Off Course by Michelle Huneven

finish carpenters at the Rodinger place, where, if she was lucky, Caleb, the younger, homely brother, answered the door. He always made a joke—Where’s the pizza and Coke? Doughnuts and coffee? And once he said, “Wait, wait. I have a tip for you!” and gave her the perfectly formed pinecone that now served as the centerpiece of her kitchen table. The older brother, Quinn, took the supplies Cress delivered in silence and shut the door as she stood there. At her parents’ jobsite, Brian Crittenden unloaded the Saab’s trunk. Hefting a new router, he whispered, “Between you and me, I have no idea what in hell this is.”
    Cress was surrounded by men. In that respect, living at the Meadows was not unlike grad school in economics.
    *   *   *
    One day, in the Younts checkout line, the woman behind her said, “I know you.” Cress turned to see the fat, grouchy, middle-aged lodge waitress with her puff of almost colorless bleached hair. DeeDee. Cress had heard Jakey call her Princess, Blondie, and, in a hissy mood, DumDum. Of course, DeeDee called him Bossy, like a cow. Close up, Cress had a shock: DeeDee was her age.
    Here in the provinces, as in all provinces, something happened to women. Lovely in their smooth-skinned, shiny-haired bloom, they married, had a kid or two, and off went the starch bomb. Looks faded and the pounds rolled on, thirty, forty, fifty of them.
    â€œI’ve heard all about you,” DeeDee said. “Jakey goes on and on. Cressida this, Cressida that.”
    â€œAll good, I hope.”
    â€œLet’s just say that you don’t bug him yet.”
    â€œGee,” said Cress.
    â€œThe others bug him pretty quick. Though you can’t blame him. They sit at the lodge, all moony. Cleavage hanging out. Hey, want a coffee?” Younts had a coffee shop attached.
    First, Cress took seven bags of groceries out to her car, lining them on the backseat like seven small brothers. The sun was warm; she shouldn’t stay long. And she had qualms: DeeDee was so brash. But Cress was curious to hear what she had to say.
    DeeDee had ordered coffee for both of them. “You’re the only one Jakey’s never called a bim,” she said.
    â€œIs that short for bimbo ?”
    A peroxided eyebrow—with dark roots—arched.
    DeeDee was twenty-nine, divorced with three boys and, apparently, Jakey’s great confidante. A thin gold cross swung over her cup as she leaned forward. “That voice mail you left? He sure got a bang out of it! God knows how many times he made me listen. Don’t heat the oven if you’ve got nothing to bake! ”
    â€œYou heard that?”
    â€œMe and everyone else who came into the lodge—for weeks!”
    DeeDee wasn’t out to embarrass her—not exclusively, anyway. She wanted something more—a confidante of her own. A friend. Swearing Cress to secrecy, she confessed: she was in love with Jakey’s youngest son, Kevin, the nineteen-year-old. “Well, maybe not love love,” she went on in a rapid whisper, “but we are sleeping together. Uh, constantly. It’s like God’s little gift to me after the worst divorce in history; best sex ever. But it is a sin, so I’ll probably go to hell. I pray to stop. Every night I tell myself I’m going to stop. The mind is willing, but the flesh—”
    â€œYou’re kidding, right?” said Cress. “About the God and hell stuff.”
    â€œNo. No. Not at all.”
    DeeDee was a born again. “Bathed in the spirit, reborn in faith. Tulare First Presbo. Evangelical!” Her tone was so light as to seem self-mocking.
    â€œDoes that mean you had a whole conversion deal?” Cress asked. “Blinding flash and all?”
    â€œSure,” DeeDee said. “Only it was less a flash and more like a huge wave of relief. That I didn’t have to do it all anymore. That Jesus was driving the