“Okay.” She set the coffee down on the table, and they sat down.
“What’s Jonah’s favorite food?”
She was expecting questions about their history, Jonah’s condition, what she’d been doing the past few years. His inquiry was a pleasant surprise. “Fish sticks. With ketchup, not tartar sauce.”
He gave an expected grimace. She could barely stomach how Jonah doused his fish sticks in a sea of ketchup, either.
“Favorite color?”
“Green.”
She watched as Josh scribbled the answers on one of his cards.
“Sport?”
This was a tough one. Josh was a gifted athlete, having played lots of sports in school, and he was a fierce competitor. “Jonah doesn’t really do sports.” She watched Josh’s face fall a bit—had he already jumped to visions of a father-son game of catch? “He likes his Legos and puzzle trucks best. But he also likes to fish.”
“Fish.” There was an unmistakable undertone of disappointment in Josh’s voice.
It shouldn’t be so hard to do, but Jean felt resistance stiffen her spine even as she said, “As a matter of fact, we’re going fishing this afternoon. You can come with us, if you like.”
“Fishing.” The single word was nearly a gulp.
Jean tried not to smile. “There’s not a steep learning curve here. Even you could do it. In fact, I expect Jonah could teach you. I’m sure we could rustle you up a pole.”
Josh pursed his lips and scratched his chin. “Fishing sounds...fun. Sure, I’ll come.” He did not look like he considered fishing anywhere near fun, but his befuddled agreement was enjoyable to watch, indeed. He pulled another card from the holder. “What else do I need?”
Jean had no doubt that if she produced a twelve-item list, Josh would walk across the street to Bill Williams’ Catch Your Match Outfitters and clean out the store’s inventory. “Do you have a pair of shoes you’re willing to get muddy?”
She watched him narrow one eye in contemplation of whatever footwear he’d brought. “Maybe.”
“Then you’re set. We’ve got flies, and I’ll just add one more to the picnic lunch we ordered from Wanda.”
He jumped on that. “Let me tackle lunch. Tackle. Lunch. Look at me. I’ve mastered fishing humor already.”
“Okay.” Jean laughed, picturing Josh negotiating picnic fare with Wanda. “Wanda has the order. Take it from there.”
He pocketed the cards and rubbed his hands together, looking less like the tech magnate than she’d seen since his arrival. “Fishing. Going fishing with my son. Easy enough. I’ve done marketing. I know the basics of how to reel in a customer. I can do this.”
Jean realized, with an amused warmth, that he was convincing himself. From behind all the doubt and anxiety, a tiny chance that they might actually work this out could be felt.
Tiny, but insistent.
Chapter Seven
Oh, dear, Jean thought to herself that afternoon as Josh walked up the street in full fisherman’s regalia. I’m going to have to have a talk with Bill Williams about ethical salesmanship.
She’d told Josh not to buy anything. She’d told him they would find things for him to borrow. But one look at Josh told her he’d cleaned out Bill’s inventory as she’d suspected he would. Right down to the top-of-the-line hip waders and what looked like the most expensive rod and reel Bill carried.
Josh tipped his “Fish Matrimony Valley” bucket cap in a comical salute. “What do you think?”
Jean swallowed a laugh and shook her head. “I think some parts of you haven’t changed.” If Bill thought he’d pulled one over on a city slicker, he was wrong. Sure, Josh had always been known to insist on the best equipment no matter what he did, but one look at Josh’s eyes told her he knew exactly what he was doing in going overboard. This spending spree was for Jonah’s—and probably Bill’s—benefit, and a disobedient corner of her heart warmed at the gesture.
“I haven’t had that much fun emptying my wallet in ages. Bill’s a riot.” Jean could just imagine Bill’s smile widening with every upscale gadget Josh added to the classic multipocketed fishing vest he now wore. “We came up with two T-shirts to add to his groomsman package. What do you think of ‘She’ll never be the one that got away’?”
