by Katy Regnery
“It’s a beauty,” he says. “You’re a natural!”
I smile from ear to ear, exhilarated by my first catch. “I have a great teacher.”
One of the lodge fishing guides, Meredith, comes over to us with a bucket of water. “Nice catch! I can take it to the chef if you want it prepared for dinner?”
Luke looks over at me, and I shake my head. “It’s too pretty to eat. I think I’m more of a catch-and-release sort of girl.” Both Meredith and Luke look at me like I’m crazy, so I shrug sheepishly. “I’d feel bad eating it. I wouldn’t be able to enjoy it.”
“Ooo-kay,” says Meredith, pebbles along the shoreline crunching under her boots as she leaves us to check on a fishing party of four a little ways up the river.
“Heartbreaking,” says Luke, leaning down to put the gasping fish back into the water.
I watch its shimmery body orient itself for a moment before it realizes it’s free and swims away. It makes me smile.
“Could’ve been a good dinner,” grumbles Luke.
“Makes a better fish,” I answer.
“May as well call it a day if you’re going to let them all go,” he says. “Besides, didn’t you have some work to do?”
I nod. “I thought I’d finish the rough draft of my story this afternoon, and maybe you could take a look at it for me. I want to be sure that I represent Sitka in a way that makes you proud.”
“Sure,” he says, taking the fishing pole from my hand and heading away from the river, toward the lodge on the other side of the island.
Something’s different about Luke today, I think, watching him head up the dirt path with his head down. I’d almost think he’s a little sad if I knew him better. He’s quieter than usual—less chatty, less flirty, more...subdued. I don’t know why.
Last night, after our walk and dinner on our private balcony, we made love for hours: with my back against the tile wall of the shower and sitting on Luke’s lap in the brown leather chair. Later, in bed, with my naked breasts pressed flush against his chest, heart to heart, he asked me to tell him more about my “next-someone list,” and I told him I wanted the sort of blow-my-mind chemistry I had with him. He’d stared at me for a long time after I said that, his eyes intense but inscrutable. Finally, he’d kissed me like the world was about to end and then told me he was tired. I rolled over, pressing my back to his front, and with his strong arm binding me to him, I’d fallen quickly asleep.
Today at breakfast, he talked about coming to Sitka as a teenager, how he’d fallen in love with the beauty of Alaska, and though he didn’t originally want to leave Seattle, he’d quickly become grateful for the move. Honestly, I can see what he means: Sitka is spectacularly beautiful, safe and clean, brimming with kind neighbors and an enviable sense of community. But honestly, our talk made me miss Seattle too: the concerts and art exhibits, festivals and music. The convenience of living in a big city. The way there is always something new to do or see.
I just—
Well, I just couldn’t help picturing myself in Seattle with Luke. Going to a concert together. Taking the ferry over to Whidbey Island. Riding bikes along the Green River. Cheering on the Hawks from box seats procured by Jude. Catching a first-run movie on a Friday night or a first-rate meal at a world-class restaurant. Our hometowns are as different as night and day, and yet as I kept picturing him in mine, it ached a little that it can never be.
Neither of us has challenged our original agreement to keep things temporary and casual. And for whatever reason—maybe part of me is a little old-fashioned—if he’s interested in making a change, I want him to say it first. I want him to ask me to stay longer, to want me to come back...hell, to come down to Seattle and give what we have a real chance.
But he hasn’t said anything like that. He’s been sweet and wonderful, and the sex has been phenomenal. But he hasn’t asked any more of me than what we originally agreed to.
I need to make my peace with the reality I’m in and stop wishing for the fantasy I can’t have. If I don’t, I’ll drive myself crazy.
“You good back there?” he asks over his shoulder.
“Yep,” I say, sidestepping over a boulder as the lodge comes into view. “Just...thinking about Sitka.”
He pauses in his walk. “And...what have you been thinking?”
“That it’s been an amazing place to visit,” I answer. “That I’ll always remember my time here.”
