Cabin at the Lake Ch. 06

"Just a quick dip," Terry advised. "The skeeters will be out soon."

Julie and Mark swam out a ways and cuddled. The boys ducked beneath the water a few times and then joined me on the dock.

"Come on," I said, standing. "Let's get the grill fired up."

I turned to our new friends, raising my voice so they could hear me. "There's a shower here at the end of the dock to wash the lake water off. It's cold but clean. We'll get the grill going."

Julie waved. I waved back and my brothers and I turned toward the house. They stopped to rinse off first. I swatted the first mosquito on the walk back to the house. I lit the citronella candles around the perimeter of the patio. For the umpteenth time this summer I was glad we had screened in the porch.

It was an hour or more until sunset but it had been a long day. I was beat.

As I lit the last candle, I heard the rattle of charcoal and the clang of metal. Gary was already lighting the kindling under the charcoal when I joined him.

He gave me a one-arm hug.

"Go inside and sit, or lay down, sis. Terry and I got this."

I nodded. "I'll get the burgers ready first."

Gary eyed me for a second and then gave a single nod of his head.

I was chopping onions when Julie came in, drying her hair with a towel the boys had provided. Her areolas were darker than the rest of her, a deep ebony that made a beautiful contrast to her mocha colored skin. I must have been eyeing her breasts because she shook them at me and laughed.

"Sorry," I muttered. "You look beautiful."

Julie smiled. "Thanks. So do you."

"Mark going to be okay or is he going to crucify himself over this?" I asked, turning to the jalapenos.

"He'll be fine," Julie said, not sounding overly confident. "He's likely to twist himself into a pretzel but I'll pat him on the head and hug him and in the end he'll relax."

"Let me help." Julie offered, shaking herself as if she's on the edge of falling asleep.

"Naw, I got this. My hands are already dirty. Get a beer, or there's booze in the cupboard. Sit down and keep me company." I hesitate, not wanting to over-step the bounds of our new friendship. "He loves up to pieces you know."

"I know," Julie acknowledges, her voice soft, almost wistful.

"Be easy with him," I offer in as normal a conversational tone as I can muster. "He worries he really is a fuddy-duddy, or that you think he is. He knows you don't but at times he can't make himself believe you don't."

I focus on chopping the peppers. I don't look up but I can feel Julie's eyes on me. When she speaks her voice is not sharp, not angry, but it has lost the wistful tone.

"How do you know that?"

I look at her, worried. Her face is calm. "Oh, he's never said anything to me," I hasten to add. "He'd never do that, even if it wouldn't violate his sense of what is and isn't appropriate for a doctor to share with a patient. I just sense it, women's intuition, that's all. I'm sorry if I said anything out of place. You two just seem so good together. I worry too much I guess."

"Women's intuition?" Julie inquires in that carefully neutral voice, her head cocked to one side. "You 'sense' or you 'know' how he feels?"

The look in her eyes makes me nervous. It seems important to end this.

"Well, I can't 'know' anything for sure, can I? I see a look is his eyes at times. I'm probably wrong. The look in his eyes is probably lust." I try to laugh.

Julie lets her gaze rest on my face for a moment and then lets me off the hook.

"You said you got booze," Julie says as she opens the cupboard door I had indicated. "Oh la la," She whispers. "Macallan 18."

"My old boyfriend introduced me to Scotch. Help yourself."

"I shall. I don't want you to imagine us black folks only drink Colt 40s." Before I could speak, she held up a hand. "Sorry. You've never once given me a racist vibe, sugar. I didn't mean anything by that crack," she sighed. "I just never spent this much time around white folks, except at work, before."

"Better get used to it. You're marrying one."

"I know. Right?" Julie shakes her head. "I can't believe myself sometimes." She chuckles. "He's ruined me for black men. I never dated a white man before and I end up finding one with a dick the size of my arm. Explain that one to me. Lord!"

"Are his folks okay with it?"

I thought I'd put my foot in it. Tears well up in her eyes but before I can apologize, she interrupts me.

