Reeling

by Ev Bishop

  A line from the letter that had been his undoing, the temptation he hadn’t resisted, that made him renege on his vow to stop their note writing came back to him:

  I never thought I’d be able to touch, or be touched, by someone for pleasure again—and I still don’t know if I will be, but you make me want to.

  Recalling the words, Gray groaned and slowed his pace. He hadn’t, of course, reacted how he wanted to react. He hadn’t rushed back to her cabin and let her touch him all she wanted until she was sure what she wanted.

  All his surging physical desire and wild imaginings aside, however, he might’ve managed to withhold a response and adhere to his no-writing plan, except for what she’d gone on to say:

  But what really shocks me—as in when it hits me I can hardly believe it’s true—is that I never thought I’d be able to trust a stranger, someone that I hadn’t known my whole life, ever again. But I’m finding that I do. I do.

  I’m not an “everything happens for a reason” kind of person. I think a lot of atrocities take place for no good reason at all—but meeting you, our becoming friends, was unexpected and feels like a blessing, something good when both of us have seen a lot of . . . hard times.

  Anyway, whatever happens, or doesn’t happen between us in the future, I want you to know how grateful I am to you. Thank you, Gray.

  And Gray, feeling exactly the same, though he was loath to admit it even to himself, had taken the coward’s way out. He had decided to seize each moment with Mia that he could, to treasure the luxury of having someone to really talk to again, to let himself enjoy the exquisite fantasy . . . After all, soon she would leave and he would be safe again.

  He was almost at Sockeye cabin now and could see a flag of smoke waving above the clearing that he considered hers, could smell the homey scent of burning cedar. . . .

  Dammit! What was wrong with him? If he was going to enjoy each moment he still had with Mia, he needed to banish all these dangerous feelings of wanting more. Enjoy now. Suffer later.

  “Why so glum, chum?” The silly greeting made him jump—which was ridiculous. He should’ve expected Mia to appear any second like she always did whenever he neared her place.

  “Hey,” he replied cleverly.

  She fell into an easy stride beside him, looking like a model for a Christmas in the Country ad or something, in a touchable, buff-colored suede coat with wooly cuffs and a soft raspberry scarf. Her casual beauty reminded him that she was someone who had a look, as evidenced by the cover art on contraband in his backpack, which he’d received in the mail, via Amazon, via Jo just today.

  He was about to tell Mia he’d bought her old music, so he wouldn’t feel weird about it, like he was spying, but then he glanced at her again and promptly forgot all cognizant thought. Eyes sparkling, cheeks glowing from the cold, hair spilling around her shoulders . . . It was like who Mia was, her innermost self, shone in every aspect of her physical being. She took his breath away—dammit! He knew it was a mistake to come see her today. Their lessons were officially finished the last time they saw each other. He should’ve said his good-bye then and left it at that.

  Mia stopped walking abruptly and shot him a stern look. “Fess up, Gray. Tell me what’s wrong—and don’t say ‘nothing.’ I’m not an idiot. If looks could kill, the whole forest would be a black ash mess.”

  “I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration,” he said dryly.

  Both her eyebrows lifted and her eyes widened comically. “Nuh—uhhh.”

  He shook his head.

  “Seriously,” she insisted, but resumed walking. “What is it?”

  He sighed heavily. “I guess it’s hit me that you’re leaving soon and I’m kind of out of sorts about it.”

  “Really?” The surprise in her voice was authentic. “You’re going to miss me?”

  Gray literally grunted—and could’ve kicked himself for doing so. “Yeah,” he admitted grudgingly. “And let’s not pretend you didn’t know it on some level.”

  Mia’s mouth opened, then shut again. She looked pensive.

  “What is it?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. But we need to talk.”

  Apparently “need to talk” also meant “in the cabin, and not until we both have a warm drink in hand.” Mia barely said two words to him until they were both in Sockeye, and his outer layer of clothing was hanging by the heater. She made them something called “Ski Jumps”—rich hot chocolate with generous dollops of peppermint schnapps and Irish Cream, topped with whipping cream. Gray stirred his with the chocolate covered peppermint stick she handed him, and a feeling of complete contentment flooded through him. He liked how she was always feeding him. “You must burn like 10 000 calories a day,” she’d once said in a jokingly accusatory tone.

