by Jewel E. Ann
“It’s your birthday. You can’t be mad on your birthday.”
I stopped and faced him, hands balled at my sides. “I can be mad on my birthday because I froze my ass—my butt off last night! And when I tried to warm up, your stupid truck’s alarm went off. And then I spent the rest of the night sleeping between my mom and Rose. And they both snore. And …” I started to run out of steam.
“Were you going to ask me to warm you up?”
“No. I wasn’t going to ask you. I was just going to wedge my cold body next to yours in your sleeping bag.”
“Naked?” His eyebrows lifted.
“I … I don’t know.” I shook my head, feeling irritated that he asked me that. And feeling irritated that he wouldn’t stop grinning.
“That would have been the only way to really warm you up. Both of us naked. You’re a nurse. You should know that.”
I started to speak, but I had no great reply to his gibberish.
His head cocked to the side. “You were … you were going to get into my sleeping bag naked. You were going to get warm and then try to get some. Am I right? A little early birthday delight.”
It hurt the muscles in my lips too much to not smile. I had to grin. I had to giggle.
Fisher refused to let me be anything but happy. And wasn’t that the whole purpose in life? To find one’s happy place and stay there as long as possible? He was mine.
Bliss.
Smiles.
Giggles.
“There she is.” His already ginormous grin managed to swell a little more. He tugged my beanie down a fraction of an inch, a playful, teasing gesture.
“Can I ask you something?” My smile faded a little.
“Of course.”
“What do you fear most? Is it your memory returning and you suddenly knowing what you felt for her and why you felt it? Is it disappointing your family if you don’t marry her? Is it making the wrong decision?”
He tucked his hands into my back pockets and kissed my forehead. “It’s losing you while I attempt to do the right thing.”
“What is the right thing?”
“That’s…” he shook his head slowly as creases formed along his brow “…just it. I’m not sure. I feel like a nearly thirty-year friendship deserves something … even if it’s just a little more time. And while I don’t remember loving Angie, I’m not immune to her feelings now. I’m not immune to my family’s feelings either. And they still have this great hope that I will get my memory back. And this huge part of me, the part that loves you, doesn’t care to remember the past. But this other part feels like I can’t end this planned future without remembering my past.”
“And what if you never remember? I mean … I’m here. I’m here for you. And my heart is firm on this … I’m in it for as long as I’m in it. But my brain will eventually try to override my heart in an effort for self-preservation. You haven’t canceled your wedding. If you don’t remember by then … then what? You marry her?”
“No. I don’t marry her. I … I …”
He didn’t know. How could he?
“I postpone it.”
“You postpone it?” My jaw dropped. “You postpone something you want to happen, just at a later date.”
“What do you want me to say? What would you want me to do if you were in Angie’s shoes?”
“I’d want you to love me. Love me now. Love me without any yesterdays. And if you couldn’t love me like that, then I’d want you to let me go.”
He nodded slowly. “Then I’ll let her go.”
I couldn’t believe he said it. He said it without hesitation. He said it with such absolution it made my heart pause for a second.
So why … why did my paused heart hurt so much in that moment? Was I asking too much? It hadn’t been that long since his accident. We fell in love so quickly. And maybe that did mean everything. But did I say what I said because it was really how I would have felt in Angie’s shoes? Or was it easy to say that because I already had his love?
Why did it have to be so hard? So messy?
Closing my eyes, I shook my head. “Give it … give it more time.” I opened my eyes. “But draw a line. Like two months, six months, a year, whatever. Just draw a line so when we get there, we know it’s over. Whatever over means at that time. Then let yourself live. Because you are alive with or without the past.”
“January first.”
“January first,” I repeated. Just over two months away.
“If it doesn’t come back by then, I move forward without trying to look back anymore. I let her go. I let my family know I can’t marry someone I don’t love.”
“I can do January first.” I nodded several times. After five years and a handful of months without Fisher, I could survive two more months if it meant we would be together. “So … I’ll just keep my distance while you do your part to remember things and keep your family happy for as long as possible.”
His eyes narrowed. “Keep your distance? It’s going to be hard for you to keep your distance with my dick inside of you at every possible chance.”
There’s my crude naked fisherman. I’ve missed you.
I started walking again, my face revisiting its eighteen-year-old version of itself—flushed cheeks and neck. “And when do you think your next possible chance might be?”
“Can’t say.” He took my hand again.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s your birthday. And birthdays are for surprises.”
“So you’re going to surprise me with your dick?” I giggled.
“You’ll never see it coming.”
“Well, I won’t if it’s inside of me.”
He laughed.
I laughed.
And we spent the next hour hiking the trail that circled back around to the campsite. A few yards before the clearing, he stopped and pushed me off the trail, my back hitting a tree trunk.
He kissed me with a hunger that I felt in my bones. And as quickly as he pulled me off the trail and attacked my mouth, he ended the kiss and returned without me.
He nodded toward the clearing up ahead. “Coming?”