“Oh. Right. That’s good,” he says softly. He turns around to face me but keeps his eyes down. “I’ll, uh...I’ll go return these poles and meet you back at the room, okay?”
“I’ll go with you,” I say.
“Nah,” he says, glancing over at the tackle shop, which is in the opposite direction from our room. “It’ll just take a second. You go get started on your work.”
“Okay,” I say, heading toward our room.
When I look back over my shoulder, I catch him watching me walk away before he turns back around and trudges toward the lodge.
Chapter 9
Luke
Shit.
I watch her walk away, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to call to her, to say, “I didn’t mean to fall for you so quickly, but I did. I hate the thought of saying good-bye. I hate the thought of never seeing you again. Does any part of you feel the same? Does any part of you ache like hell at the thought of saying good-bye and never seeing my face again?”
But I don’t.
I just let her walk away.
I hear Bonnie’s voice in my head—She’s good for you—and I think about my baby daughter snuggled up on Amanda’s lap, singing campfire songs. I remember the way she looked that first day in the rain and the way she looked last night when I made love to her. I know that I’m not in love with her. Falling in love takes a lot longer than this. But damn it, shit and fuck my life, but I feel something, and I’m not ready to let it go. I want more time. I need more time with her—just to see what this is...or what it could become.
Resolved to talk to her back at the room, I drop off the fishing poles and truck it back over to our lodge. It takes courage to lay out your feelings, especially when you don’t know if they’ll be returned, but I’m no coward. I have to try. I won’t forgive myself if I don’t.
I race up the stairs to our room and open the door to find Amanda...
Packing? Her duffel bag is out on the bed, and she’s throwing her things into it at Mach speed. My eyes snap up when I hear her voice, and I realize she’s speaking on her phone.
“Jesus. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. The doctor said that? Oh, Jude...hang in there...”
She looks up at me, and that’s when I realize her eyes are filled with unshed tears that she’s trying to hold back. When she sees me, her composure seems to crack a little, so I turn my back to her and quietly close the door.
Something’s going on. And it’s bad.
“J-Jude...tell her I’m on my way...I’m c-coming.”
She crosses to the other side of the room, opens a drawer, pulls out a sweat shirt and whatever underwear she had unpacked yesterday, then jams it all into the bag.
“I’ll be there tonight...no matter what. I promise.” She runs a hand through her hair, then zips up the bag. “Stay strong, okay? Yeah...I will. I love you guys too.”
When she lowers the phone from her face, she just stands there, staring off into space like she’s trying to come to terms with something awful.
“What happened?” I ask.
She turns to me, blinking like she’s surprised to see me. “My friend—my b-best friend...she’s like a sister to me. Her name’s Leigh. She’s pregnan—no, I mean, she’s not...anymore. She had the baby. Today. But he’s—he’s not good. He’s not okay. The...the baby...” She drops to the edge of the bed, like standing hurts too much, and her shoulders start to shake. “The b-baby isn’t...ok-kay.”
A second later, I’m on my knees in front of her. “Breathe, Amanda. Just breathe.”
She leans forward until her forehead touches m
ine, her breath landing on my face in short stabs.
“I have—I have to g-get b-back.”
“I can see that. As soon as I know you’re okay, we’ll arrange everything.”
“I need a f-flight.”
“We’ll figure it out.”
“My apartment here...m-my stuff,” she sobs.
“We’ll grab it on the way to the airport.”
“No, Luke! No! I don’t have time! I’ve got to go! I’ve got to get to her! I should—I should be there with her...now!”
“No problem. I can pack up your stuff,” I say. “I can box it up tomorrow and send it to you in Seattle. Don’t worry about it. Don’t think about it. Let’s just get you home.”
“Her baby,” she whispers.
“What happened?”
Her eyes are bleak when she looks up at me. “Jude said there were, um, complications. The b-baby’s head was too big, and...oh, my God...h-his skull was...f-fractured. They couldn’t get him out, and...and...”
