Fisher apparently has a lot of time to pump iron because he’s clearly been doing it a while. And it’s not just his arms that are muscular. He’s got a six pack.
“I could ask you the same question,” I mutter. “And at least I’ve got pajamas on.”
“I didn’t realize you’d be standing in the middle of my living room when I got up to get a drink of water.” I notice he makes no motion to get a robe or cover up in any way. He seems perfectly content to stand right in front of me in nothing but his underwear.
“You don’t own a robe?” I prod.
He laughs. “Don’t need one.”
It takes him a few moments to realize I’m holding his scrapbook in my hands. “What are you doing with that old thing?”
“Looking at photos.” I turn the book around so he can see the large prom picture.
He grins. “I cleaned up pretty good.”
As I glance back down at the photo I have to admit that he did look good in his tuxedo. A lot different than he does in his old jeans and a greasy T-shirt.
“So where’s Misty?” I ask.
He frowns. “What do you mean?”
“The front page of the scrapbook says Fisher and Misty forever.”
He shrugs. “We were high school kids.” Then he closes the distance between us and removes the book from my hands. “It was a long time ago.”
Once he’s closed the scrapbook he tosses it onto the recliner.
“Did she leave Old Town?” I’m not sure why I even ask the question.
“Of course she left. Everyone who can leaves Old Town. She was a brain like Franklin. She was accepted to Temple in Philly.”
“So forever was just until she left for college.”
“Something like that.”
I narrow my eyes. “What does that mean?”
He runs his tongue along his top teeth as if he’s giving it some thought. “You really want to hear about this?”
“I asked, didn’t I?”
When he crosses his arms over his chest I notice how ripped he is and it makes me tingle just a bit. Then I immediately feel guilty. What kind of person finds her dead fiancé’s twin brother even remotely attractive? I’m sure there’s nothing right about that.
“We tried to make it work. The drive from here to Philly is about two hours. We’d see each other on weekends. But as she got involved in the college life and I started working, we had less to talk about. Then she started making excuses about why she couldn’t see me. She never said it, but I think she met someone else. Our visits were less and less frequent until we finally didn’t see each other at all.” He shrugs. “As soon as she got accepted to Temple I knew things between us wouldn’t last. Why would she want to tie herself to someone like me? I’m a mechanic in Old Town. I’m sure there are plenty of guys at Temple who are a lot better for her.”
“What about Olivia and Franklin?” I ask.
“What about them?” When he stares into my eyes another shiver runs through me.
“How long were they together?” I ask. I feel like I have a million questions, but that’s the first that pops into my head.
“All through high school. They were voted Cutest Couple our senior year. Misty was Olivia’s best friend. That’s how we got together.”
“And I guess Olivia thought she and Franklin would be together forever?”
“That’s what she wanted. I’m not sure that’s what Franklin wanted.”
“Do you think it was an accident? Her getting pregnant?”
“No. She wanted to make sure there was always going to be something tying her to Franklin.”
I can feel my eyes start to get moist and I try to blink back the tears forming. “He was always so careful when we were together. Even though I’ve been on the pill since I was sixteen he always insisted on using condoms.”
Fisher raises an eyebrow. “Now you know why.”
I let the tears stream down my face when I realize it’s not just because he didn’t want another baby. “He was still with her, wasn’t he? Even when he and I were together.”
“We never had a conversation about it. And I obviously didn’t know about you. But he always spent a lot of time with Olivia whenever he came back home.”
“It wasn’t just because of Jackson, was it?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”
I do my best not to completely breakdown, but I feel like I’m hyperventilating. A lot of my friends got cheated on by their boyfriends, but it’s not something I thought I’d ever have to worry about with Franklin. All of our friends always commented how much he loved me and seemed devoted to me.
It was all a big, fat lie.
And maybe Sherry was right to look at me like I was the other woman. Before I know it I’m crying hysterically and Fisher is holding me tight. I pride myself on being a tough person, but I allow myself to fall apart in his strong arms.
“It’s going to be okay,” he assures me.
I’m not sure why I choose to believe Fisher. Maybe it’s because he sounds so sure of himself. One thing he does not lack is self-confidence.
“I don’t know what was true anymore,” I whisper.
“I’m sure Franklin loved you.”
Time seems to stop as Fisher holds me in his arms in the middle of his living room. When I snivel he finally releases his hold on me and hurries into the bathroom. He returns with a small box of tissues.
I expect him to hand me the box, but instead he removes one of the tissues and softly wipes the tears from my cheeks. When my face is dry he hands me another tissue and instructs me to blow.
“You really want me to hand this to you?” I ask as I hold the dirty tissue above his open palm.
“I’m used to dealing with a three-year-old. I think I can handle a little snot.”
After I place the used tissue in his hand he puts his arm around me and leads me back into the guest bedroom. “I want you to get some more sleep. You look exhausted. And I don’t want you to get sick.”
“Yes, Sir,” I reply with as much playfulness as I can muster.
He raises an eyebrow. “Do you need me to tuck you in or do you think you can handle that on your own?”
