Reeling

by Ev Bishop

  “So how about it? Can I have a little private pre-show, Mia?” The man’s face was difficult to make out because the lights were behind him, his features in darkness. Again, something that could be unintentional and innocent . . . or not. The way he used her name, though, insinuating they had some sort of relationship when they definitely didn’t, made Mia’s jerk radar ping.

  Mia knew she could run. She was confident he’d get nowhere near her. She also knew that a scream or yell would draw help immediately. But she suddenly found herself the furthest thing from intimidated.

  “I have no idea who you are,” she said calmly, “but consider this a lesson in social etiquette. It’s inappropriate—and super creepy—to sneak up on someone you don’t know in the dark.”

  The man moved forward. His oily voice hardened into tar. “I’m just being friendly. You don’t have to be rude.”

  Just being friendly, hey? Some people really had no clue. Mia stared down at the guy, who was less than five feet from the stage now and fully visible. Thick and bulldoggish, his belligerent expression said he felt entitled to say whatever he wanted—and that she should like it.

  Her mom’s voice whispered in her ear, “It wouldn’t kill you to smile and play nice, sweetie. He’s just a fan, and fans are your bread and butter.”

  Mia suspected the man wasn’t actually a threat, was just an ass. It was good practice though. She glanced down at her purple boots for a moment, then looked him square in the face. “Here’s the thing. It’s not rude for me, a total stranger to you, to not appreciate being followed outside. And even if I had been rude? Oh well.”

  The muffled thump-thump of feet jogging across packed snow interrupted them before the man could respond, but his scowl said tons.

  Will, the band’s drummer, appeared in the clearing with Lianna, the bass player, on his heels. “Scott will be right—” Will called, then stopped mid-sentence, taking in the man’s posture. “Is everything okay here?”

  “Yep, all’s great, no worries.” Mia turned, just slightly, but in a way that made it obvious her conversation with the stranger was completed. “I was starting to wonder if you slackers were ever going to get here.” She played an air guitar and did her best 80s metal rocker impersonation. “Are you ready to rooooock?”

  Will and Lianna laughed. “No wonder you fit in so well,” Lianna said. “You’re as cheesy as Will.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” Will took the stairs in a single leap and joined Mia on stage. “Cheese is delightful.”

  The rest of the band arrived, and Mia helped finish setting up, enjoying their silly banter and mounting energy immensely. The stranger who’d made her uncomfortable became just one more person in the crowd flowing from the dining hall, and she didn’t waste another thought on him.

  The gig wasn’t just fun; it was a total blast.

  Chapter 23

  After the big party, the rest of December slid into January, and January glided away in one big blur.

  Mia kept herself busy with Christmas celebrations, which included a week’s visit to her mom’s. Then she worked systematically on details related to her new business, cleaning, repainting, counting inventory, and finding suppliers for new stock she wanted to carry. She was targeting an early March opening, which would coincide with the end of her stay at River’s Sigh and her move into town. And amidst it all, she played and played and played until she figured she was close to the level she’d been before she stopped.

  She was grateful for the new lease on life, for her growing circle of trustworthy friends, and for little Sockeye cabin in the woods, all of which had facilitated such huge changes for her. But try as she might to forget him, Gray was never far from her thoughts.

  Every so often—and promising herself each time that it was the last—she hiked the snowy trail she’d broken and maintained to the Secret Keeper just in case . . . and was disappointed every time. Not even a Christmas card. And no telltale tracks in any direction suggesting that maybe Gray had been checking to see if she’d left anything either.

  Despite having a collection of jotted tidbits and notes that Mia knew full well she’d intended for Gray’s eyes, she refrained from stashing anything for him in the tree during her hopeful visits. She would, however regretfully, respect his very clear wishes.

