The Fisherman Series : Special Edition

by Jewel E. Ann

  “Campfire. Warm sleeping bags. Wool mittens. We’ll be fine. We never went camping when you were younger. Your dad wasn’t a camper. But Rose and I bought camping gear several years ago. And we think it would be fun to go as a group.”

  “A group?” I discouraged my curious mind from steering my gaze toward Fisher as I hoped her group reference was to a group of people from her work or some camping group they joined. If that was even a thing.

  “Us. Your village.” Rory circled her head, signaling to the room. “What do you two say? Are you in for camping on Reese’s birthday?” she asked Fisher and Angie.

  “Sounds fun. I haven’t been camping in years. I think Fish has plenty of gear from all the camping he’s done with his family. Right, babe?”

  Fish. Babe.

  I had no nicknames for Fisher. At least none that I could use in front of anyone else. Just like I couldn’t kiss him or hold his hand in front of anyone else. Five years changed everything … and nothing. We were both in a better place, but the timing was still wrong. I wanted to close my eyes and nod my head like a genie and skip ahead a year so I would know.

  I would know if he fell in love and married Angie. If his memory returned. If my heart survived all the ifs.

  Fisher nodded. “I have a lot of camping gear between the basement and what’s at my parents’ house.”

  Happy birthday to me, I thought, while putting on a brave face. For my special day, I would get to freeze my butt off in a tent, probably by myself, while the lovers snuggled in for the night in their tents after a romantic evening by the campfire.

  “Say yes, sweetie. Take a chance. I think you’ll love camping. You said you love the mountains. What could be better than spending the weekend there with good friends and family?”

  Jabbing my eyeballs out with an ice pick. Removing my fingernails with pliers. Eating cockroaches. Wiping my butt with sandpaper. So many things would be better than Rory’s group camping idea.

  I wasn’t on call that weekend, but I considered lying. With my luck, Rory would have seen Holly at the salon. Poof! Outed!

  “Sounds amazing.” I shoved nearly half a piece of pizza into my mouth. It was time to eat my frustrations. “Oh!”

  It happened. Of course it happened.

  I spilled my wine all over me and his amazing chair.

  “Shit. Er … shoot. I’m … I’m so very sorry.”

  And embarrassed. I couldn’t look at anyone, least of all Fisher, as I scrambled to get out of the chair and blot the red wine with a wad of napkins.

  “It was an accident. No worries, Reese. We’ll take care of it if you want to go get yourself cleaned up.” Angie jumped to the rescue as everyone else tossed their napkins onto the pile to save the chair from as much wine soaking through to the filling as possible.

  I pulled the wet fabric of my T-shirt away from my skin as I ducked my head and sped my way to the guest bathroom, shutting the door behind me before staring at myself in the mirror. After a good two minutes of internally scolding myself for being so clumsy in my flustered state following the camping topic, I took off my shirt and ran the stained part under water.

  Two soft knocks tapped the door.

  “I’m good. Just give me a minute.”

  The door opened because I hadn’t lock it—because who opens a closed bathroom door uninvited?

  Snatching the hand towel from the counter, I held it to my chest as Fisher peered through the crack he made with the door.

  “What?” I tipped up my chin, fighting the urge to have a mini-emotional breakdown.

  If he looked too long into my eyes, he would have seen me teetering on the edge of losing it.

  “Shirt for you.” Opening the door just enough to squeeze his hand through, he handed me a T-shirt.

  “It will be huge on you, but it might also cover the stain on your pants.”

  I nodded slowly as my gaze dropped to the T-shirt in my hand. “I’m really sorry about your chair. I’ll pay for any damage or a new chair.” Turning my back to the door, I dropped the hand towel and slipped on his shirt.

  “Angie is drinking too much wine tonight. I can’t let her drive home. So she’ll stay here.”

  I turned. “I wasn’t talking about Angie’s level of sobriety. I was talking about your chair.”

  “Well, I don’t give a fuck about the chair.”

