by Tara Sivec
I hate the sound of disgust in his voice when he mentions my relationship with Stanford. It’s none of his business who I choose to date and, regardless of the fact that his bank owns my loan, it’s none of his business what I do with the inn as long as I’m not late again with my mortgage payments. It’s been touch and go for a while now, but I’m making it work. I will do whatever it takes to make it work and he needs to back the hell off.
“I appreciate your concern, Mr. Fisher, but Butler House has always been a part of my family and that’s where it’s going to stay,” I tell him in the nicest voice possible and try not to grit my teeth. “I think it’s about time you worry about your own family instead of what I’m doing with my life. Maybe if you concentrated on the intelligent man that is your flesh and blood, you wouldn’t have so much free time to worry about what I’m doing.”
It feels so good to tell this man what I think of him that I don’t even stop to think about someone overhearing. I’ve held my tongue for so many years out of respect for Fisher, but now that we aren’t together, I don’t have to do that anymore.
“You have a son who is smart, honest, creative and has a very good head on his shoulders. Just because he did something different with his life than what you planned for him doesn’t give you the right to shit all over him and pretend like he doesn’t exist. Fisher is a better man than you’ll ever be on his worst day, and it’s nothing but sad and pathetic that you can’t even see what is right in front of your face. All these years, he’s done everything you’ve asked except work in the family business. He’s lied for you, put up a front for you for everyone in this stupid town and you’ve never once thanked him. Hell, your son served this country for almost thirteen years and you never once told him you’re proud of him. No wonder he can’t stand this place and everything it represents.”
I finally stop to take a breath, noticing a vein sticking so far out of Mr. Fisher’s forehead that looks like it’s about to pop. His face is so red that I’m surprised there isn’t smoke coming out of his ears.
He takes a menacing step towards me and sticks his finger right in my face.
“How DARE you speak to me that way. You’ve been nothing but a thorn in my side ever since you sunk your claws into my son when he was a teenager. You and your poor, trashy family honestly think you belong on this island? The only reason my son and someone as smart as Stanford want anything to do with you is because they are easily swayed by loose women who spread their legs for—”
“That’s enough. Get your finger out of her face before I remove it for you.”
A low, furious voice from behind me cuts off Mr. Fisher, but I don’t bother turning around. Even without recognizing the voice, the heat from his body radiating against my back and the light smell of his cologne combined with the salty ocean water that always sticks to his skin would have given him away immediately.
“Put your ex-wife on a leash, son,” Mr. Fisher snarls through clenched teeth.
“I said that’s enough!” Fisher shouts this time. “If one more word about her comes out of your mouth I will sweep the fucking sidewalk with your face in front of everyone in your precious town.”
The barely concealed fury in Fisher’s voice sends chills down my spine and goose bumps pebble my skin even as the bright, late afternoon sun shines down on us. The chills aren’t from fear or worry that Fisher might do something crazy, they’re from pure, unadulterated lust. He’s always defended me to his father, but it was always in a quiet, pleading sort of way. This is straight up, alpha male, I-protect-what’s-mine shit going on and it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.
This is not good. This is SO not good.
“Fisher, I—”
“Not another word,” Fisher growls, cutting him off. “Lucy, how about you head home now?”
Going by his quiet, firm voice, it’s really more of a demand than a question. I don’t really appreciate him ordering me around, but I’m not stupid. I’m smart enough to know when to walk away, and right now, I need to walk away.
I don’t say a word and I don’t look back at Fisher as I bypass his father and continue heading in the direction of the inn. I refuse to consider that Fisher could have been standing there all that time, listening to me expound on his virtues. He doesn’t need anything else feeding his already inflated ego, but it had to be done. I’m so sick and tired of my ex-father-in-law thinking he can push everyone around because he has more money than God.
I quicken my steps and make it back to the inn in record time, rushing through the front doors and into the living quarters without a word to Ellie and Trip, who are still in the front room, shooting me questioning looks as I brush right past them. I need a cold shower. A really, really long, cold shower. Maybe that will erase the sound of Fisher’s voice and what it did to me from my mind.
Chapter 17
Fisher’s Therapy Journal
Memory Date: December 30, 2005
“Oh, Fisher, it’s beautiful!” my mother exclaims as she pulls the sheet off of the bench I just finished for her. It was supposed to be a Christmas present, but I’ve had a hard couple of months ever since I got home from my deployment in September. It’s taken me a lot longer than I expected to acclimate myself back into my life here on the island and I’ve been consumed with spending all my time with Lucy to make up for the year and a half we spent apart.
She runs her hands over the varnished oak with swirling patterns carved into the seat back around the name Fisher that I burned into the wood. It’s the most intricate design I’ve ever done and the first time I worked with wood burning and it came out pretty damn good.