  On the first of February, early in the evening, Mia was chopping vegetables for a stir-fry when the moon, huge and luminous, rose into view over the mountains framed by her kitchen window. She put her dinner prep on hold and went out to the deck with a blanket to watch it, then thought of Gray and one of her first ever notes to him. Was he watching the moon right now too and thinking of her? Or had he happily and easily purged himself of any remembrance of their time together or their friendship? Both ideas—that he might be sitting in his isolated cabin feeling lonely, or that he might be fully satisfied by his solitary life in the wilderness—made her so sad that for once, she didn’t busy herself with plans or work or writing. She trudged back into Sockeye, left her half-prepared food on the counter where it sat, and went to bed without eating.

  Chapter 24

  As if nature herself was moved by the music that Gray allowed himself to listen to for one hour a day—not wanting his small CD player to burn through all his batteries before winter ended and he could walk out of the forest to get more—the clouds danced apart and a round-bellied moon kissed the earth. Its silver light illuminated the night, temporarily chasing away the shadows he’d lived with the past long, cold, dark months. Watching it, he thought of Mia, or, more accurately, thought of her yet again.

  “You got your wish, you fool,” he muttered, “so I don’t know what your problem is.”

  But that was a lie. He knew exactly what his problem was. His wish had changed. He had thought he wanted to live out his days alone in the bush, reliant on no-one—and relied upon by no-one. But then he had met Mia. And they had watched the moon together and apart.

  The last song on the disc started, and Mia’s low, smooth voice was wistful, almost conversational. “I should’ve known better—but I didn’t. I should’ve told you—but I couldn’t.”

  The lyrics fit the mood cast by the moon a little too well and Gray knew his face was stupidly, uselessly wet. He should’ve known better. Should’ve realized that separation from Mia wouldn’t make things better. That if anything, it would only more intensely reveal what he’d enjoyed when they were together and what he lost when they were separated.

  And now it was too late. Mia, who grew brighter and fuller every time he’d visited, was no doubt in the full swing of a busy, fulfilling life now. He, the crazy guy in the woods, would just be someone she told funny, slightly disparaging stories about with a raised eyebrow. “I made it clear that I wanted us to be something, and not only did he turn me down, he was a jerk about it.”

  The song finished, and the player clicked off, ending his time with the CD he’d ordered and hadn’t gotten around to telling her he had. A CD for a CD player, how fitting—relics from another time, a different life. Like him.

  Gray peered out his cabin’s solitary window, which he’d shoveled religiously the past two months to keep cleared. The endless expanse of snow beyond his gaze was void of movement, void of life. It wasn’t that there wasn’t beauty in this harsh, edge of the world place. It’s that without someone to share it with, the beauty didn’t reach deeply into him the way it had before.

  Wolf, who was still disappearing for long stretches at a go, even during this severe winter, was home for the time being, curled into a ball by Gray’s feet. Suddenly he bolted awake, one ear perked. Then he leapt to his feet and padded to the cabin’s barred door, making an impatient, urgent keening sound.

  “Need to pee much?” Gray asked and obligingly opened the door. Wolf bounded out—and Gray froze. Standing mere feet away from the door on the shoveled pathway, framed by the banks of snow that stood much taller than her shoulder, was a real wolf. Female. With beautiful long legs and soulful eyes, but
a too thin frame and a coat that had seen better days. Not for the first time, Gray thought how hard winter was on wild animals, how amazing it was that they survived it.

  The female kept a safe distance, but didn’t take off, which surprised Gray.

  Wolf let out a noise Gray had never heard from him before, a puppyish sounding yipping bark. Gray didn’t speak dog that fluently, but even he understood glee when he heard it. Wolf gamboled about, bucking and twisting like he was part donkey, nodding and swinging his head, not showing even a hint of aggression—which also surprised Gray.

  Then Wolf bowed and gave the female a solid nudge, which she returned none too gently, though she appeared to be smiling, much the way Wolf often did.

  “Well, you old son of a gun,” Gray whispered. “That’s where you get off to. You’ve been smarter than me this whole time.”

