Up at Butternut Lake: A Novel (28 page)

She didn’t need to look very far for the answer to this question. It was on the ring finger of her left hand. A thin, gold band she’d worn for eight years. Six years during which she and Gregg had been married, and another two years—no, more than two years, two years, four months, and ten days—during which she’d been widowed.

She’d tried taking it off before. Just recently, she’d taken it off several times. But she always ended up putting it back on again. Without it, her ring finger felt naked. And she felt uncomfortable. Incomplete. Like she was missing a limb, instead of a ring.

Worse yet, if she left it off long enough, she felt the same way she’d felt after she and Walker had kissed each of those times. She felt as if she was being unfaithful to Gregg, or at least to his memory.

Now, she thought about what Gregg would have wanted for her. Would he have wanted her to be alone? she asked herself. But she knew, in a heartbeat, he wouldn’t have. He hadn’t been selfish. He’d been the opposite of selfish. He would have wanted her life to go on after his ended. And not just go on but be full of love and happiness.

So why couldn’t she take the ring off? She twisted it impatiently on her finger, but she didn’t take it off. That was going to be hard for her, she knew. To take it off and keep it off. It might even be the hardest thing she’d had to do yet. Not that the other things hadn’t been hard, too. Telling Wyatt his father wasn’t coming back. Attending Gregg’s funeral. Packing up his belongings . . .

She paused now, remembering something. She’d never admitted this to anyone, but even after she’d sold their house, and even after she and Wyatt had moved out of it, she hadn’t been able to give Gregg’s things away. She’d saved everything, from the trivial—unopened disposable razors—to the mundane—white athletic socks, freshly bleached and neatly rolled into pairs. She’d packed everything with meticulous care, in neatly labeled cardboard boxes, and put it in a rented storage unit. And she’d never really asked herself why. Until tonight.

She bit her lower lip now, concentrating. Why would she do that? Why would she keep all his things unless . . .
unless
. She sat perfectly still. She didn’t even breathe. She was right on the edge of something, right at the brink of some discovery. Something so simple but at the same time so difficult for her to understand.

And then it came to her. The reason she’d kept all his things was because, on some level, she didn’t really believe he was gone. She didn’t really believe he wasn’t coming back.

But he is gone,
she told herself now.
He isn’t coming back
. Not now. Not ever. Their life together was over. Forever. And the only thing she and Wyatt had left of Gregg were their memories of him.

She waited for something to happen. Something dramatic. Cataclysmic, even. She waited for a bolt of lightning to strike a nearby tree or a crack of thunder to rend the night sky. But nothing happened. Or rather,
everything
happened. But it happened in her heart and in her head. And as shocking as her discovery was to her, the rest of the world continued exactly as it had been before.

She didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there when she suddenly stood up and walked, unsteadily, back to the cabin. She let herself in, went straight to her bedroom, and took a photo box out of her bottom dresser drawer. This was where she kept the part of her and Gregg’s life she couldn’t bear to put in storage.

She sat down on the edge of the bed now and forced herself to go through the box, one item at a time. There was a picture of her and Gregg taken during their freshman year of college, looking impossibly young and happy. There was an invitation to their wedding, five years later. There was a letter Gregg had written her after he’d left her and Wyatt at the hospital, the night after Wyatt was born. In it, he told her how much he loved them both, and he promised to be the best father to Wyatt he could possibly be. There was another photograph, this one of a two-and-a-half-year-old Wyatt sitting on Gregg’s shoulders right before they left for their first Minnesota Twins game together. Of course, as it turned out, it would also be their last one together.

There was another letter, too, this one from a man in Gregg’s National Guard unit, written after Gregg had been killed. In it, he told Allie how brave Gregg had been and how concerned he’d been for the welfare of the other men in his unit. It had been an honor to serve with him, he wrote.

There were many other things in the box, too. Some silly—a cocktail napkin from the pub Gregg had taken Allie to on their first date in college—and some deadly serious—Gregg’s National Guard dog tags. But Allie made herself go through the whole box, examining every photograph and reading every letter and document.

When she was done, she felt exhausted. She put the items back in the box and put the box away, minus the photograph of Gregg and Wyatt. That she propped up on her dresser. Tomorrow, she’d buy a frame for it and put it someplace where she and Wyatt would see it often. Just because it hurt her to look at it didn’t mean it should be banished to a bottom drawer.

Then, Allie took off her wedding ring. Slipped it right off her ring finger and put it in her jewelry box, where she knew it belonged now. As she did so, she caught sight of herself in the mirror hanging above the dresser and was surprised to see that her face was streaked with tears. She hadn’t even been aware that she’d been crying.

She walked to the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face, and patted it dry with a hand towel. Then she ran a hairbrush through her tangled hair. After that, she went straight to her handbag, which was sitting where she’d left it on the kitchen table. It had everything she needed in it. Wallet, keys, and her brand-new cell phone, with local coverage, which she’d given Caroline the number to tonight. She checked to see that it was fully charged. It was. She turned it to ring, so she’d hear it if Caroline needed to reach her for any reason.

Then she turned the cabin’s lights off and locked the front door. She got into the car, turned on the ignition, and started driving. It was surreal how calm she felt. Not a flicker of anxiety. Not a twinge of nervousness. It was only when she turned into Walker’s driveway that she felt a little pulse of excitement. She parked next to his pickup, walked up to the cabin’s front door, and rang the doorbell.

Silence. Then footsteps. Then, after what seemed an eternity, Walker opened the door.

