by HJ Bellus
It’s still all the same. I’m out fishing with friends.
“What?” I ask Caleb.
“What’s your story?” he repeats.
I look over at him and then back upstream. Fender splashes out of the water to Guy who is sunning on a set of rocks while Jed strides over to us. He pops the lid on the cooler, reaching in for a cold beer.
Over the last several fishing trips, we’ve seem to grow more comfortable with each other. They’ve never pried or asked any questions until now. Caleb was an open book from day one or at least appeared to be. Jed, on the other hand, has kept his distance, but has warmed up to me in his own time. I catch him staring at me. We both find every excuse to brush past each other for no reason.
“Your story, Marlee?” Caleb takes a step closer, keeping an eye on his line. “Ain’t no one like you come out here without a story. We all got one that haunts us, bringing us to the mountains.”
Jed stares me down. Even though Caleb’s question is directed at me. It’s been two weeks since I answered the phone. Days of wondering, wanting to know more, but haven’t asked. I’ve noticed Jed’s absence recently. I miss our coffee dates. I stare right back at Jed, answering Caleb’s question.
“I was driving. My husband just returned home from deployment. I was in my last trimester of pregnancy with our little girl, Hope. A truck ran a red light, killing both of them.”
It’s a black and white answer covering all the bases. The flat tone of my voice showcasing how hollow I am. Jed swallows, the Adam’s apple in his throat flexing. His knuckles grow white around the beer bottle. Caleb clears his throat but doesn’t attempt to say a word.
“I ran from our home and our family. I call my mom every once in a while, checking in with her. I couldn’t stand to stay there any longer.” The more I talk, the better it makes me feel. “Picked Moore, Idaho, bought a trailer, my dog, fishing pole, and few other items. Drink myself drunk most nights to keep the nightmares away, but those nights are becoming fewer and fewer.”
Fender streaks through our conversation, singing a song at the top of his lungs. He shoves his dad out of the way to get to the cooler. Jed moves with ease, still processing my words. He doesn’t send me a pitying stare.
“I’m sorry, Marlee.” Is all he says before he bends over to help Fender make a turkey sandwich layered with barbecue potato chips.
I brought my own pole today. Haven’t cast it in over a year. The material burns the tender skin of my palm as I cast it out. Guy is at my side, laying his head on my leg. He’s my person, knowing the feat I’m overcoming right now. The water remains calm since Fender is sitting on a blanket eating a sandwich. Jed relaxes down next to him, tipping back his beer.
He never offered up the information, but Caleb did. Jed’s going to town tomorrow to begin the process of beating cancer. Caleb asked if I could help out at the store since their parents will be taking Jed. They’ve been home for three days. It all boiled down to me helping out with Fender. I didn’t even have to think twice about it.
The silence that has fallen over us isn’t awkward or thick with tension. We’re all going through dark times, fighting to find a glimpse of light to bask in. We’re on the same team.
“You got a bite.”
I turn back to see Fender’s head propped on Jed’s thigh with half of his sandwich left in one hand while he sleeps. Jed has his arms behind him, hands planted on the blanket, and legs spread wide.
I turn back to the fishing pole and sure as shit, I have a fish on the other end. I freeze.
“Marlee.” My name comes out in a soft, caring tone from Jed’s lips. “You can do it.”
I nibble on my bottom lip, focusing on his words. My hands begin to reel in the pole in slow and precise movements. I give the pole a jerk like Papa Wally taught me and continue to reel. Soon a large rainbow trout pops up from the water.
“Nice one,” Caleb cheers.
Once the fish is in, I grab it and go about unhooking it. The sharp point of the hook piercing my skin, causing blood to drain from my body. I gasp from the jolt of pain and then smile. I have blood in my body; my heart beats stable and steady, I’m living. I bring my scarred finger to my lips and kiss it.