  Wolf paused at the sound of Gray’s voice, then took off behind his lady as she trotted away.

  Gray watched the beautiful duo until they disappeared into the woods. Then he shut the door heavily, feeling every bit of his none-too-old age and his own feral longings. The sentiment made him roll his eyes. That’s it. He’d officially lost it. He was jealous of a couple of canines!

  Settling back into his chair with a refreshed mug of tea, Gray once again wasted time with a wish—that he had walked out when the weather was at its coldest, despite the heavy snow. That he had tried, at least, to reach their tree to leave a note for Mia . . . but the weather had been too bad, even with snowshoes. And now it wasn’t cold enough. The river wouldn’t be frozen enough for safe passage and the season had changed before he had a chance to fix the bridge, which he had determined did indeed need repair. It would probably support him, might even last years as it was, but he couldn’t trust it fully. No, he had to face facts. By the time he was able to get back to Mia, it wouldn’t be “back to Mia” at all. She’d be long gone, either living in town, running her business, or having rejoined her mom and sister.

  Either way, she was lost to him—a part of the living world, while he was just . . . apart.

  He’d gotten what he’d wanted and worked so hard for. He was alone.

  Chapter 25

  Mia stepped onto Sockeye’s deck and stretched her arms up as far as she could, breathing deeply. She’d had a very productive morning and early afternoon finishing lyrics to music she’d written the previous week. It felt great to be outside in the—of all the marvelous, welcome and miraculous things—sunshine. Was spring really on its way? Say it wasn’t so! There was a touch of heat to the sun now, instead of the mere chilly glare that had been its signature the past few months when it bothered to show its face at all.

  A twinge of wistfulness followed those thoughts. Spring, as much as she longed for it, would also be a kind of ending this year, not just a beginning. It would be the end of her time at River’s Sigh. The end of her silly, if persistent, fantasy that stupid Gray would come to his senses, realize that he loved her and couldn’t live without her, and come charging out of the bush—preferably without a shirt, like the first time she’d surprised him at his cabin. (Hey, it was her fantasy. If she wanted him shirtless in early February in northern BC, so be it!)

  She didn’t laugh at the inner joking, however, because something twanged. She wanted him to realize that he loved her? Did that mean she loved him? Could you love someone who didn’t return the sentiment? Of course. It was the definition of unrequited. But could you love someone when you’d only known them for a couple of months? Pining for them when they were out of the picture for an equal amount of time shouldn’t count—but did it? She didn’t know. Not for the first time, the irony struck her. She’d made a career as a kid singing about love. How laughable. At least some of her big hits had been about love gone wrong and general angst and confusion . . . that she could honestly relate to. The other stuff? She’d had boyfriends, even a few serious ones, but considered herself too young to settle down. And then she’d met Ryland and been so badly injured. The physical damage she’d suffered proved easiest to heal. Her mental and emotional wounds lingered.

  And now, despite all evidence that she’d turned an important corner mending-wise, part of her still worried she was permanently stunted. In the ways of the heart she was about as confident and wise as a fifteen-year-old. Actually, the average fifteen-year-old probably felt more equipped than she did.

  She exhaled loudly and stretched downwards, placing her hands flat-palmed on the deck’s cold planks. This line of thinking wasn’t doing her any good. She couldn’t change what had or hadn’t happened in the past. She could only control what she did going forward. She clearly had yearnings for connection, for a partner—even, if she was honest with herself, for a soul mate. And that’s what Gray had felt like, with all their tough workouts, long comfy silences, and equally long, rambling conversations and note exchanges.

  But Gray didn’t feel the same, so where did that leave her? Should she see if she could find someone else who fit her quirks the way he did? Maybe start dating again? No. The knowledge came to her hard and sure. At least not right now. The only person she could imagine allowing anything remotely sexual with was Gray and even with him, she was terrified her fantasies only went there because it was so clearly safe—as in not happening.

