The Lost Fisherman

by Jewel E. Ann

  “Where are you?”

  “Just finished jogging on the beach. I’m in the lobby. I need to go back to the room and shower.”

  Was he going to lock the door to the bathroom?

  Jealousy, irrational or not, whacked away at my chest, making me hurt everywhere.

  “Angie doesn’t jog?”

  “She was still asleep.”

  “Oh … are you sharing a room?”

  Ugh! I hated playing dumb. Fishing. Waiting to catch him in a lie. But I couldn't make myself stop. It was a terrible feeling.

  “Uh … yeah. The place is booked.”

  “So you tried to get your own room?”

  He sighed. “Reese, don’t do this. Nothing good will come of it. I’ll be home Sunday night. It’s just two more nights. I’m not happy about this situation, but we’ve discussed this ad nauseam. One month. It ends in one month. We’ve got this, right?”

  I nodded. Of course he couldn’t see my nod or my pouty face.

  “I love you today.”

  I kept nodding.

  “Reese?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I love you. You. Youuu. Okay? Don’t doubt that for one second. Go to my house. Crawl in my bed. And think of all the things I’m going to do to you when I get home on Sunday.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Jesus … stop. Give me more than a ‘yeah.’ Tell me you love me. Or be honest and tell me you’re pissed off that I agreed to come here. Give me something more than one emotionless word.”

  I pulled into the clinic’s parking lot. “I love you. And I’m pissed off that you agreed to go to Costa Rica with your fiancée.”

  “Stop calling her my fiancée,” he said with a defeated tone.

  “Is she still wearing the diamond ring you gave her? When she introduces you to everyone at the wedding as her fiancé, are you going to correct her? If not, then she’s your fiancée. And I’m the slutty mistress.”

  “Reese Capshaw, knock that shit off.”

  I cringed, rubbing my hand over my face. Why couldn’t I stop? Why was I in self-destruction mode? And why couldn’t I get out of it?

  The unfairest part for him was he had no way to make it right. Not while he was there with her. Fisher was helpless. And I was hell-bent on making him feel terrible. It wasn’t one of my finer moments, but it was honest. It was human.

  “I’m at work now. I have to go.”

  “This ends. When I get home this ends. I’m not doing this any longer. Fuck my memory. Fuck family loyalty. I can’t do this another month. I want you. That’s it. You. So go sulk. You have three days for your pity party. Then I’m going to tie you to …”

  Oh shit. SHIT.

  I knew it happened the second it happened. And not only was I not with him, but I was not even in the same country. And it freaked me out. It scared me for a million reasons.

  “Jesus …” he whispered.

  And me? I ended the call. The equivalent of turning and running away as fast as my feet could take me.

  Running to hide from the truth.

  Running to escape reality.

  Running to slow down the inevitable catching me.

  Fisher triggered a memory by himself. A big one. The one I wanted him to remember in McDonald’s where I could do damage control. Help him make sense of it. Help him understand why … why I did what I did.

  “Oh god.” I stared at my phone as Fisher tried calling me back. “No. God no. Shit. Shitshitshit! FUCK!” I tossed my vibrating phone into my bag and covered my face with my shaky hands.

  I was late for work, and Fisher was in Costa Rica with the memory of him zip-tying me to the stool in his workshop.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late,” I said to Holly as I hustled to peel off my jacket and toss my bag into the cubby.

  She laughed looking at her watch. “I’m not sure two minutes counts as late. Is everything okay?”

  “Yes. No.” I shook my head before taking a deep breath. “It’s a crazy situation.”

  “Well…” Holly leaned back in her recliner and sipped her tea “…Isabella had to cancel her appointment this morning. So I have time.”

  I twisted my lips. “It’s really messed-up. Promise not to judge me?”

  She chuckled. “Oh, Reese, you have no idea how sordid my life was before I became a midwife.” She smirked. “Grab your coffee. I’m all ears.”

