Ideal Image: Snapshot, #2

by Freya Barker

  I’m not exactly sure what it proves, but it makes me feel a little less confused about that kiss.

  I am a sum of my parts, and I’ve been forgetting about a lot of my parts, focusing only on the part of me that has changed, not the parts that have stayed the same.

  I’m still me.

  I’ve tried so hard to become someone who fits the ten percent of me that’s changed, that I’ve been ignoring the other ninety percent.

  The people I care about; Mak, Ben, Isla, and even Al, they see all of me. And for some reason, it appears Nick does too.

  I have scars, but they don’t get to define me.

  “Can I have popcorn?” my daughter yells from the kitchen, interrupting my lofty self-analysis.

  Nothing like a call for food to bring you back to basics.

  “I KNOW. IT’S SOON. I almost said no,” I admit to Isla.

  With Mak tucked away for the night, I called to tell her and my brother about the pending surgery. Ben answered and was quick to offer me a ride to the hospital in Durango the day of. When he suggested Mak should stay with them the night before, Isla apparently had exercised as much patience as she could muster, because suddenly I had her on the phone.

  “I’m glad you didn’t,” my sister-in-law expresses. “It’s time. You’re so ready to be out there, instead of wasting away inside.”

  I don’t have the heart to tell her I’ve been out more than she knows. Both Ben and Isla have been absolutely wonderful during my recovery, looking after Mak, helping me find a place to live. Isla really made me push my self-imposed envelope with the photo shoot, and all of it helped me to get to this point. But I’ve always been independent, self-sufficient, and capable, and it’s time I reclaim that.

  Both my brother and Isla would have a thing or two to say about my recent social and professional interactions with Nick, for instance. Ben would want to protect me, and Isla would probably try to throw us together at every opportunity. All very sweet and lovable, but also completely unnecessary. I can figure this out on my own.

  “I’ve hardly been wasting away,” I counter, a smile in my voice. “I’ll have you know, I’ve packed on thirty pounds since I got out of the hospital.”

  “Only because you lost at least twenty of those by the time they released you,” she fires back. “I hated you skinny.” I snort out a laugh. Isla is always bitching about the size of her ass. A feature my brother clearly adores, and one I wish I could complain about. I have hips, I have solid legs, but my ass is flat. No cute bubble butt here.

  “Oh, before I forget,” she says with some urgency. “Ben is dropping Uncle Al off at the airport tomorrow, Ginnie has developed pneumonia, the nursing home called earlier.”

  “Awww, I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Ginnie is Al’s second wife. The man already buried one, and it would break my heart if he had to bury another, but Ginnie has Alzheimers and has been in a care facility for a year and a half. Some might argue that death would be a blessing, and that might well be true, but that doesn’t make the loss any less painful.

  “Part of me hopes that like the other scares, this will pass as well, but there’s this other part of me that just wants this to be over. It is going to happen, we all know it, so rip off the Band-aid already.”

  I completely understand where Isla’s coming from, even though I know she will be devastated to have to say goodbye to the third mother figure in her life. She’d already lost her birth mother when she was twelve, and her uncle and aunt took her in and raised her. Just five years later, her aunt died suddenly. Losing Ginnie too will be difficult.

  “I hear you,” I commiserate, staring out the kitchen window. There really is little else to say.

  I think I see movement outside and I sit up to get a better look. It’s hard to see anything because the kitchen light is on and it’s dark outside. Probably just the lower branches of the tree out there. The next thing I know, there’s a sharp knock on my front door and my head swivels in that direction.

  “Tomorrow morning was the first flight out...” I listen to Isla detailing Al’s travel plans, while I get up and walk to the door to peek through the peephole.

  “Honey, can you give Al my best?” I jump in the first break I get. “Mak is calling for me.”

  It should worry me how easily the lie rolls off my lips, but I can’t think about that right now. I can hear the pounding of my heart in my ears as I pull the door open.