  After clenching my teeth for a few seconds, I fired back. “Well I don’t give one if she stays here or not. I’m not stupid. I know you’re having sex with her. You told me, and I was with you when you purchased condoms.”

  There was no other way to describe that moment other than to say, I had super fucking (necessary use of the word) hero bravery to say those words to him without my heart exploding through my chest and shattering onto the floor. The thought of him having sex with Angie … it was unbearable. My chest felt physical pain that worked its way up my throat, twisting into a tight knot that made every word a struggle to get out of my mouth.

  Burning eyes.

  Racing heart.

  Nauseous stomach.

  But the bravest of faces.

  Because … because I loved Fisher, and even if my chances of happiness with him were less than one percent, he was worth it.

  Fisher deflated a little like I had disappointed him. I wasn’t trying to disappoint him or anyone for that matter. That was why I agreed to go camping. That was why I kept my feelings about Angie and him locked up tightly.

  “It was a box of twelve. The box is unopened. All twelve are there now. All twelve will be there in the morning.”

  My gaze remained averted out of self-preservation, and I shrugged. “Whatever.” I wadded my dirty shirt in my hand and opened the door, brushing past him. As soon as I noticed Angie, Rose, and Rory still hard at work on the stained chair, using some bottle of special cleaner, I turned back around. My hands landed on Fisher’s chest, catching him off guard as I pushed him down the hallway to his bedroom.

  I didn’t turn on the light or shut his door. I guided him through the room, to his bathroom, stopping in his closet. A slow dance lit only by some moonlight filtering through the window shades and skylights.

  Dropping the wet shirt to the floor, I crumpled his shirt in my fists and pulled him to me, pressing my lips to his—giving him all my unspoken emotions in that one slow kiss.

  His good hand tangled in my hair, deepening the kiss, and I softly moaned. I loved our bubble, but I hated the fate of it, like the fate of every bubble. Eventually, all bubbles popped.

  Pulling back, I released his mouth but kept my hold on his neck so he kept his lips close to mine as I whispered, “I’m in. I’m in as long as you want me to be in your life. Even on the days it hurts like hell. I’m in.”

  He rested his forehead on mine and blew out a slow breath. “Can I tell you something truly terrible?”

  I grinned, lifting my chin and brushing my lips against his as I giggled. “Tell me.”

  Fisher dragged his mouth along my cheek, depositing small kisses on his way to my ear. “The only memories of my past I want to get back … are the ones of you.”

  There was no way out of whatever it was that all of us were in together. And I knew it wasn’t if things fell apart in the most tragic fashion … it was when.

  Rory would be hurt, angry, and disappointed in me and Fisher and Rose too.

  And either Angie or I would be left alone. Fisherman-less. Undeniably heartbroken. And even if other feelings like resentment or anger played a part, the only thing that would last forever would be the Fisher-sized vacancy in someone’s chest.

  I should have had the advantage of knowing that he had a choice to make. And it should have prepared me. But there was no way to prepare for losing the one you loved more than any other.

  As he started to release his hold on me, I tightened my grip on him. “Ten more seconds,” I whispered, nestling my face into his neck and taking a deep inhale.

  Fisher counted down from ten.

&nbs
p; “Ten.”

  Kiss on my head.

  “Nine.”

  Another kiss.

  All the way to one.

  When he released me, when we released each other, I had all I needed to make it another day, another round. Another mile in the marathon.

  Chapter Sixteen

  That first cry.

  There really was nothing that signified life more than a baby’s first cry. It was like she announced her place in the world. As equal and deserving as anyone else.

  Life would be hard.

  Life would be beautiful.

  And she would have to fight to find the courage to keep that voice, not be silenced by guilt or circumstance. She would have to make difficult choices—sometimes choosing her own happiness over someone else’s happiness.

  Who did we die for?

  Who did we live for?

  Was there a right answer?

  “Oh … my … gosh …” I breathed the words in astonishment.

