Page 7 of Fast Currents
She arched one dark brow. “Exhibit A: the marriage proposals.”
She wasn’t ready to hear that they weren’t a lie. Or a joke. I’d learned the hard way not to wait for the good things in life.
“Tell you what. Someday, I’ll let you read my journal from the first day we met.” Her expression went from confident to nervous. I winked. “But we’re not ready yet.”
Our dinner arrived, and conversation turned to more innocuous topics: why a trail of hot dog buns was discovered along the main road, if the ferries would ever be fully staffed for an entire month, and general island gossip.
As a relative newcomer, I was still figuring out the who’s-who.
“How long have you lived on the island?” I asked.
Lucy shrugged. “I started my residency five years ago and took over the studio full-time three years after I started.”
“Where are you from originally?”
“The Olympia area.”
“You still have family there?”
“Yep. What about you?” she asked.
“I’m an only child. My folks are retired and live near Denver, where I grew up.”
“Does the Parks Service move you around a lot?”
“I have permanent status. At this point, I can choose to stay or request a transfer.”
“Did you choose San Juan?”
I hid a smile. Her curiosity revealed more than she realized.
“Yes.” I weighed my words. “My wife passed away, and, ultimately, I decided I needed a change. Colorado held too many bittersweet memories.”
Something flashed in her eyes. Maybe the world’s fastest am-I-the-asshole calculation as she thought back to our traded barbs and marriage proposals.
Her hand stretched toward mine. For a moment, I thought she’d graze my fingers. At the last second, she curled her fingers under, bypassing my hand for the water carafe, refilling my glass and hers.
“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine,” she said softly.
There was true remorse in her tone. For a second, I wished I hadn’t told her. That she could continue viewing me as her happy-go-lucky asshole of an art partner who was too charming for his own good. With no more depth than a rain puddle and no real feelings. Watching her recognize in real-time that she’d misjudged me wasn’t as satisfying as I’d thought.
“What was she like?”
Her simple question made me pause. So many of my thoughts of Jen were shadowed by her illness. But there were happier times, especially in the beginning.
“There was a lightness to her that made everything seem easy. We met in high school.”
“Let me guess, she was the head cheerleader?” Lucy asked it with a tiny smile. No sign of scorn.
“No. Yearbook and cross country. I used to joke that she ran until I caught her.”
“She sounds like she kept you on your toes. I bet it was good for that giant ego of yours.”
My laughter surprised me. Most of my memories of Jen were wrapped in sadness. It was nice to talk about the good times.
“What about you? What brought you to the island?”
My question hung in the air. Her gaze swung to meet mine, the new somberness there making me wish again that I hadn’t told her about Jen. My attempt to change the subject and dig into her background at the same time was painfully transparent. But I could always count on Past Lucy to take the bait, even if she swam with the line and tangled me in the rocks as punishment.
