Finding Fisher

by Dakota Madison

  “Do I smell pancakes?” Nicole asks as she shuffles into the kitchen still half asleep. Her pajamas are on inside out and her hair looks like she was just inside a wind tunnel.

  “Rough night’s sleep?” I ask.

  “My dream was like the movie Groundhog Day. I kept thinking that I was waking up and every day my thesis advisor would tell me I still had a lot of work to do and it would be a miracle for me to actually get done before the end of the semester.”

  “You still do have a lot of work,” I remind her. “And it probably will be a miracle if you get it done.”

  “That’s what I love about you. You’re always so optimistic.”

  “I’m a realist.”

  “And I’m hungry.” She looks longingly at the huge pile of pancakes Fisher made.

  “Help yourself,” Fisher tells her.

  As she digs into the mountain of pancakes she says, “This guy’s a keeper.”

  I want to tell her it’s not that simple, but part of me is starting to think she may be right.

  ***

  “Thanks for coming by.” Tommy shakes Fisher’s hand. “It’s so weird how much you look like him.”

  “Identical twins,” Fisher reminds him.

  Tommy shakes his head. “It’s blowing my mind.”

  Tommy’s comments make me realize that people who don’t look deeper seem to think that Fisher and Franklin looked exactly alike. While people who tend to see below the surface of things see how different they really were.

  “I tried to box up as much as I could. His books and photos and stuff. I didn’t feel right going through his desk and dresser drawers though. I thought I’d leave that to you.”

  As Tommy leads us through the living room he says, “We both chipped in for the all the furniture and kitchen stuff—you know pots, dishes, glasses—stuff like that. I could give you some money for it. Since I’m staying another year for grad school I thought I’d keep it.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Fisher says. “Just keep it all. I don’t need it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Here’s his bedroom.” Tommy opens the door for us.

  The room was always filled with so much energy, just like Franklin was. He was always on the go. Always worried about the next assignment he had to turn in or the activity he had to plan for one of the many campus organizations he led.

  But now the room feels cold and empty. I hesitate to step inside.

  Fisher must sense my hesitation because he grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze. The gesture is not lost on Tommy. His head is cocked and his brow is furrowed in confusion.

  “I guess I’ll leave you two alone.” His voice is strained and he’s staring at our joined hands.

  “Thanks,” Fisher says. It’s a cue for Tommy to leave, but he doesn’t immediately respond. He just keeps gawking at our hands.

  “It must be hard on both of you. Losing Franklin like that. I can’t even imagine what your parents are going through.”

  “Mom,” Fisher corrects.

  Tommy looks even more confused. He points to one of the framed photos sitting on the top of a half packed box. “Your mom and dad.”

  Fisher bends down to examine the photo more closely then turns to Tommy and says, “I have no idea who those people are.”

  “I thought it was weird that he didn’t tell us he had a twin brother. But why would he tell everyone those people were his mom and dad.”

  “It’s a long story,” I interject.

  “Okay.” Tommy sounds dumbfounded. “Maybe you can tell me some other time. I’ve got to get to class.”

  Once Tommy is out of earshot Fisher removes the photo from the box and says, “Franklin lied about everything. To everyone. I can’t even image how exhausting it must have been to keep all those lies straight and to lead two completely different lives.”

  He lays the photo back in the box. Then he grabs both of my hands in his. “I just want you to know that I would never lie to you. About anything. Ever. What you see is what you get. It may not be much. But everything I have and everything I am is true.”

  “I know,” I assure him.

  “Let’s decide what we want to keep and make arrangements to donate what we don’t want.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I tell him.

  It takes us an hour and thirty-six minutes to sort through Franklin’s belongings and pack everything that Fisher plans to ship back to New Jersey.

  “Are you sure that’s all you want?” Fisher glances down at the small stack of photos in my hand.

  I nod. “I’m sure.”

  The majority of Franklin’s stuff, like his clothes and shoes, we put in large garbage bags that we’ll take to the donation center.

  “It’s hard to believe that someone’s life can be packed away in a few boxes and bags,” I say as I take one last look at his belongings.

  “This stuff isn’t who he was,” Fisher replies.

  “But I’m not sure I really know who he was anymore.”

  He places a hand over my heart. “How you felt about him wasn’t a lie. And I’m sure how he felt about you wasn’t a lie either. It was all the other stuff that got in the way.”

  “It’s going to take time for me to believe that again.”

  He nods. “I know.”

  Then Fisher pulls me into his arms and holds me tight. I melt into his warmth and allow him to hold me together.

  “Are you always going to keep me from falling apart?”

  He places a kiss on my forehead. “I told you I would always be there for you. I meant it.”

  ***

  “This isn’t the way back to campus,” I point out as Fisher turns in the opposite direction. We just made our trip to donate Franklin’s clothing and I assumed we’d go back to my place.

  “I know.” He gives me a mischievous little grin.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “You’ll just have to wait to find out.”

  “I don’t like surprises,” I remind him.

  “I know. You like everything planned to the tenth of a second. Not this time. You’ll just have to trust me.”

