I pull on some pajama pants and a white T-shirt, and I fall on top of the covers, picking up my book, Trespasser by Paul Doiron. Rookie is in his bed by the door.
I’ve turned pages in the book, unsure of what I’ve read because all I keep picturing is Alex in my shirt.
Alex appears in my doorway in the damn shirt.
“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” she says.
I slide them off my face. “Just for reading.”
“I lied. With the note I gave you, I lied.”
I set the book down. “What?”
I pat the side of the bed, hoping she’ll come sit. She’s hesitant at first, but she sits on the edge of the bed, her left leg angled up.
“I have written since Kyle died but nothing good—until now. I owe that to you.” She pauses. “I guess I just wanted to come say thank you.” She pauses again and laughs at herself. “Who would have thought I’d be in Granite Harbor, Maine, writing again, doing book research with a game warden, who unexpectedly lifted my spirits? Thank you for treating me normal.”
I feel a deep ache, a void that is slowly being filled by her. I want to take my fingers and run them up and down her milky-white arm, allow my hands to get lost in her skin. Touch her in ways I’ve never touched anyone. Not even Grace. But, in her hand, I see two postcards.
“What are those?”
Alex looks down at them and slides next to me, careful to create a buffer between us. “I need to ask you a question,” she sighs. “I received these about ten days before I came out to Granite Harbor. Well, one came to my house, and the other went to my parents’ house.”
I don’t know anything about her parents. Does Alex have siblings? She’s never met my dad. My sister.
On the front of both postcards is a picture of Main Street in Granite Harbor, Maine. The picture was taken in the spring because the flowers are in full bloom. She flips over the postcard.
It’s the same picture as on the front of each, except faded. It reads:
Alex,
Granite Harbor, Maine, welcomes YOU.
Please come.
Love,
Eli
Our shoulders barely touching, she turns to me. I’m still on my back, wondering if she notices my heart pounding out of my chest. I try to play it cool, so I stare at the ceiling, trying to count the poachers we’ve caught in the last year, to distract myself from my body being this close to hers, distract myself from the fact that I didn’t write these, though part of me wishes I had.
“Alex, I didn’t write these.”
“I figured you didn’t, but the weird thing is, they’re written in Kyle’s handwriting.”
“May I?”
Alex nods and hands them over.
“My mom and Bryce are convinced that it’s fate that I’m here.”
She laughs—not a free, full laugh, but a nervous, guarded laugh. That tells me she might half-believe what she’s saying right now.
Examining the postcards, I see they were postmarked in Brooklyn. “The postmark is in Brooklyn. If they came from Granite Harbor, it should say Granite Harbor.”
“Why would they both be written in Kyle’s writing? And why use your name? As if the writer of these postcards knew I’d come? Knew I’d meet you?”
I shake my head. “I’m not sure.” What I want to say is, You’re here now, and that’s what’s important.
I let her talk after a long pause between us. The thought of the postcards with my name and her name on them is ironic, especially because I didn’t send them.
“But you’re here now.”
She laughs. “You know I can’t stay here forever, right?”
“You’re right,” I say, still holding the postcards with my name on them. “You’re a grown woman. I can’t keep you here. But it’s also my duty as a sworn law officer to protect the public.” I’m barely treading water. I want you here because I care about you.
Alex lies flat on her back, staring at the ceiling now. “So, you’re telling me that you’d bring any community member back to your house to protect them?”
I laugh. “Just you,” I whisper.
Alex’s body breaks into chills. I see them down her arms and legs.
“Are you cold?”
“Opposite,” she whispers. Her eyes are on my lips.
The last time I had sex, three months ago, was in this bed with Grace. If Alex and I are to ever make love, it won’t be in this bed. I’ll burn this mattress. Buy a new one. Buy a new frame. Move the bed. Switch bedrooms. I want everything about Alex, and I barely know her.
