The Lost Fisherman

by Jewel E. Ann

  His eyes narrowed. “Keep your distance? It’s going to be hard for you to keep your distance with my dick inside of you at every possible chance.”

  There’s my crude naked fisherman. I’ve missed you.

  I started walking again, my face revisiting its eighteen-year-old version of itself—flushed cheeks and neck. “And when do you think your next possible chance might be?”

  “Can’t say.” He took my hand again.

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s your birthday. And birthdays are for surprises.”

  “So you’re going to surprise me with your dick?” I giggled.

  “You’ll never see it coming.”

  “Well, I won’t if it’s inside of me.”

  He laughed.

  I laughed.

  And we spent the next hour hiking the trail that circled back around to the campsite. A few yards before the clearing, he stopped and pushed me off the trail, my back hitting a tree trunk.

  He kissed me with a hunger that I felt in my bones. And as quickly as he pulled me off the trail and attacked my mouth, he ended the kiss and returned without me.

  He nodded toward the clearing up ahead. “Coming?”

  I peeled my back off the tree and fixed my beanie and straightened my jacket. “What was that?”

  “What was what?” Fisher tucked his hands innocently in the pockets of his jacket.

  “See … told you they didn’t get eaten by a bear,” Rose said to Rory as we made it back to the tents.

  Rory rolled her eyes. “I didn’t think that.”

  “You said it.” Rose eyed Rory flipping pancakes on the grill.

  “Well, I was just kidding … sort of. Why didn’t you wake us up to go with you?” Rory asked.

  “I thought I’d take the kiddo for a walk while you two had a little alone time.” Fisher gave them a suggestive grin. “Since she crashed your night with the truck alarm, blue lips, and chattering teeth.”

  Rory and Rose laughed, but then they shared a look that said they did take advantage of their alone time. Which … made me think of the time I saw them in the shower. Yeah, that image was eternally burned into my brain.

  “Take the kiddo for a walk?” I scowled at Fisher. “You make me sound like a five-year-old … or a dog.”

  “If the leash fits.” He grabbed a bottle of orange juice out of the cooler.

  I nudged the back of his knee, making his leg bend unexpectedly, throwing him a little off balance as he shut the cooler.

  “Watch it.” He gave me a narrowed-eyed expression.

  “Watch what, old man?”

  “Listen to you two … it’s just like old times. Fisher, you and Reese used to fight and banter all the time, just like two siblings,” Rory said, handing me a plate of pancakes.

  I took a seat in one of the camping chairs, and Rose poured syrup onto my stack of pancakes, pressing her lips together for a second before murmuring, “Siblings my ass,” so only I could hear her.

  I winked at her, one of those cocky Fisher-style winks.

  “No mancala for you two tonight,” I said to my mom and Rose. “You’re too loud. Too competitive.”

  “Sorry.” Rory cringed. “Did we keep you up?”

  I held up my thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “A wee bit.”

  “Mancala? I love that game,” Fisher said. “We should play it tonight.”

  “It’s only a two-person game,” Rory said, handing Fisher his plate of pancakes.

  “Well, you two played it last night, so I’ll play it with the birthday girl tonight.” Fisher took a bite of his pancakes and grinned at me. “Do you want to play with me tonight, Reese?”

  My chewing slowed. He said that. Yes, he sure did. Rory paid no attention to his comment. But Rose choked on a bite of her pancake.

  “You okay, babe?” Rory asked her.

  Rose patted her chest several times and nodded. “F-fine.”

  After swallowing my bite, I smirked at Rose while answering Fisher. “That sounds fun. I’d love to play with you tonight.”

  Rose’s face looked like a ripe red apple, and there was nothing she could do to stop us. And Fisher had no idea she knew. He thought our innuendos were solely between the two of us.

  “I’m not going to go easy on you. I’m pretty competitive. I like to be on top at the end.”

