The Lost Fisherman Page 3

  “I don’t have a job at the moment, so there’s been no rush to get back home. It’s been nice spending time with my mom and Rose. But I’ll probably head back to Michigan soon.”

  After Fisher goes home.

  “Sure you don’t want to stick around here?” She tilted her head and gave me a goofy smile.

  “Actually, I’m not ruling it out, if I can find a good job. And I’d need to look into the master’s program. But …” I shrugged.

  “Do it!” She giggled. “I’m a little biased, but DO IT!”

  I laughed. “I’ll see what happens in the next month with job prospects. Rory and Rose are already on top of looking for things around here. When I get back to Michigan, I’ll see where things stand with a few openings that were available before I came here.”

  Before I skipped out on an interview because my heart was more mature but still just as foolish as ever when it came to the naked fisherman.

  “Well, don’t be a stranger. Five years is too long.” She winked.

  “Agreed.” I hugged her again. “Good to see you.”

  Under the guise of job searching, I stayed just long enough for Fisher to get released from the hospital. Rory didn’t complain at all. Rose didn’t either, but I knew she was on to me.

  “I called Angie and told her we’d drop dinner off but not stay long. I don’t want her to worry about food or have the burden be on his family.” Rory packed containers of food into bags. It was more than one meal’s worth.

  “Good idea,” Rose said from the kitchen table, working on lesson plans.

  “Peanut butter cookies.” Rory shook a container filled with cookies. “Fisher loves peanut butter. I bet that makes your stomach turn, huh, sweetie?”

  Fisher didn’t make my stomach turn. He still made it do things, but only good things. But peanut butter was not back on my food list yet.

  “I’ve tried it several times during school, but nope … still can’t do it.” I glanced up from my phone. “Ready?”

  She nodded.

  “Don’t hate me, but I’m staying here. I’ll stop by this weekend to see him. I’m just behind with my lesson plans.” Rose frowned.

  “He’ll understand.” Rory kissed Rose’s head. “Love you. See you in a bit.”

  “Love you too,” she muttered.

  All the terrible things I was told about homosexuality. All the terrible, judgmental things that went through my head. And there I was watching my mom and Rose so in love. How could so many awful things be said and done in the name of God? It wasn’t His fault. It was a flaw with humanity’s need for control.

  “Maybe being home will spark something with his memory,” Rory said as we drove to his house.

  “Maybe. Is Angie living with him?”

  “Yes, she has been since her mom passed. I bet tonight will be weird for them. Getting in bed with a stranger.”

  I nodded slowly, preferring not to think about Angie and Fisher in bed. The last time I recalled her being in his bed, he was in the basement with me, and we were on the pool table doing very naughty things. Maybe the pool table was what they needed to show him.

  Don’t be that person …

  My conscience berated me and rightfully so.

  When we pulled into the driveway next to Fisher’s work truck, I grabbed one of the bags from Rory, just to have something to do with my hands to hide my shakiness, my nerves.

  “He got a new work truck?”

  “Yeah, I think it was about two years ago,” Rory said, ringing the doorbell.

  “Hi. Come in. This is so generous of you.” Angie took the bags from us as soon as we stepped inside.

  Fisher was in a leather recliner, TV on, blanket over his legs.

  “Hey, handsome. Welcome home.” Rory took the liberty of being one of the people he knew, and she kissed him on the head and patted his good hand. His other arm was still in a cast.

  Fisher lit up like a child at daycare when a parent picked them up. Familiarity. “Hi. It’s good to be home.” He eyed me.

  I smiled. “I saw Hailey the other day. She assured me things were fine. You need to just recover.”

  “Hailey?”

  “Hailey runs your office. Reese worked for you briefly. Remember? I told you that in the hospital. Reese stopped by to see Hailey.”

  “Sorry.” He rubbed his forehead. “A lot happened in the hospital.”

  “It’s fine. How are you feeling?” I asked.