  “Hey,” Nick says, looking a little sheepish as he leans against the doorpost.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Not exactly very warm and welcoming, but it is past ten o’clock on a Friday night, and I’m more than a little flipped out. I just don’t know whether it’s Nick that’s freaking me out, or the feelings he evokes, randomly appearing on my doorstep.

  It’s mild outside, albeit a tad windy, but still I fold my arms around me defensively. A move that does not go unnoticed by Nick, whose eyes have dropped down to where, I’m just now remembering, my unrestricted boobs are now pushed up and out. I immediately drop my arms, which really doesn’t help, since it also removes any support. So my boobs plummet to their now natural resting place, somewhere at the level of my bellybutton.

  A big rack is fun when they’re perky and appropriately harnessed. My lady lumps are free-flowing and my perky left the building about eight years ago, when Mak quite literally sucked the life out of them.

  I’m about to blast the man for staring, when he reaches out with his hand and strokes his fingertips over the grooves and ridges on my left arm.

  Shit.

  NICK

  I know I’m staring, but fuck, her forearm looks like it’s been through a meat grinder. I guess I never quite picked up on the fact she was always wearing something that covered her arms, or at least this arm.

  “Does it hurt?” I ask, stroking my fingertips over the scar tissue on her arms. When she doesn’t answer, I lift my gaze to her face. She seems focused on the movement of my fingers over her arm. “Stacie?” That startles her.

  “Not really,” she says, as if she’s assessing as we speak. “Parts of it feels dead, like it’s not attached to me, and then other parts feel hyper-sensitized, almost bordering on pain.”

  I immediately withdraw my fingers.

  “Sorry. That was forward of me,” I apologize, but to my surprise, Stacie snorts.

  “That was forward?” she asks with a healthy dose of sarcasm. “You kiss me in the middle of a restaurant, with your dad and my little girl at the table, completely out of the blue, and you’re worried that touching my arm is too forward?”

  I chuckle, because she has a point.

  “About that kiss,” I start, and her face turns serious instantly.

  “Maybe you should step inside. Doesn’t really seem like something to discuss on the doorstep.”

  “Right.”

  She steps aside and I walk past, into her house. Living and dining room as well as an open kitchen make up the large open space. There’s a hallway off to the right that I assume goes to bedrooms and a bathroom.

  “Have a seat,” she says from behind me. “Do you want something to drink? I think I may have one of Ben’s beers floating around the back of my fridge, or otherwise there’s always wine, or water.”

  “I’m good, thanks.”

  “All right,” she says, walking into the kitchen anyway. “I think I’ll need some wine.”

  I sit down on the couch and watch as she pours herself a healthy serving. She prefers white wine, a bit of information I file away. I didn’t expect her to fall in my lap, but still I find myself a little disappointed when instead of taking a spot next to me on the couch, she curls up in an oversized chaise on the other side of the table.

  “I won’t apologize for my attire,” she says without preamble. “You knock on my door at this hour of night, you’ll have to take what you get.”

  “Okay,” I answer simply. There really is nothing else to say to that, besides, y
ou won’t hear me complaining.

  “So about that kiss,” she prompts. “What exactly am I to make of that?”

  I grin at her forward approach. Typical lawyer, she goes straight for the point.

  “Not sure myself, but I’m not apologizing either,” I challenge her, just like she challenged me a minute ago. “I did come here to explain though, Anastasia.”

  Pops grilled me all the way home. At first I just kept my mouth shut, but then he’d said something that hit home: “You don’t play games with a woman like that, Son.” He was right, and I ended up telling him everything. His instant reaction had been: “Don’t wait any longer telling her.” So I got in my car and drove back into town.

  I watch her eyes open wide with curiosity, whether at the sentiment I expressed or the use of her full name, I don’t know, but I make use of her undivided attention.

  “I remember you from college. We didn’t move in the same circles,” I quickly explain when I see her expression.

  “I don’t remember you,” she says, almost apologetically.