  Again, Rose coughed and Rory handed her a bottled water. “Drink. And chew your food better.” Rory shifted her attention to Fisher. “Don’t get too cocky and underestimate Reese. She has a competitive streak too. I can see her winning … being on top instead of you. So no pouting tomorrow.”

  By that point, Rose had her head bowed, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. I felt certain she was silently chanting, “Make them stop!”

  But all that mattered to me was Fisher and I were going to play.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Before I left Texas to reunite with Rory, I knew three things.

  One: I wasn’t ever going to drink or do drugs.

  Two: No sex before marriage.

  Three: I would think about God first in all my decisions.

  At twenty-four, I knew nothing.

  After another group hike, lunch, and taking a million pictures, we started a fire for dinner, and then we drank too much. The conversation took a turn because of me. Someone should have cut me off earlier.

  “Have you ever told Fisher how he loved Angie?” I asked, picking at the label to my beer bottle. I didn’t even like beer that much—that was how much I’d had to drink.

  “What?” Rory said.

  “I mean … everyone says how much he loved her. Maybe if someone told him why they thought that … like … what specifically did he do to make you think he loved her? Then he might remember.”

  I had no idea alcohol could spark a self-destructive case of jealousy. Yet there I was … intoxicated and jealous.

  Rory glanced over at Rose. “He sent her flowers.”

  Rose nodded. “They were cuddly …” She laughed, buzzed like the rest of us. “Is cuddly a word?” Rose laughed more.

  “He took her to lunch a lot,” Rory added.

  “Sometimes you took her for rides on your motorcycle.” Rose shifted her attention to Fisher.

  I glanced over at him.

  He nursed his beer, gaze on the fire as if he wasn’t hearing any of the conversation.

  “The four of us spent so many nights in the screened-in porch just talking about life. Fisher said he wanted two kids. Angie wanted four. They compromised on three.” Rory grinned at Fisher.

  Still … he showed no response other than to narrow his eyes a bit as if he was trying to make sense of what they were saying about him.

  Did it still feel like someone else’s life? A biography that wasn’t his?

  “And after Angie’s mom died, Fisher just … did everything. He helped take care of her mom’s property. He practically planned the funeral. Moved Angie into his house. Cooked for her for … weeks while she grieved her mom. I wish you could remember, Fisher. I really do.” Rory frowned.

  Fisher stood. “I’m going to bed.” He didn’t look at me or anyone as he tossed his bottle into a bin in the back of his truck before wandering into the woods to pee.

  Rose shook her head. “I don’t think we jogged his memory. I think he’s miserable.”

  Rory stood and stretched. “Miserable? That’s a strong word.”

  “It’s not. It’s the right word, trust me.” Rose started to collapse the chairs.

  I helped her load them into the truck.

  “You two still going to play mancala?” Rory handed me the game. “It’s late.” She laughed. “And we’ve all had too much to drink. But whatever …” She hugged me. “Happy birthday, sweetie.”

  “Thanks,” I murmured.

  “It’s been a good day. Love you, birthday girl.” Rose hugged me and kissed my cheek. Then she whispered in my ear, “He’s not in a good mood. Let him be tonight.”


  I didn’t say anything. I just gave a single nod to let her know I heard her.

  After they found a spot to pee and retired to their tent, I planted my ass on the ground by the fire. When Fisher returned, he sat next to me, both of us with our knees bent and our arms resting on them.

  “If it’s January …” I whispered. “Then we wait for January. I can’t …” I shook my head slowly. “Do this …”

  I couldn’t sneak around with another woman’s fiancé any longer. If the alcohol imparted a sense of jealousy, then sobering up imparted a sense of regret.

  “I know,” he whispered back. “I’m going to fix this.”

  “Fix this?” I had trouble keeping my voice lowered. “How are you going to do that?”

  “Do you trust me?”

  I grunted a laugh. How many times had he questioned my trust in him? And where had it gotten me?

