Chapter Seventeen

By the time Jodi turned from the dishwasher, my heart was pumping like crazy. Me. Michael Panther. I was thinking stupid things: Love. Commitment. To hell with football and college. "What are you thinking?" I asked.

"About what?"

"About us," I said, and tried to swallow a lump in my throat.

Chapter Seventeen

But I didn't back away. I stumbled forward, and more complications riddled my relationship with Jodi.

On the first day of Christmas vacation from school, while driving Jodi home at night from another skating adventure, I invited her to come over to my house for an evening. I'd cook something for us.

Shows you how weak I'd become. How Jodi was overpowering me. Despite my fears, I felt drawn to her like a magnet. "We'll grill steaks. Or pork chops," I said. "Thursday night. My mom's going to a station Christmas party. We'll have the house to ourselves."

"How's your mom doing?"

I'd told Jodi about Mom's job at the station, how she was putting in more hours now and that she'd quit smoking. "As far as I can tell she's doing great."

When I parked in front of Jodi's grandparents' house under the streetlight, the night was cold and crisp, the moon full and bright.

"What do you say? Will you come over?"

"I talked to Christie Ridgeway this week," Jodi said.

"What?"

"Talked to Christie Ridgeway. I remembered your mentioning her name. She was your girlfriend, right?"

"You went up to her and talked to her?"

"She's so popular here I couldn't help knowing who she is. She's very nice. I introduced myself to her in the cafeteria. She nearly fell off her chair."

"But why? You wanted to show her what I'd done to you, is that it?"

Leaning against her door, Jodi face me in the murky light. "She was your girlfriend before you came to Ghost Bay, wasn't she?"

"Yes, but—"

"I wanted to find out about you."

"Did she say I'm a jerk?"

"No. But she said you were acting weird when you came home last summer. She said you didn't tell her about me."

I tapped my fingers on top of the steering wheel. "Why would I? I never expected to see you again."

"She said when you came home, she tried to apologize and patch things up, but you shut her out."

"Does any of this matter?"

"She wondered if you'd met someone in Wisconsin, and that's why you wouldn't give her another chance."

"Look, Jodi, by the time I got home, I'd decided to focus on school...make my mom and dad proud of me. They've been awesome parents. Maybe my dad worked too much, was never home a lot, but I can't bitch about that. I know he cared for me and wanted the best for me, and I want to be the best."

"He wouldn't be proud of you now, though, would he, knowing the mistake we made?"

"No, he wouldn't." I bit my bottom lip. Man, I'd had enough of this conversation. "Do you want to come over? It's up to you. We'll grill something and drink wine."

"I don't drink. Remember?"

"But you're still eating. For two, in fact. Right?"

"Feels like more than two."

"So do you want to come over?" Was I begging? I hated begging. "You don't have to," I said, and suddenly tried to sound indifferent. I flapped a hand. "I mean...I'm not forcing you."

Jodi permitted herself a smile. "All right, Michael—don't get excited."

"I'm not getting excited."

"I'll come over. It sounds like fun."

When I got home that night Oz called, really bummed out, saying he'd made a mistake with Christie. I lay on my bed in the dark, listening to him on my cell phone.

"I tried something I shouldn't have," he said, "and she slapped me. Hard. She really belted me."

"Tried what?"

"We were alone at her house, watching TV, making out. Her parents were gone for the evening. Wouldn't be back till late. I worked my hand under her blouse..."

"Not cool, Oz."

"She kept pulling it away. I got frustrated. I told her she'd probably let you do more than touch her."

Swinging my feet to the floor, I sat up. "Oz, that was stupid."

"That's when she got pissed. She's like, 'I'm tired of guys pawing me.' I don't know if she meant you or not. Probably Kevin. I know she meant me."

"Didn't I tell you not to get involved? Keep it simple."

"Thing is, she kept asking me what kind of stuff you told me about her to make me try something with her."

"I didn't tell you anything."

"But she thinks you did. She's like, 'Did he say I'd be easy? Is that what he said?'"