  “That doesn’t surprise me,” I chuckle. “I had hair then and I didn’t socialize much, but I noticed you. So when Ben introduced me to his little sister at the wedding, it was a shock to find it was you.”

  “But I don’t understand; why not say something then? I thought...” she starts, but I interrupt her.

  “I know what you thought, and it couldn’t be further from the truth. I was just shocked, and I don’t know why I didn’t say something. Maybe I was a little embarrassed,” I admit, shrugging my shoulders. “Like I said, I wasn’t the most social guy at the time, and I wasn’t exactly the most confident either.”

  “Well, that’s clearly no longer an issue,” she deadpans, and I chuckle.

  “Clearly. Anyway, long story short, I kissed you because I could. Scratch it off my bucket list, so to speak.”

  “So that’s it? I’m an item on your bucket list that’s now taken care of?” I smile at her incredulous tone, as I get up from the couch.

  “Not exactly,” I confess, reaching out a hand to her, that she hesitantly accepts, and I pull her to her feet. “Kiss Anastasia is off my bucket list, but that kiss just added about five more pages to my list,” I half joke. “I’ve said it before and I mean it; I want to know you. I want to know about Mak, and although it scares the crap out of me, I want you to know me too.”

  I try to gauge her thoughts by her expression, but her face is a mask once again. She hasn’t pulled her hands from mine though, so I’ll take that as a good sign.

  “Okay,” she finally says, lifting her eyes, and they tell me a lot more. Fear, excitement, reservation, and heat. Especially the heat I recognize. I want to drop to my knees and bury my face against her soft skin, but I hold back, instead I bend down and rest my forehead against hers. Her eyes close, fanning her lashes over the top of her cheekbones, and I watch as her mouth relaxes, and the tip of her tongue slips out from between and slicks her lips.

  “Okay?” I want to make sure.

  “Yes. But wait,” she suddenly steps back, planting a hand in the middle of my chest. “What about the firm?”

  “What about it?”

  “Do you still want me there? Won’t that be...I mean, isn’t that awkward? A risk, even?”

  “Not exactly conventional, and not particularly advisable, but yes; I most definitely still want you there...” I pull her against my chest, wrapping one arm low around her waist, and sliding the other up her back so my hand lands between her shoulder blades. “And I want you here,” I assure her, brushing her lips with mine once, twice, before tilting my head and slanting my mouth over hers. Her arms curl around my neck, pulling me closer, and I feel her breasts press against my chest.

  The moment her tongue curls around mine, my chest is full and my cock feels heavy. The urge to imprint myself on her so strong, but I’m afraid to lose control. I reluctantly drag myself away before I drown in her kiss. Her eyes blink a few times before she focuses on me.

  “Wow,” she sighs. “Heady stuff.”

  It sure as fuck is, and it will get headier in a hurry if I don’t get out of here.

  I resolutely step out of her reach and start toward the door.

  “I’d better go,” I say, my hand already on the doorknob, as I turn to where she is staring after me, still a bit dazed.

  “I know,” she says, making me feel a little better for my abrupt behavior.

  “One step at a time,” I offer, and she softly repeats.

  “One step at a time.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Stacie

  To say I’m in a panic would be an understatement.

  And here I thought I was on top of everything. Goes to show control is just an illusion: one phone call and everything changes.

  “Not to worry,” I tell my brother, lying through my teeth. “It’ll be fine. I’ll just bring the dog here, it makes it easier.”

  “I just don’t know how long it’ll be,” my brother says, concern lacing his voice. “This fucking timing sucks.”

  “I don’t think the timing is ever right for this, Ben,” I offer.

  “I can’t have her go through this alone, Stace. You know I’ll do my best to get back in time.”

  My wonderful brother is referring to my surgery, which is scheduled for Friday. Today is Tuesday, and there is no way in hell he’ll be able to make it back here.

  Apparently Al called early this morning and told Isla that if she wanted a chance to say goodbye to Ginnie, that she should come now. The general consensus seems to be that it won’t be long, but who knows? Sometimes people hang in for days before they’re finally able to let go.

