Savor It

Chapter 4. Fisher

Officer Carver takes Indy aside first to ask her some questions while one of the firefighters starts with me.

“What’s your name?” the tallest one asks, fixing me with a hard glare.

“Fisher?” I reply, still not getting the need for the intensity.

“Fisher what?”

“Fisher Lange.”

We go through the rigamarole of them checking my ID and verifying that I am Indy’s legal guardian, with a few cursory questions about how that came to be.

“This says that it went into effect three years ago?” one asks.

“Uh, yeah,” I manage to eke out. I dart a furtive glance around for Indy, hoping she didn’t hear from the other room.

I expect them to leave once they’re satisfied and have returned my documentation, but they only appear to make themselves more comfortable.

“What do you do?” the other firefighter asks me when he joins, coming back from the direction of the kitchen. Suddenly I can’t help but think that this part of the inquiry feels… unrelated to the issue at hand. And come to think of it, why are these guys asking me anything in the first place? I’m not an expert, but I don’t think that’s part of their job description. I’m also exhausted, though, and it’s plain that I need to cooperate if I’d like this to be over as quickly as possible. So, even though the question is more complicated than he realizes, in an effort to wrap this all up I answer, “I’m a chef.”

“Hmm,” the second one hums. “The earrings made me think yoga instructor.”

The first one turns to him. “That sounds judgmental, Silas. Maybe he just brews his own patchouli cologne, or dabbles in hemp jewelry.” He swings back to me before looking down at his notepad. “Sorry about my brother. Where do you cook?” I notice that both have the name Byrd on their uniforms. This one appears to be older, his hair graying around the temples.

“I—don’t? Currently,” I respond, ignoring the jabs.

“So you’re not actually a chef, then,” the older-looking one says, dubiously. His gaze stays on his paper.

“Uh, I am. I’m just—”

“What is it that brings you to Spunes?”

“I’m consulting.”

“That sounds like a made-up job,” the younger-looking one—Silas, his brother called him—pipes up this time.

“Why would a chef not cook?” Now it’s Officer Carver chiming in, finished up with Indy but apparently not satisfied with his interrogation.

“Because I’m consulting.” And that is a long story that I prefer to keep between me and my therapist, jackass.

“On what?” One of the brothers again.

I stand up and frown at the three grown men trying to nose into my business like Gossip Girl parodies. “Listen, is any of this pertinent to your—I don’t know, incident report or whatever it is you need before you’ll be done here?”

They share a look among themselves before the cop pivots back to me. I don’t miss the way the brothers’ gazes narrow on him when he turns, though. Interesting.

Carver blows out a breath. “It’s clear that you’re more accustomed to a city, so this concept might be lost on you, but it’s a waste of our town’s more modest resources, not to mention our time, for us to haul ass out here for a vacuum,” he says.

The oldest-looking Byrd huffs out a sound and waves an irritated hand at him. “Misunderstandings happen, but he’s kinda right. You got something to make you feel”—his shoulders bounce up—“protected? Maybe a bit less jumpy?” At least he has the decency to look like he doesn’t want to say it, as opposed to the cop obviously reveling in my humility.

Before I can respond, the side door to the kitchen opens with a slap, and in walks a woman.

A woman in a shiny, cow-printed robe. It’s wildly short in the front, longer in the back, and trimmed in whatever they make those boa things out of for bachelorette parties or Elton John concerts. It billows around her as she stomps into the room in big green rain boots, sparing everyone else a stern glance.

“Sage, dammit, what are you doing over here?” the younger Byrd complains.

“This could be an active crime scene for all you know,” the older one adds with a worn-out sigh.

Sagerolls her eyes. “Pretty clear that it’s not, since I spotted Silas munching on their snacks through the window as I was walking up,” she states firmly. The youngest Byrd brother tosses me a guilty look.

“And,” she continues, “you two are the ones who decided to cut through and fly down my frontage road, spooking all my animals awake early, and now Legoless is missing.” She points a finger between the Byrds before she turns gray eyes on me. “I hope you don’t mind me barging in here. I knew my idiot brothers were on shift tonight, and when I saw them through the window I figured they were lingering. They’re notorious for overstaying their welcome.”

She’s suntanned like her brothers, with hair that’s something between brown and blond, something between wavy and straight. Freckles pepper her face and thighs.

“They’re still right, Sagey,” Carver adds. The way his voice changes with her reminds me of balloons rubbing together, and I hate it in a way that is immediate and bewildering. “You shouldn’t just barge in here, even so. You had no way to know if it was safe or not.” Both Byrd men rapidly turn on him and say, “Shut up, Ian,” in unison, the rebuke dripping with venom.

Aha. A corner of this puzzle slots together and I’m oddly relieved that some instinct in me was correct for prickling at that dynamic, even if every other instinct has been a monumental letdown tonight. I chuckle before I can stop myself though, and all three men rear on me.

“He’s the one who prank called nine-one-one!” Ian whines.