  “You’re witnessing a rare moment.” Holly glanced over at me and smiled as she delivered a baby en caul—in an intact amniotic sac.

  A peaceful little girl with one hand on her head and the other hand at her mouth. A firsthand glimpse at what a baby looked like in the womb. She was outside of her mother, but not really born yet.

  “It’s my first.” Holly got teary eyed as we observed the phenomenon with the stunned parents, doula, and birth photographer.

  “Is she okay?” the dad asked, his voice a little shaky.

  “She’s perfect,” Holly whispered, running her finger along the thin sack, touching the baby’s foot.

  “What do you do?” the mom asked.

  Holly shrugged. “I can remove the sac now or we can let her be for a few more minutes if you want to take in the moment a little longer.”

  After delivering hundreds of babies, Holly still treated each birth like she, too, was experiencing a miracle in her own life. I felt that as well.

  The photographer took a slew of photos of the rare moment. One in eighty-thousand births. I knew I might never witness it again.

  When Holly and the mom released the baby from its sac, I laughed, but it was more of a sob as tears fell in relentless streams down my face.

  “I SAW A BABY BORN EN CAUL!” I ran into the house at eight on a Thursday night. I didn’t know if anyone was home. I hadn’t talked to Rory or Rose in over eighteen hours. And I hadn’t seen Fisher since Saturday night at his house—the wine incident. “Hello?” I ran down the hallway.

  Nobody.

  I ran downstairs.

  Nobody.

  I checked the garage.

  Rose’s car was gone.

  Too much adrenaline ran through my veins. I had to tell someone, so I ran over to Fisher’s house in the dark. When I got there, more air deflated from my lungs. I wanted to cry because all I needed was a person. Anyone at that point to share my day. But Angie’s car was in the driveway. Despite my complete lack of peppiness by that point, I gave myself a pep talk.

  If I would have been his clear choice, we would have already been together. No secrets. No guilt. But he hadn’t made his choice because on one side there was me, on the other side was Angie and his entire family. It wasn’t that his family didn’t like me, but there was no way they were going to shrug and kiss Angie goodbye then turn to me with open arms.

  No way.

  One of the many reasons I loved Fisher was because he had such a close-knit family, something that unraveled in my own life when I needed it the most.

  “She’s out of town.”

  I turned, standing at the end of his driveway as Fisher walked toward me in his jogging shorts and a hoodie.

  He pulled out his earbuds. “She asked me to take her car to get the oil changed if I had time.” He shrugged. “Seemed like the nice thing to do.”

  Yet another reason to love Fisher Mann.

  “One in eighty thousand babies is born en caul. That means it comes out of its mother’s body still in the amniotic fluid sac. It’s the most amazing sight. I …” I shook my head. “I can’t even describe it. But I saw it. I. Saw. It!”

  He grinned, a gleam visible in his eyes under the street light. “Do you need to kiss somebody?”

  My smile nearly cracked my face in half as I shook my head. “Not somebody. I need to kiss you.”

  “Then what are you waiting for?”

  I giggled, threw myself into his arms, and kissed him with my hands pressed to his scruffy face. He grabbed my butt with both hands. That was when I released his lips and turned to look at his arm.

  “You got your cast off. How does it feel?”

  “Better on your ass.” He grabbed my butt again and pulled me back to him. “Are you coming inside? Or did you just come over here to stare at my house?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Nobody was home at my house. And I had to tell someone, so I ran over here.”

  “So I am just somebody?”

  Grabbing the neck of his hoodie, I tilted my head back. “I share you, so you have to share me and my enthusiasm. If you must know, I was looking for my mom and Rose first because occasionally I value self-preservation. And I was reminded of that when I got here and saw Angie’s car.”

  “Come trim my beard before I get into the shower.”

  “Your cast is off.”

  He grinned slowly, taking my hands away from the neck of his hoodie and pressing them to his face and the beard he wanted me to trim. “Come trim my beard before I get into the shower.” Fisher’s signature expression always seemed to be mischievous, but only with me. I never saw it quite the same way when he looked at other people.