  Ben didn’t hesitate for a second and already has all three of them, baby Noah included, booked on a flight to Phoenix for this afternoon. Not only that, but he’s got Nick looking for someone to look after the campground. I offered to help, but I was categorically shut down and told my job was to look after myself.

  “I’ll be fine, Ben. I’ll pick up the dog this afternoon and bring him here. I’ll call Jen, she’ll be able to help and if she can’t do it herself, she’ll know who can. And as for the surgery, it’s not like Mak is a baby, there’s stuff she can do to help. It’s not going to be an issue. You need to go and be with your family. And tell Isla and Al they are on my mind and in my heart.”

  “I’ll call,” he says and I can hear Noah fussing in the background. Sounds like he’s cuddling with his dad.

  “Yes, please. Keep me in the loop.”

  There’s a pregnant pause, and for a moment I think perhaps he’s hung up on me, but then I hear him clear his throat.

  “Love ya, Sis.”

  My eyes tear up when I hear those words in his I-don’t-do-emotion growl. The times I’ve heard those words from anyone, other than my daughter, are few and far between.

  “Ditto, you big lug. Safe travels,” I manage, and quickly end the call before the first tears roll down my cheeks.

  I hate losing people. I really, really do. Although I don’t know Ginnie, I know how important she is in Isla’s life, and it hurts me that she has to say goodbye to yet someone else she loves. I just hope Al will be around for her for a long time to come yet.

  Sometimes the idea that Ben and I are now the oldest generation of the Gustafsons, the last ones standing so to speak, scares the heck out of me.

  IT TOOK ME ALL OF TWENTY minutes after Ben’s phone call to get myself organized by making lists.

  I made a grocery list, featuring mostly frozen meals and easy snacks for the days right after surgery. I wrote another list with things I needed to get done before Friday. Then there was one for the few things I might need help with after surgery, mostly around Mak and Ben’s dog.

  It’s those things I needed to talk to Jen about.

  “You’re a little late for your regular,” Jen says from behind the counter when I walk into the Pony Express. “Shall I make it a decaf?” she asks, glancing at the clock that sho
ws it’s only half an hour before Mak gets home.

  I’m going to have to hustle to grab Atsa as well as his dog bed and paraphernalia and get back down the mountain in time to grab her off the bus. Good thing I already have groceries done and packed away at home.

  I was so focused on what I needed to do, I didn’t even notice anyone staring; the way I usually do. Perhaps it is true, that I see what I expect to see, not necessarily what is visible. Maybe I am projecting my own issues on the world around me. In which case, you’d think it’s also in my power to chance that.

  I remember someone saying to me once that you receive back what you put out into the universe. In her case I think she was using it as a tool to get rich, which I had my doubts about. But that’s not to say there isn’t some truth to it.

  Maybe it’s not the judgment of other people I should worry about, but my own.

  “Hit me full strength,” I respond after those heavy thoughts on an already heavy day. “I’m gonna need it today.”

  “What’s today?” she asks, turning around to work coffee magic with that big shiny machine of hers.

  “Al’s wife isn’t good,” I explain. “Ben is taking Isla and the little one to Phoenix. They’re probably at the airport by now.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that.” Jen sends me a sad little smile before turning her attention back to the production of my macchiato.

  In the silence that follows, I try to come up with the right words to ask Jen for a hand. Asking for help is not one of my strong suits.

  “What can I do?” I look up at Jen, who easily solves my dilemma. She sets a foaming cup of sanity in front of me on the counter, with a half smile on her face.

  Instead of trying to sort out what to ask of her, I just pull out the list of things I need to source out.

  “What about the campground?”

  “Ben called Nick to find someone to look after things. I’m actually off to pick up Atsa now, and I’ll check in with Nick to see if he has things sorted, or else I’ll head back up there after dinner and make sure everything is okay.”