Sawyer Says
Sawyer Says
Copyright 2013 by Carey Heywood
ISBN: 978-0-9914362-2-4
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author.
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Sawyer Says is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 11/2
Chapter 2
Chapter 21/2
Chapter 3
Chapter 31/2
Chapter 4
Chapter 41/2
Chapter 5
Chapter 51/2
Chapter 6
Chapter 61/2
Chapter 7
Chapter 71/2
Chapter 8
Chapter 81/2
Chapter 9
Chapter 91/2
Chapter 10
Chapter 101/2
Chapter 11
Chapter 111/2
Chapter 12
Chapter 121/2
Chapter 13
Chapter 131/2
Chapter 14
Chapter 141/2
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Coming July 2014
Excerpt: Let Love Be by Melissa Collins
Excerpt: Ready For You by J.L. Berg
Excerpt: Nowhere But Here by Renee Carlino
Excerpt: Storm Front by Lisa N. Paul
To my readers, you fell in love with Sawyer in Him & Her and asked for her story. This book is for you.
Her eyes blink open in an unfamiliar room.
“Mommy?” A whispered plea escapes her lips and echoes in the dark room.
“Daddy?” It’s more a sob now that she’s truly awake and remembers they’re gone.
She curls into herself. Her arms wrap around her knees, and her knees press to her chest. Silent tears fall onto her pillow, the dampening fabric cool against her cheek.
There will be no more gentle fingers pulling back her mop of blonde hair to give her good morning kisses. There will be no more following her daddy around like his shadow until he scoops her up and carries her piggyback.
A creak from the hallway silences her. She is awake. Her grandmother. Last night when Sawyer had tried to hug her, she tsked, telling her it was late and they both needed their rest.
Tears, not lullabies, had been her company as exhaustion coaxed her to sleep. Everything was happening so fast. She had wanted to stay with Beau and Bess. Why did they let that lady take her? Then she was riding on a plane all alone to New Hampshire. Didn’t they know... She couldn’t even finish the thought. Her grandmother didn’t even seem happy to see her. Maybe she was sad too. She was Daddy’s Mommy.
Maybe now that it’s morning she will be nicer. Maybe her grandmother will let her sit in her lap and brush her hair. Sawyer pushes her blanket off, before easing herself off the narrow bed, the wooden floor cool beneath her feet as she pads to the door. She quietly peeks out and makes her way downstairs to the kitchen.
She needed to be a good girl for her mom and dad so they could be proud of her. Maybe if she could impress her grandmother, Sawyer would feel loved again. Right now, her grandmother was all she had. No one liked a crybaby and since she was already ten-years-old, she had to keep any tears that fell to herself.
“Good morning.” Her voice wobbles slightly as she fought to keep her tears at bay.
Her grandmother, already dressed, keeps her back to her. “None of that; crying won’t bring them back.”
Sawyer’s visions of sitting on her lap dissolve like sandcastles in the tide.
She turns, unblinking, as she looks at Sawyer still in her simple nightshirt. “Go get dressed. We do not come downstairs in pajamas. You are a Sterling.”
Sawyer pulls her lips into her mouth and bites down before fleeing back to the bedroom. Its bare walls are more welcoming than her only living relative is. She wishes she had never gone downstairs. She welcomes new tears.
Sawyer knows they won’t bring her parents back, but she is comforted in mourning them. Her grandmother doesn’t seem to feel anything at all. She pulls open the window shade to look across the now light-filled lawn and notices other houses not too far away.
Maybe there are children she can make friends with. Movement on the street below catches her eyes. A man walks down the driveway of one house to collect a newspaper from the end. He tucks it under his arm, reminding her of her daddy.
She backs away from the window and crumples back on to her bed. This bed doesn’t even feel right. The sheets are starchy and too stiff, nothing like the soft flannel of her bed on the farm. Are Beau and Bess missing her? Silent sobs wrack her small frame. If she could have brought Boots, she might’ve felt a little better.
Holding her soft kitten, and feeling the way his purrs would rumble through his little body, always made her happy before. Would anything ever make her happy again?
“Are you dressed yet?”
The sharp shout of the words makes Sawyer jump as if struck. Her parents almost never shouted at her. The question scares her into clumsily tugging on pants and a t-shirt from her bag.
“Coming,” she adds nervously.
When she walks back into the kitchen, her grandmother isn’t there. Uncertain of what she should do, she hugs the edges of the room looking for an answer. When she sees a small bowl of oatmeal set out on the table, a petite glass of orange juice next to it, she somehow knows it was for her.
Oatmeal had been a regular breakfast on the farm. The only thing missing was a room full of people who loved her. Beau had probably already eaten and was playing in the orchard.
There are trees here. She saw them from the window upstairs. They were tall and slender with white bark. They didn’t look like good climbing trees though. A tear rolls down her cheek, disappearing into her bowl before she can wipe it away.