Alex stares back at me. There’s a certain fire in her eyes, a feistiness I haven’t seen before. I take my fingertips and run them along her right arm. I want to take my hands and cup her breasts in a way that claims them to be mine and only mine. Touch them. Put my mouth around each one. Take care of them.
“Now what?” Her eyes burrow into mine, showing a vulnerable side to her, the one that needs protection. The one she fights not to be.
Twelve
Alex
October 13, 2017
It’s not a wedding ring, I think, trying to convince myself.
It’s just after four thirty p.m. when Eli sends me a text.
Eli: Hey. Just finished up at the scene. On my way home.
As if we’re dating or married. I imagine these sentences coming from his mouth, and I want to feel this feeling they give me all the time. I want to ask him about the ring, but it’s not my business. Of course my stomach dropped. Of course I want to know. Unease fills in all the dark spaces in my body. Anything that is too good will eventually come to an end. He’s too perfect. Maybe God’s playing a trick on me.
I try to type and then stop. I try to type three more times. What am I going to say to him? Then, I type:
Alex: Sounds good. Rookie and I are contemplating the cosmos. ;)
Ten minutes later, Eli walks through the door, and the first thing I notice is the note, barely visible from his chest pocket.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hi.”
He sets down his bag, untucks his uniform, walks to me, and I feel his stride between my legs, wanting so badly for him to be coming for me.
Alex, remember what happened to your heart? It died when Kyle died. Don’t you remember? Get your research done. Keep it platonic and leave. What if I can’t? You need to. Yes, he’s beautiful. Kind. Gentle. But you found a ring in his drawer. It means there’s attachment. One he’s not willing to talk about.
Maybe I should go back to my rental. Give us space. Time.
But what if what I need is sex? I’ve only slept with Kyle. Maybe that’s what I need. Just sex, and maybe that will get me over this whole my-body-is-on-fire-when-he-walks-into-the-room sort of thing. Maybe it will settle my nerves and my body, allow my mind to write what it needs to, although I think I made progress today. Wrote well. And, if strings aren’t attached, maybe my heart will stop falling for him. Because that’s what I’m doing.
But maybe the sex will only mess with my heart more. His heart more. Although I have no idea the way he feels about me.
I need space. I need to distance myself from this. That’s what he is. A distraction. He’s ruggedly handsome. He’s got many fish to choose from. So, this idea leads me back to sex. Maybe it’s sex that we need.
“Great guard dog.” He bends down and gives Rookie a rub.
I have a moose sweatshirt on, my hair tied back, and I’m chewing on an eraser. Of course he isn’t coming for me. I quickly put down my pencil and close my computer.
He stands, rising high above me. “I read your note. I do have a question.”
“What’s that?”
“Is Bryce a man or a woman?”
“Woman.”
“Good. Mind if I take a quick shower? Then we will go to your place, so you can do the same.”
He turns quickly—not expecting an answer, I guess—and takes two steps at a time up to the top.
When Eli comes
back out, he’s wearing a long-sleeved white thermal shirt and denim jeans that probably are hanging just right off his hips. I turn quickly, so he doesn’t see me staring through the window. Instantly, I feel severely underdressed. Then, I hear the door open, and he places a jacket across my shoulders. I try not to look at him because, if I do, he’ll see what I want to offer. Maybe it’s just lust. It’s got to be, right? Desire, definitely. But what if it’s more? I can’t help but turn my head and look at him.
Eli is standing next to me.
“Thank you,” I say.
“Thanks for taking him to pee.” He stops. “You ready?”
“Yeah, let me gather my stuff.” I turn to him, staring at his profile, and think to myself, This kind of fall won’t be easy. The train’s coming, Alex. It’s coming, and there’s no way you’ll be able to stop it.
My past. Eli’s past. Because that’s what we do as humans. We take who we are, the situations which have made us, and try to create lives—lives that might just break us. It’s all unintentional because all we want so badly in the moment is to be all right. To feel right. To do right.
I try to push my attraction for Eli out of the way. “Warden Young, you clean up nice.”