I pull her onto my lap, into my arms, stroking her back as she sobs. “I’m so sorry,” I say over and over again. I can’t imagine my terror if the same had happened to Chad, Gillian, or Meg. It’s every parent’s worst nightmare.
When her tears subside, she looks up at me with watery eyes. “What can I do? What do I say to them?”
I don’t have any answers. No good ones.
“Just be there for her,” I suggest.
“I can do that,” she whispers, sniffling softly as she crawls off my lap and sits on the bed beside her packed bag. “But I’ve got to get there first. Help me?”
I nod, standing up to pull off the waders I was wearing to fly fish. “Give me two minutes to change and pack. We’ll get a boat over to Sitka, and I’ll drive you right over to the airport. There’s a two o’clock flight on Alaska Airlines. Go online and buy yourself a ticket. I’ll handle the rest.”
“Thank you, Luke,” she says softly, picking up her phone as I hurry into the bathroom.
Ten minutes ago, I was preparing to confess my feelings to Amanda in the hopes they’d be returned. Now I’m in crisis mode, and nothing is as important as getting this woman on a plane bound for Seattle.
She doesn’t say much in the boat or on the drive to the airport. Her eyes are glued to her phone, where she researches newborn brain fractures online, occasionally sharing some heartbreaking piece of information with me. And I’m worried about her friends and their baby—I swear I am—but we’re almost at the airport now.
This woman is about to leave me, and I don’t want her to.
I care about her, and I haven’t told her so.
I needed more time, and fate gave me...less.
I choose a parking space close to the terminal, cut the engine, and glance at the clock on my dashboard. It’s almost one o’clock, which means she has an hour before her flight leaves.
When I glance over at her, she’s staring down at her phone, reading an article on WebMD, and damn it, I want to say something. I need to say something, but shit! Her best friend’s in trouble, and she’s leaving me in seconds, and in my heart, I know it’s not the right time to tell her how I feel. The problem is, this might be my last chance. Frankly, I don’t know what the fuck to do.
“Luke.”
Her voice is calm now. She’s on her way home, and once she arrives at Sea-Tac, she’ll arrange for an Uber to take her straight to the hospital. She’s done all she can for her friend at this point, and tears are useless.
I turn my face to her, my eyes drinking in her pretty face while I still can.
“Thanks for getting me here so quick,” she says, searching my eyes, her own grave. “Thank you for everything.”
“I hope everything will be okay with your friends’ baby.”
Her gaze skitters away for a second because I think we both know that the little one in question has a long road ahead.
“Me too,” she murmurs, meeting my eyes again. “I had fun with you.”
“I’m sorry it has to end like this,” I say, the words a fraction of what I want to say.
Her hair is up in a messy bun, and I wish I could take it down and run my hands through it one last time before she goes. Her eyes are bright from crying, and they search mine like she has something to say.
“We said no strings,” she finally whispers. She pauses a second to wet her lips, flicking a glance at mine. “Right?”
“That’s what we said,” I agree, feeling miserable.
She blinks at me and then looks out the windshield at the small terminal. “Will you say good-bye to the kids for me?”
“Sure.”
I think this is her way of telling me that our short, sweet relationship ends here. Because if there were strings attached—if she had the sort of budding feelings for me that I have for her—she’d ask to stay in touch, wouldn’t she? She’d tell me that she’ll call me tomorrow with news about her friend. She’d ask me to come see her in Seattle or tell me she wanted to come back to Sitka. But she gives me no indication that her interest in me goes beyond our mutually agreed-upon fling, and as much as I hate that, I tell myself—in the moment—to accept it.
“Sure you don’t mind sending the rest of my stuff?” she asks, still looking out the windshield.
“It’s no problem. I have your address.”
“You know what?” She tries to smile but fails. Her eyes fill with more tears, and she looks back at the terminal, obviously eager to get home and back to her friends. “I’m glad Bonnie placed that ad.”