"I never said anything like that—you told her I didn't, didn't you?"

"She wouldn't believe me."

I stood and started to pace my room. "Damn you, Oz."

"I thought I'd call and let you know. In case she comes down on you."

"Thanks a lot, Oz."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I thought I had a chance with her." He hesitated. "You want to do something over vacation? Skiing, maybe? You're not too pissed, are you?"

"Yes, I'm pissed!"

"How about we do something New Year's Eve? I don't want to go to a party, though. I don't think I'll be in a party mood."

Sagging back down on my bed, I said, "I'll think about it."

"You still pissed?"

"I'm still pissed! I said, and flipped my cell phone closed. Stupid Oz! I was having enough trouble understanding women. I didn't need another one—my ex-girlfriend—on my case.

I picked Jodi up from her grandparents' house on Thursday, December 20th, to bring her to my place for the evening. Seven P.M. A night to remember.

Mom had already left for her Christmas party. I hoped she'd stay out late. Late, late.

As I drove to Jodi's house, the moon and stars shone like polished chrome. All over town colored Christmas lights draped front porches, bushes, and small trees. The cold seemed to freeze the glow of the lights in midair.

I worked my fingers on the steering wheel. I was scared. All kinds of stray thoughts wandered into my brain about what might go wrong tonight. I'd burn the steaks. Or get them too rare. Jodi's pains might start—she was looking big. I mean, BIG.

I wondered if I should ask her again if the baby might be Luke's? But I didn't want to start a fight. Would she tell the truth or lie? How would I know the difference?

I wondered if I should call the evening off.

Finally, I resolved I'd simply show her a nice time. I'd be cool. Nothing emotional. Nor intimate. Everything relaxed.

                   

I showed Jodi around the house. The Jacuzzi and sauna; the family room with its bar, wide-screen plasma TV, and fireplace; the huge kitchen with an island—these impressed her most. I showed her the ceiling-high glistening Christmas tree in the living room that Mom and I had decorated.

"You, like, live in a mansion," Jodi said, as we stood in front of the tree. "You must love it here."

"I do. Dad built this house just for Mom and me."

She eyed the Christmas tree and the Nativity scene nestled below its branches in straw. "Hey, Michael. Know why the Three Wise Men weren't very wise at all?"

"Why?"

"They should've brought diapers."

I felt a big grin crossing my face. "You're a funny duck, you know that?"

"And I'm starting to waddle like one."

I took Jodi's hand, leading her back down a spiral stairway to the family room.

She wore maternity jeans and a pretty flower-print maternity smock. She was truly getting wide. Since she was in such a good mood, I thought I might tease her about being too wide for the spiral stairway. She might get stuck waddling down. But I decided that was a bad idea. Instead, I said, "I'll bet you miss being up north."

"This time of year the woods are beautiful filled with snow. The ice fishing's great—northern and walleye. I love snowmobiling. I'll be there for Christmas."

I turned at the bottom of the stairs and looked up at her. Why did that announcement disappoint me? "You will?"

"Uh-huh. I'm flying home Monday."

I lit a fire in the fireplace and tossed in a few hunks of mesquite. The flames leaped, crackled, and danced at first, filling the family room with their warmth, then settled down to a golden red glow.

We wrapped potatoes in aluminum foil and tucked them in close to the red coals. We kept turning the potatoes with a tongs and later poked them with a fork till they pierced easily, and we knew they were done. Then we broiled T-bone steaks in the fireplace on the swing-out grill.

You can't beat the aroma of steaks sizzling over a wood fire.

Mom had bought lettuce, carrots, cucumbers, radishes, and had made a tossed salad for us. She thought Jodi's coming over and my continuing involvement with her was great. I popped a cork on a bottle of Dad's red wine—Jodi wouldn't take even a tiny sip—and we hunched on the floor, eating in front of the fireplace. Christmas music from one of Dad's CDs drifted through the room—"Silent Night," "The Little Drummer Boy."

I downed a couple of glasses of wine. "I haven't eaten a steak like this," I said, "since we cooked them over an open fire at Ghost Bay."

