Find Me Page 7

  I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. Just like that, in the blink of an eye, my hopeful day had morphed into one of hurt and disappointment. I wanted to lash out at Mr. Tanner but knew that I really didn’t have any right. Hell, I would have done the same thing. Five thousand dollars wasn’t anything to sneeze at, especially when you were a year or two away from retirement like Mr. Tanner.

  Apparently, I stood there, silent and frowning for too long. Mr. Tanner fiddled nervously behind the counter, wringing his cleaning rag behind the freshly cleaned scale. “I really am sorry,” he said.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I understand.”

  Mr. Tanner shrugged. “You never know…if you reach out to him, maybe he’ll sell it to you. He seemed sort of like you—he had a plan for it that I don’t think he was one hundred percent sure about.”

  It felt like a long shot, but I wasn’t about give up so easily. I approached the counter and said, “you don’t think they’d mind you giving me their number?”

  “I wouldn’t think so. And if so, they can take it up with me.”

  I watched as Mr. Tanner grabbed a pen from behind his register and started jotting something down on a piece of scrap butcher’s paper. I knew he was going to this lengths because he simply didn’t want to send me away totally devastated. And quite honestly, in that moment, I was fine with that.

  He finished up and handed the piece of paper to me. I barely looked at it before I pocketed.

  “He seemed like a nice enough fella,” Mr. Tanner said. “I feel certain that he’d at least entertain the notion. He’s new to town and has a cabin up on Moose Hill.”

  No way…I thought. I reached into my pocket and took out the paper. As I read it, Mr. Tanner voiced what I feared.

  “His name is Jack. Not sure about this last name.”

  Everything inside of me deflated and I thought I might actually scream right there and then in the middle of Tanner’s Fresh Fish.

  “Thank you,” I said absently, turning towards the door.

  “You okay?” Mr. Tanner asked as I walked away.

  “Yes sir,” I said.

  But by the time the door closed behind me, I was nearly in tears.

  8—Devlin

  Here’s the weird thing about being a movie star that quickly becomes accustomed to having a well-sculpted body: you start to miss the gym. I knew that there were two gyms it Sitka, but I wasn’t quite ready to “join” anything just yet. To join a gym and get a membership implied something solid and permanent. Still not certain as to where I might go next—or if I might end up staying in Sitka for the long term—I didn’t want to join a gym.

  Instead, I made some substitutes. I installed a single metal bar on the cabin’s back porch wall for pull-ups and extended crunches. For weights, I had rocks and bricks I had collected from the edge of the property, stuffed into small pillowcases. But more than anything, I used the natural shapes and surfaces of the back porch and the ground. It got me into a Rocky sort of mindset, working out in a rather old school way. I spent about an hour each day on the back porch, running through a series of exercises that my trainer had showed me a while back.

  These were exercises that could be done in motel rooms when my schedule didn’t allow for me to hit up the gym. It was mostly cardio stuff with some primitive sit-ups and push-ups thrown in. Doing it outside, with that wide open and beautiful Alaskan sky overhead, was a tremendous experience. No gym walls, no trainer eyeing me to make sure I was meeting the director’s specs, no other huffing and puffing gym members around me… it was great!

  I was apparently not putting in enough time… or maybe eating a bit more than I should. I had gained nine pounds since arriving in Sitka and it seemed like that weight just w

  asn’t going to come off. I thought about this as I ran through a series of crunches on the back porch, thinking about how the guys back in the army would give me a ton of shit about me worrying about my weight.

  From time to time, I felt like I had betrayed everyone I served with by going Hollywood. This was especially true of the twelve men that died around me on the day I managed to survive and became an unexpected hero. It was something I had never truly dealt with—something that my Hollywood psychiatrist had liked to point out all of the time.

  All of this was racing through my head as the burn from the crunched finally started to set in. I focused on these things and took in deep breaths of the crisp, clean air.

  As I wrapped up the crunches, I heard the phone ringing from inside. Not many people knew my number out here in Sitka, so I figured it was either Mr. Tanner with some sort of information on the plane or maybe the bank, with more questions about the transfer I had made from my primary account to my secondary account yesterday.

  Shirtless and with a nice sweat worked up, I walked into the cabin and grabbed the phone on the fourth ring. It felt weird to be answering an actual phone…one that was plugged into the wall.

  “Hello” I said.

  “Hi, Jack?”

  It was a woman’s voice, but certainly not that of the older lady that had helped me at the bank.

  “Yes, this is Jack,” I said. I thought to myself, just for a moment, Crap. I bet this is Aubrey…somehow, she found me.

  “Hello. This is Mac. From The Pine Way.”

  I couldn’t help but smile a bit. I had struggled with the urge to ask her to dinner while I had been in the store earlier. It hadn’t seemed quite right at the time. It would have felt rushed and awkward. But now, instead of forcing myself through that awkwardness, she was taken the initiative to call me.

  How’d she get my number? It was a good question for sure. “Oh. Hi. Um…how did you get my number?”

  “A friend gave it to me,” she said. “Listen, I have a weird question that I have to ask you.”

