The Lost Fisherman (Fisherman 2)

Angie blinked a new round of tears as her face wrinkled. “Y-yes … that’s exactly h-how I f-feel.”

Rose hugged her. “He’ll come around. You’re a beautiful, kind, talented woman. He’d be a fool to not fall in love with you again.”

“W-what am I supposed to do…” she sniffled and wiped her face “…about the wedding? Do we cancel? We’ve put money down on a venue. A florist. I’ve bought a d-dress.”

Rory looked to me, her silent plea for help. Just because I read her mind regarding her emotions didn’t mean I had great advice for her wedding plans.

With wide eyes, I shrugged and turned my attention to the rest of the water in my glass, gulping it down. “I’m going to grab a shower. I hope it all works out how it should.”

Sadly, I thought it should work out differently than she did.

My first day with Holly could not have been better. She was the midwife I wanted to be. Patient. Calm. Caring. Encouraging. The clinic was an old house with the rooms converted into ‘exam’ rooms, if you could call them that. They were decorated with a Zen theme. Nothing cold and sterile about them.

The midwives scheduled two hours with every person to give them the chance to ask questions and express concerns or fears about … anything. One of Holly’s clients was three months pregnant and stressed over what car to get for their growing family. Holly grabbed her computer and helped search for good options for safety, gas milage, best value, etc.

Who did that at a routine prenatal visit?

That was what I loved about Holly and the other midwives at the clinic. Nothing they did felt routine at all. Every client had their own birth plan, no two exactly alike.

Different needs.

Different inherent risks.

Different concerns.

She respected their decisions without judgment.

“How was your day?” Rory asked when I arrived home a little after six in the evening.

As if she couldn’t tell from the grin on my face and the exaggerated bounce in my step. We spent the next hour eating dinner and discussing my first day.

“Enough about me, how was your day?”

“Interesting,” Rory said.

“Understatement.” Rose rolled her eyes as I grabbed her empty plate from the table.

“Do tell.” I carried our dishes to the sink.

“Hailey called me on my way to work. Apparently, Angie unloaded on her too. Hailey asked me to talk to Fisher. Then Fisher’s sister called me. Again, asking me to talk to Fisher. Then it hit me … I must be his only friend. Why does everyone think that I can fix this? That he will listen to me? And I don’t even know what I’m supposed to tell him because I know what it’s like to not be in love with the person everyone thinks you should love.”

My dad.

“Sorry, Reese,” she whispered as Rose kissed the top of her head.

I leaned against the counter and crossed my arms over my chest. “Dad died ten years ago. I think you can officially retire from feeling guilty for not loving him the way you love Rose. Okay?”

She nodded slowly. “Thank you.”

“As for Fisher, I think you can talk with him, but I’d listen more than preach to him. Think of what you wanted from people around you when you knew you were going to disappoint everyone for having feelings that only you could understand.”

Rory gave me a look for a few seconds. I couldn’t quite decode it.

“You sure have grown up. I’m so proud of you.”

I wasn’t sure how grown-up I felt. Experienced in love and heartbreak? Yes. So much more than Rory realized.

“Thank you.” I couldn’t help my grin or the warmth in my heart. Nothing compared to feeling a mother’s love. That year in Thailand with the midwife made me appreciate Rory so much more. “I’m going to read for a while and then try to get to bed early. Holly has two clients due in the next two weeks, so I’m on call. It’s usually a rotating call, but two of the other midwives are out. One is on vacation. The other one has a child going in for heart surgery. So this could be a crazy and exhausting two weeks, but I’m so excited!”

“We’re excited for you. Goodnight,” Rose and Mom said to me.

The next morning, I headed out for my run. Waiting at the stoplight stood a familiar figure with a casted arm.

“You’re up early.” I slowed to a stop at the crosswalk.

Fisher grinned so big. “Good morning.” And just like the Fisher I remembered, he took a few extra seconds to slide his gaze along the full length of my body.

My long-sleeved running shirt.

My jogging shorts.

Pink running shoes.

Shoulder-length hair pulled into a short ponytail.

I was so close to calling him out on it, the way I might have done five years earlier, but I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, given his present relationship status. Also, I feared he might stop looking at me that way if I said something.