Eli
October 14, 2017
I lean in the doorway of the bathroom, wearing only a towel across my middle, staring at her while she sleeps in my bed, her body against my sheets.
Her dark hair is strewed across the pillow where she fell asleep. But it’s hidden—just beyond her playfulness, her banter, her confidence—something sad. Something that time will only heal.
When I told her I couldn’t, she said I was right. I didn’t ask her why she’d said that, maybe partly because I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to be right.
But, fuck, it had taken everything in me to push the words out.
My dick said, Go.
My head said, Stop.
And my heart said, Hold on.
I need to take her home today. I’ve thought of a million excuses as to why she should stay here, but I know she came here to do something in Granite Harbor, something on her own, and I don’t want to mess with that.
It’s just past six in the morning. I’d love to take Alex to Acadia National Park, show her some of the tourist sites that Maine has to offer. Though it’d be crazy. It’s a Saturday during leaf peepers season. Scratch that idea. Maybe we’ll drive down to Bar Harbor, and I can show her my favorite place to eat lobster rolls. Not something we Mainers do, but it’s a tourist thing. She might enjoy it. That’s if she’ll have me.
I told her I didn’t want to do things with her last night. But I did. I wanted to so badly. Maybe this is for the better—her going back to her place. But we will still work together. I agreed to take her on.
Quietly, I walk downstairs in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and I pour myself a cup of coffee. I should make her a cup. But what does she take in it? Instead, I put out a mug for her, just in case.
I pull up Bangor Daily News and scroll through the headlines.
It’s on the fifth page, under Entertainment. The headline reads, New York Times Best-Selling Author Alex Fisher Poses with Lydia White, Bookstore Owner in Granite Harbor, Maine.
I read the headline again, and again. I read the brief article, listing Alex’s successes. And then the part where locals have said … seen with game warden Eli Young.
“Hey.”
Jesus Christ. I jump. “What are you? Some sort of Navy SEAL or something?”
Alex laughs.
She can see what I’m reading.
“Why didn’t you say anything, Alex?” I ask.
She shrugs as she walks to the coffee pot. “What’s there to say?”
“Oh, I don’t know. That you’re an extremely successful author, and, according to this article, several of your books have been made into movies.”
“Would it have made a difference?” She sits down next to me, nonchalant. “Would it have made a difference about what you thought of me?” She takes a sip, and her eyes burrow into mine.
No. “No.”
“Did you want me to introduce myself as Alex Fisher”—she glances at the headline—“New York Times best-selling author and say that Hollywood makes movies with my books?” Alex laughs. She laughs as if nothing happened between us last night. “Besides, Eli, I told you that I wrote books.”
She glances at the article again, and I see when she gets to the part in the article where it talks about the death of Kyle. Alex looks away and takes a sip of her coffee.
I gently take her chin in my hand and move her head, so she’s facing me. “Grief can define us, if we allow it to. Don’t let it get in the way of what you can do, what you’re capable of.” I pause.
Alex slowly nods, still staring at me. Her chin wobbles, but she swallows, gaining more solidarity with herself.
“When my mom died, Ida, who was a lot younger at the time said, ‘Allow yourself the space and tears. Because, if we’re not done crying, we’re not done grieving.”
A single tear falls from her eye.
I don’t reach out to catch it, and neither does she. We both let it fall.
All of a sudden, what happened between us last night has become so much more less intimate than this moment right here.
“Listen,” I say, “I have to go to my dad’s tonight for dinner. Come with me?” I give her space. It’s a day off. She doesn’t have to work alongside me. “You can write for the day, and then I’ll swing by and pick you up about five thirty p.m. tonight.”
“Your dad’s?”
“As friends.”
“As friends,” she repeats.
The conversation needs to be had. “I let things go too far last night.”
Alex takes her hand and gently rests it on my arm. “I haven’t been with anyone since Kyle, Eli.” Her eyes dance from side to side. “I think I let my needs get the best of me last night. I just … haven’t been intimate with anyone since him.”