I peeled my back off the tree and fixed my beanie and straightened my jacket. “What was that?”
“What was what?” Fisher tucked his hands innocently in the pockets of his jacket.
“See … told you they didn’t get eaten by a bear,” Rose said to Rory as we made it back to the tents.
Rory rolled her eyes. “I didn’t think that.”
“You said it.” Rose eyed Rory flipping pancakes on the grill.
“Well, I was just kidding … sort of. Why didn’t you wake us up to go with you?” Rory asked.
“I thought I’d take the kiddo for a walk while you two had a little alone time.” Fisher gave them a suggestive grin. “Since she crashed your night with the truck alarm, blue lips, and chattering teeth.”
Rory and Rose laughed, but then they shared a look that said they did take advantage of their alone time. Which … made me think of the time I saw them in the shower. Yeah, that image was eternally burned into my brain.
“Take the kiddo for a walk?” I scowled at Fisher. “You make me sound like a five-year-old … or a dog.”
“If the leash fits.” He grabbed a bottle of orange juice out of the cooler.
I nudged the back of his knee, making his leg bend unexpectedly, throwing him a little off balance as he shut the cooler.
“Watch it.” He gave me a narrowed-eyed expression.
“Watch what, old man?”
“Listen to you two … it’s just like old times. Fisher, you and Reese used to fight and banter all the time, just like two siblings,” Rory said, handing me a plate of pancakes.
I took a seat in one of the camping chairs, and Rose poured syrup onto my stack of pancakes, pressing her lips together for a second before murmuring, “Siblings my ass,” so only I could hear her.
I winked at her, one of those cocky Fisher-style winks.
“Sorry.” Rory cringed. “Did we keep you up?”
I held up my thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “A wee bit.”
“Mancala? I love that game,” Fisher said. “We should play it tonight.”
“It’s only a two-person game,” Rory said, handing Fisher his plate of pancakes.
“Well, you two played it last night, so I’ll play it with the birthday girl tonight.” Fisher took a bite of his pancakes and grinned at me. “Do you want to play with me tonight, Reese?”
My chewing slowed. He said that. Yes, he sure did. Rory paid no attention to his comment. But Rose choked on a bite of her pancake.
“You okay, babe?” Rory asked her.
Rose patted her chest several times and nodded. “F-fine.”
After swallowing my bite, I smirked at Rose while answering Fisher. “That sounds fun. I’d love to play with you tonight.”
Rose’s face looked like a ripe red apple, and there was nothing she could do to stop us. And Fisher had no idea she knew. He thought our innuendos were solely between the two of us.
“I’m not going to go easy on you. I’m pretty competitive. I like to be on top at the end.”
Again, Rose coughed and Rory handed her a bottled water. “Drink. And chew your food better.” Rory shifted her attention to Fisher. “Don’t get too cocky and underestimate Reese. She has a competitive streak too. I can see her winning … being on top instead of you. So no pouting tomorrow.”
By that point, Rose had her head bowed, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. I felt certain she was silently chanting, “Make them stop!”
But all that mattered to me was Fisher and I were going to play.
Chapter Twenty-One
Before I left Texas to reunite with Rory, I knew three things.
One: I wasn’t ever going to drink or do drugs.
Two: No sex before marriage.
Three: I would think about God first in all my decisions.
At twenty-four, I knew nothing.
After another group hike, lunch, and taking a million pictures, we started a fire for dinner, and then we drank too much. The conversation took a turn because of me. Someone should have cut me off earlier.
“Have you ever told Fisher how he loved Angie?” I asked, picking at the label to my beer bottle. I didn’t even like beer that much—that was how much I’d had to drink.
“What?” Rory said.
“I mean … everyone says how much he loved her. Maybe if someone told him why they thought that … like … what specifically did he do to make you think he loved her? Then he might remember.”
I had no idea alcohol could spark a self-destructive case of jealousy. Yet there I was … intoxicated and jealous.
Rory glanced over at Rose. “He sent her flowers.”
Rose nodded. “They were cuddly …” She laughed, buzzed like the rest of us. “Is cuddly a word?” Rose laughed more.
“He took her to lunch a lot,” Rory added.
“Sometimes you took her for rides on your motorcycle.” Rose shifted her attention to Fisher.
I glanced over at him.
He nursed his beer, gaze on the fire as if he wasn’t hearing any of the conversation.
“The four of us spent so many nights in the screened-in porch just talking about life. Fisher said he wanted two kids. Angie wanted four. They compromised on three.” Rory grinned at Fisher.
Still … he showed no response other than to narrow his eyes a bit as if he was trying to make sense of what they were saying about him.
Did it still feel like someone else’s life? A biography that wasn’t his?
“And after Angie’s mom died, Fisher just … did everything. He helped take care of her mom’s property. He practically planned the funeral. Moved Angie into his house. Cooked for her for … weeks while she grieved her mom. I wish you could remember, Fisher. I really do.” Rory frowned.
Fisher stood. “I’m going to bed.” He didn’t look at me or anyone as he tossed his bottle into a bin in the back of his truck before wandering into the woods to pee.
