Wingman: Just a Guy and His Dog Read online

  I pushed the dreadful thought away, deciding I was being paranoid and a bit conceited thinking Fynn and Brent had been talking about me at all. I was hardly an interesting topic.

  I yanked a quick comb through my hair but didn't bother with any makeup since there would obviously be no one to mesmerize with my pink lemonade lip gloss. It was for the best anyhow. I needed to finish Sandra's plaque.

  I tossed my mini backpack over my shoulder and rolled my bike out from under the shade of the awning. I threw my leg over and stopped to stare at the fountain. The water was still only a trickle. Green algae still coated most of the fountain, but the weeds were gone. You could see each detail of the stone stallions. It looked closer to the fountain I remembered, and even though it wasn't working yet, it made me smile just to see it. The fountain seemed to be smiling too.

  As I lifted onto the seat of the bicycle, a guitar strummed through the park. It was a Third Eye Blind song, and it sounded awesome, as if the lead guitarist himself was playing it.

  I rode my bike across the street and into the park. I stopped behind the slide to watch and listen. Fynn was concentrating fully on his playing and hadn't noticed me ride up. A guitar. Of course. What else could he add to his repertoire to make him the most stunning, funny and appealing man in the world. Boone noticed me standing behind the slide and wagged his tail. A dog as a best friend. That's what else.

  Fynn stopped playing and looked up from his guitar. "Hey, Starshine, wasn't sure if you'd show up." He stood up from the steps.

  I got off my bike and rolled it toward him. His dark hair was wet and combed back off his face, and he had changed into a blue t-shirt and jeans.

  "I thought you'd decided to skip the Butterfield tour."

  "Not a chance. I just needed to go back to my motel and shower off the day's grunge."

  "You shine up very nicely. Where are you staying?"

  "A motel in Langston." He held up his guitar. "I'll put Smokey Joe back in the van and then we can start the sightseeing tour."

  "Why is your guitar called Smokey Joe?"

  He shrugged. "Sounded cooler than Perky Pete."

  "You are talented. Did your grandpa teach you to play?"

  "Nope, he taught me how to fix things. My dad taught me how to play. Hey, do you want to put your bike in the van too?"

  "Why would I do that?"

  "Just so nobody takes it." He looked slightly embarrassed. "I guess in a town like this, there isn't anyone around to steal it."

  "No, not really. Besides, it's pretty crummy. Not sure anyone would bother." I rested the bike against the side of the pavilion.

  "I'll bet this massive gazebo, like the fountain, was something else in its glory days."

  The van was parked at the opposite end of town, next to the old mail depot. He whistled and Boone trotted along next to us as we headed toward it.

  I glanced back at the decaying pavilion. "Yeah, when this park was in tip top shape, it was the pride of the town. They used to cover that pavilion with balloons and streamers for special occasions. It was always amazing to see it decorated. The annual sixth grade graduation party was always held there. The teachers and parents would string up red and gold balloons, the school's colors, and there would be a barbecue. They'd even rent a giant blow up slide. It was like you went through all the books, tests and homework of grade school just to get to that sixth grade party." My words slowed as I ended my unnecessary narrative. "And that concludes the boring, nostalgic part of the tour."

  "Not boring at all," Fynn said. "I'll bet you were cute as hell in your sixth grade graduation dress."

  The memories about a colorful decorated pavilion had pulled me back to that time, but I wished I could just suck the whole topic back into my mouth. "I actually didn't go to my sixth grade graduation. So no dress. No red and gold balloons."

  "Why is that? Were you sick?"

  I wasn't sure how to respond. There were so many holes in all my personal stories from the last eleven years that sometimes it was impossible to talk about my past. There were too many gaps to fill, and without filling them, my teenage years hardly made any sense. At least they wouldn't make sense to someone who hadn't lived in Butterfield. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to fill in some holes without getting 'mired', as his leg mentioned, in the terrible details.

  "There was no sixth grade party that year." I left it at that. It was the vague and understated truth, but it was the truth.