“Allie?” he said, surprised. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. There was rock music playing on a stereo in the background, and she could see a half-empty glass of red wine sitting on a nearby table. He looked like a man planning on spending a relaxing night at home alone. But he didn’t look disappointed to see her. Far from it.

“I’m ready,” Allie said, simply.

There were, she supposed, a million things he could have done at that moment, but what he did was smile at her, pull her into his arms, and close the door behind her.

CHAPTER 22

W
here’s Wyatt?” he asked, wrapping his arms around her.

“He’s at Caroline’s,” she said, twining her arms around his neck and kissing him, full on the lips, without any inhibition.

He kissed her back for a few delicious moments. But then he reluctantly broke away from her and, holding her at arm’s length, looked at her strangely. As if he’d never seen her before.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, feeling a tiny flicker of anxiety. Her coming here tonight had felt so right to her. But what if it didn’t feel right to him?

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said, reaching up and gently stroking her cheek. “I just can’t believe you’re actually here.”

“It’s okay, isn’t it?”

“Are you kidding?” he said. “I feel like I’ve won the lottery.”

She laughed.

“But, Allie, can I ask you something?” he asked.

She nodded and made a conscious effort to pay attention to whatever he would say next. She wanted him so badly right now that it was hard to concentrate on anything else.

“What happened? I mean, between the last time I saw you and tonight?”

“Nothing,” she said, simply. “Nothing and everything.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“I realized I was ready,” she added.

He reached for her hand and held it up to the light.

“No wedding ring,” he said quietly, running his fingers up and down her bare finger. She shivered. Even his most innocuous touch was enough to excite her.

“No wedding ring,” she agreed. “I took it off tonight. For good.”

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, giving her a penetrating look.

“Positive,” she said. “I’ll tell you all about it later. I promise. But I didn’t come here to talk.” Then, surprising herself, she went on, “At least not right away. There’s something else I want to do first.” And she kissed him again, just in case there was any doubt in his mind about what she meant.

He drew back again. Then he pulled her closer. “Now I
really
feel like I’ve won the lottery,” he said, nuzzling her neck.

She laughed. “Does that mean you’re going to invite me in?” she asked. They were still standing in the vestibule inside the front door of his cabin.

“Oh, yeah. Of course. I forgot,” he said, hugging her tightly and planting a kiss on her forehead. “I’m sorry. I’m not being a very good host, am I?” He led her, by the hand, into the cabin’s living room. There was a fire burning in the fireplace, she saw.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked.

“Sure. Whatever you’re having.”

He kissed her again and left the room. She wandered over to the fireplace, already missing him. When he came back, he handed her a glass of red wine, and she took a sip. It was delicious, but she wasn’t really in the mood for it. If there was one thing she didn’t need tonight, it was liquid courage.

She put her glass of wine down on the mantelpiece, and he took her in his arms again.

“The fire’s a nice touch,” she said, kissing his neck.

“Remember, I didn’t know you were coming,” he pointed out.

She smiled, and they kissed for a while. Bruce Springsteen played in the background, and a log occasionally cracked and popped in the fireplace.

Kissing Walker, Allie knew, was never an end in and of itself. The more they kissed, the more she wanted. Walker, apparently, felt the same way, because the next thing she knew, he’d placed a hand on either side of her waist and lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist and tightened her grip around his neck, taking his tongue farther into her mouth.

Any self-consciousness she’d ever felt with him was gone now, completely melted away. Her only concern, in fact, as weeks of unwavering denial gave way to frantic desire, was that she couldn’t hold him tightly enough, couldn’t kiss him deeply enough, couldn’t feel every single inch of his body against every single inch of her body.

She plucked, impatiently, at his shirt, then tugged with equal impatience at the waistband of his jeans. It seemed unfair, somehow, that his clothes wouldn’t simply fall off like she needed them to. Taking them off, she realized, was going to be far too time-consuming.

“Allie,” he murmured, breaking away from their kiss and speaking into the hollow of her neck. “Allie, should I get some . . . um, protection?”

Protection?
she wondered. Oh, of course.
Protection.
It had been a long time since she’d had to worry about that.

“I forgot all about that,” she admitted. “Can you . . . uh, take care of that?”

“Absolutely,” he said.

“That’d be great,” she said, pulling off his T-shirt and running her hands over his bare chest.
But it better be close by,
she added to herself.
Because if I have to wait much longer, I think I’ll go crazy.

“And, uh, as far as my history goes,” he continued, obviously distracted by her hands moving greedily over his chest. “I haven’t been with anyone recently. I saw my doctor, too, at the beginning of the summer, and everything was fine. I think, when I saw him, I was hoping against hope that something might happen between us, and I wanted to be ready.” Running his lips along her earlobe, he added, “In retrospect, I think I might have been a little overconfident about the whole thing.”

“Not
over
confident, it turns out. Just confident enough.” Allie smiled, pulling him closer. “And as for my history, Walker, it’s pretty simple. Just Gregg. No one before him. And no one after him, either.”

Walker, surprised, pulled back slightly, and stared at her quizzically.

“Are you . . . are you saying that your husband was the only man you’ve ever been with?”

“Until now,” Allie said, unbuttoning the button on his blue jeans and marveling that Walker didn’t seem even slightly tired from holding her. “If it’s not too presumptuous of me to assume we’re going to make love tonight,” she added, kissing his neck.

“It’s not presumptuous,” Walker said, in a qualifying tone. “But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little intimidated by the fact that you’ve only been with one other man. Someone you loved so much. It’s a tough act to follow.”