“I didn’t prank call you. I thought we…” It sounds brainless and more embarrassing in front of a new audience member. “I thought we had an intruder.” Really, I’m the intruder here, aren’t I? I glance out the window and see the sun coming up and painting the morning pink. For some reason, I find the woman’s eyes next, a mixture of sympathy and wariness there. She turns back on the other three.

“Well, it’s clear he doesn’t!” she declares, looking between them. “If it’d been a woman that called, would you hover around and lecture her at all?” They respond with silence. “I didn’t think so. Now beat it. And watch out for my cat.”

There are a few low grumbles as they start to make their way toward the door. I snatch a cookie from Silas’s grubby paw when he passes me, and he snatches it right back. Both brothers give Sage a side hug on their way out, but Ian lingers for a moment, a few feet from her. She holds herself rigidly, shoulders tilting away.

“You want some help looking for him?” he asks her quietly. There’s a familiarity in his tone that only makes her stiffen more.

“Nope,” she says with a close-lipped smile.

“Come on, then. I’ll walk you back.”

Her chin rears back a little before she shakes her head. “Just leave, Ian,” she replies.

The cop turns around and gives me a final hard look I can’t decipher. I’m still too mortified to do anything more than give him a bored glare in return.

When everyone else leaves and the cars all start to rumble outside, I glance around and notice that we’re alone.

“Shit, where’s Indy?” I say to myself. “Indy?!” I call back up the stairs.

“That’s actually why I came in,” she says, wincing. “Well, the cat thing is real, too, except I have a fairly good idea where he is. But… I saw your daughter climbing down the lattice from the upstairs window, before she pulled down a bike from your truck bed and looked like she was going to take off.” She looks uncomfortable saying it, like she didn’t want to rat her out, and for some reason that makes me respect that she did.

“Fuck,” I hiss under my breath, closing my eyes.

“No, no, it’s all right,” she continues. “I ran over and distracted her. She’s just on the porch.”

My chest drops with relief. “Wait. How’d you distract her?”

“I handed her my goose.” She says this like it’s in any way a normal sentence. “And then I spotted you through the window and you already looked a bit like you wanted to die, or like you were at the end of the longest day even though it only just started, so I figured I’d, uh, help you disperse the crowd.” She wrinkles her nose. “People can be a bit meddlesome around here.”

“Ah, yes, the customary small-town welcome. Spying on their neighbors.” I mean for it to sound light and teasing, but it comes out with an aggravated edge instead, like I’m too socially rusty.

She purses her lips and lifts a brow. “When there’s only one other house around for miles and you’re woken up by sirens, wouldn’t you?” she says, flipping out her palms with a smile. “For the record, that’s not a small-town thing. That’s an anywhere thing.”

She’s got a point. “Touché. Sorry.” I take a few steps and look out the window. Indy stands at the edge of the porch, frowning at the fat, white bird in her arms. He plucks at her hair with his bill and lets out a low honk that makes her flinch. “She runs away a lot,” I admit out loud. “It’s… been a thing.” I figure I owe the woman the quid pro quo. Some vulnerability for her trying to spare me some embarrassment. I blow out a long breath and scratch at my jaw again. “Hopefully I won’t have to call the Power Rangers again to help me find her sometime this summer.” I try to make my mouth smile. I think one corner slants up.

She only nods before she reaches out a hand. “Sage Byrd,” she says. I look at it a moment before I realize we weren’t ever actually introduced. Lavender-colored nails, rings on every finger.

“Fisher,” I reply, taking her palm. My calluses skate against hers, her hand tiny in mine and her grip surprisingly strong.

“If it helps, there’s not much trouble to get into around here. At least not if you don’t know where to look for it,” she says, shrugging. “And I can show you how to detach the lattice, if you want. It’s attached to a separate board because the Andersens once had a teenage daughter, too.” She lets out a small laugh. “You mind if I check for my cat first, though?”

“N-no, not at all,” I say, even though she’s already pushing past me in a flourish of spotted, feathery robe.

“So,” I try to make small talk as I trail down the hallway after her. I’m half wondering if I should clarify that Indy is my niece or if I should tell her anything else, but she hasn’t asked, and this is the first semi-upbeat interaction I’ve had in so long that I find myself a little desperate to keep it going. I’ve also got the oddest urge to see what that robe feels like, something that I find perplexing and mildly annoying since I have no intention of actually reaching out for it. Must be a tactile sensory thing—used to working with my hands all the time. “Why does your cat come here? And where does he get in?” I ask.

“Dog door in the laundry room.” She grins over her shoulder. “And, Nina—one of the homeowners—puts out tuna for him so he assumes he’s got free rein. Her cat passed some years back so I’ve sort of let her share custody.”

She opens the door to what I guess is the laundry room and flutters down into a crouch, propping open a cupboard. Sure enough, she’s met with a bright yowl.

“There you are. Come on, old man,” she coos, pulling the gray bundle of fur into her chest. When she turns around with him cradled in her arms, big gold eyes stare back at me, unimpressed. Me either, pal, I think blandly. He presses his head under her chin and curls in contentment. “He’s in pretty good shape for fourteen, huh?” Sage says.

