Fisher's Light

by Tara Sivec

  Yep, definitely losing my mind.

  I push the attitude and anger deep down and put a smile on my face, walking him to the front door.

  “How about I take you to lunch tomorrow?” Stanford asks. “I have a meeting at the bank at eleven and it shouldn’t take too long. Maybe we can have a picnic on the beach or something.”

  I smile and nod. “That sounds wonderful. I’ll make sure Ellie can cover things here and I’ll meet you at the bank. Say, around noon?”

  “Perfect,” Stanford agrees. “Sleep tight, Luce. And really, don’t worry about tonight.”

  I keep the smile pasted on my face as he gives me another quick peck on the cheek before walking out the door. I make sure not to slam it behind him and take a deep breath as I pace anxiously around the sitting room.

  Damn you, Jefferson Fisher. Why in the hell did you have to come back now, when things were finally starting to look good in my life? Stanford is a good, stable man and he treats me well. I have no business fantasizing about a man who shoved me aside and didn’t want me. The only reason he pulled that shit tonight at the bar was because he saw me with Stanford and couldn’t handle it. Why the hell he thinks he has any reason to be jealous is beyond me. His ego probably couldn’t stand the idea that someone else would actually want me after he ripped me apart. The next time I see him, I’m going to make it perfectly clear that he needs to stay the hell away from me. I’m sure Melanie would be more than happy to pick up where they left off last year.

  Chapter 11

  Fisher’s Therapy Journal

  Memory Date: February 25, 2014

  I’m a monster.

  If there was a stronger word to describe the person I’ve become, I would use it, but this will have to do until I can come up with something better.

  I shouldn’t have turned the light on. I should’ve remained in the dark and tried to convince myself that what happened tonight wasn’t real, but lying here with the soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminating the room, I can’t take my eyes off of the evidence of my disgusting behavior.

  Not even an impromptu dip in the ocean after Lucy went upstairs to get ready for bed could clear the horrible images from my mind. As soon as she left the kitchen, I walked right out the back door, down the steps to the beach and into the ocean, still wearing my military hiking boots and camo pants. I dropped down into the water, fully clothed, and wished for the water to wash away the shit I’d just done to my wife.

  For the first time, my head is filled with the horror of what I did to Lucy instead of what I did overseas, and I want to scream until my throat is raw.

  Lucy sleeps peacefully next to me on her stomach and I gently trail my hands down her naked back, stopping when I get to her hips.

  The hips that are covered in bruises roughly the size and shape of my fingers.

  Jesus, I left marks on her. My beautiful, perfect girl and I marked her with my anger and the need that consumed me so completely when I walked in the door and saw her standing there that I couldn’t control it. The entire plane ride home, all I could think about was wrapping her in my arms and letting her skin and her soft touch wash away all the dark and evil things I saw the past year. I didn’t even stop off at a hotel like I usually do to change into civilian clothes. I didn’t shower, I didn’t shave; it was all I could do to get to her as fast as possible before my mind ripped in half.

  I walked through that door and saw her standing there in a pair of drawstring pants that hugged her hips and legs and a tight tank top with no bra and all I could think about was being inside of her. All I could concentrate on was burying myself in her so deep that all the bad thoughts went away. I charged at her like an animal and I took her against the wall like a rabid beast. I was punishing her for being so soft and sweet and beautiful when all I’d known for the last year was hard and awful and ugly. I don’t deserve her. I don’t deserve to have her sitting here waiting for me, day after day, month after month. I don’t deserve to come home to someone like her who loves me so completely, even when my body and my mind take me away from her and make me forget how good I have it.

  I try to swallow past the lump in my throat as I gently run my fingers over the bruises on her hips, but it’s no use. The tears pool in my eyes and fall down my face. I love her so much and all I’m doing is hurting her. The one person in my life who never lets me down and all I keep doing is breaking her apart. I let her down every time I leave, I let her down every time she has to handle something alone, I let her down when I come home and I’m not myself because I’m still stuck in a place halfway across the world and I let her down by touching her with anything other than loving hands and worshipful kisses.

  I never even got a chance to say her name or tell her I love her or how much I missed her. I didn’t say a word to her tonight, so afraid that I would scream and cry and break down right in front of her if I opened my mouth. She puts up with so much from me, I can’t add that to the mix, as well. She would want to fix me, to put her life on hold to help me, and I can’t allow that. She’s already sacrificed so much. How can I continue doing this to her? How can I continue putting her though this when I’m not sure the bullshit in my head will ever go away? In the past, a few months between me and a combat zone and my Lucy were all it took to battle the demons that crawled into my head, but this go-round, the nightmares are getting worse instead of better with each mile I put between myself and the war. I won’t be going on another deployment thanks to the shrapnel I took to the back of my shoulder and the resulting nerve damage, but that doesn’t mean I’ll start to forget. It doesn’t mean the horrors I’ve witnessed all these years will just suddenly disappear from my mind.

  I choke back sobs as I lean forward and press my lips against the bruised skin of her hip. Lucy sighs in her sleep and I hold perfectly still, not wanting to wake her. I came up to bed after sitting in the water, stripped out of my wet clothes and curled up against her, willing sleep to come, but it never did. I just held onto her sleeping body and tried to forget about what I’d done until it was too much to take and I had to turn on the light to make sure it really happened.

