a series of historical photographs. A large woman in front of me, wearing a pink-and-purple toucan–printed Hawaiian shirt, turned around and I came face-to-face with Marva. Her pink glasses glared in a ray of sunlight that peeked through the front windows.

“Well, well, look who came to town! Just in time to see the mock-up of our historical display. What have you been up to, Elizabeth?” There was a bite to her tone, and I knew she was upset.

“Hi, Marva. I've just been laying low for a few days.”

“You don't say,” said Marva with her hand on her hip. “I've got to admit I was really disappointed in you.”

My heart dropped, but I thought of J. D. and how bravely he must be facing the town and decided I could do the same. “I know, Marva.”

Marva tilted her head out of the sunlight so that I could finally see her eyes. She looked me up and down, from my curls that were pulled back in a ponytail to the simple white V-neck T-shirt and modest light-blue shorts and sandals.

“You know, huh?” Then she smiled. “Janet Grotelarz was really disappointed in the turnout and I know you would have loved the home-style jams. I hope you don't mind, but I put you down for a raspberry and cherry.”

“What?”

“Well, I knew it was probably a busy week with your family just having been by, and . . . well . . . you know all the other stuff. So I will excuse you just this one time. But since you were invited to the northern food feast-tasting night but never showed, it was the least I could do for Janet. She said if you wanted another type of jam she would be happy to exchange. And she left a brochure for you. It's in the trunk of my car and you can pick it up before you leave today. I didn't want to put the jam in there, of course, because you know with this heat it would be bad for the preserves. So I can drop those off to you sometime.”

While Marva went on to explain how the party went and who'd bought what, I gaped at her. She didn't even seem interested in talking about Booties. The last time I'd seen Marva she'd been huddled with a group of people in the parking lot of Booties while flashing lights of police cars lit up the night. But here she was acting normal. Well, normal for Marva. After a few minutes, she excused herself to find Flo, claiming she wanted to talk about the beer tent.

I stared down at an old photograph on the counter and rubbed the back of my neck. I absently crouched down to get a closer view of the pictures. Prominently displayed among the grouping was a daguerreotype that must have been taken about a hundred years ago. Standing in front of a building that looked vaguely like the Dairy Cow stood a crowd of people: Men, women, and children. The women were dressed in turn-of-the-century-style high-neck shirtwaists and bustles. Then men had slicked-back hair and loose-fitting coats. Underneath the photo was a tag that said
Truhart 1910.

“Hard to believe this is the same town.”

I turned to see Corinne standing over my shoulder. I tried to think of all the things I should say, but my mind came up strangely blank.

“I'll bet if we look real hard we can find ancestors of some of the people we know. People have a way of looking like their relatives,” said the older woman.

I nodded and tried to focus on the faces lined up in front of the storefront, gazing solemnly back at the camera. I searched for a resemblance to the people I had grown to know and love in this town. But the solemn faces in sepia tones bore little resemblance to the eternally optimistic smiling faces I had befriended in the last few months.

Funny how people never smiled in pictures back then.

Corinne must have been thinking the same thing because she added her own comment to my thoughts. “Didn't look like they had too much fun back then . . . But then again, life was hard. Besides all the sickness and inconvenience, the lumber business was a dangerous thing. Whether it was cutting down the trees or moving them down the river, one mistake could kill you. Amazing how even with consequences like that they chose to live in the north woods. It simply defies the mind.” She gazed sideways at me and winked. “I guess if you don't live with the prospect of making mistakes sometimes, you haven't really lived.”

“And if you don't learn from your mistakes, you're a fool,” I added.

“Something tells me you're no fool, Elizabeth Lively.”

“I'd like to think of myself as a recovering fool.”

Corinne patted my arm. “Come on, let's go talk Timberfest. It's all anyone wants to talk about these days.”

“Thank God for that,” I said.

“And the fight at Booties, of course.”

I stiffened and Corinne laughed. “Come on and sit.”

 

The day of the Timberfest finally arrived. I was taking a break from my shift in the beer tent. Dad was dropping off Elliot soon, and I waited near the parking lot for the Town Car.

Main Street was blocked off from all traffic for three whole blocks. Streamers of colored flags cordoned off various sections of midway games, the craft tent, and a giant inflatable slide, where dozens of the younger citizens were coaxing their parents up the steps.