I find myself trying to return her smile, but something about it feels too bright, like I can’t look at it full-on. My lips twitch before I squint away instead. I reach out and give the cat a scratch so I have somewhere else to focus, and suddenly his name makes sense. “Aside from the missing leg, it seems like he is,” I reply, my smile not feeling quite as forced. “Clever name.”

Our eyes catch again and snag for a moment too long. And I should just tear mine away from her, but there’s so much to look at and I… I get a little bit stuck, I think. There are so many contradictions here. The wild robe and muck-covered boots, creamy, sun-kissed skin with freckles like little collections of fireworks. Pillowy, full rosy mouth in a square face. The moment stretches into three before we finally fumble to move at the same time. She steps toward me and I step toward her and we get tangled in a weird little dance of “Ope, sorry, yeah, let me just, here—” until I practically pick her up and switch our places. And though the contact lasts less than a second, the satiny robe leaves my fingertips feeling strangely cool, the sensation lingering like they’d slid against something damp. I have half a mind to look down and inspect them.

“SO,” she shouts, blatantly trying to bulldoze past the awkwardness as we make our way back toward the kitchen. “Uh, some places I’d recommend checking out while you’re in town… Start at the Magic Bean and Savvy’s Bakery. If you go today you’ll get to experience their Earl-Grey-and-blackberry scones. They only have them on Sundays. They’re basically our town’s form of religion.”

I chuckle even as a pang of something cuts through me. People once worshiped my food, too. “Thanks,” I say. And even though she’s given me no reason to, I still feel the need to defend Indy. “She’s not… she’s not a bad kid, just so you know. She’s just fifteen and has had to deal with a lot of change lately.”

Sage just lifts a shoulder. “That age feels like being an adult stuck in a kid’s body. Or, I guess the other way around too.” She pauses, massaging the cat while she considers her next words. “My nephew’s sixteen, going on seventeen. He’s taking extra classes over summer before he starts his senior year, but I could ask him to show her around.”

It’s such a forward, earnest response that it takes me a moment to reply. “Indy’s doing summer school here, too,” I say. Has to, or she won’t move on to her sophomore year. She skipped out on three months of school, and there are limitations to what the education system will put up with, apparently, even if you’ve lost a mom.

“Even better. Sam could maybe drive her, if you wanted. If you’re comfortable with that, of course.” She shrugs, jostling the cat in her arms, and her mouth kicks into a smile. “My advice when it comes to teens is to always know their friends. I teach high school social studies.”

I find myself genuinely chuckling. Another contradiction. “Not a wealthy widow three times over, then?” I nod at the robe.

Her eyes flash and her smile opens wider in delight. “Not yet, but haven’t you heard of manifesting? Dress for the job you want, they say,” she replies playfully, dragging the back of her hand down the robe with a flick.

“I’ll be honest, you could be an astronaut for all I care, I’ll still take all the sage advice you’ve got.” Jesus, Fisher, that’s enough of that. I cringe at my own corniness. As if I needed to embarrass myself any more this early in the day. I recall the welcome sign and wonder if this place is already seeping into my psyche—osmosis via proximity, or something.

But then Sage laughs heartily, and the sound nearly makes me miss a step. It’s a throaty, husky thing. A catch and a hitch at the beginning, crackling warmth in the middle. “I’m full of advice, Fisher, even if I’m not great at taking it myself. Don’t let Mrs. Gale hold on to your mail for long down at the post office. She will find an excuse to read it. Don’t go to Founder’s Point unless it’s low tide. Don’t order anything at Walter’s diner unless you want it exactly how it comes.”

“I meant in regards to teenagers—to Indy,” I clarify. “But consider that all noted, too.” Even though I’ll be avoiding mingling in this town as much as humanly possible after this, I don’t say. I try for my most charming grin.

She blushes over her shoulder at me, eyes rounding. “Oh! Um… I think that’s it! For now, at least.” She takes a few more steps, almost to the exit. “Indy’s a pretty name, by the way,” she adds.

There’s an opening there. I could explain where the name came from, that it’s not from a wife and that it came from my sister, and therefore Indy is not my daughter. Maybe it’d lead to me telling her why we’re here, too, sparking up some friendly rapport. But I get the sense that she won’t push, and I’m rapidly wearing out, like even though it’s surprising in a way that feels nice, this friendliness is also physically exerting. And I’m ready to hide away and try to forget this morning ever happened. Blips of everything keep trying to replay in my head, surging up like acid reflux. “Thank you. For earlier, too. For the rescue. Helping me clear them out of here and all,” I tell her.

Silver eyes blink at me and away just as quickly. “I might have an idea what it’s like to not want your humiliation dragged out for longer than necessary. Or rubbed in your face,” she says.

I make a vague sound of assent. “Well, I appreciate it.”

She smiles softly and opens the door, so I decide to blurt one more thing. “Let me know if I can return the favor ever.”

She turns back with a frown, a single line between her brows, full bottom lip pushed out slightly. But then her smile lifts again, and this time, the curve of it hooks on something low in my gut and tugs. “Thanks. I just might.”