“Me too.” I miss you already, I think. I don’t want this to be over! But a wiser, smoother voice warns me, It’s not the right time, Luke. It’s just not the right time. Instead I ask, “Can I walk you to the terminal?”
She shakes her head. “No. I hate long good-byes.”
“So this is it.”
“I think it’s for the best,” she says softly, sliding across the front seat to hug me. I hold her tightly, hating that these are our last moments together.
It’s not for the best, something inside of me cries.
Stay, I want to say, but she can’t stay. Her friend needs her, and I’m not that selfish, no matter how much I like her.
Ask me to visit! But I can’t force her to want what I want, and I can’t invite myself into a life that has no room for me.
But I have to say something.
“You’re always welcome here,” I whisper near her ear, but it’s so little when my heart feels so much more.
She leans back, taking my face in her hands. Her lips land softly on mine, her skin bidding farewell to mine.
All too soon, she pulls away, and I think I might hear the sound of a muffled sob. But by the time I open my eyes, the passenger door is slamming shut, and she’s headed into the terminal without looking back.
And just like that...
She’s gone.
***
Amanda
There’s no point in keeping my tears at bay anymore, so I let them flow freely as I walk through the sliding glass doors and beeline for the restroom. I am sick with worry for Jude and Leigh, of course, but the way Luke and I just said good-bye is the real force behind my current sobs, and I know it.
I lock a stall door and plop down on a toilet seat, bowing my head as I cry.
What did you expect, Amanda? A wedding proposal? A declaration of his undying love?
No, I tell the mean-me voice in my head, I’m not stupid. I didn’t expect any of those things.
I don’t know what I wanted.
All I know is that saying good-bye to Luke without any sort of plan to see him again or hear from him again feels...terrible. On top of the terrible and terrifying feelings I have for my friends, which are overwhelming in and of itself.
I tried to give him a chance to change our arrangement—We said no strings, right?—but he didn’t say, “Fuck no strings! I want to see you again!” or “Text me and let me know how your friends are doing.” He didn’t say anything; h
e just agreed with me and let me go.
I think back on his last words to me—You’re always welcome here—and take some thin and paltry comfort from them. Maybe that was his way of saying that he’d like to see me again?
You’re reaching, says the mean-me voice. If he wanted to see you again, he would have just said that. And he didn’t. He didn’t.
I step out of the bathroom stall and splash cold water on my tear-streaked face, then dry it with paper towel. I take a deep and shaky breath, then toss the paper in the garbage and tell myself not to wish for more than I was promised.
It was a good time, wasn’t it?
Yes, my heart whispers. Yes, it was so good.
And as far as rebound flings go, it certainly served its purpose. I’m so much more over Bryce than I was when I stepped off the plane in this airport over a week ago. It seems like a million years since we broke up, and I can thank Luke for the relief I feel when I think of moving on from my dreadful ex. I knew he wasn’t right for me, but now I feel it too. Now I don’t regret losing him. I know for sure that Manda and nobody is better than Manda and Bryce.
Except, whispers my stupid heart, Manda and Luke might sound best of all.
It takes about ten minutes to make my way through security and over to the gate where my flight is already boarding. I sit down in my first-class seat and check my phone for messages, surprised to see a red circle hovering over my text messages. When I open it, my heart clenches to see it’s from Leigh.
LEIGH: Are you coming?
MANDA: I’m on the plane. I’m on the way.
LEIGH: My mama’s flight doesn’t get here until Tuesday, and Jude’s sister said she’d try to get a flight out of Wellington sometime this week.
This update makes my heart squeeze painfully.
Leigh’s mother, Anna Mae, lives in Birmingham, Alabama, and hadn’t planned to arrive in Washington until next week, and since Jude’s parents are very old, the plan was to visit his family in New Zealand once the baby was old enough to fly.
The net-net of this information is that Leigh is sitting in the NICU of Seattle Children’s with only her equally terrified husband for comfort.