  “Okay,” I responded with a smile, sort of liking where this was headed.

  She remained quiet for a second. I stood by the kitchen table with the cordless phone, looking out into my sloping back yard. It was obvious that she was thinking long and hard about what she wanted to say, so I gave her the time she needed. When she finally did speak, it was not what I’d expected.

  “I was wondering how dead set you are on really keeping Mr. Tanner’s plane.”

  I was so taken aback that no words came instantly to mind. My mouth hung open, but no words came. Had I been that spoiled in Hollywood? Did I really think that any woman that bothered to speak to me was interested in becoming an accessory for my arm?

  “Uh,” I said. “How did you know about that?”

  “Because I had my eye on it, too. I really wanted that plane.”

  “You sound upset,” I said.

  “I am.”

  “So, what are you asking me?”

  “I’m asking you if you would be interested in selling the plane to me,” she said. There was slight edge of anger to her voice and, quite frankly, it made me start feeling my own little pangs of hostility. Who was she to stick her nose in my business and try to make me feel bad about buying that plane?

  “Well, I just bought it,” I said. “It’s a bit early to sell.” I tried to make it sound funny, but it came out dry and flat.

  “And you wouldn’t be interested in selling it to me?”

  “For how much?” I asked.

  “For what Mr. Tanner was asking for.”

  “If you’ve spoke to Mr. Tanner,” I said, “then you know I paid a bit more. I suppose you were the other party he told me about?”

  “Yes.”

  “Look,” I said. “I’m sorry, but I already wrote the check. I’m going to pick it up from him tomorrow and take it for a spin. I haven’t even used it yet. I can’t very well sell it.”

  “Do you even have a pilot’s license?” she asked rather gruffly.

  “I do, in fact. Do you?”

  She didn’t answer. I could feel her hatred and disappointment radiating through the phone. I hated the fact that she was pissed off—especially sinc
e I had been very close to asking her out less than three hours before—but there was nothing to be done. As far as I was concerned, she was being not only rude, but a little unrealistic.

  “Fine,” she finally said. “I had some pretty big plans for it, so if you ever do decide you want to sell it—,”

  She stopped there, her anger clearly getting the better of her. I gave her kudos for stopping before she snapped.

  “Hold on,” I said. “Look, this is no reason to get upset with me. I had no idea you were the other person interested.”

  “Would it have made a difference?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Well, there you go.”

  “Let’s get together and talk about it. Maybe over dinner or something.” My suggestion was out of my mouth before I could stop it.

  And there it was, floating in the silence between us like a ghost that was pointing at me and laughing.

  When was the last time I asked a woman out? I had no idea. And it really didn’t matter because as mad as she seemed to be at me, I didn’t see any sort of meeting between us resembling anything like a date.

  Apparently, the proposal had shocked her. She remained silent for a moment—for such a long moment that I nearly took it back.

  “Okay,” she said with hostility still left in her voice. It was clear that she was taken aback, but she also didn’t want to hand control over the conversation to me, either. Her attitude was beginning to piss me off.

  “Tonight?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “As soon as we can.”

  I bit back the retort that was on the end of my tongue, one that wanted to say: It doesn’t matter because I’m not going to be guilted into selling you the plane.

  But I said nothing. Instead, Mac and I spent the next two minutes ironing out the details of where and when we would meet. She made sure to keep that angry edge to her voice as I did my absolute best not to snap back at her.

  I hung up the phone, puzzled. I was angry, I was excited and, beyond all, I was confused.

  I thought about heading back out to finish my workout, but the energy just wasn’t there. Instead, I went directly to the shower and started getting ready for the first non-Hollywood date I’d had in more than four years.

  9—Mac

  We decided to meet at Pier’s End, a nice little restaurant on the outskirts of town. It sat at the end of the last pier in the city, overlooking a portion of the sea that looked as if it dropped straight off the edge of the world. People were willing to pay the often ridiculous prices just for the view. It was a trendy establishment that I actually didn’t care for all that much. But I figured if Jack was going to make me meet him in what I felt was something of a hostage situation, I could at least get a free expensive meal out of him.

  When I arrived, I found him waiting at the bar. I approached him slowly, doing my best to size him up. He was drinking dark beer, hunched over the bar like someone that really hadn’t spent much time doing it in his past. He looked uncomfortable, staring from the TV behind the bar to some of the other patrons.

  Seeing him like this helped me tremendously. I felt like I was on my home turf and he was already showing some cracks in his façade. Good, I thought. And then, on the heels of that, I thought: Was I really crushing on that man less than six hours ago?

  Yes, I had. It was disappointing for the situation to turn out like this, but it seemed par for the course as far as my love life was concerned. Even as far back as high school, it seemed that any guy I ever showed interest in turned out to be bad for me in some way or another.

  He turned his head, apparently sensing me coming up behind him. He gave me a faint grin and swiveled around in his bar stool. The lights in the restaurant—particularly in the bar—were dim, striking him just right. I really hated the fact that he looked handsome in that moment. I saw that he had taken the time to trim up his facial hair and dress rather nicely. He wore a button-down flannel shirt, but one of the more astute-looking ones and no the super-casual ones that always seemed to be plastered onto outdoor enthusiast.