Happy tears form in my eyes. I keep them at bay. Once the fish is off the hook, I place it in the cooler filled with ice. Once the cooler lid closes, it’s as if I’m closing a door on a part of my life. Not forgetting, but closing the memories and regrets that haunt me. They’ll always be a part of me. But it’s time.
I wash my hands off in the river and dry them on my pants before sitting on the blanket.
“Hungry?” Jed asks in a low voice.
I nod.
“You can have the rest of mine if you want?” He holds out the sandwich wrapped in a paper towel.
“Not hungry?” I ask.
“No.” He grabs his beer, being careful to not rustle Fender and takes a long pull. “Gotta get all these in now.”
I smirk at him and take a bite of the fully loaded turkey sandwich. The Bryant boys not only take their Pop-Tarts serious but food in general. I’ve learned that much over the last few weeks.
“Hey.” I wipe the corner of my mouth with a piece of the paper towel. “You wouldn’t happen to know about anything funny going on around my campsite?”
“Funny?” He raises an eyebrow.
“You could also consider it fishy or someone having too much free time on his hands.” I take another bite and damn, the man knows how to make a good sandwich. Mine always turn out dry. I either don’t use enough slices of lunch meat or my bread is super dry.
“Like?” He pries.
“Where should I start? Seems a little elf has been making nightly visits. I now have four matching chairs to lounge in. They appear to be made by hand. Gorgeous, I might add. The rickety picnic table that was out front is now sturdy with a coat of red paint. Also, a new clothes line is pulled tight between trees, and it’s the perfect height for me to reach.”
He leans back on one elbow, twisting his torso to face me, yet keeping his thigh still. Fender sleeps through all of it.
“Don’t forget about the fire pit.” He winks.
I uncross my legs, kick off my shoes, and bring my knees to my chest, taking the last bite of the sandwich. “Why?”
I lean over and brush the crumbs from my fingers over the rocks instead of on the blanket and toss the paper towel over to the fish cooler. I clutch my knees, waiting on his answer. He holds out his hand to me. I stare at it for a long time before tentatively reaching out for him.
He tugs me to him until we are face-to-face, our positions mirroring one another. I rest my cheek in my palm and wait for his answer.
“Because we all need someone.”
“How did you know?”
“Know what?” he asks.
“I needed someone.”
“You’ve changed since the first day I met you. You’re starting to smile more. You ride your bike to town on a daily basis.” He pauses, studying my lips, and there’s no mistaking that both of us want this. “And mostly because I like to see you smile.”
“You do?” I whisper, a flush of heat covering my face.
He nods.
“You don’t like to stand in the woods and wait for my reaction in the mornings, do you?”
He chuckles softly. “No, you have a good imagination, Marlee.”
I throw my head back. “Ahhhh. Well, thank you. You haven’t stopped in for coffee for a while.”
“Don’t like missing when Fender wakes up. He’s starting to wake up earlier and earlier. Don’t know how, but he is. The coffee was damn good though. I’ve been missing it.”
“And the company?” I ask, glancing down river to see Caleb with his pole in the water. The man loves to fish.
“Nice. Really nice.”
He leans in. I lean in. Our lips brush against each other’s. It’s surreal. Jed’s the first to move, deepening the kiss. I find myself matching each of his actions. It’
s over too soon and before I can blink, we are both pulling back. It was a perfect, tender, sweet kiss.
“Will you sing to me?” I have no idea where that request came from.
Jed Bryant smiles. I’ve seen a genuine smile on his face a few times. His dimples frame his lips, and he slowly nods his head.
“Might be a bit rusty.” He tucks his chin to his chest. “Got any requests?”
“You? Rusty?” I shake my head back and forth. “No way and don’t tell me you’re going to get shy on me now.”
“Haven’t sung other than in the shower, while working, or to Fender in a long damn time.”
“How long?” I ask. A barrier between us has been torn down, letting the unanswered questions free.
“Six months.”
“Do you miss it?”
