Reeling

by Ev Bishop

  Are you – Nobody – too?

  Then there’s a pair of us!

  Mia hadn’t replied to that one yet and his hands shook with expectation as he broke the seal on the unmarked envelope. He hadn’t even realized how much he missed conversing about the strange musings that moved through his head until she’d opened up this line of communication. And he wasn’t obtuse—at least, not about this. He knew not everybody pondered such things—or maybe they did, just didn’t talk about it. Either way, their note passing was something special, something unique, like Mia was, as he was becoming more and more aware. It made her dangerous—the way she opened the empty places in him and made him crave to have them filled—but he couldn’t muster the discipline to stay away.

  Without warning or even a hint he was hovering nearby, Simon bounced into Gray’s mind, grinning impishly, voice inquisitive and eager. “Whatcha doing, Dad?” he asked—his favorite question.

  So real Gray couldn’t help but return the smile and breath, “Hey, kiddo.” He almost reached to tousle his son’s hair—and memory, reality, smashed into him like nail-spiked baseball bat, breaking flesh, bruising vital organs, stinging and nauseating.

  Gray staggered under the new assault of old loss. He closed his eyes against the familiar pain, and dropped onto a weathered log, its protective bark long gone, its aged body beaten smooth and featureless by time. Simon’s question reverberated through him. What was he doing? Playing with gasoline and a match, that’s what.

  His pleasure in the letter blown to smithereens, Gray slowly withdrew and unfolded the solitary sheet of paper.

  Then he took in the first line of writing and froze. Jo’s penmanship not Mia’s. And glaringly formal. A siren of alarm screeched through him.

  Dear Gray,

  A woman named Tracy Kegan called, trying to get ahold of you. Her husband has passed away, and she’s afraid you didn’t know that he’d been sick. She’d like you to fly out.

  Don’t worry about waking me and Callum up. Pack a bag and come as quickly as you can at any hour. We’ll drive you to the airport and see about you getting a standby flight. The Celebration of Life is on Sunday.

  I’m so sorry for your loss (and for these absolutely meaningless words),

  Jo

  The Celebration of Life. Gray’s mind balked at the phrase. Wouldn’t process it. Funeral. Jo meant funeral. But that didn’t make any sense. That meant Kip was dead. And Kip wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be. Just because Gray thought he’d made peace with the idea of his own inevitable passing didn’t mean that he accepted the travesty when it happened to others—the stream of nonsense masquerading as philosophy sputtered to a stop. Kip had died. Of some illness Gray hadn’t even known about. It must’ve come on quickly—or the diagnosis had, anyway—because Gray had talked to him five months ago and he’d been fine. Gray closed his eyes. Accidents, guns, bombs—and even if you could avoid those things—sickness or old age. No one you loved escaped.

  He slowly refolded the note, returned it to its envelope, and slid it gently into his pocket. His limbs were leaden, his brain sluggish.

  Back at his cabin, his rucksack practically packed itself. He dumped a full bag of feed in his chickens’ automatic feeder and filled two waterers, instead of the usual one. Then he whistled for Wolf, filled a bucket with kibble for him and told him to stay. The dog wouldn’t comply completely, no doubt, but he wouldn’t follow him across the river, at least, and he’d half-ass guard the place.

  As Gray hurried along the most direct route to Jo’s, traveling by moonlight because it allowed his eyes to adjust and see in the shadows in a way that a flashlight didn’t, he recalled Mia’s words about the moon. Acid rose in his throat and he paused, feeling he might vomit. He was spared that, but the bitter heaviness didn’t pass. What had he been thinking, letting himself get remotely close to her? It was a recipe for nothing but pain.

  The shelter of the trees diminished, revealing the moon that lit his way and tortured his thoughts—not full and close this night, but thin and waning. Gray broke into a halting jog, his breath trailing behind him, white as a shroud in the darkness.

  The nearer he got to River’s Sigh B & B, to Mia, the further he distanced himself in his head. He almost wished he’d never met her. He’d been fine, more than fine—as near to happy as he could ever expect to be now—before she disturbed his corner of the woods. Perhaps it was a shame that he wasn’t a stronger man, but he couldn’t be what he wasn’t. He wasn’t up to letting another person close, only to have them leave or worse. It would be an adjustment to isolate himself again, but he’d do what he needed to do.