  “Trust is a little tricky for me right now.”

  “I’m going to do my best to restore your faith in men. Or at least one man. Me. I don’t really care whether you trust anyone else.”

  I take in a deep breath and try to enjoy the moment. The sun is shining. It’s a lovely sixty-eight degrees. I’m driving to a surprise destination with a sexy guy by my side.

  When we arrive at Gray Whale Cove State Beach I’m not that surprised. I had an inkling he was going to do something to once again get me out of my comfort zone.

  “You’re going to make me take off my shoes and walk in the sand, aren’t you?” I ask as he parks his rental car.

  He smiles. “Do you really have to ask that question?”

  As we take the path down to the beach I start to get a bit anxious. There’s a lot of sand, and sea water and potential to get very dirty.

  And I have a feeling that’s exactly what Fisher has in mind. Getting me dirty.

  Right before we set foot on the shoreline he blocks my path. “Hand them over.”

  “Hand what over?” I ask as innocently as possible.

  “You know.”

  I take in a deep breath before I take off my shoes. “Happy?”

  “I’m getting there.”

  As he takes off his shoes I notice they’re flip-flops. “What happened to your black boots?”

  “It’s California. I wanted to fit in.”

  “You don’t come across as the flip-flop kind of guy.”

  “I’m definitely not. I don’t know how guys walk around in these things. The hike down to the beach was annoying enough.”

  I try not to freak out when my bare feet hit the warm sand. I’ve never had sand between my toes before and it feels strange at first. I need to get past the fact that the sand will stick to my feet and legs and they’ll be filthy for a while.<
br />
  “You’re doing great,” Fisher says. “See. Walking barefoot on the beach isn’t that bad.”

  “It’s beautiful here,” I tell him as I look around. The small, secluded cove is surrounded by cliffs.

  “You haven’t been here before?” He sounds surprised.

  I laugh. “I haven’t been to a beach since I was a kid.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I’m serious. My parents aren’t beach people. And all through high school and college I was too busy.”

  We both stare at the majestic Pacific Ocean. Then Fisher takes in a deep breath. “I love the smell of the ocean air.”

  “There is something cleansing about it,” I agree.

  “I can’t believe Franklin never took you to the beach.”

  “We didn’t get to do a lot of things we wanted to do. We said we’d take a trip when we graduated. Drive up and down the California coast. We just didn’t have time to do a lot outside of school.”

  “You didn’t make time,” Fisher corrects.

  “We thought we’d have all the time in the world. Who thinks about dying when they’re twenty-two?”

  “Now you know why I told you it’s so important to live in the moment. Because no one knows when that last moment is going to be.”

  I look out into the ocean as far as I can see. It looks endless. And its immensity makes me feel small and rather insignificant in the grand scheme of life.

  “I know you’ll probably find this hard to believe, but my parents put me on a rather high pedestal.”

  He laughs. “Buttercup, if we looked up the word princess in the dictionary your picture would be right there under the definition.”

  “Funny.” I give him the stink eye. “I’m being serious.”

  He bites back more laughter. “And you think I’m not?”

  “My picture is not literally in the dictionary.”

  “But you were raised to be a complete and total princess. You can’t deny that.”

  I frown. “The point I was trying to make is that when you’re raised the way I was you tend to think that the world revolves around you. It’s a little shocking when you realize it doesn’t.”

  “I guess in a way I was lucky that my dad died when I was young. I learned at an early age that bad things happen when you least expect them.”

  The beach isn’t very crowded. Just a handful of people. For a few moments the only sound we can hear is the ocean waves as they crash into the shore.

  “This is nice. Serene and peaceful.” I try to just enjoy the moment.

  “Are you ready for the really fun part?”

  I narrow my gaze. “You and I have slightly different definitions of fun.”

  He laughs. “That’s not what you say when we’re in bed together.”

  “Okay. But this isn’t a bed. It’s a beach.”

  “We’re going to build a sandcastle.”

  I shake my head. “You can build a sandcastle. I’ll watch. I don’t want to touch sand.”

  He points to my feet. “You’re already touching it with your toes. I think your fingers need to get in on the action.”

  “You’re not going to take me home until I do this, are you?”

  He grins. “You already know me so well.”

  “Fine. Let’s get this over with so I can get home and get into a nice hot shower.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Any chance I can get into that hot shower with you?”

  I freeze. I’ve never taken a shower with anyone in my life. I’ve never even considered the idea.

  As if he’s reading my mind once again he grins. “You’ve never taken a shower with anyone, have you?”

  I shake my head.

  “Oh, Buttercup. Now we really have something to look forward to when I get you back to your apartment.”

  I try not to think about all of the things we could do in the shower together and try to keep myself focused on building a sandcastle. “Where do you want to do it?”

  He bites back a grin. Then he gets close and whispers in my ear, “I want to do it with you everywhere. But I know you want to be a lawyer someday so I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

  I make a point of clearing my throat. “I was talking about the sandcastle.”

  “Oh, right. That.” He glances around then points to a spot a few feet in front of us. “How about right there? The sand doesn’t look too dry or too wet.”