Jodi smiled at the memory.

The fire cast a soft glow over her delicate features and blonde hair. Her recent weeks of pregnancy had painted roses in her cheeks, a special sparkle in her eyes. She said, "Remember when you tried to make popcorn in the wire popper over the fire? You held the popper too close to the fire and the popcorn went up in flames."

"Like a torch."

We laughed, and I polished off another glass of wine.

For sure, Jodi was fun to be with.

"I'm stuffed," she said. "I feel like I'm having twins. I've already gained ten pounds. Maybe more. I'm afraid to get on the scale. And I'm not due till May seventeenth."

She flinched, smiled, and flinched again. "I'm getting kicked." She sat back and smoothed her maternity smock out over her rounded belly. "Feel this. Maybe there's a football player in there."

I spread my fingers and placed my hand gently on her belly. She was so fragile and beautiful that when I thought about her carrying a child—our child?—a tender feeling washed over me.

A little thump brushed the palm of my hand.

Jodi winched

"I feel it!" I said. "A place-kicker, for sure."

Something stirred in me, something warm and totally paralyzing. Was it Jodi's nearness? My hand on her stomach? The wine? The heat from the fireplace?

Stupid me, I wanted to kiss her.

At the same moment, Jodi became self-conscious. She lifted my hand away from her stomach and struggled to her feet. "Let's do the dishes."

"All right," I said, my voice shaky. I hoisted myself up.

We carried the dishes, silverware, and glasses upstairs in one trip. I scraped our leftovers into the garbage disposal. Jodi rinsed and stacked the dishes and everything else in the dishwasher.

By the time she turned from the dishwasher, my heart was pumping like crazy. Me. Michael Panther. I was thinking stupid things: Love. Commitment. To hell with football and college. "What are you thinking?" I asked.

"About what?"

"About us," I said, and tried to swallow a lump in my throat.

"It's hot in here." Jodi's face flushed, and her voice turned breathy. "Oh, Michael..."

My heart stopped, then lurched.

We were close. Like I-could-kiss-her-right-now close.

Gripping her shoulders, every rational thought dissolving in my brain, I bent and pressed my mouth down on Jodi's. The scent of her perfume, lilacs—always lilacs—and the scent of her hair mingled in my nostrils. She placed her hands gently on each side of my face, inviting me to share a deep kiss. Our tongues greeted each other shyly, friends rediscovering their friendship. Her body heat was intense. Radiating. My blood raced.

"I don't even care if the baby isn't mine," I said happily. "I don't care, I really don't care..."

As I moved my hand to hold her chin with the crook of my finger for another kiss, my hand bumped her breast. The bump was an accident, but my greedy hand stopped to linger.

Jodi gave a startled gasp and shoved me back. "What did you say?" She skewered me with her eyes; color spotted her cheeks.

"I didn't mean to touch you. I know that was wrong. I'm sorry."

"What did you SAY?" Her face clenched. Like a fist.

"When? What? I don't even care if the baby isn't mine... It's true. I don't care. "

"What do you mean if the baby isn't yours?" The color in her cheeks rose. "Whose baby would it be if it's not yours?"

My chest tightened. Maybe this was the time to nail down the truth. "You tell me."

"You still think it's Luke's? After all this time, you still think it's Luke's?"

"Tell me! Did you do him when he was home on leave?"

She hurled a daggered look at me. "The baby's yours. You think I'm sleeping with every guy that shows up at Ghost Bay?"

"I didn't say that." I shook my head to clear it. Then, "I've got to go to the bathroom." I think I was feeling the aftereffect of the wine I'd drunk. I mean, I had to go bad. Really bad.

I stormed off down the hallway, made a right turn into the bathroom, flipped on the light, and slammed the door. How could Jodi get so mad so fast? Why wouldn't she tell me the truth: Yes, I did the guy.

I can handle the truth.

Coming Friday Chapter Eighteen: Be careful of what you want. Michael learns the truth. All of it.