| |
ELLIOT LEANED AGAINST the speckled Corian counters in his kitchen—the one’s Lexie and he picked out together ten years before. With closed eyes, he tried to slow the beating of his racing heart, to swallow his anger, disappointment, and frustration.
He beat an angry fist against the counter. Why did he ask her those questions? Why did he have to drive her away? After all she had been through, and after years apart, the first real opportunity he had to talk with her, to see her, he spoiled it.
He stood up and rubbed his throbbing fist. He needed to get away, out of this house, where suddenly every little thing reminded him of Lexie.
Elliot grabbed his keys off the hook next to the side door and left. Quick and confident steps led him straight to the garage. There was no hesitation or debate as to where he would go to find peace. He would do what he always did when he needed a reprieve, the most calming thing in the world.
He grabbed two fishing poles, one of which had been his great grandfather’s rod, an antique, and the other, his Shimano Cumara. Then he snatched his tackle box off the wire shelf and headed for his truck.
Elroy, his yellow Lab, sauntered toward his car as he opened the door. “No, boy. Not today.” Elroy shook his head, then opened and closed his mouth with a pathetic whine. Sighing, Elliot stared at the dog. “Fine. Come on,” he said, motioning toward the door.
Once Elroy jumped in and moved to the passenger side, Elliot slid in beside him and started the ignition. “Just don’t expect me to be good company.”
He arrived at the lake ten minutes later, thankful that, as usual, his fishing spot was clear. He walked through a thick grove of trees straight to the water’s edge, with Elroy trailing behind him. There was only a small strip of shoreline where Elliot could stand, but he relished the wildlife that surrounded him. Bald eagles often nested in the trees along the shores, and he liked to picture them, perched above him, majestic guards of the water.
Elliot took both rods and attached a lure to each, a Popper and a Zara Spook. The bizarre names of the lures did not have their usual effect at coxing a smile, however. Instead, his lips remained in a tight, hard line.
As a child, he relished fishing with his grandfather, picking one silly, spindly lure after another out of the tackle box and asking the names. His grandfather recited them, straight-faced and as serious as a poet among Elliot’s giggles. Despite his amusement, Elliot molded them into his memory. There wasn’t a lure or type of bait out there that he couldn’t name. He could tell you the species of fish at the drop of a hat and which lakes and rivers boasted the best. His knowledge of fishing rods, reels, and paraphernalia remained expansive, trumping even the best fishermen. He learned everything about fishing from his grandfather and inherited his love of the sport like a badge of honor. Some said he could’ve gone pro, but a fast-paced life in the spotlight never intrigued Elliot. Only one thing had ever piqued his interest that much, and it was the woman he lost.
With Elroy by his side, he settled into a comfortable rhythm of casting and reeling, letting the beloved pastime soothe his ragged nerves. He relished the soft breeze off the water, the moisture in the air, and the ripple from the waiting fish below the placid surface. Fishing was Elliot’s form of therapy, the one thing that helped him survive the gaping hole Lexie’s departure left in his chest all these years. Refuge existed only in the silence of the water, and today was no exception. He hoped the lake, the fresh, clean scent of the earth, would help erase the image of Lexie’s face from his mind—the defeat in her eyes, the defensiveness in her voice.
He wanted to hold her so bad his arms ached. The memory of the shape of her haunted him at night. The feel of her in his arms circled his dreams.
When he saw her standing on his doorstep this morning, his stomach dipped, his hands trembled. He let her in; afraid she may be a figment of his imagination, and when she stepped across the threshold, every nerve in his body buzzed with the tension of restraining himself.
He swore that if he got the chance to speak with her, he would keep the conversation light. This morning, he had every intention of small talk, of keeping her with him as long as possible, but Lexie in the flesh was too much. With her in his home, picturing the life they should have had together was too easy, and suddenly, the questions Elliot had been asking himself over the past ten years, came tumbling into his thoughts like a landslide, leaving behind nothing but the question of why she left him.
God, he missed her—her hair, her creamy skin, her chocolate eyes, the way she smelled of lavender and shampoo. The curve of her mouth and the soft melody of her voice were just as he remembered.
Deep down though, he sensed a change in her. The type of change which came from the cruelty life could inflict on a person. He wished himself capable of washing away the pain. He wanted to kiss away her tears, to erase the wicked memories of the past with new memories of a life together.
She asked him why he always had to be so perfect. He wasn’t. He never saw himself that way. People often told him of the effect he had on others, this sort of magnetism he possessed, but Elliot never understood it. In his eyes, he never did anything to garner attention or special treatment. He never gave himself the label of perfection—others had.
When Lexie walked away from him, nobody thought for a second he may be at fault. But Elliot knew the truth. He pushed her away then, just as he pushed her out the door today. He loved her so much he had built a world around her, without ever bothering to ask what she really wanted.
Were there times she had tried to tell him that she wanted something different? He’d never know because there was no going back. But the facts didn’t stop him from wondering why he never saw the signs. He knew her heart, so why didn’t he see it? He put her in a bubble, do how could he fault her for wanting to break free?
Ten years ago, he was content with all the simple things—getting married, having a family, fishing, someday building the business that now flourished. Ten years ago, all he wanted was Lexie. The revelation that he still wanted the same things today didn’t come as a surprise, though it should. He would have given everything up for her. He still would.