“Fisher, that’s not nice.” Angie, bless her ignorant heart, came to my rescue.
“Reese’s dad used to construct puzzles.” Rory played the middle ground. Very matter-of-fact. She wasn’t trying to make anyone feel bad.
Fisher nodded several times. “Your ex-husband died. Right?”
Wow.
Fisher remembered that, but not me.
“Yes. Shortly before Reese turned fifteen.”
“Well, I’m on a roll today. Another asshole remark from me. Maybe I should just take my meds and go to sleep.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “I’m sure someday I’ll find my nerdy, cruciverbalist soul mate. And he will find my affinity for clues and words to be endearing. Maybe even sexy.” I winked.
A wink.
For my naked fisherman.
Then it happened again. The corner of his mouth twitched.
Yes, Fisher. You’re my cruciverbalist soul mate, you stubborn ass with a broken brain.
“I’m sure he’s out there. Good luck.” Fisher kept his gaze on me.
“He’s probably in hiding. Not all cruciverbalists are brave enough to admit their passion to the world.”
“Mmm …” he hummed while giving me an easy nod.
I had his attention.
Not his memory.
Not his engagement ring.
Not his bed.
Shaky ground at best, but I took it.
“Well, goodnight, you two,” Rory said as I followed her to the door.
“Thanks again,” Angie replied.
“Yes. Thanks,” Fisher added.
Chapter Six
Dear Lost Fisherman,
I just got home after spending weeks in Denver making sure you’d be okay. You don’t remember me. That’s fine. Maybe it’s best if you don’t.
After five years, the world’s shortest engagement, college, a tattoo, and some serious sinning, I thought I was over you. I found my passion and followed it. I gave my virginity to a worthy man who might have cherished it more than I did. And I found my fucking voice.
Then I saw you. And it was …
Nine across: Eleven letters. Hint: A calamity.
Catastrophe.
I found it therapeutic to write down my thoughts and feelings. It was the easiest way to let go of them. It had been years, not since my father died, that I felt the need to journal my thoughts. But losing Fisher brought out everything.
Anxiety.
Unsettled emotions.
Destructive hope.
Loss of direction.
I gave myself some time. Some time to sort out my feelings before taking a job anywhere. I let my resurrected naked fisherman emotions sort themselves out.
Rory kept me updated on Fisher during my break for perspective. It didn’t help my perspective.
Rory: Fisher’s doing better. A little stir crazy.
Rory: Fisher can’t sleep. Terrible anxiety.
Rory: Fisher tried to go back to work today. Angie is not happy.
Rory: Feeling so bad for Angie. It’s going to be a long road for her and Fisher.
Most of my replies were short like, “Sorry to hear that,” or “That’s too bad.”