Fisher's Light(18)

“How about we finish our drinks and then head back to the inn? I can build a fire, and hopefully all of the guests will be in bed by then so we can be alone.”

It’s time to stop being a wuss. I can’t hold Stanford at arms-length forever. I like kissing him and I enjoy him touching me. My body doesn’t burn when he does it, but it’s nice and I need a little nice in my life. Maybe sex doesn’t need to be punishing, frantic and desperate all the time. Maybe soft and sweet and loving is normal. Looking at Stanford, I know he can quiet that part deep inside of me that screams for something more, something illicit and dangerous. I won’t let myself even think the word “boring.” Stanford is NOT boring. He’s dependable and constant. I’m a thirty-year-old woman who owns her own business and I have an image to uphold in this small town. I need a man like Stanford to keep me grounded.

We finish off our drinks and Stanford comes around behind me to pull out my chair. He holds my hair off of my neck as I secure my wrap around my shoulders. As we turn towards the door and he holds his arm out for me to take, a voice from my dreams and my past resonates from behind us. A deep, raspy sound with a touch of a southern accent that never fails to make my legs weak and my stomach flop.

“Lucy in the sky with diamonds. Aren’t you just a sight for sore eyes?”





Chapter 7




Lucy

April 8, 2014 – 9:12 PM


“You don’t have to do this, you know. He’s not your responsibility anymore. Not after today. Not after the bullshit things he said to you.”

I glance over at my best friend, Ellie, as we quickly walk through town to Barney’s. As soon as I managed to pull myself up from the floor of our bedroom, I grabbed my suitcases and went right to Ellie’s house. We became friends years ago when I went to my first support group meeting on the mainland for wives of deployed soldiers. She was the most vocal person in the room, always quick to help another wife out when they needed it, and she protected the people she cared about like a rabid pit-bull. I found out at my second meeting that she was a widow, losing her husband at the age of nineteen during his first deployment. It amazed me that, after everything she’d been through, she still took the time to go to those meetings and help other people. After a few visits to the island, I managed to convince her to move here permanently and help me out at the inn. She does all of the cooking for the guests, all of the website maintenance and anything else I ask her to do.

“He’s sick, Ellie. That doesn’t excuse the things he said to me, I know that, but I can’t just turn my back on him. We have too much history, too many years together for me to just give up.”

She wraps her arm around my shoulder as we walk and pulls me against her in a quick hug. “You’re too good a person, Lucy. I’m still going to kick Bobby’s ass for calling you. He should have taken care of the situation himself.”

Bobby called my cell phone in a panic fifteen minutes ago telling me Fisher was holed up at Barney’s, drinking his weight in Jack Daniels. When the bartender cut him off an hour ago, Fisher started getting combative and belligerent. Bobby obviously had no idea about what happened earlier in the day or that I would be the last person Fisher wanted to see, so I couldn’t blame him for calling me. He was worried about his best friend and couldn’t get him to calm down. I’d always been the one to get through to Fisher, to calm his fears and ease his pain. He naturally assumed I could work my magic again.

“I’m not going to stay long. I’m just going to see if I can get him to leave Barney’s and sleep it off,” I tell her as we cross the street in front of the bar.

I don’t tell her that everything inside of me is hoping that, as soon as he sees me, he’ll apologize and take back the things he said earlier. I don’t admit that I’m still holding onto hope that I didn’t lose him completely.

Ellie pushes open the door to Barney’s and holds it for me to enter. A country song is blasting on the jukebox and the air is filled with the usual smell of stale beer and old cigarette smoke. It’s not very busy in here, but it still takes me a few seconds to find Fisher through the small crowds of people gathered around tables and walking back and forth to the bar. He’s sitting on a stool at one of the tall tables and Bobby is in front of him. I can see Bobby throwing up his arms every few seconds while he speaks to him, and I can tell he’s getting frustrated that Fisher most likely isn’t listening to a word he says. Fisher’s hair is a scattered mess on top of his head and I can just picture him running his hands through it all night while he sat here, trying to drown his misery. His face is flushed from the alcohol and his shirt is soaked through with sweat. My heart starts hurting all over again seeing him like this, so lost and unable to focus on Bobby’s face as his body sways a little from side to side.