  I wish she had screamed at me when I took her like that against the wall. I wish she’d told me to stop, pushed me away, forced me to look into her eyes and see her and realize what I was doing to her. I’m consumed with so much guilt that I don’t even know how to breathe. My chest feels tight and my heart rate starts picking up, feelings I’ve come to recognize as the beginning of a panic attack.

  Moving as quietly as I can out of bed so I don’t disturb her, I try to slow my quickening breaths as I hurry out into the hallway and to the bathroom. My hands shake so hard that I can barely get the door closed and locked behind me. I flip on the light and take huge, gulping breaths as my heart beats faster and faster until it feels like it’s going to explode out of my chest. I run cold water and cup it in my hands, counting to a hundred in my head as I repeatedly splash my face. I glance up into the mirror and, instead of seeing just my own reflection with water dripping down my face, I see a man standing next to me wearing a white and black checkered scarf over his head, nose and mouth with a machine gun pointed right at my skull.

  I let out a panicked shout as I whirl around and throw my hands up over my head to protect myself from the enemy. When I turn, I’m met with nothing but an empty bathroom behind me. Sobbing, I drop to my knees on the cold, tile floor. With my head in my hands, I rock back and forth, making a vow to never again allow Lucy to suffer because of my demons. I can’t do this to her anymore. I can’t trust myself around her and I refuse to hurt her again like I did tonight. God only knows what will happen if things get worse, and I do feel like they’re getting worse. It’s too hard to distinguish reality from fantasy. I’ve already hurt her countless times in the middle of the night with nightmares I can’t control, and I continue to hurt her every time she tries to help me and I push her away. She is my heart, my soul, my everything and I know it’s only a matter of time before I d
o something that could possibly kill her. The tears come fast and hard at the thought that my beautiful, amazing wife could be taken from this earth by my own hands. I won’t let that happen. I won’t let her fall down this hole with me. If I have to fall, I’m going to do it on my own where I won’t hurt anyone, especially her. I know she’ll never leave me on her own. She loves me too much to turn her back on me when she knows I’m hurting, so I’ll have to push her away.

  I have to make her leave so that I can never hurt her again.

  Chapter 12

  Lucy

  Present Day

  “Damn, bitch! You look hot!”

  I smile at Ellie when she whistles at me as I walk into the registration area of the front room. I do a little twirl and curtsey for her, laughing when she gives me a slow golf clap. With a teal, form fitting tank top that comes to a vee in the front and ties up around my neck, my boobs look pretty good, if I do say so myself. The incredibly short, white jean shorts I have on make my tan legs look longer than they normally do and the teal and white wedges on my feet bring me up a good three inches, adding to the illusion. I left my strawberry blonde hair straight, hanging around my bare shoulders and down my back, and I added a few peach bangle bracelets to my wrist. It’s not much, but aside from wearing a dress last night, it’s more fancy than my usual.

  “Nice, very nice. Stanford won’t be able to keep his hands off of you,” Ellie informs me.

  I blush, thinking about what happened last night over there on the couch in this very room. I’m pretty sure Stanford will be keeping his hands off of me for a while after that. It doesn’t matter, though. I’m going to relax with a picnic on the beach with the man I’m dating. The sun is shining and there is only a light breeze coming in off the ocean, so we won’t have to worry about sand flying all over the place, getting into our food. It’s a perfect day on Fisher’s Island, and I’m not going to let anything ruin it.

  “That little weasel better keep his hands to himself,” Trip grumbles as he walks in from the front porch and stands in the middle of the room, looking me up and down.

  “Oh, please. Like you weren’t just like that little weasel back in the day,” Ellie laughs at him. “I’m sure you had a line of ladies just begging you to put your hands on them.”

  Trip raises his eyebrow at her and harrumphs. “Of course I did. Have you looked at me lately?”

  Ellie laughs even harder, skipping around the counter and throwing her arms around Trip’s neck. “You are the best grandpa in the entire world. I’m going to adopt you.”

  Trip shakes his head at her behavior and then eyes me again. “I take it you’re going to see Salamander?”

  I roll my eyes and shake my head at him. “It’s Stanford and yes, we’re going on a picnic after he gets out of his meeting at the bank.”

  “Heard you ran into Fisher last night at Barney’s,” he says nonchalantly as he runs his hand over the top of a side table and tries to jiggle it, pretending like he’s checking it for a loose leg.

  “Don’t play coy, it’s beneath you,” I tell him. “The entire town knows I ran into Fisher last night, Trip. What’s your point?”

  He shrugs, folding his arms across his chest as he looks me in the eye. “Don’t really have a point, Lucy girl. I’m just wondering about all the sparks I heard were flying between the two of you, that’s all. If I were Santana, I wouldn’t take too kindly to my woman getting all hot and bothered over another man.”

  “Oh, my God,” I mutter. “STANFORD. His name is Stanford and I didn’t get all hot and bothered.”

  “Yeah, you were pretty hot and bothered,” Ellie agrees.

