Kateri’s hands slid down over her belly. She had the cramps. She was bleeding. This was gross, uncontrollable—and the first time. She wanted her mother to be with her. But her mother was sleeping it off. Kateri burst out, “I want my mother! I needed her last night and she … she was in the bar, she was drunk, she was with a man, she was laughing. She doesn’t care about me!”
“Why did you want her, child?”
Kateri crossed her arms over her budding breasts. “I’m not a child anymore.”
“Oh.” He nodded. He understood. “No. You’re not.” Lifting his bottle, he took a long pull. “I remember the day you were born. I held your tiny body in my hands and saw you had the frog god’s eyes. Now you have stepped across the line and become a woman. Here.” He offered the bottle. “I guess you’re old enough now.”
Horror. Fury. Indignation. “No!”
“It’ll make you feel better.”
“Like you feel better? Like my mother feels better? Throwing up and drooling on yourself and complaining about your headache like it’s a disease you can’t help? No! I will never drink that shit.” Kateri wasn’t supposed to use words like shit, but she used it like adults used it, for emphasis and with contempt.
Still Uncle Bluster held the bottle out. “I said that, too, when I was your age.”
“Never!” she yelled, and stood up. “No!” She ran down to the beach, away from the sight of Uncle Bluster listing sideways from the slight weight of the outstretched bottle. She let the waves wash over her feet, listened to the inhale and exhale of the ocean as it advanced and retreated … approached and tugged at her.
She would never be like him. Like her mother. She wouldn’t. No.
Uncle Bluster always warned her never to go swimming in the Pacific. But Kateri couldn’t stay away. The ocean rhythms drove the beat of her heart and in her mind she sensed the currents, the underwater sway of the seaweed forests, the glorious depths and unimaginable secrets. In those places, she wouldn’t be in pain. She wouldn’t be unhappy.
She would be loved.
A long wave rolled toward her, covered her feet, rose to her knees, her thighs … it was coming up, coming fast. She started backing up. Backing up. Running backward. The water tugged at her, pulling the sand from beneath her feet, trying to make her fall, to submerge her in salt and wrap her in seaweed. Sure, she had imagined she could walk to the bottom of the ocean and still live and breathe. And sometimes—today—she wanted to sink into the depths and become one with the sea foam like the Little Mermaid. Not the Little Mermaid in the Disney movie, but the real Little Mermaid in Hans Christian Andersen’s dark fairy tale.
But she didn’t mean it. She didn’t want her vee-jay-jay to get wet. Her pad … she wore a pad … it was gross. Everything was gross. She was disgusting. She started sobbing, crying like she hadn’t ever allowed herself to do, her tears dripping into the ocean …
The wave retreated.
She wanted to turn and run, but she knew better now. She backed away, crying, bawling, broken apart by loneliness and anguish.
Hormones. Her teacher explained it was hormones. Yet Kateri’s emotions were real. Maybe the hormones brought them close to the surface, but she recognized her own desolation. And her right to that desolation.
She trudged home, and when she got there, she discovered her mother throwing up in the toilet.
She didn’t care. It was only later, when her father appeared, that she found out her mother wasn’t merely hungover.
She was sick. She had cancer.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Kateri followed the plywood, orange spray-painted CONSTRUSHION! sign—someone could not spell—turned left onto a new, narrow dirt road cut through the forest and followed the increasing roar of heavy machinery. She parked at the end of the line of dusty, battered pickups, got out and walked over to the chain link that surrounded the job site perimeter. She arrived in time to see Stag gesturing wildly while he shouted directions at one of the excavator operators scraping the site.
Stag Denali. Square chin, cheekbones, dark intent eyes, dark hair. Denim shirt, washed and worn to a faded blue, hugging his shoulders. That perfect butt in the blue jeans … the old leather belt, the work boots, yellow hard hat and ear protection.
He looked like one of the Village People, only straight. He looked like the guy in the paper towel commercials, only not a cartoon. Plus, he was dirty.
Kateri wanted to lick the dirt off.
No. Focus. She had come for Lacey … who was nowhere in sight. There was only this gray shaggy mongrel who bounded toward her, ears flapping. “My God.” Kateri slid to her knees to embrace her filthy dog. “What have you been doing?”
Lacey looked up and smiled; even her teeth were dirty.
“Oh, honey.” Kateri petted her gingerly. “You look—”
“She’s been helping prepare the site.”
Kateri looked up into Stag’s amused face. “By digging?”
He pulled off his hard hat and ear protection and hung them on a hook on the fence. “And rolling. I’ve never seen a dog have so much fun.” Getting down on his knees beside Kateri, he licked his thumb and wiped her chin. “She got dirt on you.” He was still smiling, right at her, into her eyes.
Her heart sank. He’d heard what she’d said at the Gem Lounge. She broke a sweat. Hot summer. Streak of heat. Long sunny days. She was warm. Too warm. Really warm. Embarrassed. Blushing.
The heavy equipment behind them slowed and idled. Someone whistled suggestively.
Stag whipped his head around and stared, eyes narrowed. Just stared.
There were no more whistles. The engines began to roar again; things got very busy on the site.
Stag stood and helped her to her feet. “Come on. We’ll take Lacey to the stream and toss her in.”
She dusted her knees. “You’re going to toss my dog into a creek?”
“Naw, she’ll jump in by herself. She’s been in at least eight times today. In between rolling in the slash pile and bumming lunch off the guys. Come on, sweetie.” The sweetie was directed at Lacey, not Kateri.
Lacey flung herself into Stag’s arms and looked smugly at Kateri.
Stag headed into the woods. “All the guys adore her. Nifty threatened to steal her, but I told him she was your dog and he shivered and backed away. You inspire fear and awe, Kateri Kwinault.”
“From you?”
“You bet. I was afraid you were only using me for my body.”
He sounded so casual, so amused, and he looked so … so strong and manly.
Ugh. Manly. Who even thought stuff like that anymore? “I’m also using you for your dog-sitting abilities.” High five, Kateri! That was a smooth, noncommittal reply.
“You can use me however you want—as long as it’s forever.”
She stopped cold.
He kept walking, strolling along the shady forest path toward the sound of burbling water. And the way he walked … swaggering like a conceited ass, like he knew she was watching. At the same time, he held her dog against his chest in the most heart-melting …
No. No melting hearts. Kateri needed to remember who he was and that she didn’t entirely trust him. She hurried, and caught them as they reached the swirling pool under a rushing waterfall.