  So that was that. Unless she miraculously developed desire for someone other than Gray, she wouldn’t subject herself or anyone else to dating. A person could—and she would—live a very full life on their own.

  She grabbed her new backpack and slipped it on as was her habit these days, then stepped off the deck. Even on the trails she’d already forged, the travel was hard going. The snow was starting to melt and she broke through the hard pack every few steps. Still, the air was sweet and full of the promise of longer days and increasing light, and it was great to not be cooped up.

  A good hour or so later, still enjoying her walk but feeling like it was colder than she’d initially thought and wondering if she should’ve worn her winter jacket, not just a shell, she realized she’d unconsciously sought out the Secret Keeper again. She sighed heavily. She really was pathetic, but since she was there she rummaged around inside the old tree. Nothing.

  She turned to head back to the cabin, but didn’t feel ready to be shut in for the night yet—and Sam and Jo both had prior engagements, so she wouldn’t be able to visit them the way she’d started doing most evenings now too, not just mornings.

  She paused contemplatively, thumbs hooked in her backpack’s straps, staring up at the sky. The soft gray was hard to read but seemed bright enough. She figured she still had time before the light disappeared. She hadn’t gone further east than the Secret Keeper before—Gray’s cabin was north—and the idea of exploring a bit more was exhilarating. She hadn’t forgotten how the slightest noises, water dripping, branches snapping, any rustle or commotion, had unhinged her when she first arrived at River’s Sigh, made her feel watched, followed, threatened. . . . Now the sounds of nature being nature felt familiar, friendly, like something she was a part of—like home.

  Also, though she knew she’d see Sam and Jo lots, even once she’d moved into town, she probably wouldn’t explore the back part of River’s Sigh very much in the future. There’d be other places to see, other things to do.

  Pulling her zipper higher and flipping her jacket’s collar so it protected her neck better from the lowering temperature, Mia struck out again. Say what you will, she thought, walking long distances through snow is a better workout than flat out sprinting.

  Noticing the snow pack was considerably shallower beyond a scrubby ridge of snow-beaten, flattened brush, Mia decided to maneuver through it, so she could walk on easier ground. Then, glancing at the sky again, she set a timer on her phone. She didn’t want to get caught in the dark. After fifteen minutes, she’d start back home.

  She’d gone maybe thirty paces, lost in thought, when a somehow familiar yet not instantly recognizable sound caught her attention. Her ears perked. Was it
a slight rushing? A wet sound?

  Mia studied the landscape. Then she spotted something and froze. A black ribbon cut through the snow, opening wider here and there—far too close for comfort. Recognition sank like a weight through her limbs. Was she really such an idiot? Had she actually climbed onto the river for easier walking? She shivered. No worries. She’d just turn around now and ease herself back to the brush that must’ve—stupid her!—marked the bank.

  She took a slow step, then another. The awkwardness of her gait compared to the comfortable ease she’d moved with moments earlier would’ve been hilarious, except . . . what was that? A large stone sticking through a spot she’d previously stepped? The ice would be thinner around a rock, so she stepped wide to be on the safe side. There was no sharp cracking sound, just a creak so subtle she wouldn’t have even noticed it except that she felt her boot sink.

  She tried to shift quickly right, but miscalculated the speed and depth to which her boot sank. She staggered and the extra weight on her already downward pressing leg was too much. Her boot broke all the way through. For a second, the sensation was so unfamiliar, her brain couldn’t process it. And then it did. Water so cold it didn’t even feel like water, it felt like blades, cut through her submerged denim-clad leg.

  She was caught in a hole in the ice on the river, one leg thigh deep, one leg still above water, angled against the snow-buried ice in a clumsy split.

  Houston, we have a problem.

  She wracked her brain. What was the best way to cross thin ice? Right, on her belly then, if she could manage it, so her weight was more evenly distributed. The problem was she couldn’t get her leg out—and fell heavily to her butt trying to. Immediately, the weight of her sank just enough that the black water soaked the seat of her jeans. No, no, no!