Fisher's Light(56)

“I know you’re going to hate me for saying this,” Ellie says softly, “But maybe it’s a good thing that you remember it. Your head has been so filled with the bad stuff and he’s just trying to get you to remember that there were good times, too. You two grew up together and you built a life together. It wasn’t all bad, and he’s trying to get you to realize that. He’s a different person now, Lucy. Everyone can see it. I think he just wants you to see it, too.”

“That’s the problem. I DO see it. I see so much of the old Fisher that I fell in love with and it’s tearing me apart.”

“I think what you need is a break,” Ellie suddenly announces as she slides away from the wall and stands in front of me. “Get your ass cleaned up and get out of this place. Go into town and get some fudge from Ruby’s. I think some double chocolate peanut butter swirl is just what the doctor ordered.”

She’s right, I’ve been cooped up in the inn for a week and all it’s done is given me more time to dwell on things. With a quick hug, I race over to my living quarters and take a quick shower, throwing on an old pair of jean shorts and a Butler House t-shirt, fastening my wet hair up on top of my head in a messy bun.



Pulling my golf cart into an open parking space a few spots down from Ruby’s, I immediately see the one person I’d hoped to avoid when I came to town. I should have known better. Standing here on the sidewalk, I can’t help but stare at him and I’m glad I threw on a pair of sunglasses so it’s not so obvious I’m checking him out. Today, Fisher’s paired his usual khaki cargo shorts with a red USMC t-shirt that hugs his upper body in too many right places. On his head is a backwards Butler House baseball cap that is ratty, dirty and incredibly faded. The sight of that hat does all sorts of things to me and I have to press my hand over my heart to try and get it to stop beating so fast. I gave him that hat right before he left for basic training. He took it with him on every deployment and told me he wore it more often than the uncomfortable helmets they were given. It’s been across the world and back countless times and I can’t believe he still has it.

I stop ogling him long enough to realize his black, F150 truck is backed up right in front of Ruby’s and I’m guessing he just got here and no one has noticed that he’s breaking one of the main summer laws on the island: no motor vehicles on Main Street. It sticks out like a sore thumb in the sea of white golf carts and bicycles parked along the street. I see him struggling to pull something out of the back end of the truck and I realize why he broke the law and drove into town. He’s delivering the sign he was working on when I stopped by Trip’s place last week. It takes up half of the bed of the truck and there’s no way he could have brought it into town on a cart.

Pushing my sunglasses up on my head, I jog over to the back of his truck and grab onto the sign across from him. I’d seen the sign almost finished and I know how much work he put into it. Seeing how absolutely beautiful it is with paint and the final coating of varnish, I don’t want him to mess it up trying to lift it on his own or hurt is shoulder.

He looks up in surprise. “Hey, what are you doing here?

“It’s a double chocolate peanut butter swirl kind of day,” I tell him with a shrug as we work together to slide the sign out of the back.

He laughs and then pauses. “This thing is really heavy. You’re going to hurt yourself if you try to help me lift it.”

I glare at him before going back to work, pulling the sign out on my own before he quickly gets back to work helping.

“I’ve lifted things much heavier than this all on my own for years, thank you very much.”

We continue moving the sign without saying another word and I immediately feel bad for snapping at him. In one second, I managed to remind him of all the times he left me alone to do things by myself and that’s not what I intended.

Holding the long, rectangular sign between us, Fisher at one end and me at the other, we walk it up onto the sidewalk and a customer leaving Ruby’s holds the door open for us so we can tip it upright and get it through the door.

“Fisher! Oh, my goodness, what have you done?!”

Ruby’s excited shout fills the small fudge shop as she comes running out from behind the display case and over to us. Ruby is in her late sixties and she and her husband Butch opened the store when they moved to the island after he returned from Vietnam. Ruby and I talked often while Fisher was on one of his many deployments and she gave me some good advice during that time, but we haven’t spoken much other than in passing since everything happened last year. I was ashamed that she was able to make it work with her husband after he came home from the war and I wasn’t.