“I can’t wait to show this to everyone. I’m going to put it right in the foyer so it will be the first thing people see when they walk in the door,” she tells me excitedly as she wraps her arms around me and gives me a big hug.
“Are you still wasting your time with that nonsense?” my father asks in irritation as he walks into the living room and sits down on the couch, staring at the bench like it’s a dead carcass that I dragged into the house and left rotting on his carpet. My mother pulls away from me and shoots an irritated look at my father.
“It’s not nonsense, Jefferson, and it’s not a waste of time, it’s art. Fisher is incredibly talented. Just look at the detail he put into this bench!” my mother defends, running her hands over the bench lovingly.
“It’s a hobby and it most certainly is a waste of time. He should be going to college and preparing himself for a real career, not some frivolous pastime that isn’t going to make him any money, or going off to fight some stupid war that has nothing to do with us,” my father says in annoyance.
I don’t bother telling him that my “pastime” is making me more money than he could possibly imagine. After I dropped off a rocking chair as a birthday gift to Sal to put out front of his diner, I started getting phone calls left and right from people who saw it and wanted one just like it. After a while, people started asking me for other things, different designs, new pieces of furniture. It was exciting and amazing and I loved every minute of it. I’d been worried for a while now about how I was going to be able to support Lucy once we were married. I would never be ok with allowing my wife to shoulder the financial burden in our marriage, and I knew we couldn’t live well off of my meager lance corporal salary, especially on the island, where everything is more expensive. This “hobby” made it possible for me to put a deposit down on a house for the two of us. It wasn’t anything big or elaborate like my parent’s home, but it was clean and right on the water and I knew Lucy would love it.
I also don’t bother engaging my father in an argument over his criticism of the war. He’s been pissed at me since he found out I joined the Marines, and was even more livid when I was called to active duty. He’s never been a patriotic person; the only thing he cares about is making money and there’s no point trying to make him see that the only reason he’s free to make the money he loves so much is because of the men
and women fighting halfway across the world.
“Fisher, we need to go over the menu for the rehearsal dinner one last time. Can you and Lucy stop by for dinner one night this week?” my mother asks, trying to defuse the situation.
She probably should have known that, aside from talk of my unacceptable career choices, the only other thing that would set my father off was talk of Lucy and our upcoming wedding.
My father sighs from the couch. “I don’t understand why you feel the need to get married so young. You’re twenty-two and she’s only twenty. What in God’s name is the rush?”
I clench my hands into fists at my sides and take a few deep, calming breaths. I don’t know why I even let him get to me at this point. He’s been like this for as long as I can remember, never happy with my decisions and always thinking he knows what’s best for me. The truth is, even though we shared a home for nearly eighteen years, my father knows shit-all about me.
“We’re not rushing anything. We’ve been together for almost four years and we love each other. I have a dangerous job and we know better than to take a second for granted. What does it matter if we get married two weeks from now or two years from now?” I ask.
“What matters is that there are much better choices out there for you, son. Women with money and a social status befitting someone of the Fisher name. She and her parents are middle class, at best, as were her grandparents before them that opened that Godforsaken eyesore on the edge of the island. Why you would want to lower yourself to that level when you have so much more potential is beyond me,” he complains.
“You don’t know the first thing about Lucy or her family. She is an amazing, intelligent, wonderful woman who loves me. Her parents are caring and supportive and they accept me for who I am, not for what’s in my bank account. You would know that if you took one second to get to know them instead of judging them from afar,” I argue.
My father just shakes his head in annoyance and I turn my back on him, kissing my mother on the cheek and telling her I’ll get back to her about a night that Lucy and I will be free for dinner so we can finalize the wedding plans before the big day in a couple weeks.
As I head out the front door of the giant home by the sea that I grew up in, I wonder why I continue to come back here and torture myself with my father’s disapproval. I do it to see my mother, but even that isn’t worth the arguments most of the time because she never defends me. She never sticks up for me in front of my father, even though in private she always tells me how proud she is of me.
Standing on the front walkway, I stare up at the huge, three story European-style mansion that my father likes to call “The Estate.” It’s a monstrosity a few miles outside of town that sits up on a cliff with a few acres of manicured gardens on one side and nothing but the ocean on the other. It looks down on the town so my father can feel like the king he believes himself to be. I never felt comfortable living in this house and the best decision I ever made was going to live with my grandfather the day I told my parents I’d signed up for the Marines instead of applying for college.
I will never be like that man. I will never value money over my own family and their happiness. My father makes Lucy feel like she’s not worthy to walk in the door of their home and it fills me with so much rage. I hate that he makes her feel insecure about herself and her family. I hate that he refuses to see how happy she makes me and how good my life is with her in it. No matter what, I will never make Lucy feel like she is anything but perfect and worth the bullshit I have to deal with from my father. I don’t care that he could buy and sell her family ten times over. The only thing I care about is that they are decent, caring people. There aren’t enough people like that left in this world and I am lucky that I will get to call them my family in just two short weeks.