But what if I do fall? And what if this is the story I’m supposed to write?
We’re at Angler’s, and I can feel the tension of the woman that sits next to Ryan. I need a drink, and it looks like she does, too, so I introduce myself and invite her to the bar.
Eli leans over and whispers in my ear, “I can get you a drink.”
I motion for him to come closer. “Remember, I don’t need a man to take care of me. What will you be having tonight, Warden Young?”
He drops his head with a smile. “Whatever’s on tap.”
Lydia and I make our way to the bar.
“So, are the rumors that have been floating around Granite Harbor true?” she asks.
First, I think my past with Kyle has caught up with me, but I quickly dismiss the thought. I play dumb. “I’m sorry?”
“That you’re Alex Fisher, the author?”
I sigh in relief. “So they say.” My confidence quickly falls by the wayside.
She squeals and stamps her foot. “I knew it! I have so many questions for you.” She bites her thumbnail. “Can I ask you?”
“Glass of your house red, please,” I say to Felix. I look at Lydia. “Do you like red?”
“Yes.”
“Make that two glasses of your house red, please.”
“How did you feel when you got the call that Making Me was going to the big screen? That book. Oh my … that book just about killed me.” Lydia looks around and cautiously whispers, “To be honest? The only reason I took the date with Ryan, knowing who he really is, is because I thought I’d get a chance to meet you. I own the bookstore Rain All Day Books. I can’t believe I’m freaking talking to you right now.” She pauses. “Besides, even us newbies to GH know his heart will always be with Merit.”
“Merit? Eli’s older sister?”
“Yeah. She’s been in California now for quite some time. Only comes back occasionally to visit Eli and Brand.”
Brand must be Eli’s father.
“Does Eli know?”
Lydia shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine. I’ve only been in Granite Harbor almost a year. I’m originally from New Hampshire.”
Lydia, in this light, has ashen-purple hair. It looks like she’d be more of a hairdresser than a bookstore owner. I like this about her. She’s shorter than me but not by much. Her skin is perfect, and her makeup seems to fit her face just right—again, more hairdresser than bookstore owner.
“Something tells me you had a different career before you became a bookstore owner.”
“Hairdresser,” she says, scrolling through her phone quickly.
Yes.
World: 0
Alex: 1
“Can we take a selfie? I’d love for you to come to the bookstore.”
“I stopped by the other day, but it wasn’t you who was at the counter.”
“That was Sage. She’s my part-time help. Good kid.” Lydia holds her phone up at an angle. “Ready? Smile!”
We pose, and she snaps a few pictures.
“Mind if I post this on my page?”
“All yours.”
She stops and lightly touches my arm. “Would it be weird if I asked for your number?”
Almost immediately, I say, “No, it wouldn’t be weird.” I’m in need of a friend. With Bryce all the way on the West Coast, I could use a girlfriend.
She giggles. “I’m friends with Alex Fisher. Holy fucking shit,” she whispers under her breath.
We walk back over to the table and join Aaron, Ethan, Ryan, Clay, Randall, and Eli.
“Manhattan didn’t suit you the other night?” Clay asks.
“Too strong.” I hold my glass of wine to my lips.
Shannon, the name tag on her work shirt says, comes to the table. She is a blonde with a body that comes only with lots of hard work. “Any refills before the game starts?” She winks at Eli.
“Keep them coming, Shannon. Keep them coming.” Ryan flashes his smile, probably the same one he uses in his best attempt to get girls in the sack.
“I wasn’t talking to you, douche,” Shannon blows.
“Ouch.” Aaron laughs. “Another unsatisfied customer?”
“I don’t remember, honestly.” Ryan puts the bottle to his lips again.
“Not like Eli. He’s got the nice guy image and the look,” Aaron says. “How do you do it, Young?” Aaron takes another drink of his beer. “Everywhere we go, every single damn last woman wants you.” Aaron looks to me. “Do you know, Alex, that we can’t even order food without women hanging at his feet, begging to take his order? Here we are, two single twins, and when Young is around, even with a beautiful woman sitting next to him, women still can’t get enough.”