  "That sucks. Especially after you waited all those years for it." He opened the back of his van. There was a mattress with a pillow and sleeping bag and an ice chest, along with a few boxes. "Sorry, I didn't have time to get a maid in, but I'm not taking blame for the smell. That's all Boone." He placed the guitar in the van and shut the door. "Where should we start?"

  "This road leads up to a hiking trail and river that run behind the houses. Otherwise, I'm afraid, what you see is what you get."

  "A river hike sounds good to me."

  We crossed the street to Riley Road, the road that led up to the hills and trails. We'd be passing right by the cemetery. It had been awhile since I'd walked that direction. I think sometimes, subconsciously even, I avoided Riley Road.

  My worry about Fynn's conversation with Brent was still in my craw, and I decided, one way or another, I needed to clear the air. Fynn hadn't ditched me and he was pleasant and charming as always, but I needed to know.

  "So I saw you talking to Brent Mackson."

  "Boone's asshole detection system was spot on with that guy. He mentioned he was going to ask the mayor to get me booted from town."

  "You don't have to worry about that. Fran, that's the mayor, already saw you working on the fountain."

  "Did she?" Fynn bent down to pick up a broken tree branch and worked at breaking off the spindly side arms. Boone had immediately snapped to attention and was now begging for the stick as he perched up on two legs and barked.

  "Yes, you probably weren't aware of it, but you had quite an audience yesterday when you pulled off your shirt. The mayor was part of that audience."

  Fynn had stripped the broken twig down to one smooth piece of wood. He hurled it in front of us. Boone took off with amazing grace and speed for a short, stout dog.

  We hiked up the incline of the road. "I didn't know I had an audience. But I'm glad I could provide some entertainment. So, you think his threat about the mayor won't go too far?"

  "Nah, Brent's all bluster. Besides, you can't blame him too much for being an asshole. He wasn't always such a jerk." I always tried hard not to judge anyone's behavior after the fateful day that changed everyone in town. I only wished that people like Brent would have the same leniency toward me. But that wasn't how life worked.

  "Did Brent say anything else?"

  Boone returned with the stick, and Fynn threw it again. I hadn't planned the stop, but somehow our feet slowed and we came to stand directly outside of the cemetery. Fynn turned to face me. His dark brows were lower, firmer and the usual tilt of his mouth had evened out. He knew. Brent had told him all about my high school years.

  "Nothing that guy said matters, Ella." He reached up and pushed a strand of hair off my face. I held my breath until he took his hand away. My world was so small and constant. Fynn was the first new person in my life. He was incredible and likable and different, so damn different than anyone I knew. I had to remind myself that he was just passing through town, otherwise he'd be dragging a piece of my heart with him when he left. I just didn't have any to spare.

  Our gazes had locked together hard and fast. I was the first to pull mine away, before I got completely lost and dizzy in his golden eyes.

  The mounds of colorful flowers flowed softly around the matrix of headstones in the cemetery. As always, my eyes went straight to the second stone in the third row. Fynn turned to face the cemetery, but he didn't say anything. Anyone who came to town would have to be highly curious about the picturesque, neatly kept tiny cemetery sitting in the center of an otherwise dilapida
ted town. But Fynn stood silently next to me, not saying a word as I stared into the array of gray stones.

  I felt the words spill from my mouth before I could stop them. "Eleven years ago in April, there was an accident. A terrible accident."

  Chapter Nine

  Fynn

  I hadn't expected the turn in conversation, but it seemed that Ella wanted or needed to talk about it. We had inadvertently stopped in front of the cemetery, and it had stirred her emotions instantly. I braced myself to listen. I wasn't sure how much she would say or what details would come out, but I readied myself to hear the story as an outsider.

  "Do you want to go inside and sit on the bench?" I asked.

  Ella shook her head. "No, let's keep walking."

  A few long throws had tired Boone out, and he dropped back to my side, the twig still clenched between his teeth.