Getting into my truck, I drive as fast as I can through the narrow island roads until I’m screeching to a halt in front of the inn. I race inside and find Lucy standing in front of the desk with her back to me, going over some paperwork. She’s wearing a short, charcoal grey wool skirt with tall black boots and a soft white sweater that clings to her chest and small waist, making my hands itch with the need to run them underneath the material and feel her skin. She looks over her shoulder at me and smiles and all of the tension from being around my father slowly trickles out of me.
“I’m almost finished here,” she tells me, turning her body around to face me. “How did it go at your parent’s house? How did your mom like the bench?”
“It was fine, and she loved it,” I tell her, not wanting to get into all the shit my father said. I want to forget about my father and just concentrate on the woman in front of me who will soon be my wife. I want to make her happy and I want to make her dreams come true. Nothing else matters, especially what my father thinks.
She finally finishes with her paperwork and walks towards me, sliding easily into my open arms and resting her cheek against my chest.
“I missed you,” she tells me softly as I kiss the top of her head.
“I missed you, too. Always,” I reply, squeezing her tighter against me.
Even though we saw each other this morning, ever since I came home from this deployment, each moment we’re apart makes both of us anxious and on edge.
I reluctantly pull away from her and grab both of her hands, tugging her towards the door. “Come on, let’s go for a drive. I have something to show you.”
We race hand-in-hand out to my truck and Lucy badgers me the entire five minute drive, asking me where we’re going and what I’m up to. I just smile and refuse to answer her until I pull down a driveway and up to the house I just signed the papers on a few days ago.
“What are we doing here?” she asks curiously as she follows my lead and we both get out of the car.
I meet her at the front of the truck and grab her hand, pulling her across the side lawn to the porch that overlooks the ocean.
“Um, should we be walking up on these people’s porch? I think this is considered trespassing,” Lucy whispers as she presses herself against my back and I lead us to the door.
I laugh as I let go of her hand and flip through the keys on my keychain until I find the one I’m looking for. I stick it in the lock and turn the handle, opening the door wide before I turn back around to look at her. The moon is shining bright and she’s backdropped by the ocean behind her. She stares up at me in confusion and wonder and I can’t stop myself from leaning down and kissing her. Mid-kiss, I bend down and scoop her up into my arms. She lets out a squeal and throws her arms around my neck, holding on tight.
I step through the doorway and smile down at the shadow of her face. “Sorry, I can’t turn the lights on because I haven’t paid the electricity deposit yet. But welcome to your new home, soon-to-be Mrs. Fisher.”
I can see the whites of her eyes as they go wide in shock. I slowly set her on her feet and she turns in a circle, looking at the area lit by the glow of the moon shining through all of the windows along the front of the house.
“Are you kidding me right now?” she whispers in awe.
I laugh, walking up behind her and wrapping my arms around her waist.
“Nope, not kidding. I bought it, it’s ours. I really, really hope you like it because I don’t think I can return it.”
She doesn’t say a word as she continues to look around. We’re standing in a combination living room/kitchen/dining room. It’s a large, open floor plan where no matter what room you’re in, you can see everything. The entire front wall is filled with floor to ceiling windows that look out over the ocean. It’s a small, two bedroom-one bathroom home, but I loved everything about it the first time I saw it and I could picture Lucy and I starting a life here so clearly in my head that I had to buy it. Now I’m wondering if I did the right thing. She’s been quiet for so long that I’m starting to get nervous.
“Seriously, if you don’t like it, I’m sure I still have time to take back the offer. We can look at something else and you
can-”
She turns quickly in my arms and presses her fingers against my lips. “I love it. It’s so perfect I want to cry. I can’t believe you did this.”
I wrap my hand around hers and pull it away from my mouth, pressing a kiss into her palm. “Of course I did this. I would do anything for you. I know it’s not much, but we can fix it up, paint it however you want. I just love the idea of waking up with you every morning, sitting out on the porch and watching the sun come up.”
She leans up on her tiptoes and presses her lips to mine. I slide my tongue against her lips and she immediately opens for me. It’s not long before the kiss turns from sweet to fierce, our tongues battling together while our hands roam frantically, touching every part of each other that we can reach. I lift her up against my body without breaking the kiss and she wraps her legs around my waist. Not being able to see very well in the dark, I walk us over to the closest flat surface I can find – the counter in the kitchen – and set her down on top.
Her hands reach for the button of my jeans and my hands slide up the outside of her thighs under her wool skirt. Right when she gets my pants undone, I slide my fingers in the edge of her thong and pull it down her legs, tossing it to the side. My hand immediately goes between her thighs and my fingers slide through her to find her wet and ready for me. I lose my concentration momentarily when her small hand wraps around my cock and starts sliding up and down the length.
