by J. L. Jarvis
Annie felt a twinge of excitement as she anticipated the next two weeks leading up to Christmas with Finn. “I’ve got some vacation time coming.”
“I was wondering if you worked. I’m not sure I’ve seen you leave the house except for groceries.”
She smirked. “Oh, I work. I just work from home as an insurance biller. But I’m about to take two weeks off. So there!”
Finn seemed pleased. “While we’re brokering this deal, we should include a clause to give you an out in case I get on your nerves.”
Annie tried to look serious. “I was worried about that.”
“Who could blame you?”
“We could do it like an apartment lease, but instead of month to month, we could take it day to day.”
He extended his hand to seal the deal with a handshake. “I can live with that.”
Annie shook his hand. “Well, I guess it’s a plan.” Unexpected joy filled Annie, so bright that she tried to suppress it in case she seemed overly pleased to the point of weirdness. It was only a couple of weeks between friends.
With an emphatic nod, Finn stood. Annie followed his lead. As they headed back to their homes, Finn’s eyes sparkled. “I can’t wait to see you in a Santa suit, Oakley.”
She looked at him wryly. “Only if you dress as an elf.”
5
Fishing made everything better. The fresh, bracing air, the scent of the mossy creek banks, and the sound of the water tripping over the rocks was all it took to clear Finn’s head and soothe his senses. There was nothing in life he couldn’t overcome with a rod, reel, and fly line. Fishing had gotten him through his divorce, not to mention the marriage that led up to it. And before that? Well, the list was too long. He had made many mistakes in his life.
It all started with Annie. There were constants in life, not just the constants that anchor a person, like family, home, and career. Those were the typical foundational pillars, but Finn was convinced everyone had something or someone that guided their thoughts and decisions. Deeper than a hobby or passion, it was an underlying presence that centered a person. For Finn, it had always been Annie. In some ways, she was everything he was not. Even as children, no matter the adventure, it had always been better with Annie. She was like a prism that made everything appear better. At some point in his life that he couldn’t pinpoint, he’d unexpectedly found himself wishing she were with him so he could see things through her eyes. Maybe if he’d told her about that, he might not have lost her.
Most young people find college to be a transformative signpost in their lives when they become independent and productive adults. In Finn’s case, it was a chance to be stupid, and he’d excelled at it. By anyone’s measure, he had never been an astute intellectual. It wasn’t that he couldn’t have managed the schoolwork. He just didn’t care. So once he’d done enough to get by, he had time on his hands. In the history of college students, no student ever had trouble filling free time. Spending hours in a library study carrel worked for some, but not Finn. He was the happiest outdoors and found an on-campus alternative to his usual hiking and fishing. By accident, he discovered that his favorite college pastime, idly strumming his guitar, was a chick magnet. If he planted himself on the quad, ladies appeared. Adding a dog would have been even better. At least that was his theory. But dogs weren’t allowed in the dorms, so he’d never had the chance to put it to the test.
The fish weren’t biting, so Finn spied a better spot and got settled there. Morning sun filtered through the thick tree branches and mottled the banks of the creek. Bits of sun danced in flecks on the water, while birds chattered unseen in the trees. Just past the bend in the creek hung a knotted rope from a large overhanging bough that stretched over a deep stretch of water. He could almost see Annie swinging from the banks to the middle of the creek and letting go. Then he would follow. Back then, they must have spent hours there, taking occasional breaks to lie on a sunny patch of grass a few yards from the water. There, they would stretch out on their backs and look up at the clouds and make up stories to go with what they saw.
Looking back, he could see there were moments that could have led to a different kind of relationship. Their eyes would meet and linger until someone averted their gaze. Innocent touches, such as a stray hand that happened to brush the other person or shoulders that touched as they strolled side by side, became awkward. After a while, there were no more moments. Almost as if they’d formed an unspoken pact, they walked a bit farther apart, grew a little less playful, and lost the unselfconscious spontaneity they’d once shared. In short, things had changed, and they’d gone to college.
Slow learner that he apparently was, it took Finn four years of college to figure out what he wanted. After graduation, Tamara Barnhill, his girlfriend of four months, had suggested they backpack through Europe. He could think of a no more breathtaking way to avoid working at the local grocery store for yet another summer, so he agreed. Upon close examination, he came up short on funds. His modest savings and graduation gifts wouldn’t get him far, but Tamara had a trust fund. She had to stay somewhere, so bringing him along wouldn’t cost her any more. So they booked a cheap flight and, armed with their passports and a youth hostel directory, they headed for Europe.
A few weeks into the trip, they were in Paris. As they walked alongside the bookstalls lining the Seine, he picked up an old edition of The Secret Garden. He could see nine-year-old Annie curled up in a hammock reading it. He’d called her boring and snatched it from her hands. She was a good reader and an even better fighter. That afternoon, Annie finished her book while he held a bag of frozen mixed vegetables to his blackening eye.
Book in hand, Finn turned to Tamara and asked if she’d ever read it.
She shrugged. “I was never much of a reader.” Her face brightened. “And now that we’re finished with college, I don’t have to be.” She turned away, missing his baffled reaction, then said, “Let’s go window shop on the Champs-Élysées.