  "The sixth grade class had planned a field trip to the coast to explore tide pools. The school hired one of those dorky short buses from a neighboring district to take all of us to the beach," Ella continued. Her voice seemed different, distant as if she was standing right next to me but her mind was off somewhere else, maybe in the past. "We'd been planning it for months. Our teacher, Miss Toby, was very cool. She was from a neighboring town. She was young and exciting and we loved her. Miss Toby and some parents were to leave ahead of the bus and get to the beach early to set up science experiments and a picnic lunch. Most of us rarely leave this valley. Only a few kids had ever even seen the ocean, so it was a big deal. Like waiting for Christmas, only tenfold."

  I didn't know if it was the sound of her voice, or the sudden lack of energy in her stride or just the fact that I wanted to touch her, but I took hold of her hand as we walked. Her fingers curled around mine.

  "I woke up with a terrible sore throat that day. I begged my mom to let me go." Ella shook her head. "I stomped around behind her in the kitchen telling her that if I didn't go I'd spend the rest of my life filled with regret."

  We reached two splintered posts and a faded metal sign that read 'Callum's Trail, stay on path'. Ella led me between the posts. We headed toward a deciduous forest, clusters of maples and oaks and trees that most likely provided an incredible backdrop of color for Butterfield in fall.

  Ella squeezed my hand tighter as we walked along the trail. Boone stuck close to my heels as he always did when we were walking somewhere new.

  "The rest of the story is short and horrid," she continued. "They were twenty minutes from the coast, and the bus went off the side of a steep road. It exploded at the bottom, killing all twelve of my classmates. The kids I grew up with. The kids I shared sand toys with in kindergarten. The kids I practiced songs with for the winter festival. The kids I was supposed to celebrate sixth grade graduation with under the red and gold balloons in the pavilion. In one instant, they were gone. The school had to move me up to seventh grade because there was no more sixth grade. Miss Toby had no class to teach. I heard she was so traumatized by it all she left teaching for good. " Ella reached up with her free hand and discretely wiped away a tear. "My twin brother, Ethan, was on that bus."

  That last detail struck me hard in the chest. "Jesus, Ella, I'm sorry."

  Even though the sign said stay on the path, Ella led me up a small hill that was littered with dead leaves and twigs. I could hear and smell running water in the distance. Boone's nose twitched in that direction. Somewhere along the path, he had let go of his death grip on the twig, no doubt confident that there would be more up ahead.

  "Ethan was the definition of the perfect son. He was handsome and so damn smart." She laughed softly. "He used to make me so mad because he never had to study and he always got the highest test score in class. And he played every sport well. He was loved by everyone, and he was always smiling. My parents thought he was made of pure gold. I did too. I know it sounds silly and cliché, but it's hard for me not to think that my parents hadn't both fleetingly wished that it had been me on the bus instead of Ethan."

  "No, no Ella, that's just bullshit. I've never been a parent and I've never met yours, but I've met you and . . . shit . . . I don't think you understand just how amazing you are."

  Her eyes dropped away, something she did every time I complimented her. She had a hard time hearing nice things about herself.

  "You hardly know me. There's plenty of unamazing stuff happening under all this." She traced an air circle in front of her face.

  "Not true. You can't judge yourself. It's impossible. Maybe your parents wonder what things would have been like if Ethan had survived instead, but that doesn't mean they wish it had happened that way. That's just you dealing with the question of why you're still here and he's not."

  We stopped beneath the cluttered branches of a tree. It was at least ten degrees cooler in the shade of the forest. Ella seemed to be absorbing and considering what I said. I wondered how many torturous moments she'd endured trying to understand why she was still alive.

  "Lucky Thirteen. That's why they call you Lucky Thirteen. You survived the crash."

  My revelation seemed to jar her. Her blue eyes rounded. "No, not the crash. I wasn't on the bus."

  "But what about the survivor?" The second the question shot from my mouth. I wanted to take it back. "I mean, I think I heard about that crash when I was a kid. It was a pretty big deal. Forget about it. I'm confused."