For a split second, the poignancy of that statement squeezed her heart. Did he ever think of her that way? She hadn’t had time or energy to even think about dating since her return to her valley, but Josh must surely be considered at catch in his. Had there been women in his life since she left? Serious relationships? Jonah’s tug at her arm, accompanied by a less-than-tactful point and giggle, left no time to ponder the thought.
She gave Jonah’s hand a sharp squeeze, forcing a reprimanding look and a “Hush” finger to her lips. Impolite as it was, she couldn’t really blame Jonah—Josh did look like a cartoon sales catalog version of a fly fisherman.
Instead of being insulted, it merely sent Josh into a good-natured shrug. “Too much? I was going for impressive.”
She allowed herself a laugh. “I think you might have detoured to ‘expensive’ along the way.” She caught Jonah’s eye and signed, “Are you impressed?”
Rather than sign his answer, Jonah simply shook his head in a vigorous way that required no translation. He signed “silly” and “funny” with a goofy smile that let her know Jonah found these to be highly positive attributes in their new fishing companion.
“What’d he say?” The slight tone of anxious doubt in Josh’s voice slid under Jean’s resistance.
“He said you’re silly and funny. Compliments, coming from Jonah.”
Josh leaned down to Jonah’s level and, to her surprise, made the sign for “Thank you.”
Someone had been studying. For all the years she’d resented Josh ignoring her, she didn’t know how to take his efforts at attention now. It was still classic overcompensating Josh—still the genius doing everything 150 percent and then some—but it reminded her of what it was like to have that laser-beam focus trained in her direction. When Josh Tyler paid attention to you, it was like a brilliant beam of wonder. And that beam was always enthralling—until the next thing dragged his attention elsewhere.
“Shall we head to the creek?” she said and signed at the same time.
Jonah’s nod sent them on their way, Josh’s squeaky new gear making a whole chorus of noises as he fell in step beside her.
She couldn’t resist. “We won’t really need waders where we’re going, you know.”
“Bill said so. But how many times does a man get to buy rubber overalls? Besides, my COO, Matt, always says when we’re in deep trouble that it’s ‘time to get out the hip waders.’ I can’t wait to pull these out of my office closet next time he makes that crack.”
Jean peered at the label on the waders, recognizing the expensive brand. “Rather a high price for a joke, don’t you think?”
“Some of the local businesses don’t seem to be quite convinced that wedding guests will spend money here on things that aren’t cakes and dresses and flowers.”
It didn’t take a detective to know who had groused. “Wanda gave you her standard speech?”
“Maybe. I just figured I was in a perfect position to pile a little evidence onto your campaign. Sometimes a dose of hard cash makes the point all the words in the world can’t.” When she looked at him, a bit stunned at his unexpected words, he gave a dismissive smile. “Win-win.”
Another invasion of memory. “Win-win” was a phrase Josh used all the time. It had made their splitting up—which was a hefty dose of win-lose or even lose-lose—that much harder to accept. When she’d come home to the valley, it seemed as though everyone except Josh had lost. Her, the baby the growing inside her and then Dad.
Jonah tugged her hand, signing “know how fish?” and pointing to Josh.
“
Jonah is asking if you know how to fish,” she relayed.
Josh made a grave face and pinched his fingers together in the sign for “no” while shaking his head as vigorously as Jonah had earlier. “No.” He looked at Jean. “Not even a little.”
It pleased her that she didn’t need to relay Josh’s response. It pleased her even more when Jonah’s chest puffed up and he signed, “I show you.”
“I’ll show you,” she voiced Jonah’s reply, a glow at her son’s gentle, open spirit surging up as it always did.
Josh smiled and nodded at Jonah, then caught Jean’s eyes as they continued walking. “I was hoping he’d say that.”
“I never doubted it. For all the barriers he faces, Jonah doesn’t see the world as full of strangers. Life here in the valley gave that to him. It’s one of the reasons I’m fighting for our future.”