  Once we stake claim on the land for our sandcastle Fisher says, “We’re kind of at a disadvantage because I didn’t bring a pail. So we’ll have to build one from scratch.”

  “I’ve seen what you can build from wood. And how good you are with engines. And your pie making skills are exceptional. I’m sure you’ll be equally as talented with sand.”

  As he gets down on his knees and digs his hands into the sand I kind of freak out a little. Having my toes in the sand is one thing, but actually having the stuff in my hands seems like another level entirely.

  “Join me,” Fisher urges.

  I know he’s not going to let me off the hook. We’ll be here indefinitely until I get my hands dirty.

  So I take in a deep breath. As I let it out slowly I bend down and take the first small scoop of sand into my hands.

  It feels just as icky and wet as I imagined it would be.

  “I knew you could do this,” Fisher says.

  I’m not sure why his praise means so much to me, but I smile anyway. Who would have thought that someone would consider getting sand all over myself an accomplishment?

  I have to admit that once the building starts to take shape I think less about how dirty I’m getting and more about the job at hand.

  It only takes forty-two minutes to create a fairly decent looking castle. Once again Fisher amazes me with his skillful hands and his creativity. The guy once again proved that if something can be made he’ll find a way to make it.

  “We did pretty good work,” he says, admiring the castle.

  “I don’t know about we. You did most of the work.”

  He places a soft kiss on my lips. “You were the inspiration for the project.”

  “Now what?” I stand and try to brush as much sand off of myself as possible. But it’s everywhere and feels like an impossible task.

  He rises and brushes the sand from his knees. “Now we go home.”

  “It seems so strange to put so much work into something that’s just going to wash away.”

  “Nothing is permanent. That’s the key to life. Once you realize that nothing lasts you learn to enjoy it while you have it.”

  I know I didn’t enjoy the time I had with Franklin as much as I could. I always thought we’d have more time together. The rest of our lives. The realization that I took him for granted makes me sad.

  While we’re still standing there one ambitious wave creeps up to the edge of our sandcastle and starts the process of eroding it.

  “Let’s go,” I tell Fisher. “I don’t want to see it get destroyed.”

  Luckily on our way back to the car I’m able to dust a little bit more of the sand off of me. But I’m still pretty sandy.

  “Do you really want me to get in the car like this?” I ask as he unlocks the doors.

  “It’s a rental,” he reminds me. “I’m sure they’ve seen worse than a little bit of sand.”

  “Just get me back to my apartment as fast as you can. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to take all this sand.”

  “But I was planning on taking the scenic route,” he teases.

  “Just get me back. Think about the shower.”

  “Right, the shower. Now you’ll have to worry about me speeding to get there.”

  ***

  Showering together is definitely something I could get used to. The warm water cascading down my back, the lovely smells of soap and fresh shampoo and Fisher’s strong hands massaging my tense shoulder muscles. It’s like Heaven.

  “You’re all clean,” Fisher whispers in my ear. �
�Do you want me to get you dirty again?”

  Thinking about all the ways he can get me dirty again in the shower makes me tingly all over. But as soon as he presses his lips on mine there’s a pounding on the bathroom door.

  “Sorry to bother you,” Nicole yells through the door. “But you need to come out here.”

  What in the world could possibly be that important? I think. Then I remind myself that Franklin recently died in a car accident and my annoyance turns to panic.

  I turn the water off and grab several towels. I hand one to Fisher and use the others to dry myself off with.

  I throw on my robe and run a comb through my wet hair. Fisher throws on a fresh T-shirt and his jeans. I hand him my comb and he does his best to style his still wet hair.

  We both freeze in our tracks when we see my parents standing right outside the bathroom door.

  They both have their arms folded over their chests and they both glare at Fisher at the same time.

  “What’s going on?” my dad finally asks through gritted teeth.

  I swallow. Hard. My throat feels so tight I’m not sure any sound will come out. “We were taking a shower,” I barely manage to squeak out.

  “I can see that.” My dad’s eyes narrow to angry slits. “What was he doing in the shower with you?”

  “It isn’t what you think.” Even has the words leave my mouth I know they sound pathetic. It’s exactly what they think. And we’ve been caught practically in the act.

  Meanwhile my mom is just shaking her head in disbelief.

  “I don’t know what to think,” my dad replies. “You told us he was in New Jersey.”

  “He was. He came out to deal with Franklin’s stuff.”

  “Apparently that’s not the only thing he came out for.” If my dad’s eyes could shoot bullets Fisher would be dead.

  “It’s not his fault…”

  Before I can finish my sentence Fisher interrupts. “I’m one hundred percent responsible. Butter—um—Chloe didn’t even know I was coming out here.”

  “Was this what you were doing when you were in New Jersey?”

  I’m not sure what to say. I’ve never lied to my parents, but I also don’t want them to think I’m some kind of slut, sleeping with my dead finance’s twin brother. But that’s exactly that happened. And saying it that way does sound really bad.

  I hang my head in shame instead. “I didn’t want you to find out like this.”