  "There was a bus driver," she said curtly. "He made it out. This topic is erasing this beautiful day. Let's go. You wanted a tour and rather than have you leave this town and remember it as a crummy, bleak town with a weed covered park, I want you to see that we've got some cool scenery too." She pushed through some low hanging branches.

  I had to duck down to walk beneath them. Boone slipped past both of us and ran toward the edge of the river.

  Ella waved her arm around. "Ta da, one of the more scenic places in town. Even though it's technically outside of the borders." Her smile had returned, and the grim topic of the accident was left behind for the afternoon. I was relieved as hell about that. And when she was out from under the dark shadow of her tragic past, standing in the tree filtered sunlight of the clearing, she was a sight that made everything right in the world. Looking at Ella, it was impossible to believe that anything bad could ever happen anywhere in the world.

  The bank of the river was a good three feet higher than the rippling surface but the water rushed on over rocks and submerged trees just like a wild raging river. Boone stared down and barked at the fish jumping over the rocks as they struggled against the current.

  "I have to admit, I was expecting a trickle of water. This is a full blown river. Not quite wide enough to raft down, but it'd give you some respectable bumps and bruises if you fell in."

  Ella crooked her finger. "Follow me. There's even a little waterfall higher up."

  I whistled for Boone and followed Ella up along the river. The terrain got steeper, and the river fell farther away as it grew wider. Jutting rocks produced white caps along the dark blue water, showing the strength and force of nature. Up ahead, lacy blue water cascaded over slate gray rocks, forming a miniature waterfall. A fine mist of cool water sprayed us as we stood on the top of the bank.

  Ella pointed to the waterfall. "It looks like it's just flowing from the rocks, like the rocks are crying, so the town nicknamed it Falling Tears. But the cool myth is easily blown apart when you hike up that side of the river. There's a thin, narrow gulley in the mountainside. The winter's snow melt runs along it and down through the rocks."

  "Very cool. It's almost as beautiful as my tour guide." This was my lead in to that kiss I badly wanted. Instead, I merely reached up and ran my thumb over her bottom lip. Over the sound of the rushing water, I could hear her breath quicken. She wanted the kiss too. At least I hoped she wanted it. I was starting to think that if I had to leave Butterfield without at least feeling Ella's lips against mine, then I would never be able to think straight again. But while the setting couldn't have been more perfect,
the timing wasn't right. She had just told me about an event that had changed the course of her life forever. Somehow, a kiss, especially the kind of kiss I was thinking about, just wouldn't be the right way to end this.

  Ella's blue eyes blinked at me. It was almost as if she could read my thoughts.

  "I'm off tomorrow," she said brightly. "If you're still around—at least I hope you will be—maybe I could help you with the fountain."

  "I'm not going anywhere. I would love that."

  Chapter Ten

  Ella

  I finished spreading the suntan lotion on my face. Outside, the sky was clear blue and the sun was hot. There was no shade around the fountain, unless of course I stood in Fynn's tall, hunky shadow. Only standing too close to him wouldn't give much relief from the heat.

  The day before, when we'd stood on the bank of the river and he touched my lips, I was sure I could hear his pulse over the roar of the water. I know I could hear mine. But there was no kiss to break the tension that was building between us. I was disappointed but I think I understood why it never happened.

  I pulled out a rubber band and combed my hair up into a ponytail. This time I stopped to put on some mascara and pink lip gloss. I was just cleaning a fountain, but as my mom always said when she got shined up for a trip to the market—'a woman should never look frumpy because you never know who you might run into in town'. The poor, delusional woman was always somehow convinced that George Clooney or Brad Pitt might make a quick pit stop in Butterfield on their way to some more exotic place. So far no sign of George or Brad or any other person of note. At least not until now.

  I shot out into the hallway and nearly slammed into my dad.

  "Whoa there, Kitten, where are you off to? I thought it was your day off. I expected you to sleep until noon."

  "I'm heading out to meet a friend at the park."