  “I told you. I trust you. I just don’t trust your—”

  “Yeah, yeah … my memory. Fuck my memory.” He stood. “Come on.” He held out his hand.

  I took it. “I can’t do anything with you.” My inflamed conscience showed up to be the party pooper at my birthday party.

  “We can play mancala.”

  My head canted as I eyed him.

  “For real. Mancala.” He tugged my hand.

  We sat across from each other in his tent and played mancala for almost two hours, and it was fun. Everything with Fisher was fun and happy. He was bliss. And I couldn’t imagine my life without bliss.

  “I’m going to …” I motioned toward the tent door. “Go to bed now.”

  “You’ll be cold.”

  “I know.”

  “You could sleep with me.” He set the game aside.

  “I said I’m not—”

  “Sleep. Just sleep.”

  “What about Rory and—”

  “I’ll kick you out before they wake in the morning.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “Can’t control yourself?”

  “Full. Of. Yourself.”

  His grin faded, gaze averting to the space between us. Confusion replaced all amusement. “Full of yourself,” he whispered before lifting his gaze to meet mine. “You’ve said that before. At my office. You …” He shook his head. “You were mad at me. Do you remember?”

  It took me a few seconds to realize what was happening. “Do you remember that?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know. It’s like déjà vu. You said that and it was too familiar, like we’ve played this out before, but not here.”

  I wasn’t entirely sure when I said that to him. It was over five years earlier. Those were words I could have used on multiple occasions.

  “I don’t know. What else did I say?”

  Fisher continued to shake his head. “I … I don’t know. But if it’s a memory …”

  I nodded. “Then you might be getting your memory back or at least your brain is trying to make some connections again.”

  “Maybe.” He nodded slowly, confusion still veiling his face.

  Was it time to tell him about us? He had fallen in love with me, without those memories, without me telling him about us.

  He reclined onto his pillow. “So weird … I see you with your hands on your hips. You’re angry. Do you remember being angry with me?”

  I chuckled. “Sorry. I was mad at you on lots of occasions. You’re not narrowing it down much.”

  “Maybe it’s the beer.” He sighed, closing his eyes.

  “Maybe.” I shut off the lantern light and curled up next to him, covering us with the top of his sleeping bag and a fleece blanket.

  “You’re staying?” he mumbled. So much exhaustion in his voice.

  “I’m staying.” I hugged his body and kissed his neck.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The night in the tent was the beginning of what felt like the end, even if I wasn’t sure what the end really meant for me. For us.

  I immersed myself in work and read absolutely everything Holly gave me to read.

  Halloween.

  Early November snow.

  And no Fisher.

  Was I avoiding him? Yes.

  Did he know why? Yes.

  However, it was nearly impossible to avoid him until January, as I found out three weeks after my birthday. On my way home from a birth around noon on a Saturday, I stopped for gas. As I waited for it to get filled up, Fisher’s work truck pulled in the opposite side of the pump.

  My heart crashed against my chest. He’s here! And my conscience said to chill out. Stay calm. No big deal.

  A crazy big grin stretched across his face as he climbed out of his truck in jeans, work boots, and a dirty hoodie. “Hey.”

  My heart won. I matched his grin, maybe even upped it a notch. “Hey.”

  “On your way to work or heading home?” he asked, leaning against the beam next to the pump.

  “Home. See the bags under my eyes?”

  “Did you help bring a tiny human into the world last night?”

  “Seven this morning. Little boy. Grant. Eight pounds exactly. How about you? Working today?”

  “Just finished installing shelves in a pantry.”

  I returned the nozzle to the pump and took my receipt. “Well, I’m going home to crash for a few hours.”

  “Reese …” He studied me for a few seconds. “We’re not strangers. And I’ve been biding my time for three weeks. Sorting these memories as they come back. But I miss you. And I’m not going to let you get in your car and just leave with a friendly smile and tiny wave.”