  It only took a few more seconds for me to nod and grin. “Okay.”

  My story took up the full two hours we had free that morning, and Holly scowled at me when I left her with the Costa Rica cliffhanger. But I didn’t have any more to give her because the story was still being written.

  When I took a break that afternoon to grab a snack and check my phone, there were a string of twenty-five missed calls and a string of messages from Fisher. Messages with all caps and exclamation points. And a few screen shots.

  “Oh no …” I cringed, scrolling up through the messages. It was the first time Fisher had messaged me since five years earlier which meant when he brought up my name in his messenger, he saw those five-year-old texts.

  Innocent texts telling me to drive myself to work or informing me of what time we’d be leaving. Then there were texts of him apologizing for telling his family that I had tummy issues.

  Fisher: I’m sorry.

  Fisher: Are you going to stay mad at me forever?

  Fisher: I’ll call my family and tell them it was a lie. That I just wanted to be alone with you.

  That was one of the screen shots. Along with the message:

  Why did I want to be alone with you?

  Another screen shot.

  Reese: Hi. Rose isn’t going to tell Rory or anyone.

  Tell Rory what?

  Where are you?

  Answer your phone.

  I’m sorry.

  Please pick up your phone.

  Don’t make me call Rory.

  Or the police.

  WHAT THE HELL?!!!!

  Fisher: If you’re not dead, text Rory and tell her you made it safely to Houston. Don’t be a total asshole about it.

  Reese: Go fuck yourself!

  PICK UP YOUR GODDAMN PHONE!!!!!

  MESSAGE ME THE FUCK BACK!

  I ZIP-TIED YOU TO THE STOOL IN MY SHOP! WE WERE MORE THAN FRIENDS AND YOU GODDAMN KNOW IT!

  The last text I received was five minutes before I checked my messages.

  Who are you? Why did you do this to me?

  My eyes filled with tears. I shouldn’t have hung up on him. Not only were we not together, I left him with crazy pieces to what must have felt like an unsolvable puzzle.

  I panicked.

  I panicked because I was angry at the Costa Rica situation.

  I panicked because I didn’t have time to talk.

  I panicked because I couldn’t see his face and he couldn’t see mine. I thought he would remember pieces of our intimacy when I could give him a look, and he could maybe see at least what I felt for him even if his feelings for me at the time were still missing. He wasn’t supposed to be so far away.

  With her.

  And her lingerie.

  And her sexy dress.

  And her sleeping in the same bed with him.

  It wasn’t supposed to happen that way. Life seldom did.

  I didn’t have time to call him, but I needed to do something.

  Don’t be mad. PLEASE don’t be mad. PLEASE let’s talk about it when you get home. I love you.

  After I sent off the text, I grabbed a glass of water and stared at my phone, waiting for him to read the text or text me back.

  Nothing.

  Maybe he was getting a massage. With her. But that at least meant he wasn’t so mad he no longer cared to reply to me.

  My short break ended, and I had to get back to work without a response from Fisher. Just … a bunch of angry all caps messages from him.

  How did I never think about our texts? How did he not scour through all his messages right after his acci
dent to piece together some missing memories?

  I’d imagined so many scenarios. Memories lost forever. Retrieved memories. The possibility of him remembering something big about him and Angie. And that something taking him away from me. What if she would have been pregnant?

  But never did I think our time together would be the pulled thread that threatened to unravel everything. And it ate at me the rest of the day. I couldn’t think of a worse scenario than him being angry and confused because of me and Angie being the one there to comfort him.

  On my way home, I called him, hoping he wasn’t at rehearsal dinner yet.

  “I can’t talk now.” That was how he answered his phone.

  My heart clenched and a new round of tears stung my eyes. “I love you. I’ve loved you for so long.”

  “I can’t talk now.” His voice was so cold.

  “When can we talk?”

  “When I’m ready.”