That was when he realized Tamara wasn’t Annie. He tried to shake off the thought, but he found himself at the most inopportune moments imagining how much better it would be if Annie were there. Evidently, Tamara was more intuitive than he’d thought. The day they left Paris for Amsterdam, she informed him it wasn’t working out between them. When they got to Amsterdam, she’d be going on solo.
There he stood in the Gare du Nord, coffee and croissant in hand. “You’re breaking up with me?”
“Nothing personal. We’re just parting ways.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “It’s been fun.”
“Yeah.” He wasn’t sure whether he was more confused or relieved.
Relieved. Finn sat on a bench and ate his croissant. A week later, his plane touched down at JFK. In Amsterdam, he’d worked it all out. He loved Annie. It was so obvious, but he had been too close to Annie for too long to recognize what it was. He was in love.
Desperate to see Annie, he caught a train from Penn Station to the mountains and got off at Westport, the station closest to Cedar Creek, where his worried mother was waiting in the car.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he explained. “Tamara and I parted ways, and I decided it was time to come home. Can we stop at the store? I need to pick up some… deodorant.” Deodorant? It was all he could think of. What he wanted to do was see Annie. For some reason, he was sure she’d be working a shift at the local food market. The two of them had always worked late on Friday afternoons. Tourists were arriving in town and stocking up for the weekend, and the locals were getting off work. It was always busy and staffed up accordingly.
Fifteen minutes later, Finn walked out of the store with a stick of deodorant he didn’t need. Annie didn’t work there anymore. When Finn left for Europe, Annie had planned to work there for the summer and apply for jobs in her spare time. He could only assume she’d found a job early on, which was great. She’d worked hard all through college and deserved all the success that would inevitably come her way. In the meantime, he couldn’t wait to
see her.
It wasn’t until they got home and he headed out the door that his mother said, “If you’re going to see Annie, she’s gone.”
He hung his jacket on a hook by the door and paused, feeling grim. “What?” He already knew he did not want to know the details.
“Annie’s…” Her voice trailed off.
“What?” By this time, he was sure Annie had either died or joined the Peace Corps.
“She’s married.”
Looking helpless, his mother lifted her shoulders. “I’m not sure what else to tell you. His name’s Matt. He came up from the city. Annie’s mom said they met at the store. He’s got money. I don’t know what to say. He swept her off her feet, and one day, they drove off and got married.”
“Annie would have told me.”
“She didn’t tell anyone until after the fact.”
“Married?” He’d shaken his head slowly and softly said, “Wow.” Realizing his mother was studying him, he’d said, “I’m going to go for a walk.”
Here he was, fishing in the same place he’d fished over the years. It was his go-to place when he needed a break from his life. This was where he’d gone when the tension in his marriage had weighed heavily on him, and when tension had evolved to apathy, he’d come here even more. This was the one place he felt balanced. He laughed to himself. That made him unbalanced the rest of the time.
He wasn’t catching anything, so he packed up his fishing gear and paused for a minute to take in the sight. The trees had grown taller. So had Finn. But one thing hadn’t changed. He still loved Annie.
After he put away his gear, he walked inside and pulled out a beer from the otherwise empty fridge. Someone knocked at the door. He didn’t get many visitors here, which was one of his favorite things about the cabin.
He swung open the door. “Annie.” Realizing he was a little too happy to see her, he tried to look whatever cool looked like at age forty-three.
She held out a brown paper package.
With a grin, he said, “You shouldn’t have. It’s not even my birthday.”
She gave him a tolerant smile. “They left this on my doorstep.”
He took it and beckoned her inside. “Come on in. I was just having a beer, and I shouldn’t drink alone.”
He forged on to the kitchen despite not hearing her footsteps behind him. By the time he turned, she’d joined him. Before she changed her mind, he pulled out a beer and handed it to her. As he did, he wondered if it would be too obvious if, for future deliveries, he changed his house number to hers. Yeah, she’d see through that. The thought amused him, though.
“Why are you smiling?” She seemed suspicious.
“Huh?” He shrugged, which he realized looked more awkward than nonchalant. “Oh, ’cause it’s nice to see you.”
Her eyebrows drew together. “You saw me this morning.”
“It’s always nice to see you.” That was the absolute truth.
Annie’s smirky scowl hadn’t changed much over the years. He laughed. “That’s the face. That’s my Annie.”
A flicker of an emotion he couldn’t quite pinpoint lit her eyes for an instant, and then it was gone. Eager to get past the uneasy silence, Finn said, “I was just about to order a pizza. Do you still like pepperoni?”
She seemed a little surprised. “Uh, yeah.”
Before she could add a but, he said, “Good.” He picked up his phone and placed the order. “Thirty minutes.” His eyes twinkled.
Annie stared knowingly. “Has it ever been thirty minutes?”
“No. Come on. Let’s go sit down.” They sat on a sofa that faced a wall of windows looking out at the creek. “You didn’t have big plans tonight, did you?”
“No, you caught me on my one free night of the week.”