I want to tell Alex that it’s the same for me, too. I want to tell her that Grace is only a memory and that I was—am—still married. That it’s over. That I cannot touch Alex in ways I want to touch her, be with her, until she’s all right with moving on—and Grace is out of the picture completely.
“Look, I leave here in three weeks. I’ll write the book, and we won’t have to do this whole awkward dance around each other.”
I don’t have words to fill the silence between us right now because I’m partly confused, but partly, I expected this. Right? I mean, she’s here to do a job. I’m here to give her some assistance. The part I’m confused about is, does she think I want her gone? It’s quite the opposite.
You did tell her no last night, Eli.
Does she really believe I don’t want to see her anymore? Does she think she’s a nuisance?
“Is that what you think?”
“Look, Eli, you don’t owe me an explanation.”
I don’t want to say things and confuse her. So, I don’t answer her.
Because, really, what I want to say is, I want to give you time to fall in love with me. And, sometimes, timing is the goddamn devil.
“Pop?” I push the door open for Alex.
“In here,” he says from the kitchen. “About time you got here. I was just about—” He stops. “Oh, you must be Alex, the writer.” My dad tosses the dish towel over his shoulder and extends his hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Brand.”
“You have a beautiful home, Brand.” She looks around at the various head mounts on the wall.
It’s the home I grew up in. Absolutely nothing has changed since I was ten. It’s the same exact house, same decor, as when Mom left.
“What can I help with, Pop?” I move toward the stove and check the meat. “Can I get you something to drink, Alex?”
“Just water, please.”
“Talked to Merit today. Coming home for Thanksgiving,” Pop says, stirring the rice on the stove. “Will you be joining us for Thanksgiving, Alex? We’d love to have you.”
“No, Pop, she’s heading back to California in a few weeks.” The only reason I say this is so that she doesn’t have to feel awkward. I say it as if she were moving across town. I say it so that it sounds unforced, natural, even though every fiber of me wants to tell her to stay.
“What part of California does Merit live in?” Alex asks.
“Oh, they have that big aquarium back there. The one with all the otters. What’s it called, Eli?”
“Monterey Bay Aquarium.” I hand Alex her glass of water.
“Yeah, Monterey. Loves it. Doesn’t come back home too often.” Pop smiles with his eyes.
My dad has always been the provider, the worker. Even at seventy, he still brings in the wood and takes care of the ten acres he lives on. Refuses to slow down.
I like the way my dad is with Alex. Casual. Unafraid to ask questions. He wasn’t this way at all with Grace. Maybe Grace felt the tension. Pop never said anything about it. But I noticed.
“You keep this property up all by yourself, Brand?” she asks.
“Yes.” He turns off the rice while I grab three plates from the cupboard. “Take four out. Talked to Ryan in town. He’s going to try to swing by.” Pop sets a slab of moose meat and rice on the table. “Grab the cornbread from the oven, would you, Striker?”
“I’ll do it.” Alex jumps in, grabs the mitt from my hand, gives me a wink, and takes out the cornbread. “Shall I slice it up, Brand?”
“You shall. And grab the green beans would you, too, son?”
“So, Striker, what’s with the nickname?” Alex smirks, trying not to laugh, looking up at me.
“You gonna tell the story, Eli, or you want me to tell the story?” Pop asks.
“Pop, your version is about an hour longer than mine, so I’ll tell it. My first year on the mound in baseball. I was about eight. I pitched most of the game. And, after the game, the other coach came up to me and said, ‘You’re quite the pitcher, Eli.’ And I said, ‘No, I’m a striker.’” I shrug. “Nickname stuck.”
Pop explodes with laughter until tears start to come. “It was so cute, Alex. He didn’t have any front teeth and lisped when he said it. Oh”—he uses his fingers to wipe the tears away—“it was so goddamn funny.”
I enjoy watching Alex laugh as she joins in with my dad. It makes me laugh.
Alex, Pop, and I set the table, and we’re about to sit down to eat.
“Well, I’d say someone cooked an incredible meal in here,” Ryan says as he walks in, but there’s an edge to it. “Alex, nice to see you. Brand.”
“You’re just in time. Come on, have a seat. And you owe a dollar. You’re late,” Pop jokes.
