Midsummer Sweetheart (24 page)

He felt her cheeks lift with a smile against his chest, and he wished he didn’t feel so nervous, so exposed and vulnerable putting his feelings out there like that.

“You want me to be your girlfriend.” A statement, not a question.

He swallowed again, against a new lump in his throat. Old fears rising up against new strength.
You want her in your life? You have to walk down this path. Man up, Erik.
He pushed the fears back down and answered her.

“Yep.”

“Okay.”

He waited for a wave of nausea to overtake him, for his forehead to break out in a sweat or for his lungs to start burning as he gasped for air. It didn’t happen. His heart was beating so fast, he was sure she could hear it too. But, his fears about commitment, his paralyzing fear of being tied down…somehow it was all being held at bay.

He felt his lips twitch as an unexpected grin broke out across his face as he filled his lungs and felt his body relax.

She said,
Okay.
He had a girlfriend. Just like that, Katrin Svenson was his girlfriend.

Katrin leaned back, looking at him with her bright red cheeks flaming. “You okay?”

He nodded. “I’m okay.”

“Sure?”

“I think so.”

Her lips tilted up and her dimples dented her cheeks.

God, my girlfriend is adorable.

“Now that we got that settled, you think you could make me some breakfast?”

Erik nodded, tilting his head to the side, trying out the words for the first time. “My girlfriend is hungry.”

“Yes, she is,
Minste
,” she said, saucily, “but I think we should have breakfast first.”

“W-Whoa…okay!” He chuckled, eyes widening with surprise, as his body reacted to her insinuation. This boyfriend-girlfriend thing might be alright! “How many days until Friday?”

“Three if you don’t count today or Friday.” She pushed the covers away and slipped out of bed, moving slowly, like an old lady. He bet she was achy; he could see it. She put on her glasses, inspecting herself in the mirror over her bureau and cringed. “Ooosh. I look bad. Wow. That’s rough. Well, maybe I won’t look so polka-dotted by Friday.”

“I don’t care if you’re polka-dotted.” He came up behind her, put his arms around her, his arms resting under her breasts, staring at their reflection in the mirror
.

Us.
She and I are an
us
. He searched his head and his heart, but he didn’t feel the old rising panic at the thought, and it was liberating. He leaned around and pressed his lips to the pulse point in her neck, then leaned over to rest his chin on her much-shorter shoulder as she reached up to hold onto his arms. She tilted her head and smiled at him, sunlight shining off the lenses of the thick glasses that she’d been wearing the first day he met her, and he smiled back at her.

Midsommardagen
would certainly be interesting.

CHAPTER 14

When Erik was six years old, his father had taken him and his brothers to Big Sky Mountain for his very first day of downhill skiing. That fall Nils had turned eleven and their father had decided he could supervise Lars, which cleared the way for Erik to have his father’s attention and instruction.

But, at six years old, Erik knew he didn’t have the same non-stop adrenaline gene that his older brothers had. When his parents divided to conquer parenting their offspring, Erik was often left behind with Jenny and his Mamma while the older boys joined their father for weekend adventures. Exciting for them. But Erik, who listened to stories of their escapades, felt deeply grateful that he’d been “left” at home. No part of him grieved that he was missing out on skiing or snowboarding, ice fishing or long, cold hikes in the snow to see wildlife. He was content to stay behind with his mother and sister, happy to be surrounded by their loving warmth, stories, baking, crafts and cocoa.

So, sitting in the back of his father’s station wagon headed to Big Sky, he felt covered, surrounded, infused with dread. Aside from the fact that he had no interest spending the day skiing, he simply wasn’t as physically adroit as his older brothers, lacking their coordination and strength. It was going to be a disaster.

Many times he overheard his Mamma ask his Pappa after one of these sorts of manly excursions, “And my
Minste
?”

Erik was all too familiar with the hope in her voice, and the awkward response his father would offer, something quiet and embarrassed along the lines of: “Oh, he’ll get there. He’ll get there someday. He’s a Lindstrom.”

Big Sky Mountain loomed like a frozen monster in the distance, closer and closer, challenging Erik to fall, to fail, to embarrass his Pappa. He wished he was anywhere but here, headed to certain doom, where he would prove, once again, with embarrassing finality, that he
wasn’t
the Lindstrom Nils and Lars were. He was consigned to be
Minste
, the littlest Lindstrom, the biggest disappointment.