Eli’s face is lit up like a Christmas tree.
“Warden Young, I do believe you’re blushing,” I say.
At halftime, everyone seems to disappear, except for Eli.
GSW is down by two at the half, but I’m not worried. It’s the wine that I’m worried about; it’s lowered my inhibitions.
“You know, if Curry had hit that three, you’d be up by one,” Eli says, putting his lips to the bottle. His playful smile curls upward.
I don’t dare laugh or miss a beat. “We’re a second-half team, Young. We will pull out the W. Besides, when’s the last time Boston won a game on the road?”
“Ouch.” He grabs at his chest.
I playfully push his leg. No more wine, Alex. No more.
When I go to remove my hand, Eli catches it just in time and gives it a squeeze. His eyes slowly meet mine.
You are cut off. Bartender, no more wine for the lady, I say to myself.
I search for the right words, and I can’t find them. They’re stuck somewhere between here and California, attached to a man I loved with all my heart.
“I swore, I’d never fall for a man in uniform again, Eli.” I struggle. “This can’t work. I don’t think my heart can handle it.” I want him to understand. I want him to know it’s not him; it’s me.
Ryan returns to the table, and our hands go to their rightful places.
“Well, that was quick.” Ryan sits. “Said she wasn’t feeling well.” He takes a sip of his beer. “Oh, did I interrupt something?”
“Absolutely not,” I say.
“Yes,” Eli says.
Ryan eyes both of us. “Game’s back on. Where’d Clay and Randall go?”
“They’re visiting with the Bravermans.” Eli points with his beer to a quiet corner.
Aaron and Ethan return from the bar and have a seat at the table with us for the second half.
It’s the wine.
It’s Eli.
It’s my own expectations.
Again, the wine.
Eli reaches down under the table and slides his hand acr
oss my leg that’s been bouncing up and down. My breath hitches. A storm of butterflies penetrates my stomach and takes flight. But my heart slows and finds a pace that’s rhythmic, livable, calming. I rest my cheek on my fist and stare at Eli.
He doesn’t question why I’m staring.
He doesn’t question why I haven’t asked him to remove his hand or to give me more. Because the touch isn’t sexual; it’s a gesture from the only place he knows to give love.
I look back at the game just in time to see the four-point play. “Did you guys see that? That was greatness at its finest! What a game!” I blurt out. “Come on, that was a beautiful four-point play!” I distract myself from Eli by taking another sip of wine. “Besides, who fouls Curry on the three-point line with a minute to go on the clock?”
“Did you play basketball, Alex?” Aaron asks.
I take another sip of wine, hoping to push down the feelings Eli gives me. “I did. Four years at California State University Northridge. Shooting guard.”
Shannon approaches the table again and gives Eli a long once-over before she says, “Any more drinks?”
Ryan goes to say something but bites his lower lip instead.
“If you breathe a word, kumquat, I will spit in your face. Got me?”
Ryan holds his hands up in a surrender position.
“And the Warriors win by a hair!” the commentator announces.
And I’m the only one who stands to cheer.
Clay walks up and kisses me on the cheek on their way out the door. “See you tomorrow morning?” Clay rests his hand on my shoulder. “Bye, boys!”
“See you.” I reach up and touch his hand.
Aaron and Ethan stand. “We’re out. Early morning.”
“Later, Caseys.” Ryan stands up. “Me, too. Going to go find Sadie.”
Eli shakes his head. “You ready?” Eli takes his hand and barely skims my leg.
“Yes.”
I take my sweater and hang it in the closet of the spare bedroom. Still, the residual effects of the wine are allowing me to think thoughts that I shouldn’t, not unless I want to allow my heart to be broken again. I shimmy Eli’s warden academy T-shirt over my head, and it’s huge but comfortable.
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