I know it will probably sound stupid, but I ask anyway. “Will you stay with me for a while? Just until I fall asleep?” I realize it’s probably because I feel lonely and empty inside, but Fisher is warm and I like the way he smells, still freshly showered, like soap with a sprinkle of baby power. It’s comforting.
“Of course.”
As soon as I’m back in bed he tucks the covers all around me and then crawls on top of the blankets and sits on the bed next to me.
“Aren’t you cold?”
“A little,” he admits.
“You can get under the cover with me.” As soon as the words leave my mouth I immediately regret them. I have no idea where the thought even came from.
He gives me a little half grin that shows off his dimple. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“You’re right,” I agree quickly. “I don’t know why I said that.”
I don’t want to admit that I liked him holding me, and I want him to do it more.
“I’ll stay here until you fall asleep.”
“Okay.” I can feel my eyes already starting to get heavy as I drift off to sleep.
***
Snoring. I can hear a light snore next to me.
But Franklin doesn’t snore.
It takes me a moment to remember that Franklin is dead.
I’m in Fisher’s house, I remind myself. Is he still in bed next to me?
As I open my eyes I can see sunlight peeking through the bottom of the curtains. And I notice Fisher still sitting next to me, but sound asleep. He spent the entire night there on top of the covers in his boxer briefs.
I lightly touch his arm. “Fisher.”
“Huh?” He snaps awake.
“You feel asleep in here. With me.”
“I
’m sorry.” He hops from the bed. “I was going to go back to my bedroom.”
“It’s okay,” I assure him. “I actually slept well with you here.”
He nods. “Me too.”
We both stare awkwardly at each other for a long moment.
“I’d better get dressed. I need to make sure I’ve got stuff to feed my guest for breakfast. What do you like? Coffee?”
“Herbal tea? Maybe some yogurt? Fruit?”
“Girlie food like that will require a trip to the supermarket. Give me thirty minutes. Okay?”
“I need to take a shower. You should have plenty of time.”
“See you soon.”
Fisher’s place only has one bathroom so I make sure to lock the door. Not that I’m seriously worried about him barging in on me. He acted like I asked for one of his kidneys when I suggested getting under the blanket with me, so I don’t expect anything more than a comforting hug to ever happen between us.
And I’m not sure why this bothers me so much. Maybe I want more than just comforting. I’m an emotional wreck and he’s a calming force. But it’s not like anything serious could happen between us. Not just because it would be weird because he’s Franklin’s twin.
I’m getting ready to go to the most prestigious law school in the nation, and maybe even the world, and he’s a mechanic. And from what I’ve seem so far, not a very busy one.
I try to imagine what my status-conscious parents, who won’t even talk to a potential client who isn’t firmly planted on the A-List, would say if I brought Fisher home; the mobile mechanic from rural Old Town, New Jersey.
I was supposed to phone my parents, but I haven’t. I’m sure they’re wondering what’s happening. I turned my cellphone off when I got on the airplane and haven’t had the desire to turn it back on again. They’ve probably left messages. And knowing them they’ve left more than a few. I just don’t know what to tell them. They weren’t thrilled about me getting engaged at such a young age. They wanted me to wait until after law school to get involved with someone. And they never came right out and said it, but I know they didn’t think Franklin was acceptable. His parents weren’t wealthy or prominent enough for my parents, and those were the ones he made up. They would die if they ever met Sherry.
I don’t need an I-told-you-so on top of everything else I’m dealing with right now, so Mom and Dad will have to wait—indefinitely.
The shower stall is old and the floor is stained, but I still take my time letting the hot water run down my back. It feels cleansing.
“Is everything okay?” A pounding on the bathroom door knocks me out of my thoughts.
“Sorry I’m wasting water,” I yell back as I turn off the shower.
“No—um—it’s not that. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“Considering the circumstances I’m about as good as can be expected.”
“I got everything on your list. I’ll put on the kettle so you’ll have hot tea when you’re ready.”
“Thanks.”
I don’t want to monopolize his only bathroom, so I spend just five minutes and forty five seconds, drying my hair, putting on some light makeup and getting dressed in jeans and a light sweater. It has to be some kind of record for me.
Fisher is busy in the kitchen making himself some scrambled eggs and toast.
“Thank you for not making that horrible—what is it called—Taylor ham?”
He laughs. “You haven’t been to Old Town until you’ve had a Taylor Ham sandwich from the deli.”
“So I’ve been told. I’ll take your word for it.”
I gasp when I see everything that he’s bought. There are six different flavors of herbal teas. Five different flavors of yogurt. And every type of fruit imaginable from apples to melons to blueberries to oranges. He’s even got a few kiwis and a mango.
“That’s a lot of fruit.”
“There were a lot of options. You neglected to tell me what fruits you like. And I didn’t want you to starve. You barely touched the pizza last night.”
“I think calling whatever that was pizza is being generous, but you’re right. I am hungry.” I point to the yogurt. “And since you bought fruit, you could have just gone with plain yogurt.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know these things. My mom gave us Pop Tarts for breakfast and she still eats them every morning.”