  She settled on the couch with her own mug, sitting near him—he was always so aware of her physical presence—but not quite touching. He recalled, as he often did, the light joy her tentative high five had kindled within him. How the pressure of her palm against his had been as erotic as any skin to skin contact could be—maybe more so because it had been so unexpected and carried so much unspoken significance. Oddly, when he thought about touching her, that was the instance he usually focused on—not all their close contact while he tried to hold her down and she fought to get away. Or maybe it wasn’t odd at all. One was personal, meant something, was a connection. The other was business. They hadn’t had any physical contact of a personal nature since that first time—no doubt because of his outburst about rules. He was glad about it, even while it drove him crazy.

  In the cozy, snug surroundings, with the flickering natural gas fireplace and Mia’s warm, easy company, Gray believed in heaven. Or, heaven’s waiting room anyway. If it were actually heaven, Mia wouldn’t be fully clothed and she definitely wouldn’t be so far away from him on the couch. He tried to stop the fantasy there.

  She smiled at him and his imagination lit up again. He wished he was a stronger man, or a weaker one—whichever one would have the ability to throw caution and sense to the wind and reach out to her.

  “I’d say I’m sorry our workouts are over, but it’s nice to not be freezing my ass off trying to beat yours.”

  Gray laughed. “Yeah, I’ll bet. And anyway, you’re all good—strong and smart. Practice once in a while and you’ll be golden.”

  “Jo said she’ll let me practice on her.”

  Gray nodded.

  “And that Callum will too. If I want.”

  Deep satisfaction made Gray nod again. He’d helped Mia arrive at this place of confidence. She would go from here and thrive. That knowledge made every bit of his personal shake up well worth it.

  A tiny bit of whipping cream frosted Mia’s lip. For a second all Gray could see was that line of sweetness, and he was slammed by an almost overwhelming desire to pull her close and kiss it off.

  Mia gave him a questioning look that he badly wanted to answer—with action. A familiar angst filled him. He yanked a clean handkerchief out of his pocket and passed it to her.

  “Your mouth has stuff on it,” he said tersely.

  She raised her eyebrows at his tone but took the cloth and wiped her face. She was just as tempting without whipping cream, unfortunately—but thankfully she distracted him by shaking her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you carry a handkerchief.”

  “Why not? They’re practical.”

  Her eyes crinkled in humor. “I guess. But anyway, I’m thinking about it . . . practicing with Callum, I mean. I think I’m up for it.”

  “You’ve come a long way in a short time. I guess it shows that you were right in coming here, that you were ready.”

  “Yeah.” Mia stirred her drink with her melting mint stick. “It kind of reminds me of learning to play guitar.”

  “Really? How?”

  “When I was a kid I remember getting so frustrated, trying and trying to get the fingering right for some song or another, and just . . . failin
g miserably. If I kept at it, though—kept showing up and doing the work every day, all of sudden, without warning, I’d turn a corner and just . . . have it. It caught me by surprise every time—that something so difficult, so painful, so impossible would suddenly be second nature. Easy. Like I’d known how all along.”

  She sipped her cocoa. “That’s sort of how I feel about a lot of my, I don’t know, issues. Like maybe I’ve mastered some of the worst of them.” She smiled wryly. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll even get to live like a real person again.”

  “You’ve always lived like a real person. ‘Real’ people live all sorts of ways.”

  Was it his imagination or was her reply slow to come?

  “True,” she said eventually. “Very true.”

  Mia’s comparison of her time at River’s Sigh to playing guitar made Gray notice something else. The cabin had guitars, at least three of them, and piles of notebooks lying everywhere.

  “Are you playing again?” he asked cautiously, not wanting to poke a bruise.

  “Not only that,” she exclaim-whispered, leaning in conspiratorially, “I’m writing again too.”