  “What memories?” Rory and Rose hadn’t said anything.

  “Come here.”

  I shook my head. “What memories?”

  “Come. Here.” He wet his lips.

  I tried not to look at his lips, but they were right there, full and recently touched by his tongue. I took a few steps closer.

  He pushed off the beam and slid his hand through my hair. “I love you today.”

  “Fisher …”

  He kissed me. And I couldn’t stop him because I didn’t want to stop him. His proximity fed my soul. His lips awakened my heart with possibilities.

  Then it ended.

  It was just a kiss. We had control.

  Until he kissed me again.

  Harder. Longer.

  His hands slid to my butt, and he moaned, gripping me hard. “Fuck …” He pulled his mouth away from mine and buried his face in my neck. “Follow me to my house. Please just …” His desperation fueled my need.

  I was so tired, and it weakened my resolve because there was nothing I wanted more than to go home with Fisher. Let him make me feel good. And fall asleep in his arms.

  As another car pulled in behind my car, I broke away from Fisher’s hold and cleared my throat. “What memories? You said your memories came back.”

  He sighed, adjusting himself. “I remembered Angie. Well, one memory of her. Of us.”

  “What memory?”

  “A party at her parents’ house. Her twenty-first birthday.”

  “What triggered that?”

  He glanced over my shoulder, off into the distance. “I’m not sure.”

  “Where were you when you remembered it?”

  His lips twisted as he continued to stare off into … the past? “She came over last week for dinner. And we were talking about her cousin’s wedding. And she said her cousin just found out she’s pregnant.”

  I nodded slowly. “Was her cousin at Angie’s birthday party?”

  “No.”

  “Hmm. That’s weird. But it’s a memory. That’s good right?”

  Fisher seemed anything but feeling good about his recent recalled memory. “I’ll let you get home to sleep.”

  He went from insatiable to listless in a matter of minutes.

  “Are you okay?”

  He returned a single nod, more of a tiny drop of his chin. Then he stared at me for a long moment before a sa
d smile tugged at his lips. “I miss you.”

  “I miss you too.”

  “Bye.”

  That was it. A sad goodbye.

  That sad goodbye ate at me as I drove home. Instead of pulling into the driveway, I kept going and made my way to Fisher’s house, arriving just as he pulled into his driveway.

  I walked across the street as he hopped out of his truck. “What aren’t you telling me about your memories?”

  “What do you mean?” He didn’t stop to address me face-to-face. He kept walking into his garage.

  I stopped right behind him as he bent over to unlace his work boots. Then I followed him into his house.

  “You know what I mean. When you told me about the party memory, you looked frightened or maybe in complete shock. Why? Did that memory of her bring back feelings for her?”

  He grabbed a beer from the fridge and opened it. After a long swig, he blew out a slow breath. “At her party, Angie pulled me aside and told me she was pregnant.”

  Did not see that coming. Neither did my delicate heart.

  “I couldn’t remember what happened after that. Angie said she miscarried two weeks later. Then … I could. That’s all she had to say, and I remembered what happened.”

  “What happened?” I whispered past the lump in my throat.

  “We were supposed to meet for dinner after I finished working. But she showed up at the apartment I was living in at the time, and she was in tears. She’d miscarried. But …” He glanced up at me. “I had a ring. I was going to propose to her that night.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  He shook his head and took another pull of beer.

  “Why?”

  “Because I didn’t want to get married. Not yet. I was doing it because it seemed like the right thing to do.”

  “So she never knew?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Did you tell her? When your memory came back, did you tell her about the ring?”

  “No,” he whispered.

  Then it hit me. What he said to me five years earlier when I freaked out at the possibility of being pregnant.

  “What if …” I cleared my throat. “Hypothetically, what if I were pregnant.”

  “No.” He grunted. “No. We are not doing this. If you come back to me in a few weeks with a positive test, we’ll have this conversation. But I’m not having it now.”