  “Apparently,” he said, “I was supposed to make a reservation. But I didn’t. We’re on the list now, though. We should have a table in about twenty minutes.”

  “Oh,” I said. “This is going to take that long?”

  He rolled his eyes and I could tell that he wanted to turn away from me. But he watched me intently as I took the stool next to him. The bartender came by and I ordered a glass of red wine.

  “Question,” Jack said. Again, I was relieved to see that very clear nervousness in his face. He was uncomfortable; it made me wonder if he was one of those good-looking guys that was simply used to getting what he wanted right away.

  “What?” I asked.

  “The little awkward spark or whatever it was… the thing we both felt in your store earlier today. Should we pretend that didn’t happen? Is that going to make this harder than it has to be?”

  It was such a blunt and strategic question that it took me off-guard. That was the last thing I had been expecting. And damn him, I was pretty sure I was blushing right away. So, to circumvent his little jab, I nodded.

  “Yes, I think so.” As soon as it was out, I cringed. Damn, I thought. I should have denied the spark. That would have shown him.

  But it was too late. There was nothing to do but sit in silence for a moment as the bartender brought over my glass of wine. I took a sip, trying not to let the fact that Jack’s eyes were on me get under my skin.

  “Okay then,” he said, taking in a deep breath. “Strictly business. That being the case, let me ask you: if you want a plane so badly, why not buy one elsewhere?”

  It was a good question, and I knew the answer that I had was stupid. The truth was that I wanted Mr. Tanner’s plane because I knew him well and when I had seen the plane floating there behind his shop with the FOR SALE banner on it, I felt as if it had been meant for me. The solution to something that I had been thinking about for years had been staring me in the face. The only thing stopping me from at least inquiring about it had been laziness and fear. But I had asked about and had been incredibly serious about buying it—but, in the end, had been beaten to the punch by the man sitting next to me.

  “Because it’s from a local man,” I said, telling a half-truth. “I don’t have the funds to buy a new one and, honestly, if I’m going to buy used, I’d rather it come from someone I know.”

  “That’s understandable,” Jack said. “But what I don’t get is why you want it so badly. Would you tell me a bit about your plans?”

  I gave him a contemptuous smile. “That’s really none of your business.”

  “Well, let me tell you about why I wanted it,” he said. He didn’t give me an opportunity to say no or to interrupt him. He kept going right away. “I got my pilot’s license years ago, just as something to do, really. I enjoyed the hell out of flying but not nearly enough to go into the Air Force. So when I went into the military, my interest in flying took a back seat.”

  “You were in the military?”

  “I was. But that’s not the point. You see, I have worked hard over the last few years and have missed flying. When I saw Mr. Tanner’s plane, I started to really miss it. And then I took my little walk to Catchman’s Pass. As cheesy as it sounds, watching the sunset up there solidified it for me. I figured I could make some money by flying people to these really remote destinations where they can have weekend retreats or just some alone time in the wilderness.”

  I blinked hard. “You’re kidding me.”

  “No. I’m not. Why?”

  “Because that was my plan.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  Suddenly, my anger morphed into this flat and featureless thing. It was still there, but it was useless. I knew that any arguments I had to use against him would come out making me sound like I was a spoiled little girl that just wasn’t happy with not being able to get my way.

  “I’m sorry,” Jac
k said. “But until I have at least tried my plan out, I can’t sell the plane. I’m willing to maybe rent it out here and there if that’s something you’d be interested in, but—,”

  “No,” I said, cutting him off. “I’m not going to rent the plane from you.”

  “I don’t know what else to say then.”

  Before I could get another word in, a pretty waitress that look straight out of high school came over. “Your table is ready, sir,” she said to Jack.

  He gave me a hook and shrugged. “I’d like you to come with me,” he said. “I don’t want you leaving here upset with me.”

  “I don’t see that happening,” I said curtly. “But I’m hungry and I’m not about to give up.”

  “I figured as much,” Jack said, following the waitress.

  Angry, awkward, and all-around confused, I followed. Again, I watched him to see how he interacted with his surroundings. He walked as if he had all the confidence in the world, but there was something about his face that betrayed that. He almost looked like a scared little boy that shut down whenever he was taken to a new place.

  We were led to a table that sat near the back. The view of the ocean was tough to see from where we sat, but I didn’t care. I was starting to feel out place. What was I doing here, anyway? Jack had already told me that he wasn’t interested in selling the plane. So why was I wasting my time?

  Because a man invited you to dinner, some long-ago buried part of me said. This was the part of me that was desperate for a man’s mouth on my lips, for a man’s hands to grab my by the hips and pull me forward into his body.

  I looked to the menu, pretending to be very interested in it. The waitress read off the specials, and I barely listened. I cut a glance at Jack and saw him nodding as he listened to the specials.

  I hate him, I thought. I guess it was true in that moment. Here was this new guy fro out of town, precariously setting his roots down in Sitka and, in the process, stepping directly in front of a huge goal I had set for myself—hell, a goal my father had sort of set a while back.