  “Wow, that’s great. I’m really glad for you.” And he was, sincerely—but he knew his words sounded hollow and inadequate somehow.

  He guessed it made sense that she’d keep pushing right until her last day, given her reason for coming to River’s Sigh, but still . . . “Seems like a lot to have on the go, considering it’s your last week here.”

  “Um, yeah, about that . . . ” Mia rotated on the couch, tucking her legs up, so that she sat cross-legged facing him. “It’s actually not my last week. I’m staying.”

  Gray almost spat out the sweet mouthful he’d been enjoying—and that now tasted like poison. “Wh—what?” he sputtered once he managed to swallow.

  “I’m not leaving in a week.” Mia wrapped her hands around her mug as if for warmth, although the cabin was plenty warm. Swelteringly warm, in fact. Too, too, too warm. When he didn’t say anything else, she continued, “I’m buying a small business here. Relocating—well, for a year anyway. Then if I don’t like it or it doesn’t work out . . .” She shrugged. “I’ll move somewhere else?” The last sentence came out more like a question than a statement.

  Gray tried to formulate some sort of response, but his heart was racing and seemed to have lodged in this throat. He could say nothing.

  Mia set her mug down, concern wrinkling her brow and pinching her mouth. “And so,” she said tentatively, then made jazz hands and flashed a smile, “Good news, right? Ta-da! You won’t have to miss me. We can still be friends.”

  “No,” Gray said without hesitation. No stutter. No pause. No heart in his throat. Only anger and a sad futile whisper in his consciousness, but what if . . .

  Except there was no what if. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, risk such pain again. Celine. Simon. Kip—Tracy’s hollow-eyed, grief ravaged face filled his mind. Love was for the young, the strong, the optimistic . . . he was none of those things anymore. Why did Mia have to push, intentionally or not? Why couldn’t they just . . . enjoy what was and not have to think about anything else? Maybe in his heart of hearts he’d fantasized about keeping their letter writing habit when she was safely . . . away. He had tried to buy the same line she was selling herself—that they were merely friends. But if she stayed? He wouldn’t be strong enough.

  “No!” he repeated, bolting to his feet. Mia stood too, still looking concerned, but also confused.

  “What do you mean no?” Her head tilted as if even her physical body echoed her question.

  “I told you . . .” Pain cramped through him. “I told you we couldn’t be anything.”

  “Wait, wait. I’m sorry. I wasn’t clear. I’m not asking for anything more. I like what we have. You were right. We’re good like this. Safe like this.”

  He gaped at her. Was she actually serious? Did she really not feel it? They were the furthest thing from good the way they were. The furthest thing from safe.

  “I admit I was worried you might not take the news well. I know you’ve been counting down days until I leave.”

  He didn’t deny it, and Mia’s face turned a dull, flat red—very different from the happy, light-hearted glow she usually emitted around him.

  “But then, just now, today, you said you’d miss me.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “So I thought maybe you’d be happy. Happy for me, that I’m doing better. Happy for . . . us—that we’re friends and will still get to see each other.”

  “Shit, Mia . . . I am happy for you. And you’re doing better than ‘better.’ You’re doing great. But as for the rest? You relocating, us . . .” He waved his hand, suggesting everything and nothing in one gesture, then shrugged. “It’s a no. I came here today, out of sorts because it was time to say goodbye—but it is time. And whether you’re living here or not doesn’t change that.”

  Mia swallowed and her eyes no longer merely sparkled. Wet with unshed tears, they shone like moonlit pools.

  Gray shrugged. “I’m . . . sorry.”

  “No,” Mia said. “I am. You were very clear, always have been. And—oh my God,” her voice rose slightly hysterically. “I hope you don’t think I’m trying to force my company on you—”

  Gray wished the ground could swallow him up. What a waste of skin he was. That his weakness would cause kind, funny, generous Mia pain—would make her insecure about reaching out? He made himself sick. Another wave of anger assaulted him. He forced himself to inhale deeply, then to breath out slowly.