Ryan laughs as he pulls his wallet from his back pocket. “Two dollars, sir.” He places them in the jar up on top of the fridge.
Pop keeps an ongoing jar for dinnertime. If you’re late, you owe a dollar. Guess he knows he can make a fortune off of game wardens. Pop retired from the Maine Warden Service after thirty years, so he knows the hours can be grueling, oftentimes unpredictable. I know the money is going back to us in the end.
“Mind if I steal Eli before we sit down to eat?” Ryan still has his uniform on, which means he’s not through working. That means what he has to discuss with me is work-related.
Alex and Pop begin to eat, and I follow Ryan outside to the porch.
“What’s going on?”
Ryan grabs the back of his neck and stares at the ground. “Found another body part.”
“What? How come you didn’t call me?” I pull my phone from my pocket.
“Like there’s something you can do? Eli, you have a day off. Take it. They don’t come that often.”
“What happened?”
“Camden Hills Campground. The campground closed for the season on October 7. Park ranger discovered a woman’s finger next to another black bear late this morning.”
“DNA back on the breast? Same woman?”
“We don’t know yet. Should know something later in the week.”
“I let Alex go home today for a while.” I’m more talking to myself than anyone. Rubbing my forehead with my hand, I pace. “Did we get any hits on local missing person cases?”
“A few. One in New Hampshire and a few out of Massachusetts. We won’t know until we can get the DNA back.”
“I should go in tonight.”
“Oh, really, Superman? Because you’re going to take down this crazy fucker overnight?”
A loud crash inside makes Ryan and me jump and run inside.
Alex is hunched over my dad, checking for a pulse, leaning over his mouth to feel or hear if he’s breathing. “He just collapsed, Eli.” Panic is clear in her voice.
Ryan calls an ambulance.
It’s been a long fucking night. Ryan went home to change and take a shower. Alex is asleep in the chair next to me, hunched over her jacket. I want to reach out and put my hand on her back, thank her for staying, but I don’t.
A tall blonde comes through the waiting room doors, luggage in hand. Her eyes are tired, the color of red embers. She stalks toward me. My mind doesn’t comprehend what I’m seeing in front of me.
“Merit?” I stand, and she crashes into me.
This isn’t Merit. She’s the scientist. Logical. Methodical.
Her head hits my chest, and her arms go around my waist.
“I wasn’t going to call you until I talked to Dr. Philips.”
Merit took our mom’s death in stride. She jumped into her role and made it look effortless while Pop and I wandered the house like drones.
“You came out all the way from California? Mer, who called you?” I’m still in disbelief.
Merit pulls away and looks up at me and then down to Alex. “Is this Alex Fisher?”
It’s weird to hear Merit say her name like that.
“Did Alex call you?”
“Yeah. She was worried about Pop and you.”
Alex is still out. I don’t rouse her, but I want to. I’ll thank her later. It’s really good to see Mer’s face around our parts again. I think, when Merit left, she felt she had to. Like there was no other choice. Why she felt like that, I have no idea. But, when we graduated from high school, she left after the summer and never looked back.
Just as Dr. Philips pushes through the double doors, Ryan slips in through the side door.
Merit’s demeanor changes.
“Merit?” Ryan says.
“Eli, Merit, please, come to my office.” Dr. Jerry Philips motions us through the double doors.
We’ve known Jerry since we were kids. Played baseball with his son, Trevor, who happens to be a mess. It’s funny what small towns do to you. They either make you or break you. He’s been in and out of drugs. Just arrested last week for some kinky sex scandal that included two women and a boatload of drugs in Portland.
Could he be responsible for something as heinous as removing a woman’s breast? A finger?
Fuck, I’m tired. Clearly, I’m not thinking logically.
Trevor is into drugs, but is he capable of something more?
Lydia shows up behind Ryan but pushes past him and pulls up a chair next to Alex, who’s now starting to wake.
“Thanks for coming,” Alex says to Lydia and looks back to me.
With the look she’s giving me, I know she wants to say, Take your time. I’ll be right here, waiting, but she doesn’t, and I don’t say another word before I follow my sister through the double doors.