  Chapter 15

  Mia paced Sockeye’s stone tile floor and cracked her knuckles, trying not to study Jo’s face too intensely while she talked, not wanting to give away her worry and sadness for Gray.

  “So,” Jo continued, “that’s pretty much it. He said to apologize for being a no show and to tell you he’ll be back in a week or so. He knows the clock is ticking on your time here, so he understands if you want to continue the work you’ve been doing with someone else in town.”

  Mia shook her head tersely, not trusting herself to speak. She hated the selfish disappointment seeping through her. Yes, it sucked that her time with Gray would be put on hold indefinitely, but what really bothered her was that he hadn’t taken the time to jot even the shortest note of explanation himself. The fact that it bugged her made her feel like the biggest jerk in the world. The poor man had already lost so much and now, according to Jo, he had lost his best childhood friend.

  Of course, Mia didn’t expect him to reach out to her in his grief, but she couldn’t help wishing he had. Awareness hit with an unpleasant jolt. Gray was the first person she’d want to share any news or concerns with, big or small, like her new camping backpack and all her safety goodies, even though they hadn’t known each other that long.

  A brisk rap on Sockeye’s door interrupted Mia’s thoughts before they fully registered.

  Jo’s chin lifted. “Are you expecting someone?”

  “No,” Mia said without moving. Then she realized that Jo expected her to answer the door, of course, not to ignore whoever was there. Stomach rolling, she crept forward as another knock sounded.

  Happily—and surprisingly—her anxiety dissipated as soon as she opened the door. Sam stood there in soft knee-high boots and a gorgeous moss green sweater that brought out the twinkle in her jade eyes.

  “I heard the resident wild man has headed for other parts and thought you might want to go shopping.”

  It was impossible to resist Sam’s mischievous grin or the opportunity to distract herself from her weird feelings regarding the “wild man,” a description Mia felt was ill fitting. Gray was only a little bit wild—and besides, “wild” was nowhere near as unattractive as Sam made it sound. Nowhere near at all.

  Before she could utter a hearty “I’d love to,” one of Sam’s beautifully arched eyebrows rose. “Oh my . . . are you blushing? About the wild man?”

  “Um, no, not at all.”

  “Um, no, not at all,” Sam parroted cheerily. “Me thinks thou dost protest too much—or are you saying you don’t want to shop?”

  Mia laughed croakily and shrugged. “I’d love to go to town, Sam. Thanks.”

  Sam linked her arm through Mia’s. Mia jumped and yanked away hard. For the briefest moment, Sam looked surprised. Then she smiled as if there hadn’t been an awkward moment to speak of. “How about it, Jo? Are you joining us too? We could make it a girls’ day out.”

  “I’d love to,” Jo said, “but I’ve got someone coming to look at the septic field.”

  Sam’s hands flew up in a delighted gesture. “Oooh, lucky. How glamorous!”

  Mia giggled. The woman never quit.

  “Yep, it’s the life, all right.” Unlike Sam, Jo didn’t sound sarcastic in the least, and Mia was pretty sure she meant it, septic fields and all.

  “Your loss. Mia and I are going to talk and talk
—and she’s going to spill all the juicy details about her and Grizzly Gray.”

  “Another time.” Jo shot Mia a teasing look. “If you survive this one, that is.”

  “That’s assuming we’ll extend another invitation.”

  “Of course we will,” Mia said.

  “Oh, quit sucking up—and meet in the parking area in an hour?”

  Mia nodded. “Sounds great.”

  Sam opened the door, Jo on her heels, then stopped and pivoted toward Mia again. “I totally forgot. I’ll have my little granddaughter with us, just for an hour. Her mom has a meeting in town and asked if I could keep her for a bit, then drop her off. Is that all right?”

  “Of course,” Mia said. “I’d love to meet her, though I can hardly believe you’re old enough to be a grandmother.”

  “Because I’m definitely not old enough, that’s why—though being a grandma is the best thing ever. If a person can swing it, I highly recommend it.”