  “Of course I don’t think that. What does Sam call me? The crazy recluse in the woods? The broken-down loser? Well, she’s right and you should listen to her. None of this is on you—and I’m sorry you had to meet me and that I ever somehow gave you the idea I could be something I’m not.”

  It wasn’t the good-bye Gray had envisioned, the one where he thanked Mia for putting music and laughter back into his life, however briefly. The one where he might have even let himself kiss her just once . . . to say good-bye and to have something to store in the cave of his brain, alongside the other memories of her . . . but also to try to express that maybe, if life had been different, he would’ve, they could’ve . . .

  But in some ways, or maybe in all ways, this farewell, painful and awkward as it was, was better.

  Mia nodded wordlessly, and equally silent, he geared up and hit the trail. There was nothing left to say.

  Gray went straight to bed when he got back to his cabin, insulating himself from the wind that howled and shrieked through the trees and slammed against his well-chinked walls. He needed a break from his plaguing thoughts of Mia and the uncomfortable tendrils of possibility she had—quite unintentionally—sent bursting through him, finding every crack, looking for any opportunity to take root and grow. He had to blot out the memory of her hurt expression with sleep. He had to.

  Instead of relaxing into the peaceful oblivion of nothingness, however, he dreamed it was a regular work day in his life before. He was eating a thick slice of well-buttered raisin toast and drinking coffee. Outside, dawn had yet to break and the windows facing the quiet cul-de-sac were black and rain streaked. Simon was still in bed asleep, but Celine, as was her habit, had gotten up to have breakfast with Gray. Her sleep-creased face was doughy and her hair was a bird’s nest—but some deep part of Gray must’ve known, even as he fought to savor each detail, that it was just a dream because he had never thought she looked so beautiful. He was desperate to stay there, to not let the moment end.

  He caught Celine’s arm as she walked past him to get a coffee and pulled her onto his lap, then leaned his chin against her shoulder. The cozy weight of her and the soft fleece of the shapeless pink bathrobe she refused to part with was so familiar, so real, that his throat ached.

  His voice was light, however—happy even—when he whispered, “I could stay home today. We could . . . you know.”

  Celine pulled away, laughing. “Nice try, silly man, but not on your lif
e. We’ve got things to do, places to see.”

  Gray stood too. “I’m serious. I have a ton of sick days. I’ll take one.”

  Celine’s voice was fond, but no nonsense. “I’m serious too.” She gave him a gentle push. “It’s time for you to get a move on. Get going—and shut the door behind you.”

  Gray resisted, but Celine repeated herself. “Shut the door behind you! Shut the door behind you. Shut the—” Suddenly her voice was lost.

  Wind roared in Gray’s ears and the hammering sound of a door banging back and forth in a storm assaulted him.

  Gray bolted upright, sweating profusely, but shaky with cold. All was silent and sealed tight. Wolf lumbered up from his place by the stove and padded over to Gray’s bed. Then he leaned his big head near as if to check on him. Gray patted his dog’s silver fur, which glowed a coppery orange in the fiery glare coming from the woodstove’s glass front. Eventually Gray rolled over and realized, narrow as his bed was, he had remained on his side. He reached out and rested his arm on the empty place. Uneasy, woe-filled sleep claimed him once more.

  Gray awoke to heavy snow.

  Chapter 20

  Sitting by one of the dining hall’s floor to ceiling windows, Mia sipped coffee and watched huge feathery snowflakes slowly turn the world white. When she called Sam earlier, she’d been thrilled to discover Sam was free all day and totally game to hang out. They’d enjoyed a leisurely breakfast in River’s Sigh’s dining hall, and Jo joined them for a long while before getting back to work.

  Now, however, her delight with Sam’s company had turned to discomfort, and she felt like the worst kind of snoop as Sam clicked away on her laptop, trying various search terms. Gray’s sad eyes and angry, tortured expression had haunted Mia since she’d last seen him and had driven her to this—finally agreeing with Sam that knowing what had happened to him would be better than not knowing. Over the months she and Gray had been meeting, Mia had flattered herself with the notion that she was helping him as much as he was helping her, but after their last visit she knew better. The words repeated in her head: their last visit.