  Not his friends, Rory and Rose.

  Not his sort-of fiancée.

  Not his family.

  Just me.

  “I have to get home soon. I’m still on call for the next few days.”

  “Come trim my beard before I get in the shower.”

  I laughed at my lost fisherman stuck on repeat. A one-track mind and the most convincing smile.

  “Remember what I said about self-preservation?”

  Turning his head, he kissed my palm. “I would never hurt you.”

  Oh, Fisher … I’m already hurting in ways you can’t even imagine because you don’t remember.

  “What do you want for your birthday?”

  I laughed, pulling my hands away from his face. “To not go camping with you and your fiancée. I realize you can’t say you’re sick because you’re never sick, but you could make up some excuse.”

  “How do you know that I’m never sick?”

  “Because you told me.”

  He frowned. “I don’t remember that.”

  “I know you don’t. Trust me … I know.”

  Taking my hand, he pulled me toward his front door.

  “I’m going home.” I made a weak attempt at pulling away from him.

  “Eventually,” he said.

  “Fisher …”

  “Nurse Capshaw, queen of the veiled birth.”

  As the door closed behind me and he started to release my hand, I squeezed my grip on him and yanked him to stop. “Veiled birth?”

  “It’s another term for en caul.”

  I nodded once. “I’m aware. But how do you know that?”

  He shrugged. “Probably a crossword puzzle or something.”

  “I haven’t put that in my puzzles.”

  Fisher shrugged a second time and tried to turn away from me.

  Again, I tugged his arm. “Fisher Mann … you like crossword puzzles. You liked them before I made them for you.”

  He eyed me for a few seconds with the most contemplative expression. “Are you genuinely asking me or are you testing me?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know so much about Angie that there are some days I don’t feel like I’ve lost memories of her. I start to wonder if the events in my head are my memories or things I’ve been told because I’ve been told everything. The only test
I have with her is my feelings. I don’t remember how I felt about her. But with you it’s different.”

  “Different how?” I released his hand, feeling the shift. Now I was the one being interrogated, not him.

  “I feel like you’ve given me bits and pieces, on a need-to-know basis. My story with Angie makes sense in my head. Childhood friends. On and off again relationship when we got older. Me doing my thing. Her doing her thing. Our families keeping us connected. She comes back to town for her mom. We rekindle our romance. Even if I don’t feel it now, it makes sense to me.”

  “Well, that’s good.” I gave him a tight grin as I fiddled with the hem of my shirt.

  “From everything my family has told me about who I was, I don’t think I would have taken a part-time employee to my workshop. I wouldn’t have showed her how to sand anything. Yet that’s your story.”

  “You thought a lot of Rory. I’m sure it was a favor to her. And I was relentless. You probably just did it to shut me up.”

  With his brow drawn tight, almost cemented in place, he inched his head side to side. “Why were you so certain I’d like crossword puzzles?”

  Another half shrug. “I wasn’t. Why are you being so weird? Have you remembered something? Memories can return slowly, and they can cause confusion as you try to piece them together and make sense of them.”

  “Do you know an attorney named Brendon?”

  I swallowed hard. “What? Why?” It barely made its way past the constriction of my throat.

  “Because I saw him yesterday.”

  “Where?”

  “At my therapist’s office.”

  “You have a therapist?”

  Fisher nodded like it wasn’t a big deal.

  “Since when?” I asked.

  “Since yesterday.”

  “Why?”

  “We’re not talking about me.”

  “We are. Why?”

  “Because I was in an accident. I’m missing part of my memory, and I have a fiancée and maybe a girlfriend.” He shook his head like talking about it bothered him. “And it’s not my point anyway.”

  “What’s your point?”

  And did you tell your therapist about me?

  “Brendon recognized me. He must be a patient at the same office. He was leaving when I arrived. He said hi. Of course, I had to apologize for not knowing him and give my quick spiel about my accident.”