  “Sam’s granddaughter is Mo, and Mo’s mom is Aisha, my niece,” Jo explained.

  Mia nodded. She had put it together already, though it struck her as odd that Sam referred to Aisha as her granddaughter’s mom, not by name or not just as her daughter. It made her curious about Sam and her story.

  Jo apologized again for not coming with, Sam reconfirmed their meet up time, and Mia shut the door behind them, anticipation and dread warring within her.

  On the one hand, it would be so fun to browse shops, go for lunch and chat with a friend, like normal people did all the time. On the other hand, she wasn’t all that normal anymore and hoped she wouldn’t have a meltdown. She was also extremely uneasy about Sam’s glib “Mia and I are going to talk and talk” comment. She didn’t want to talk about Gray. A) There was nothing to say, and B) There was nothing to say.

  It turned out, however, that Mia had worried needlessly. For all of Sam’s teasing and comical posturing, Mia found her remarkably easy to hang out and be herself with. They had a lovely time with Mo, a sweet, smiley-faced imp who had just added the word “Whoa” to her vocabulary. She uttered it non-stop, with an endless variety of enunciation.

  A bright red toy firetruck with an extendable ladder and loud siren, spotted in the drugstore, received a “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Each “whoa” in the trio, short and clipped, almost a yip.

  A fruit smoothie with whipped cream and a cherry, purchased from a vendor in the library park and placed in her chubby hands by Grandma Sam got an appreciative “Whoa,” so soft and drawn out, it was barely breath.

  When a car screamed past them, driving too close to the sidewalk and too fast for downtown, it was a commanding bark: “Whoa!”

  And for no seeming reason at all, for a good part of their trekking about, she chanted, “Whoa, whoa, whooooooa,” under her breath in a cheerful, slightly awed tone, like being out and about with her grandma and her grandma’s friend was the best, most amazing thing ever.

  Mia’s face hurt from smiling and she suspected Sam’s did too. The little girl definitely had her Grandma’s whole heart. As they waited for a light to change so they could cross the street to the place Aisha was meeting them, Mia asked, “Is she always this happy and good?”

  Sam nodded, her face wistful. “Yes. Miraculous, hey? She reminds me a lot of Jo.”

  “I guess, but I definitely see a lot of you in her too. She’s smart, funny—already totally aware of her audience—and up for anything.”

  Sam’s smile broadened into a grin. “Oh, don’t flatter me. I usually get my audience all wrong. Ask Jo.”

  “You guys are close, hey?”

  “I’m impressed you noticed. Not everyone sees it, or appreciates my . . . sparkling wit.”

  Mia laughed.

  “Jo, no matter how much I tease her, and my husband Charlie are the kind of people who remind you that good still exists in the world. They make me optimistic for monkey here.” Sam nodded down at Mo, who was singing under her breath and skipping to and fro—or as far to and fro as she could anyway, with Sam holding her hand. “She’s a good one too.”

  “And your daughter, Aisha, I mean . . . is she a ‘good one’?” Mia was shocked at her prying question and wanted to swallow it back, but it was too late.

  Before Sam could reply and just as the walk signal flashed, a little storefront caught Mia’s eye. “You guys go. I’ll catch up.”

  Sam looked quizzical but nodded.

  “Walk!” Mo informed them, and she and Sam heeded the command, crossing the street without Mia.

  Mia strode over to the shop. Its darkened display window was decorated with the sparkling silhouette of a huge saxophone and a trail of glittery musical notes. She traced her hand along one. Practically nothing more than a hole in the wall, the little store looked like it had been closed for a while. When Mia leaned close to the glass, however, framing her eyes with her hands to see better, she realized it was still fully stocked. A handwritten note taped to the inside of the glass door grabbed her attention. She hesitated for barely a second, then pulled out her phone and snapped a picture.

  Breaking into a swift run, she caught up with Mo and Sam at the next corner, just as Sam swooped Mo up and over a huge puddle by the curb. Mo was still giggling when Sam set her safely on the sidewalk again and glanced over at Mia. “To answer your question . . .”