  I swallowed my shaky emotions. “Are you with Angie?”

  “She’s still in the shower.”

  Still … what did that mean? They were in the shower and she stayed after he got out? It made me feel nauseous.

  “I couldn’t talk earlier. I was late for work.”

  “Well, I can’t talk now. I guess we’ll talk if or when it works out.”

  “If? Don’t do this. Don’t cherry-pick pieces of your past and try to piece them together by yourself. Making assumptions. Nothing about us was simple.”

  “No shit.”

  “Fisher,” I said as my voice cracked.

  “Angie put it all on the table. What the fuck did you do? Was it a game?”

  “No! It wasn’t a game. I wanted …” I sighed. It sounded so good, so right in my head for the longest time. It made sense. It felt romantic even. So why did it feel all wrong when it mattered the most?

  “I have to go.”

  “Fisher …” I grasped for every last second, but all I could do was say his name. “I love you.”

  “I have to go.” Fisher ended the call.

  I batted away my tears and drew in a shaky breath. He needed space, but he wasn’t getting space. He was getting Angie, and there wasn’t anything I could do.

  Chapter Thirty

  That night, it felt like all the bad things I had done in my life were being served back to me in the cruelest revenge. Like God was mad or Karma was having a nasty case of menstrual cramps.

  “Do you uh … happen to follow Angie on Instagram?” Rose asked after dinner, glancing at her phone while on the floor.

  Rory was just above her on the sofa, stroking Rose’s hair with one hand while holding an open novel in her other hand, readers low on her nose. “Me?”

  “No,” Rose said. “You, Reese?”

  I’d reread the same page in my book for nearly an hour, thinking only of Fisher. “No. Why?”

  “She has pictures from the rehearsal dinner with Fisher. And it’s captioned ‘Time to cut him off.’” Rose held up her phone.

  I scooted to the edge of the recliner and leaned forward, squinting. Fisher was sitting at a table, laughing while holding a beer in one hand. The table space in front of him was filled with empty beer bottles.

  “Looks like he’s having a good time.” Rose cringed. “Of course, he’s going to feel like shit for the wedding tomorrow.”

  “Good.” I frowned.

  That got Rose’s and Rory’s attention.

  “Trouble in paradise?” Rory asked, eyeing me over her readers.

  “Kinda,” I frowned. I wasn’t going to say anything, but I couldn’t keep my mouth shut any longer. Not with Fisher drunk in Costa Rica with Angie.

  “This morning I talked to Fisher on the phone right before I had to be at work. He said something that triggered a memory of us. An intimate detail. And I freaked. Major panic. Completely lost my head and hung up on him when he started to question me. And by the time I got a break, I had a million messages and missed calls from him. He just found our texts from five years ago. They are confusing, and they did nothing but fuel his anger. So he knows we were more than friends, but only from a few vague texts and another cherry-picked memory.” I stared off to the side, chasing away the emotions that threatened to make me cry. I didn’t want to fall apart. Not yet.

  “And now he thinks you lied to him. Or the omission of the truth which feels like a lie,” Rory said.

  Biting the inside of my cheek, I nodded.

  “He’ll be home Sunday. That’s not that far away. You can talk it over then.”

  Another nervous nod.

  “Reese?” Rory said my name slowly.

  I forced my teary-eyed gaze to her.

  “He won’t do anything stupid.” She read my mind.

  But I wasn’t so sure.

  Did he like me more than a friend when he had sex with Teagan the orthodontist? Did he even think twice before having sex with Angie after his accident? I mean … it wasn’t that long after that he decided he liked me. What if sex wasn’t a big deal to men like it was to women? Not that I could talk … I gave away my virginity to Brendon when deep down I knew I was never going to marry him.

  “What if he does?” I whispered.

  “He won—” Rory started to reassure me.

  But Rose cut her off. “What if he does?” she asked.

  “Rose. Stop,” Rory said, tossing her book aside and sitting up straight. “You’re not helping.”