He couldn’t tell if she was serious, which must have shown on his face.
“I’m kidding. I spent so much time driving Ella around that I’ve become kind of a recluse since she went to college.”
“Nothing wrong with that.”
“I guess not.”
“Although, I remember a time when your life was a social whirlwind.”
A slight blush came to her cheeks, and her eyes clouded over. “That was Matt. I just went along for the ride.”
Finn wanted to kick himself. “Annie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up…”
She peered at him with a searching expression that made him wonder what she wanted to say but held back. He wished she would trust him. But they’d barely spoken for years, at least not about serious things. How could he expect her to just open up now?
Annie said, “It was a long time ago.”
It was all Finn could do not to ask all the questions he’d wondered about, the main one being why. Why had she married a man so unsuited to her personality? She had so much more to offer, and she’d deserved more than he’d given her. He’d seen her reading on the screened-in back porch in the evenings. Always alone. People sat outside alone, but with her, it was different. He knew what it felt like to be that alone in a marriage because he’d felt it too.
Annie’s eyes brightened. “Board games!”
“What?” Unprepared, he quickly shifted gears to catch up with her. Annie went to the built-in wall of shelves and retrieved a falling-apart box of Scrabble. “How many rainy days did we spend playing board games?”
“More than I wanted to because you always kicked my butt.”
“Yeah, I did, didn’t I?” She set free the smile she’d been suppressing. “Sorry.”
“I can tell.”
Annie gazed at the game box then lifted her eyes to meet Finn’s. “Wanna play?”
Two hours later, Finn leaned back and stretched while Annie cheerily slid the game tiles back into the box. “I don’t know why I let you do that to me again,” he said.
“Because it’s fun?”
Finn balked. “For you, maybe!”
“Oh, right. Because you can’t take it that there’s one thing—one single, solitary thing—I do better than you?”
He put on a wounded expression. “I can take it. I just don’t enjoy it.”
She burst into laughter. “Boo hoo, poor you!”
Their eyes met, and something passed between them. The mood had turned serious—neither seemed able to look away.
Annie looked away first. “I should go.”
Finn nodded as if he agreed that of course she should go, when in truth, he was wondering whether her cheek would feel as soft as it looked if he brushed it gently with his fingers.
Annie’s eyes flitted to his then toward the door. “Well, okay.” She got up and cleared the table.
Distracted, Finn managed to say, “I’ll get that.” But she’d already cleared everything and was well on her way to the kitchen.
Finn arrived at the kitchen island just as she turned to head for the door. Within inches of each other, they narrowly missed a collision. Finn grasped Annie’s shoulders to steady her. Their eyes locked, and time seemed to stop. Lost for an instant, Finn recovered. “I’ll walk you home.”
“No,” she answered a little too quickly. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”
It felt like they’d arrived on a doorstep at the end of an awkward first date. Finn held the door open while she slipped past. Once outside, she turned and flashed an uneasy smile.
“Good night.” Her voice sounded breathless.
“Good night, Annie.” He watched until she was safely inside, then he went inside and shut the door.
What was that? For the most part, the evening had been fun like the old days. After all they’d been through, he felt sure their friendship had survived. But then there were glimpses of something else, something different between them.
He’d revealed too much of his feelings for her, and he’d made her feel awkward. If he wanted to preserve what was left of their friendship, he couldn’t let that happen again.
6
The next afternoon, Annie walked into the retro
chrome diner on the outskirts of town. Unchanged from her childhood memories, it felt like coming home. At a booth near the end of the counter, Regina Vestergaard, with her signature platinum pixie haircut and black-rimmed glasses, waved at Annie.
Annie grinned and walked to her, arms outstretched. As they hugged, Annie said, “It’s so good to see you! I’ve missed you!”
“Me too.”
Somewhere in the middle of catching up on their families, from Ella’s elopement to Regi’s boyfriend Derek to their latest work stories, they managed to order some lunch. When their food arrived, Regi held her fork suspended over her plate and asked nonchalantly, “So, you obviously saw him?”
Annie glanced at Regi. She prepared to dismiss the subject of Finn with a casual comment that, yes, she’d seen him, and then change the subject to anything else. But the direct, knowing look in her friend’s eyes made it impossible—that and the way she said him. Since middle school, they’d made a point of never saying his name. That way, the identity of her secret crush would never get out. Continuing the practice years later was more out of nostalgia than anything else.
Annie reluctantly smiled and stared down at her food. “Yes, I saw him. We had a sort of family meeting with our children about their decision to marry.”
Regi’s eyes opened wide. “Marry! And how did that go?”
“He’s taking it better than I am.” Annie exhaled. “There’s nothing wrong with Connor, though. They seem happy enough.”
“So far, a glowing endorsement. Go on.”
“It’s me. Watching Ella graduate and jump straight into marriage looks too familiar.”
“But Ella’s not you, and Connor is definitely not Matt.”
“I know, but…”
“Which leaves you with two young people in love.” Regi was sympathetic but frank.
Annie sighed. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Do you really need to guess? If Connor is anything like his father, he’ll be a great husband.”