  Mia shook her head, half amused, half apologetic, as Sam continued their conversation like it hadn’t even paused, “Aisha is one of the great ones. The only problem is that she sees me a little too clearly, without the kind, rose-colored glasses her dad and my sister—and apparently you—view me through.”

  “So you guys aren’t close?”

  Sam shrugged, but her expression was almost too nonchalant. Mia suspected it was a carefully manufactured poker face. “We’re not not close—but she had a wonderful mother who died too young and I’m not her, so it’s complicated. However, she accepts that I’m her dad’s wife and lets me love up my grandbaby. I have more than I ever expected I would.”

  Before Mia could embarrass herself with another digging question, they arrived at a small office bearing a sign that read “Community Futures.”

  A young woman, the spitting image of Jo, wild curls and all—but with Sam’s fair coloring and almost white blond hair—was slouched against the office’s exterior wall, out of view of its window, face downcast.

  Concern nipped Mia. The girl had to be Aisha, but she looked so . . . . pensive at best, totally discouraged at worst.

  Mo caught sight of the woman and burst into a happy dance. “Whoa, Mom!”

  The woman’s head jerked and an instant smile seemed to tug her whole body up along with it. “Whoooa, Mo!” she replied.

  Mo chuckled like her mom had made the best joke ever.

  Mia studied Aisha as she scooped Mo up and nuzzled her neck. Had she misread her earlier body language? Sam’s question made her think not.

  “Bad news?” she asked.

  Aisha stopped lavishing attention on Mo, glanced at Sam, then shrugged. “Not exactly, but not good either. I might qualify for this new grant program, but I need a better business plan—and apparently I have competition. Someone with an idea similar to mine contacted them recently.”

  “I can help you if you want,” Sam said, more hesitant than Mia had ever heard her.

  “I’m good,” Aisha said shortly—then seemed to catch herself. “Thanks, Sam. I appreciate all you do with Mo, but other than that, I want to do this on my own.”

  Sam nodded, kissed Mo good-bye, and then Aisha and Mo were on their way.

  As Sam and Mia commenced walking again, Sam let out a heavy sigh. When she spoke though, her tone was flippant. “Kids!” she exclaimed, then whistled. “They’re exhausting. Thank goodness I didn’t meet her until she was seventeen.”

  There was nothing really to say to that and Mia wondered if she and Sam were going to lose the casual loveliness of their day without little Mo to act as a buffer and easy source of conversation. Again, her fe
ars were quickly put to rest.

  “So you prodded my soft spots, now it’s my turn,” Sam said as they headed to a shoe store she lauded as being “surprisingly great.”

  “Okay . . .” Mia said. She had so many obvious issues. Which one of her pathetic neuroses would Sam target?

  “Why don’t you play guitar anymore?”

  Whatever tender area Mia expected Sam to poke, it wasn’t that. Unfortunately, before she could ask how Sam even knew she no longer played, their day did get wrecked—and in a way that Mia hadn’t seen coming and hadn’t even thought to worry about.

  Chapter 16

  “Oh. My. God!” The shrieked words came from someone Mia didn’t see at first, but something in the speaker’s shrill excitement and volume set her teeth on edge. Seconds later, a flushed faced woman with red hair and dark roots, shoved past Sam.

  “Hey,” Sam exclaimed, but was ignored.

  “You’re Mia Clark. The Mia Clark. It’s Mia Clark!” The stranger announced to the world, causing other foot traffic to pause, blocking Mia and Sam’s entry to the shoe store.

  “Who?” someone asked, looking straight past Mia. The question shattered the spell and the small crowd moved about their business again.

  The woman, however, was not put off by the lack of response, and she had a companion. Mia felt like she was watching the scene unfold from under water, everything muted and wobbly, as she took in the rough-skinned man with a short buzz cut and an expensive looking jacket, who held the woman’s arm. He checked Mia out in a repulsively obvious way, noticeably pausing at her hips and again at her breasts, before gawking at her face.

  “I think you’re right,” he announced like Mia wasn’t even there. “She’s old now, but she’s still a fox.” He laughed like he was clever and funny, though he was neither. Mia’s gorge rose.

  “You have to give me your autograph!” Quick as a flash, the woman produced a pen and a small day planner from her purse. “My God,” she said again. “How I loved you.”