He nods. “Have a benefit concert coming up in Boise. Just hope I’m well enough to follow through on the commitment.”
“Tell me about it.” I should regret the request, but I don’t.
Caleb and him pushed me to get my past out, and now it’s his turn to share.
“Stage two appendix cancer.” He keeps his voice low and stares at me. “Was feeling like shit. Had severe lower abdominal pain. My manager made me go to the doctor for a complete physical. That’s when they found the cancer and took a hundred different tests. Came home as soon as I got the news. Tomorrow is the big day where my treatment plan will be laid out.”
He barely gets his last word out before my lips are back on his. I kiss him this time, pouring all of my heartache and his into it. We’re both shattered remnants, clinging on for survival.
Fender begins to rustle around on Jed’s thigh.
“Thank you, Marlee.”
Jed leans back and without warning begins singing one of his most popular songs, “Lost.” It’s a raw song about being lost in the world with a shattered heart and no home. It’s beautiful when accompanied with instruments and his band. With him singing, it’s downright bone-chilling. I can’t help the shiver that races through my body. He doesn’t break eye contact until the last verse. His eyes slam shut, and he puts everything he has into it.
Fender wakes from his nap, enjoying the last bit of his daddy’s singing. He climbs up into his lap with sleepy eyes, wiping at them until he has his arms wrapped around Jed’s neck. Fender’s tiny voice joins his dad for the final part.
“More, Daddy. More, pwease.”
Jed kisses his forehead. “You pick this time.”
Fender jumps to his feet, strums his arm in the air, and gives the air a good pelvis thrust. “Ain’t nuffin but a hound dog.”
“I knew it,” Jed muttered and then joined his son.
He picks up singing along with Fender keeping the pace of the song. Jed’s deep, gravelly voice booms out; he taps the rhythm of the song out on his leg. He’s one of those singers that you’d immediately recognize his voice like Brantley Gilbert or Jason Aldean.
Before the final words of the song are finished, Fender throws his hand out, stopping Jed. “Johnny Trash!”
“Cash,” Jed corrects him.
“Trash, that’s what I said.”
Caleb joins us on the blanket, holding up his phone. “Here you go, little man.”
The opening of the song begins to play. Fender strums his air guitar and instructs his dad to do the same. I’m mesmerized by Jed’s fingers as he plays his air guitar with his son. Precise movements and I guarantee he’s playing the right chords. I could watch and listen to this all night. And that’s exactly what we do until the sun goes to sleep behind the mountains.
25
“Always be brave.” –HJ Bellus
Caleb insisted on leaving his truck at my place, so I didn’t have to ride to the store at the crack of dawn. He pushed and pushed, but in the end, I won out. Driving may be one thing I never do. It’s a trigger even when I think about it.
The upside of riding into town this early is the chilly temperatures and vacant roads. Guy stays out in front of the bike, acting as if he’s the pace car. He knows where we’re going. He always bounds right into the store, ignoring the no pets allowed warning.
I used to pull him out only to have Fender wrap his little fingers around his collar and drag him right back into the store. He parades him down the aisles, back into the storage room, and then out back past his playground set.
This morning the store is quiet. The clouds portraying the brooding mood stirring inside of me. The familiar bell above the door sings out. Caleb turns to me. There’s no smile, crack of a joke, or carefree attitude. It’s all gone. He’s worried for his twin.
“Hey,” I squeak out.
He sends me a quick jerk of his head and goes back to counting the money in the cash register. “Fender is still out. Mom, Dad, and Jed just pulled out. You missed them by a few seconds.”
“Is he okay?” I whisper.
“Best he can be.”
“What do you need me to do?”
“Mind walking through the storage room, past the playground, and to the cabin out back? He’s in the third room on the left. You can take Guy.” Caleb offers nothing else, going back to tending to business behind the register.