June Krueger and her little boy, Andrew, who had told me all about his monogrammed underwear the first day I visited the Family Fare, waved. They were perched at the top of the slide. Andrew jumped up and down until I acknowledged him. His mother spotted me as well and raised her hand. Then they dropped down on the slide and screamed as they slid down. I laughed aloud when Andrew grabbed his mother's hand and dragged her back toward the stairs.

“I'll meet you in the beer tent later!” June called to me.

Marva and Bootie had made a deal. Bootie could host the beer tent, but he had to use an alias. The mysterious sign read
Lori's Beer Tent
. His wife was the new sponsor. No one seemed to recognize the Booties girls in their skorts, polo shirts, and tennis shoes. Even I did a double take when I saw Tiffany's makeup-free face and ponytail. Bootie stayed away, but Corinne and Marva corralled customers through like pros.

I walked toward the graveled area behind the Chamber of Commerce and waved at the Lincoln Town Car that was pulling in next to my own Honda. I was nervous and excited to see them. Elliot and my father unfolded themselves from the Lincoln in the same manner, their necks forward and their shoulders rounded. Elliot would deny it until the world ended, but my father and my brother shared a remarkable resemblance. Today Elliot wore a faded green T-shirt with his pencil-cut jeans, and on closer inspection I realized he no longer had an eyebrow ring.

Dad greeted me with a kiss on the cheek and an awkward hug. We had talked a lot since the night at Booties. I had been surprised to hear tears in his voice when he apologized for losing faith in me. Our fragile relationship grew stronger every time we spoke.

He leaned over and tilted my chin up. “Sorry I can't stay.”

“I understand. Are you going to Harbor Springs for the weekend?”

He nodded and hugged me again. I had a feeling Dad was making up for lost time. “Stop with the hugging, people. We're not the Brady Bunch, folks,” said Elliot.

Dad grunted and turned to get Elliot's duffel from the trunk. “This place looks like Disney World on valium,” Elliot said, staring toward the festival.

“Come on, Mousketeer. Put your bag in my trunk and let's go find the log-throwing competition,” I said.

Dad handed Elliot the duffel bag and watched him toss it in my trunk.

“Is everything all right here?” he asked. I knew what he meant.

“It's great, Dad. Really.” My father looked doubtful, but pulled out his wallet and handed me a stack of bills.

“For your brother and whatever else you need,” he said gruffly. There was a lot more in my family that needed cleaning up than the relationship between my dad and me. But that was going to have to happen over a much longer period of time. It might never be perfect. But I guess I was ready to handle imperfection.

When Dad left, Elliot and I fell into an easy pace as we walked under the banner that welcomed everyone to the Timberfest.

“I talked to Dad about a lot of things this week,” he said out of the blue.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I took that chemistry exam, but I made a deal that he couldn't give me a hard time if my grade sucks.”

I nodded and glanced skyward, thanking the heavens. “Well, that's a start.”

“He says he won't push me to go out for the tennis team this year, either.”

“When you were younger you liked tennis.”

“I liked hitting the ball real hard and trying to make red marks on my opponent's butt. But ever since Dad tried to convince me to quit soccer and take tennis more seriously, I've absolutely hated it.”

I said nothing. He had actually been pretty good at both sports.

He laughed. “Besides, can you see me with my black T-shirt and eyebrow ring on the courts at the county club?”

We were in a particularly quiet area among a copse of trees at the side of the street. Elliot paused for a moment and I stopped. He said in a hesitant voice, “You know, E, I'm not perfect, but I would never in a million years let you take the rap for something I did.”

“I know. I should never have doubted you.” I looked down at the spot on his arm where his henna dragon had begun to fade.

We headed toward the stage and passed the Department of Natural Resources booth, where Marva's husband, Joe, was handing out brochures on fire safety. Elliot took a brochure and shoved it in my hands. “You should check this out, E. That hole in the carpet looks nasty! You could have started a fire. Hey—does that sign say
battle of the bands
?”

Maybe Elliot was going to be okay after all. I left him checking out the guitar amps and made my way through the craft tent, dodging a pottery display and a table of crocheted baby blankets and oven mitts.

Cherry was showing a young girl how to thread a bracelet. Nearby a small group of teenagers rifled through the jewelry Ellie and Cherry had made over the summer. Ellie stood behind the table, helping customers decide which bracelet they wanted and I began to wonder if she couldn't give Donald Trump a run for his money. She explained the patterns to an older girl in a short skirt and tie-dye shirt and let her try one on.