  “Pretty good. Can’t sleep well yet, but I’m tired a lot. I don’t like how the pain meds make me feel, but everyone seems to think I should still take them. I think they just want me to shut up and sleep while they pray my memory fully returns.”

  Just as he said that, Angie appeared from the kitchen, and just as quickly, she returned to the kitchen. Rory gave me a look. “I’m going to see if Angie has any questions about the food we brought.”

  I nodded.

  “You can have a seat.” Fisher lifted his chin, signaling to the sofa.

  “Thanks.” I eased my butt onto the edge, gripping my knees to keep my hands steady. Everything was so weird, so awkward.

  “What do you do?” He caught nothing Rory said to him at the hospital.

  “I just graduated from nursing school.”

  His lips twisted. “Did Rory tell me that? Is that something I should have known?”

  “I think she mentioned it, but it’s fine. You sent me a graduation card.” With a goofy, tight smile, I shrugged. “So … thanks.”

  He chuckled. That was the Fisher I remembered. That soft chuckle accompanied by a slight head shake. “You’re welcome. Did I put money in the card?”

  “No money.”

  “Hmm …” He frowned. “Kinda cheap of me. Sorry about that.”

  Okay, maybe he wasn’t the same Fisher. It was really hard to tell at that point.

  It was my turn to laugh. “It’s fine. I don’t think college graduations are like high school graduations.”

  “Maybe. Did I write something nice in the card?”

  I found his genuine interest entertaining. As heartbreaking as his accident was, as his memory loss was, I couldn’t deny the new Fisher brought a smile to my face. “Yes, I believe you wrote something nice in the card.”

  “Was it lame like, ‘The future is yours,’ or ‘Much success?’”

  On another laugh, I shook my head. “No. If I recall correctly, you were way more original than that.”

  “It’s funny. I’m trying to remember if I ever recall Rory talking about having a daughter.”

  “Well, if you don’t remember me, then it’s unlikely you’d remember her talking about me.”

  He stared at the television, but I sensed he wasn’t focused on the show. “Did you like working for me?”

  Biting my lips together, I gave that careful thought. That wasn’t an easy question.

  “You’re hesitating. Is that a no?”

  “You were focused and driven. I was young and, honestly, a little clueless in my life at the time. You hired me as a favor to my mom, but I’m certain you had some days that you questioned why you made that offer.”

  “Oh? Why do you say that?”

  Before I could answer, Rory and Angie returned. Angie’s eyes were red. She’d clearly been crying.

  “Everything okay?” Fisher asked, concern etched into his face. “Did I mess up again?”

  Oh, Fisher …

  It was hard to fully put myself in his shoes, but I tried. I tried to imagine a complete stranger coming up to me and telling me they were my fiancé. We were in love. And I simply didn’t remember. How does one navigate that? Would I have been able to play the part? Pretend to be in love?

  It wasn’t that I didn’t see it from her side—clearly, he didn’t remember me either—but I kind of saw it from his side a little more. Probably because I wanted to see it more from his side.

  “You didn’t do anything, babe. It’s just been an emotional few weeks. You’re home now. Life will
start to feel normal again, and I’ll get past my silly emotions.” Angie kneeled on the floor next to Fisher’s chair and held his good hand, giving it a kiss and pressing it to her cheek.

  Fisher visibly stiffened, and when Angie glanced up at him, he forced a smile. The smile one would have given to a stranger.

  She had no choice but to put her heart out in the open on a platter for him to cut into tiny pieces with his unintentionally insensitive comments. However, I kept my heart a little more guarded.

  We ended.

  I moved on.

  He moved on.

  End of story.

  That was my brain’s version of the story. Another reason I kept my heart guarded was to keep it from fighting with my brain. It didn’t feel like I had moved on. It didn’t like to think of Fisher moving on. And it definitely didn’t like to think our story had ended.

  “We’ll give you two some privacy. I’m so glad you’re home,” Rory said.

  Before she could take a single step toward the door, Fisher spoke up. “You should stay for dinner. I know you sent way too much food for two people.”