They’d walked for a moment or two before Josh said, “San Jose is filled with strangers. Half the people I know are strangers, if that makes any sense.”
It was the first admission he’d made that his California life wasn’t everything they’d dreamed. She’d seen his weariness. It drew down the edges of his eyes, slumped his shoulders just a bit when he answered his continually buzzing cell phone. She was curious to see if he’d actually admit to it, if he’d trust her enough to peel back the gleam of his exceptional career.
“Are you happy?” Dad used to ask her that all the time, saying it was one of the simplest and yet most complex questions there were.
Josh looked at her, his startled expression giving way to an air of nostalgia. “You always asked questions like that.”
“Nobody asks questions like that in California?”
“We’re in one of the most beautiful parts of the country. We’re all supposed to be happy. Or in therapy. Doesn’t seem to be much room for anything in between out there.” It wasn’t a boast; Josh’s words had a wistful quality she wouldn’t have attributed to a man of his success.
“Well, as mayor of Matrimony Valley, I’ll argue that I live in one of the most beautiful parts of the country.”
“And are you happy?” He turned her words back on her—he was always very good at doing that.
Was she? Since Dad’s death, no one else had ever asked. She considered evading the question as Josh had deftly done, but opted for honesty. “I’m content.”
He exhaled. “Not always the same thing, is it?”
“A lot of people are struggling here. People who always thought the mill would be their job, that hard work would pay off and their children would have a bright future. Somehow that deal has been broken, and they’re bitter. Change is hard for them.”
“I didn’t ask about the valley, I asked about you. Are you happy?”
“You mean do I ever regret the choice I made to stay here?”
“Well—” he shifted the fishing hat so that it hid less of his eyes “—it’s all wrapped up together, isn’t it?” He seemed more of a man wearing a fisherman costume than an ordinary novice fisherman—something Jonah seemed to find amusing. Every few steps Jonah would look up at his new fishing buddy and just laugh.
“True,” she conceded.
“True’s not an answer.”
She gave him a look. “Neither is ‘everyone’s supposed to be happy.’”
Now it was Josh who laughed. “I never could get away with anything with you.”
They’d reached her and Jonah’s favorite fishing spot, and Jonah rushed forward to plunk his tiny tackle box down on the stump he always claimed as “his.” Aware they had reached their destination, Josh took a moment to look around him. He gave the awed exhale she always heard from first-time visitors to spots like this—the valley could take a soul’s breath away on a clear spring day. Dad, and even Grandpa, had said spots like this restored him when the strain of work and worry grew too great. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Josh whistled. “Sure is. The California coast feels like nature showing off, you know? Dramatic vistas, crashing waves, all that. This is...”
“God telling you He’s got it all covered,” Jean finished for him. “Peace like a river and all that. Now you see why this has been a favorite spot of Matrims for generations.”
“Matrims for generations,” Josh repeated. “When my father said phrases like that, it was usually wrapped in some expectation I hadn’t met. Sounds like a reassurance when you say it.”
She set down the picnic basket Josh had brought over from Watson’s Diner. “It is. I feel Daddy in lots of places in the valley, but here most of all. To everyone else this is Jasper Creek, but to Jonah and I this is ‘Grandpa’s River.’” She signed the words for “Grandpa” and “river,” enjoying the smile it brought to Jonah’s face.
She watched as Josh carefully imitated the signs, saying “Grandpa’s river, huh?”
Jonah enthusiastically pointed his two index fingers, bumping his small fists one on top of the other as he made the sign for “Right!”
“Ha!” Josh said, giving a triumphant grin of his own. “No translation needed there. Maybe this won’t be so hard.”
“Hang on there, Gizmo Guy,” Jean said, amazed how easily her old nickname for Josh slipped out. “You haven’t put a line in the water yet.”
* * *
Gizmo Guy.