  “What if I am helping? What if preparing your heart for the worst is the best idea? So let’s do it … let’s imagine the worst. Fisher has sex with Angie in Costa Rica. And maybe they fall back in love. Or maybe it brings back more memories and he remembers really loving her. Then what?”

  I captured my tears with the arm of my sleeve before they fully escaped. “I don’t know,” I whispered.

  “You do,” Rose said. “You know. You know you’ll be heartbroken. You know it will take time to get over him, and maybe you’ll never get completely over him. But you’ll go on to pursue your career. You’ll go on to find new love. You’ll survive. You’ll live. So there you have it. That’s your worst-case scenario. Once you accept it, then every other scenario won’t seem as bad.”

  “Rose …” Rory frowned. “It’s not that easy and you know it. And honestly, that’s not necessarily the worst-case scenario. If Fisher has sex with Angie, but then comes home and tries to say it meant nothing, that’s a pretty bad scenario. Because Reese won’t be able to trust him. It would be easier to know that it’s just over. Done. But trying to move on and rebuild trust would feel torturous. I don’t know how anyone truly gets past that. I mean … Fisher fell in love with Reese and they …well…” she grimaced “… had an affair or cheated or whatever you want to call it, but he didn’t know or feel his love for Angie. I’m not sure that makes it right, but it at least makes it different. And even taking his memory into consideration, I don’t know how Angie will ever be able to forgive and forget, even if he does decide he wants to be with her.”

  My tears were gone. All I could do was sit idle in the chair and slowly blink at them. “You two are the worst. I want to go on record saying you are the worst.”

  They shot me shocked expressions.

  “I feel zero percent better and one hundred percent worse. I … I … I can’t believe you just said all those terrible things. How am I supposed to sleep? How am I supposed to function or even breathe for the next two days with images of Fisher and Angie having sex?”

  “Sweetie, we were just trying to …” Rory shook her head frantically as if she could take it all back, as if there was a rewind button.

  “Yeah, Reese, I wanted you to prepare yourself just in case. I’m not saying I think that’s what’s going to happen,” Rose said with a lot more concern in her words.

  “I told you he would never do anything. And I mostly meant it. Is that what you want? Do you need us to sugarcoat it, to possibly lie to you? Do you want us to tell you that Fisher is above every other man and that no amount
of anger, alcohol, or temptation would ever lead him to do something he shouldn’t do?”

  “Yes! That’s exactly what I want you to tell me.”

  Their eyebrows shot up their foreheads, lips parted.

  I sighed, dropping my head into my hands. “I should have told him everything. Me and my stupid fantasy about him falling in love with me a second time without remembering or knowing anything about the first time. I did this … this one is on me.” My head lifted to look at them. “He might have sex with her.” A new round of tears burned my eyes, but I kept them at bay. “I’m not stupid. He’s human. Even the best humans make mistakes. Maybe by not telling Angie, sneaking around, pretending that time would make things less painful for her and his family, we were really just setting ourselves up to implode.”

  After a few silent moments, Rory murmured, “Maybe he thinks about it, tells Angie everything, and comes home to the woman he loves.”

  That made me cry.

  I wasn’t friends with Angie on Instagram, but her account wasn’t private, so I had the opportunity to drive myself fucking insane for the next two days.

  Rory and Reese attended some family fun event at the school. So on Saturday, I spent the day stalking Angie hard on Instagram. Looking at every picture she’d ever posted and reading every caption. Had I known about it or looked for her account earlier, I’m not sure things would have progressed as far between Fisher and me.

  I mean … I knew social media rarely portrayed the real stories of people’s lives, but it was easy to get caught in the trap of believing it. A picture was worth a thousand words, right? Take that times another thousand because I swear Angie had nearly a thousand pictures on her page.

  A lot before the accident.

  Some since his accident.

  All of them said she and Fisher were in love.