  “Oh …” Rory shook her head, giving Angie a questioning expression on a quick glance. “No. Rose is home. And I made the food for you two. You don’t have to eat it all in one night. We’ll drop by another night. Maybe we’ll bring pizza and beer.”

  “Yeah, babe. You need to rest anyway.” Angie continued to pet his hand and arm. He didn’t want to be alone with her.

  “What’s so funny?” Rory asked.

  “What?” I narrowed my eyes.

  “You’re smiling. What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing. Sorry. I didn’t mean to smile. I’ll rein that in.”

  Fisher snorted a laugh. “Yep. She’s your daughter, Rory.”

  With no success, Rory attempted to hide her grin from me. “Let’s go, Daughter. Don’t you have a job to find or crosswords to construct?”

  “Crossword puzzles?” Fisher did that head tilt that I’d always adored. My little puppy dog. More like a wolf back then.

  “Yes.” I smiled, wondering if that would jog his memory. “A cruciverbalist. Ever heard of that?”

  I knew Rory missed it, and Angie did too, but I didn’t. I saw that tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth just before he shook his head once. “I … I’m not sure.”

  “Fisher’s not a crossword puzzle guy. But he did win a spelling bee. Right, babe? I think your mom told me that once.” Angie tried to demonstrate her expertise.

  It thrilled me to know that he shared that secret with me and not her. And his memory might have cherry-picked things from his brain, but not the crossword puzzles because I saw it, the twitch, even his eyes changed a tiny bit into something along the lines of curiosity or satisfaction.

  “A cruciverbalist is a person who enjoys crossword puzzles or constructs them,” I said.

  Fisher …

  That look. Was it the look he gave me the very first time I told him about my pastime? Was that the look I missed? Was that the moment he knew I was more than just an eighteen-year-old girl with freakishly long arms and unlikely to wear socks with my tennis shoes?

  I wasn’t trying to take him away from Angie. I was only trying to find my naked fisherman.

  My naked fisherman did enjoy crossword puzzles.

  My naked fisherman wouldn’t marry someone just because his family thought it was the right thing to do.

  My naked fisherman … well, I didn’t know if he still existed.

  But I sure wanted to find out.

  “No offense, but it sounds like a nerdy hobby.”

  “Fisher, that’s not nice.” Angie, bless her ignorant heart, came to my rescue.

  “Reese’s dad used to construct puzzles.” Rory played the middle ground. Very matter-of-fact. She wasn’t trying to make anyone feel bad.

  Fisher nodded several times. “Your ex-husband died. Right?”

  Wow.

  Fisher remembered that, but not me.

  “Yes. Shortly before Reese turned fifteen.”

  “Well, I’m on a roll today. Another asshole remark from me. Maybe I should just take my meds and go to sleep.”

  “It’s fine,” I said. “I’m sure someday I’ll find my nerdy, cruciverbalist soul mate. And he will find my affinity for clues and words to be endearing. Maybe even sexy.” I winked.

  A wink.

  For my naked fisherman.

  Then it happened again. The corner of his mouth twitched.

  Yes, Fisher. You’re my cruciverbalist soul mate, you stubborn ass with a broken brain.

  “I’m sure he’s out there. Good luck.” Fisher kept his gaze on me.

  “He’s probably in hiding. Not all cruciverbalists are brave enough to admit their passion to the world.”

  “Mmm …” he hummed while giving me an easy nod.

  I had his attention.

  Not his memory.

  Not his engagement ring.

  Not his bed.

  Shaky ground at best, but I took it.

  “Well, goodnight, you two,” Rory said as I followed her to the door.

  “Thanks again,” Angie replied.

  “Yes. Thanks,” Fisher added.

  Chapter Six

  Dear Lost Fisherman,

  I just got home after spending weeks in Denver making sure you’d be okay. You don’t remember me. That’s fine. Maybe it’s best if you don’t.

  After five years, the world’s shortest engagement, college, a tattoo, and some serious sinning, I thought I was over you. I found my passion and followed it. I gave my virginity to a worthy man who might have cherished it more than I did. And I found my fucking voice.