It felt like he’d been Gizmo Guy a lifetime ago. If you would have told Gizmo Guy he’d be trotting toward a mountain creek in this getup while scrambling to make conversation with his son—his son...the concept still shocked him to the bones—he’d never have believed it. For a man who was living out the dream he’d had since freshman year of college, some parts of life looked nothing like what he had in mind.
And Jean—she was so different from the Jean who he thought would be beside him in California, and yet she was still Jean. The soft sweetness that drew him to her back in school, that grounded him in the crazy early days of SymphoCync, was still there. She’d been crazy and adventurous back then, but there had always been a lightness and airiness to her that felt like the necessary counterbalance to the loud whiz-bang of his own personality. It struck him, as he watched her get Jonah settled with a mother’s careful attention, that he’d measured every woman since against her.
And found them lacking. The few women he’d made time for—if you could call his paltry dating career that—had struck him as needy and bossy. Relationships always seemed to take more energy than they gave. Too busy to be lonely, he simply stopped trying. Not that his career didn’t attract would-be girlfriends—he could have company anytime he wanted it—it just never seemed to be worth the effort when they didn’t ground him the way Jean always had.
It wasn’t that he was a confirmed bachelor, it was that he was a perfectionist. Jean had felt perfect, then she was gone. Should he have gone after her? Maybe. But the fact that he hadn’t just proved her point, didn’t it? Still, no woman in his life had ever come as close to perfect as Jean.
Which was ironic, because now they were tethered to each other in as faulty a situation as he could imagine. Every step forward felt like choosing between less-than-perfect solutions—each option held as many marks in the “con” column as in the “pro.” That was, if you could boil a child’s life down into pros and cons, which he was pretty sure Jean would never condone.
He stared at the pile of gear Bill Williams had sold him, only vaguely remembering some of the how-tos Bill had provided. “So, you know how all this stuff works?” he asked Jean. She looked so at home, whereas he felt, well, like a fish out of water.
She gave his new gear a dubious look. “I know the basics. Bill would say the art of fly-fishing takes a lifetime to master.”
“And yet a five-year-old can do it, so it should be within the grasp of your standard Gizmo Guy, right?” He opened the “starter kit” of twelve flies, stumped as to which one he ought to put on his line. “Which one, Jona
h?”
Jean alternated loose fists up and down—the sign for “which,” he guessed, and he imitated her, then held out the assortment.
With all the solemnity a five-year-old can muster, Jonah considered, then pointed to one.
“Best for whatever fish we’re catching?” he asked Jean.
She laughed. “No, he just likes green.”
It seemed as good a strategy as any. He smiled as he plucked the small hook with its artful display of tiny feathers and held it up. “Green it is.”
The next hour was like something out of a nature documentary. The clear sky sparkled sun across the water flowing around him. His gangling, awkward attempts at casting slowly became an easier, more graceful rhythm. The slowness of it, the unhurried presentness of it, surprised him. He thought he’d be enduring an afternoon of boring fishing for the sake of spending time with his son. Instead, he found himself reveling in little details like how Jonah laughed, how the boy dangled his fingers in the water, touching the bubbling he could not hear. How deliberately he assembled his gear, even at his young age.
“You used to say you could watch me think,” he ventured, unsure if it was safe to share memories of their past. “I never got it. But you can just see him think, can’t you?”
Jean stared at Jonah for a long moment before answering. “Some days I can’t get over how much he is like you.” The softness in her voice caught him up short before she added, “Or how you were.”
He didn’t know how to reply to that except to say, “I’m not who I was back then. I mean I am, in some ways, but I’m different in others.” He dared a look at her, squinting in the sunlight, her hair blown every which way by the breeze. “So are you.”
She shrugged. “Life goes on, I suppose. I mean, look at you now.” Her tone lacked the admiration people usually displayed when they said those kinds of things to him. She wasn’t impressed by his success. If she felt that success had pushed her from his life, could he really blame her?
His Surprise Son Page 7