Pointing to one of his cabinets he says, “The tea cups are up there. Help yourself.”
“Thanks.” When I open the cabinet I’m not surprised to see it’s sparsely stocked as well. He only has a few cups and glasses, some odd dishes and a lot of plastic containers. I grab one of the cups and select a chamomile blend from the large assortment of herbal teas he’s purchased.
“Thank you for getting all of this stuff. You really went above and beyond what I expected.”
He nods. “It’s my motto.”
I cock my head. “What do you mean?”
“For my mobile mechanic business. I go above and beyond what’s expected. That’s why I have so many repeat clients. And that’s how I was able to buy this house after being in business a little over three years. It’s completely paid for. I don’t have a mortgage.”
I have no idea how much houses in rural New Jersey cost, but I guess it’s impressive.
He narrows his eyes at me. “Do you know anyone else our age who owns their own home?”
I shake my head. He has a point.
“Exactly. And I don’t have a fancy college degree or parents who buy me whatever I want. Franklin told me about all the kids he met at school, who had everything handed to them on a silver platter because their parents were loaded. I may not have much, but I’ve worked my ass off for everything I’ve got. And I’m the one who helps my mom out, not the other way around.”
I feel like I’ve been slapped in the face by his admission. And I feel like a small and shallow person for putting it down, even if it was mostly in my own mind. He’s right. Other than studying in school I’ve never had to work a day in my life. My parents have always given me everything I’ve ever wanted and it’s the same for all of the kids I grew up with.
“Your house is nice,” I tell him. “It’s cozy.”
He laughs. “Don’t lie. I know it still needs a lot of work. But I’m getting there little by little. I haven’t been able to work on it as much since I’ve taken on some of the responsibility for Jackson, but I’m still doing okay. It will just take me a little longer to reach my goals.”
“What goals are those?” I ask.
“Do you really want to know?”
“Why do you always say that? I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know.”
He opens one of the kitchen drawers and removes a large notepad. He places it on the counter in front of us and slowly flips through it. It’s filled with all kinds of interior and exterior designs and beautiful sketches. Plans for additions to the house. Landscaping. Interior design. He even has plans for custom furniture he wants to build.
“That’s amazing.”
“Do you really think so?”
I turn to face him. When our eyes meet I can see his are sparkling with pride. “I really think so.”
“I haven’t shown these to anyone else.”
“What?” I can’t help the surprise in my voice.
“You’re the only person I’ve shown this notepad to. It’s kind of like my dream book. But someday this will all be a reality.”
“Why did you show it to me?”
He shrugs. “I’d better eat my eggs before they get cold. And you’d better drink that tea.”
As we’re eating Fisher asks, “Do you have any plans for the day?”
I shake my head. “Other than sitting here and studying for my classes. No.”
“Come with me then. I could use your help.”
I laugh. “With what?”
“You can see what my typical day is like. I’ve got several clients to visit. Then I’ve got to watch Jackson wh
ile my mom works an afternoon shift. And then you can go with me to Haymakers for a quick beer after work.”
“Considering I don’t know the first thing about being a mechanic, and I probably know even less about kids, and we’ve already established I’m not much of a beer drinker, I don’t know how much help I’ll be.”
“If nothing else I could use the company.”
I furrow my brow. “Will it require getting dirty?”
He laughs. I love how freely he does that. “We’ll be fixing cars and watching a three-year-old. There’s no way you won’t get dirty. As great as you look in that sweater you may want to consider wearing something more casual.”
I gulp. “This is actually the most casual thing I own.”
His eyes widen. “Are you serious? Even that sweater is a little too dressy for Haymakers.”
“Maybe I should just stay here,” I suggest. I feel like I’ve packed to go to a foreign country without knowing the dress code.
He snaps his fingers. “I have an idea.”
After several seconds he returns with a white sweatshirt and hands it to me. The front has a huge graphic of a horse’s head that may have been drawn by a five-year-old. And in big sparkly gold lettering above the horse’s head are the words: No Better Place to Horse Around than the Farm and Horse Show.
“I won it a few years ago at the state fair. It’s too small so I never wore it. I’m sure it will fit you.”
I want to tell him it could be the most hideous thing I’ve ever seen, but he seems rather attached to it.
“Okay,” I agree, but only because I know I’ll never be seen by anyone who actually matters.
And then I chastise myself for being so elitist.
I make my way into the bathroom and try to prepare myself emotionally for putting on what could be the ugliest sweatshirt in the history of sweatshirts.
When I actually put it on it’s even worse than I imagined. The horse’s mouth is strategically placed so it looks like it’s gobbling my breast, and my pale complexion looks even paler against the pure white material.
“It looks great,” Fisher comments as I walk out of the bathroom.
“You’re out of your mind.”
“No time to worry about high fashion. We’ve got to hop in the truck right now or we’ll be late getting out to Blake’s place.”
Finding Fisher Page 5