It’s gutting me to see him so damn distraught and worried about his twin brother. I’ve witnessed glimpses of their connection during the time spent with them. They’re each other’s right hand and always in sync. If Fender’s cup begins to tumble off a counter, Caleb reaches for it if Jed isn’t looking and vice versa. That little boy is the center of their bond.
I walk through the familiar storage room that Fender has coaxed me in to play hide and go seek a handful of times. It reeks of overripe produce and stale cardboard. I could do without the smell. I push through the swinging doors out into the fresh mountain air filling my lungs with it.
The sun well on its way to settling high in the sky for the day. The playground is deserted with an eerie feel lingering over it. It’s almost like a promise of bad news to come. Jed and Caleb’s parents returned home from a short vacation. I haven’t met them yet. I overheard a few heated conversations between Jed and his mom via a phone call. He didn’t want them to come home for this.
The Bryant cabin is one in the area I’d consider a mansion. It’s insanely intricate from the rich wood to the immaculate detail and very private, hidden well by the large pine trees. Gigantic, sturdy steps lead up to the door carved with their last name in it. There’s a swing on one side of the porch and several other lounge chairs on the other side covered in various colorful cushions.
A handful of Fender’s toys litter the porch, making it look like it’s been lived in. My hand trembles on the doorknob because I’m not used to going into somebody else’s house, especially a house where I don’t know the owners because I’ve never met Jed and Caleb’s parents. When I step in, it’s quiet with Guy on my heels, following me. I know what he’s doing. He’s looking for his best friend.
I remember which room Caleb told me, but I’m struck in awe looking around the beautiful home. It’s one of those cabins out of a magazine with an A-frame ceiling, rugged logs, and river rock.
It’s the pictures adorning the walls that take my breath away. Each one strategically is placed and hung with care, preserving years worth of memories. There’s a dozen of Fender throughout the years from when he was a newborn up until now. And if I thought he looked like his dad and uncle, I’m for sure certain he’s a carbon copy of them now.
Then I see them. Just the same as Fender’s pictures from birth throughout the years. In every single picture, Jed and Caleb stand beside each other with an arm wrapped around the other’s shoulder. There are several of them from when they were young and played sports. When they were younger, I have a tough time deciphering who was who.
As they grow older in the frames, it was Jed with the guitar in his hand, and Caleb with a football tucked under his arm. I walk around the expansive, open living room soaking in Jed, the king of country and one sexy man in his element. Hi
s eyes are alive in each shot as he sings for hundreds and thousands. His frame strong and hot as hell, screaming for attention. His signature black t-shirt is stretched across his chest.
Then Caleb who is in a Clemson football jersey, beaming at the camera with pride coating all of his features. I’ve seen the man happy and carefree, but there’s a fire in his eyes in the football pictures. A simple snapshot showcasing the man’s passion.
I spin around and take the room in one last time before going down the entrance of the hallway. The fireplace catches my attention; it’s huge. Scratch that, it’s enormous, framed in river rock varying in muted colors and sizes. On top of the mantel is all of Jed’s music awards. I walk closer to them to inspect each and every one. Entertainer of the year, single of the year, and the list goes on and on and on. Unlike most awards that collect dust, these do not have a single speck on them.
When I glance over, I see more pictures of Caleb and his winning smile, and there’s one of him winning the national college championships. It seems his football story ceased after that picture next to Jed’s awards. There’s not any evidence of his football career. Something doesn’t add up.
I shake all the thoughts free and feel at home even though this is not my home. It’s a painstakingly beautiful cabin filled with love and admiration for a family. I walk down the hall, the hardwood floor creaking underneath my feet. I enter the room to find a bundle of blankets in the middle of the bed. When I walk closer, I see Fender’s black crazy hair poking out in every direction.
I sit on the edge of the bed, and that’s when I see it. A yellow piece of paper folded in half with Fender’s name on the front in a crisp, block handwriting. Next to it is Jed’s cell phone and a single strawberry frosted Pop-Tart.