His stomach rolled over as he stared with increasing panic out the window, occasionally distracted by Lars leaning forward to smack the back of Nils’s head in the front seat. Nils’s long arms would reach back and grab whatever flailing body part of Lars he came in contact with first, gripping and twisting it mercilessly until Lars cried out in pain.

“Cut it out, boys. Nils, sit up. Lars? Touch him again and you’ll feel my hand later.” His Pappa looked at Erik in the rearview mirror. “You ready for your first day of skiing,
Minste
?”

“
Ja
, Pappa.”

Nils looked back at him with sympathetic eyes and an encouraging smile. It occurred to Erik that Nils was so much older he might see things clearly. He might even understand. “You’ll do great, Erik.”

“Wait ‘til he feels the rush of wind in his hair.” His Pappa now, grinning at Nils in agreement.

“More like the rush of the snow in your face when you tank, scaredy-cat.” Lars elbowed him.

Erik looked away in misery, leaning as close as possible to the door, trying to keep his body out of Lars’s reach.

“Shut up, Lars.” Nils said. “Everyone falls at first. I remember a few crybaby tears during your first run.” Nils chortled then turned to Erik. “Try to stay up, little brother. You’re a Lindstrom.”

“That’s right. Erik’s a Lindstrom. Lindstroms ski. Been skiing since we got to Montana and long before that in the old country. Our people skied Åre before it was fancy. Before it was the Aspen of Sweden. Erik’s got skiing in his blood and his bones.”

Erik gulped at the firm, hopeful tone of his father’s voice. He wanted to bawl like a baby.
I’m going to fall and he’s going to see it again: I’m just Minste, the disappointing one, the littlest, the worst.

“Lars, you’re to stay with Nils. You’re a pair. Nils, I better not see you come down that mountain without your
lillebror
on your wing. We’ll all stay on Eastern Exposure for today. Green trails, Nils.”

Nils groaned at this, muttering something about dragging a baby along.

“I’m not a baby, Pappa,” whined Lars. “I can do the blue ones.”

“Oh, yeah?” Nils said. “Well, I can do the black ones. Pappa and me even did a double black last weekend when you were sick at home,
baby
. I’d be doin’ them today if’n I wasn’t babysitting
you
, Lars.”

“There’s enough of that, Nils. It’ll be green for today. I need to concentrate on Erik and can’t be distracted worrying about my other boys. Mind me now, Nils, you boys go up and come down as much as you like, but you stay on the green. I catch you on the lift going up to the summit, you’ll feel my hand later, son.”

Nils nodded, and turned around to face Lars. “You hear that, Lars? Green. And I’m in charge. You follow me or you’ll feel Pappa’s hand.”

His father had caught his eyes in the rearview mirror again and winked. Erik tried to smile, but couldn’t, and turned to look out the window for what was left of the trip.

An hour later Erik was suited up and sat beside Pappa as they took a short lift ride to the top of one of three beginner slopes on Eastern Exposure. He listened to his father’s last-minute advice, but he could barely do more than nod, counting down the moments until he embarrassed Pappa, until he fell clumsily into the snow, tears biting his eyes, confirming, once again, that he
wasn’t
a Lindstrom. His hands sweated profusely inside of his mittens, making them soggy. He felt, instinctively, that this was bad or would be bad later, and wished he could stop them from sweating, but he couldn’t.

The lift neared the top of the small hill, and his father put his arm around Erik’s back, his paw of a hand gripping his far underarm, helping him off the lift. To Erik’s great surprise, he didn’t fall, even when his father let go. He stayed up on the skis with only a slight wobble.

“Good job,
Minste
. Stay up. Bend your knees. Remember what we’ve practiced, what I’ve told you. I know you’re frightened, but you can do this. You’re a Lindstrom. Trust the skis.”