  I glare at her. “You weren’t even there, how do you know?”

  “Word travels fast in this small town, my friend. Also, Bobby called me right after you left the bar,” she informs me with a sneaky smile.

  “I’m leaving. To go on my date with STANFORD. You two yentas enjoy gossiping like a bunch of little old ladies,” I tell them with a huff as I grab my purse from the desk and walk around them, out the door. “You can also be prepared to explain to me why Bobby has your cell phone number when last I heard, you couldn’t stand the guy.”

  I watch Ellie’s smile fall and a nervous look come over her face. She’s definitely going to explain that shit later. Bobby’s been hitting on her since the day I brought her to this island and all she’s ever done is complain about how annoying he is and how she wouldn’t date him if he were the last man on earth. Unless the Apocalypse hit and I didn’t hear about it, something is going on with those two.

  Leaving Trip and Ellie behind to most likely talk about me, I decide against taking one of the inn’s golf carts into town and walk the ten blocks instead. It’s a gorgeous day and I want to enjoy it. I still have a half hour before Stanford will be out of his meeting, plenty of time for a leisurely walk.

  I quickly realize the error of my decision as I walk down Main Street. The sidewalks are filled with the first crowd of vacationers window-shopping since this weekend is the official start of our busy season, but they are also filled with busybody townies. They stand in doorways or sit on lawn chairs and benches in front of businesses, chatting back and forth about the happenings on the island. Clearly, what happened last night at Barney’s is the only exciting thing going on right now, even with the island overflowing with out-of-towners constantly doing stupid shit. I hear my name and Fisher’s name whispered several times as I walk by, smiling and waving at people uncomfortably. I hasten my steps until I get to the front of Fisher’s Bank and Trust right as the front doors open and Stanford walks out to meet me.

  “Good timing, I just got finished,” he tells me, leaning in to kiss my cheek. “You look beautiful.”

  He grabs my hands and holds my arms out to the side so he can look at me.

  “Absolutely beautiful,” he reiterates. “But do you think those shorts are a bit…short for you?”

  I look down at myself and try not to roll my eyes. They’re called shorts for a reason. There’s not much length to them, but my ass isn’t hanging out and they fit me perfectly. Stanford isn’t the type of man to ever dress casually, even for a picnic on the beach, so I just smile at him and shrug, letting his comment slide rather than get into an argument with him about my clothing choices.

  He keeps hold of one of my hands as we cross the street and head over to the outdoor farmer’s market. “Listen, about last night…”

  I bite down on my bottom lip to keep myself from telling him that we should never, ever talk about that again.

  “I’m sorry about the way I reacted,” he continues. “I wanted to kick my own ass when I got home.”

  I let out the breath I was holding, assuming he was going to call me crazy again, and let him continue.

  “Really, how stupid am I? I had a beautiful, sexy woman in my arms and I pushed her away when she finally gave me the green light,” he laughs.

  I don’t correct him, even though I should. I really, really should. I don’t want him to think that it’s time to move this relationship into warp speed, regardless of my behavior the previous night.

  “I’m an idiot and I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t make you feel bad. I never want to make you feel bad, Luce,” he tells me softly.

  I smile up at him as we walk through the tables of produce, throwing things into a basket that we can take down to the beach.

  “It’s fine, don’t worry about it. I was a little out of sorts last night, anyway,” I explain as we make our way to the register.

  “It was because of Jefferson, wasn’t it?” he asks as I set the basket on the counter and start pulling our wares out of it.

  “It’s Fisher, and yes, he’s part of the reason.”

  I have no idea why I corrected him when he called Fisher, Jefferson. Why do I care if he gets Fisher’s name wrong? It’s not like Fisher gave a rat’s ass about saying his name wrong over and over. I even called him Jefferson myself last night, but that was just to piss him off. He h
ates that he shares a name with his father.

  “It’s hard running into an ex again for the first time, it’s completely understandable. I just want you to know that I’m here for you. Whatever you need, I’m not going anywhere. I really care for you, Luce. I want to make this work and see where it goes.”

  I nod and smile without saying anything in return. I should agree with him and tell him that I want to make this work, too. I should tell him that he makes me happy and that it’s been a long time since I’ve had a reason to smile, but nothing comes out of my mouth.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see my mother a few tables away and I lift my arm and wave, flagging her over to check us out. My parents had me pretty late in life; my mother was forty-five and my father was fifty-one when I was born. Even though running the inn soon became too much for them, my mother isn’t the type of person who can just sit around and do nothing but fish all day like my father. She likes to stay busy, so during the summer months, she helps out at the farmer’s market on weekends.

  “Lu-Lu, I didn’t know you were coming by the market today,” my mother tells me as I lean over the table and kiss the cheek that she turns up for me. I got both my short stature and my looks from my mother. In her late sixties, Evelyn Butler refuses to grow old gracefully. She still has the same dark, strawberry blonde hair as myself, though Mom’s is now courtesy of her standing appointment at Sally’s House of Beauty every six weeks. She wears her hair in the same short, straight bob that she has for all of my life and, even after years of baking her skin in the summer sun, she still has a great complexion, with freckles across her nose and cheeks that match mine.