  Then I saw you. And it was …

  Nine across: Eleven letters. Hint: A calamity.

  Catastrophe.

  I found it therapeutic to write down my thoughts and feelings. It was the easiest way to let go of them. It had been years, not since my father died, that I felt the need to journal my thoughts. But losing Fisher brought out everything.

  Anxiety.

  Unsettled emotions.

  Destructive hope.

  Loss of direction.

  I gave myself some time. Some time to sort out my feelings before taking a job anywhere. I let my resurrected naked fisherman emotions sort themselves out.

  Rory kept me updated on Fisher during my break for perspective. It didn’t help my perspective.

  Rory: Fisher’s doing better. A little stir crazy.

  Rory: Fisher can’t sleep. Terrible anxiety.

  Rory: Fisher tried to go back to work today. Angie is not happy.

  Rory: Feeling so bad for Angie. It’s going to be a long road for her and Fisher.

  Most of my replies were short like, “Sorry to hear that,” or “That’s too bad.”

  Two weeks later, Rory called me.

  “Hi.”

  “I found you a job,” she said.

  I laughed. “What makes you think I’m still looking for a job?”

  “Because it’s two in the afternoon on a Thursday and you answered your phone on the first ring. And if you had a job, you would have told me by now.”

  “Speaking of jobs, don’t you still have one?”

  “My next client canceled at the last minute. Anyway, speaking of clients and jobs … this morning I had a new client. Know what she does?”

  “As a matter of fact, I don’t,” I said.

  “She’s a midwife. She works in a clinic with three other midwives. They practice midwifery and all kinds of women’s healthcare. I’m actually going to start seeing her. She tests for hormone imbalances and stuff like that. I could use a good balancing. I told her about you, and she said she’d love to talk to you about possibly working with her, assisting in the clinic and during labors because she just lost her nurse whose husband got transferred to another state for his job. I told her I’d call you right away. I also gave her your contact information, so expect a call. She’s really excited that you assisted a mi
dwife in Thailand for nearly a year.”

  “She’s in Denver?”

  “Well … yes. Of course.”

  “How do you know I’m for sure still thinking about moving back to Denver?”

  My relationship with Fisher was much better when there was a good twelve hundred miles between us. Going back to Denver would magnify everything again.

  “Because you love Rose and me and you miss us. And did you hear me say midwife?”

  It was a great opportunity.

  “I’ll talk with her. No promises. How’s … Rose?”

  “She’s fine. I guess a few of her students are driving her crazier than normal. She’s thinking it might be time to look for a new position, something in high school.”

  “That’s probably smart. How’s …” I worked my way to my real question. Not that I didn’t care about Rose. “Fisher?”

  “Oh, Fisher … I don’t know. I mean. He’s upset that he’s still in a cast. Upset that he can’t sleep. Upset that he can’t remember the people who work for him or anything else about his job. But if I’m reading between the lines correctly, he’s upset that he can’t remember the woman living with him. And I feel so incredibly bad for Angie. She’s considering taking a new job in pharmaceutical sales because it involves traveling, and she thinks it might be good for her and Fisher to have some separation. She’s hoping absence makes the heart grow fonder, but I gotta be honest with you, I’m not sure he’ll miss her. And it’s not her. It’s him. He’s hating life at the moment. Drinking more. Smiling less. Rose and I feel like enablers more than friends when we stop by to see him. It’s like he’s dying for an excuse to drink. And he knows Angie won’t drink with us because she’s too busy researching memory loss and a million ways to bring it back. It’s all very awkward.”

  “Is he seeing a therapist?”

  “No.” Rory laughed. “Angie is, but Fisher won’t. Not yet. He doesn’t feel comfortable talking to a stranger about a bunch of other strangers. His words.”

  “Sounds about right. Well, everyone needs to let him find his own way through this. If he doesn’t want help, you can’t force it on him. And maybe Angie’s right. Giving him space might help. Stress doesn’t help the healing process, and his brain needs to heal.”