Erik’s chest swelled with pride and relief. He pushed himself along slowly, following his father’s gentle instructions and gliding closer and closer from the lift to the top of the hill where they would push off and try his first run together. As he neared the top, his panic suddenly returned, furious now. He had once jumped off a high diving board at the community pool in Bozeman, and this hill was about ten times higher. Other children pushed off their poles with confidence, whooshing down the hill with shrieks of glee. Erik felt his heart beating like a hammer in his chest, and he could barely hear his father’s patient instructions as blood rushed like a waterfall in his ears. He wanted to scream in fear, tear off his skis, run back to the lift, and ride back down in shame to the safety of the base. His father lowered the goggles perched on Erik’s head, and patted him through his hood.

“I believe in you.” His father’s breath on his cheek made him want to weep. “You’re my boy, Erik. I promise you’re going to love it. Once you stop being afraid, you won’t know how you lived without it. Plant your poles. Ready? Push!”

Erik pushed off, remembering not to keep his skis perfectly parallel, but tilted them toward each other, bending his knees and tucking his poles under his elbows as his father and brothers had instructed. Slow at first, but quickly picking up speed as he made his way down the hill.

He could hear his brothers shouting encouragement from the chairlift above him, and his father’s voice from not too far behind “Yes, Erik! That’s my boy! That’s
my
boy!”

His shoulders relaxed, and he trusted his legs. His lips turned up in a proud smile, his hood fell onto his shoulders and then he felt it: the exhilarating rush of wind in his hair, just as his father had promised, as he whooshed down the small hill in a picture-perfect first run.

Arriving at the bottom, he lifted his goggles in time to see his father come to a stop beside him, snow flying up in a rooster tail around Erik like glitter, like confetti. He lifted his goggles and smiled at Erik, as he never had before.

“A Lindstrom!” he declared. “Let’s do it again!”

Erik’s chest swelled with pride as he followed his father back to the lift, and it occurred to him that Pappa was right about skiing: now that he wasn’t afraid anymore, he loved it, and he didn’t know how he would ever live without it.

***

Next to Erik on the front seat sat a bouquet of yellow and blue irises that had been wrapped in cellophane and tied with an elegant blue and yellow bow, a Midsummer offering for his girl. He glanced at them, enjoying the rush of happiness that had accompanied thoughts of Katrin since leaving her on Monday morning.

It was as though a switch, deep and hidden, inside of him had been flicked on, and he saw his whole world with a brightness, a sharper clarity, filtered through the eyes of a man who cared for a woman, with whom he was—now that he allowed himself to be—in fact, besotted.

He had called her last night to finalize their plans.

“Kat?”

“Yeah. Hey.” He could hear the smile in her voice and it made his heart thump-thump a little faster.

“Am I catching you at a bad time?”

“Nah. Just swinging with a book.”

“Wish I was there with you.”

“Me too.”

“How’re you feeling,
Ӓlskling
?”

“So much better. Really back to normal, but I’m still pretty blotchy.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“I’m sorry…is this Erik Lindstrom?”

“I can’t call my girlfriend beautiful?”

“Talk about a full conversion!” He imagined her deep dimples as she rocked back and forth on the porch swing, cheeks pink with pleasure. “You can.”

“I miss you, Kat.”

“Well, not for much longer. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Mmm. I can leave at three. Should be to you by four-thirty. Choteau by seven-ish. Does that sound okay?”

“Sounds perfect. Hey…”

“What?”

“The families?”

“Yeah, they’re going to know we’re together. So what? I’m keeping my arm around you the whole time. Wouldn’t put it past Lars to make a play for you,
Ӓlskling
.”

“
Really
? Lars, huh? Let’s see…he’s the biggest of you three, right?”

“Nope. He’s very scrawny and super ugly and we don’t like to talk about it, but he has some very severe hygiene and mental issues.”

She giggled. “Okay. No Lars for Kat.”

“No
M
idten
, only
Minste
.”

“Are you
sure
you’re okay with all of this? Big changes for you,
Minste
.”

“Yeah. I mean, I’m not going to lie, I keep waiting to feel uncomfortable or panicky or something, but I just don’t.” She didn’t say anything so he continued. “I always thought that being in a relationship with someone would feel oppressive, caged. Like being suffocated or cornered—”

“Sweeping me off my feet here, Erik…”

“No, listen. That’s the whole point. That’s what I
thought
it would feel like. It doesn’t feel like that at all. It feels so good, it’s almost scary.”