"I was so nervous, so nervous I was shaking inside. I knew he came from money, old money, old Boston money, but when we pulled up to his place, I nearly shit myself and ran. A hundred and fifty year old house on Beacon Hill, fucking Beacon Hill, goddamn bronze lions guarding the entrance, a gate with an intercom, the whole fucking nine yards." She pauses to take a sip of her scotch. I've finished with the peppers and listen quietly.

"I must have looked like some kid he'd caught TP'ing the trees. I stood there on the porch, or I guess in this case the portico, hanging behind him, looking at the ground, fighting this ridiculous urge to curtsey when the door open. I looked up and this beautiful blonde, blue-eyed woman practically leaps out of the door and grabs me. 'You must be Julie.' I opened my mouth to say hello and burst into tears."

She smiles at the memory. "You know what she did next?"

I shake my head.

"Hit Mark on the arm and asked him what did he do to get me upset like that."

"You're joking."

"Nope. Mark just stood there, jaw hanging open like he does when he doesn't know what to do. His dad stepped out and took me by the arm. 'Come in Julie. You must be exhausted.' Then he turned to his wife. 'Don't be daft Milly. The girl is simply nervous and tired. Mark didn't do anything.' Then he led me inside and got me a drink." She tipped her glass at me. "Better scotch than this, no offense. I settled down and we had a wonderful week with them. Don't get me wrong. I spotted a few turned up noses and funny looks from some of their friends but one glance from Milly, my God that woman could freeze a fire with that look, and off they'd scurry, diamonds a glinting and tails tucked between their legs." She shook her head again. "I love that woman, his dad, too. Mark adores them and they adore him. I don't deserve to be this lucky."

"Bullshit. No one deserves it more." My voice is sharp and hard.

Julie looks up then smiles. "If you say so, sugar."

I dump the onions and jalapenos, hot sauce, a bit of brown mustard, and a good dash or two of Worcester sauce and began to mix it. The secret is to not handle the meat too much. It makes it gummy.

"I hope Mark likes spicy food." It's too late if he doesn't. I've used all the hamburger meat.

"He'll be fine. I've been training him up to love real food."

I quickly form the patties and right on time, Terry walks in to announce the fire is ready. Julie and I follow him out. Gary, wisely, has chosen to don an apron. The rest of us, the good doctor included, are in the buff. I realize the boys are trying as hard not to stare as I am. Even flaccid it hands halfway down his thigh.

Julie gives Mark a kiss and then we leave the boys to argue who has the better football dynasty, New England or Dallas.

"Neither," I holler over my shoulder. "The Packers."

A chorus of boos follows me into the house. Julie is looking at me strangely.

"What?"

She touches my arm softly, just behind the wrist. "Sugar, I can overlook a girl fucking her two honky brothers but if you really are a Packers fan we are done."

As my face falls, she roars. "Sorry. That was mean. I mean saying anything about your brothers but the Packers bit stands. I can't be friends with no Packers fan."

"I adopted the Broncos when I dated Chad. Am I forgiven?"

"Broncos I can live with, unless they're playing the Cowboys."

Julie mixes up a salad and I warm a couple cans of black beans, generously spiked with jalapenos. When the boys come in, the smell of fresh grilled burgers reminds us all of how hungry we are. There's no conversation beyond, "pass me this" or "pass me that".

As he spears the last bean on his plate, Mark sighs.

"I'm afraid you'll have to allow me to sleep right here. I can't move," he said with an exaggerated groan.

"Up and at 'em doc. That bench will cut off the circulation to your legs. There's a clean sheet on the couch. You won't catch nothing by sitting on it."

Terry is as good as his word. He stands, puts his hands in the small of his back and stretches, before crossing to one of the living room chairs and dropping into it. He sits sideways, legs draped over one arm. Gary takes the other chair.

Mark takes one end of the couch. Julie sits and lies on his side. I sit at the other end, feet tucked under me, toes just brushing the bottom of Julie's feet.

No one speaks. The room is quiet. Outside, I hear the first whippoorwill of the night calling.