Rose shook her head. “I don’t think we jogged his memory. I think he’s miserable.”
Rory stood and stretched. “Miserable? That’s a strong word.”
“It’s not. It’s the right word, trust me.” Rose started to collapse the chairs.
I helped her load them into the truck.
“You two still going to play mancala?” Rory handed me the game. “It’s late.” She laughed. “And we’ve all had too much to drink. But whatever …” She hugged me. “Happy birthday, sweetie.”
“Thanks,” I murmured.
“It’s been a good day. Love you, birthday girl.” Rose hugged me and kissed my cheek. Then she whispered in my ear, “He’s not in a good mood. Let him be tonight.”
I didn’t say anything. I just gave a single nod to let her know I heard her.
After they found a spot to pee and retired to their tent, I planted my ass on the ground by the fire. When Fisher returned, he sat next to me, both of us with our knees bent and our arms resting on them.
“If it’s January …” I whispered. “Then we wait for January. I can’t …” I shook my head slowly. “Do this …”
I couldn’t sneak around with another woman’s fiancé any longer. If the alcohol imparted a sense of jealousy, then sobering up imparted a sense of regret.
“I know,” he whispered back. “I’m going to fix this.”
“Fix this?” I had trouble keeping my voice lowered. “How are you going to do that?”
“Do you trust me?”
I grunted a laugh. How many times had he questioned my trust in him? And where had it gotten me?
“I told you. I trust you. I just don’t trust your—”
“Yeah, yeah … my memory. Fuck my memory.” He stood. “Come on.” He held out his hand.
I took it. “I can’t do anything with you.” My inflamed conscience showed up to be the party pooper at my birthday party.
“We can play mancala.”
My head canted as I eyed him.
“For real. Mancala.” He tugged my hand.
We sat across from each other in his tent and played mancala for almost two hours, and it was fun. Everything with Fisher was fun and happy. He was bliss. And I couldn’t imagine my life without bliss.
“I’m going to …” I motioned toward the tent door. “Go to bed now.”
“You’ll be cold.”
“I know.”
“You could sleep with me.” He set the game aside.
“I said I’m not—”
“Sleep. Just sleep.”
“What about Rory and—”
“I’ll kick you out before they wake in the morning.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Can’t control yourself?”
“Full. Of. Yourself.”
His grin faded, gaze averting to the space between us. Confusion replaced all amusement. “Full of yourself,” he whispered before lifting his gaze to meet mine. “You’ve said that before. At my office. You …” He shook his head. “You were mad at me. Do you remember?”
It took me a few seconds to realize what was happening. “Do you remember that?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know. It’s like déjà vu. You said that and it was too familiar, like we’ve played this out before, but not here.”
I wasn’t entirely sure when I said that to him. It was over five years earlier. Those were words I could have used on multiple occasions.
“I don’t know. What else did I say?”
Fisher continued to shake his head. “I … I don’t know. But if it’s a memory …”
I nodded. “Then you might be getting your memory back or at least your brain is trying to make some connections again.”
“Maybe.” He nodded slowly, confusion stil
l veiling his face.
Was it time to tell him about us? He had fallen in love with me, without those memories, without me telling him about us.
He reclined onto his pillow. “So weird … I see you with your hands on your hips. You’re angry. Do you remember being angry with me?”
I chuckled. “Sorry. I was mad at you on lots of occasions. You’re not narrowing it down much.”
“Maybe it’s the beer.” He sighed, closing his eyes.
“Maybe.” I shut off the lantern light and curled up next to him, covering us with the top of his sleeping bag and a fleece blanket.
“You’re staying?” he mumbled. So much exhaustion in his voice.
“I’m staying.” I hugged his body and kissed his neck.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The night in the tent was the beginning of what felt like the end, even if I wasn’t sure what the end really meant for me. For us.
I immersed myself in work and read absolutely everything Holly gave me to read.
Halloween.
Early November snow.
And no Fisher.
Was I avoiding him? Yes.
Did he know why? Yes.
However, it was nearly impossible to avoid him until January, as I found out three weeks after my birthday. On my way home from a birth around noon on a Saturday, I stopped for gas. As I waited for it to get filled up, Fisher’s work truck pulled in the opposite side of the pump.
My heart crashed against my chest. He’s here! And my conscience said to chill out. Stay calm. No big deal.
A crazy big grin stretched across his face as he climbed out of his truck in jeans, work boots, and a dirty hoodie. “Hey.”
My heart won. I matched his grin, maybe even upped it a notch. “Hey.”
“On your way to work or heading home?” he asked, leaning against the beam next to the pump.
“Home. See the bags under my eyes?”
“Did you help bring a tiny human into the world last night?”
“Seven this morning. Little boy. Grant. Eight pounds exactly. How about you? Working today?”
“Just finished installing shelves in a pantry.”
I returned the nozzle to the pump and took my receipt. “Well, I’m going home to crash for a few hours.”