She carries her now empty bowl and glass, and set them in the sink. She walks back over to the table and wonders whether she should stay in the kitchen or go back up to the newfound comfort of the room she slept in.
A throat clearing behind her interrupts her internal debate. She turns and sees her grandmother holding her purse. “I have to go somewhere, and you can’t come with me. There’s a peanut butter sandwich in the refrigerator for you to have at lunch. Stay inside the house. I will be back before dinner.”
With that, Sawyer is alone. The large house is scary now that she is all by herself. There are old oil portraits on the walls. The eyes of Sterlings long gone seem to follow her. Coupled with the creaks and groans of an old unfamiliar house, fright ensues.
She hurries back up the stairs to the room she felt safest in. She pulls the blankets over her head and pretends this is all a dream. That somehow when she wakes up, she will be back on the farm and her parents won’t be gone.
She has seen the Wizard of Oz with Beau and his mom in town. If she just had a pair of ruby slippers, she could be home right now. Flying monkeys and trees not fit to climb invade the happy dream she has tried to will herself into having.
Hours pass as the l
ight from the window cast shadows across the room.
A slam of a car door alerts her to the return of her grandmother. The grumble of her stomach reminds her of the forgotten sandwich in the kitchen. She freezes. Will her grandmother be angry she has forgotten to eat it? She hurries downstairs with the hope of eating the sandwich before her grandmother gets inside.
She catches a glimpse of her walking toward the mailbox as she speeds past a window in the front room. The sandwich is cold from its time in the fridge, the peanut butter cement-like as she tries to wolf it down. She grabs her dirty glass from that morning and fills it with water from the tap in the hope it will help her swallow what is in her mouth.
She chews as fast as she can, forcing down two big bites that rub her throat painfully on the way down. She shoves the last bite into her mouth just as she hears the door open. Sawyer finally starts to relax. She has done it, there is no reason her grandmother can be upset with her.
“What are you doing in here?” her grandmother asks, flipping on a switch, immediately brightening the room.
Sawyer starts to hold up her glass. She is going to say to get some water but all her fear at upsetting her grandmother hits her again. When she opens her mouth to speak, her stomach revolts and she vomits.
Her grandmother’s lip curls up as she looks at her in repulsion. “Into the bathroom now, while I clean up this mess.”
Sawyer apologizes repeatedly, as she sidesteps the mess and flies up the stairs to the guest bathroom. Her shirt has seen most of the damage and she carefully drags it over her head trying not to get any in her hair. She fills the sink with hot water and retches as she tries to clean the mess from it.
The door swings open as her grandmother commands her to take off her pants and get into the tub. As she carries Sawyer’s soiled clothes from the room, Sawyer hears her say something about this all being over by morning. After her bath, she is sent to bed with no dinner in case her stomach rebels again.
A firm shake of her shoulder jolts her awake the following morning. “Hurry, we need to go.”
She sits up confused as she watches her grandmother’s retreating figure. A glance to the window confirms it isn’t even light outside. Where are they going? She changes out of her pajamas to avoid raising her grandmother’s ire. Sawyer slowly makes her way down to the kitchen.
Another bowl of oatmeal and a glass of orange juice waits for her.
“I’ll get your bag,” her grandmother says, passing by her.
“My bag?” Sawyer asks. “Where are we going?”
Her grandmother doesn’t stop to answer. Sawyer fights the desire to follow her until she answers her question, afraid of upsetting her again. She looks down at her now empty bowl, surprised she has managed to eat it all.
“Come on, Sawyer.”
She leaves the bowl and glass on the table and rushes to where her grandmother is holding the front door open for her. Still confused, she hurries outside, takes the backpack her grandmother pushes in her direction, and goes to stand by the car. Maybe once they are on the road, her grandmother will tell her where they are going. A small kernel of hope expands within her. Could they be going back to the farm?
Her grandmother doesn’t speak, and Sawyer sits quietly beside her. She parks near a vaguely familiar building and Sawyer realizes they are at the airport. They have to be going to the farm. Tears of joy cloud her vision as she stumbles behind her grandmother. When they get to the gate, a flight attendant comes out to talk to her.
“I have a special pin for you,” she says, attaching a pin with a ribbon onto the front of her shirt.
They pinned something like this to her last time. They told her it meant she was flying by herself.
“You aren’t coming to the farm with me?” Sawyer asks her grandmother.
“You aren’t going back to the farm.”
Her eyes open wide and her mouth drops as she realizes wherever she is going, she will be alone. “Where am I going?”
As she pats Sawyer on the head, she says gruffly, “To stay with your godmother.”
The flight attendant squeezes Sawyer’s hands sympathetically before standing and telling her it is time to get on the plane. Another plane? She shakes her head and cannot stop the tears from filling her eyes.
“Stop that. Now be a good girl and get on the plane,” her grandmother says firmly before turning and walking away.
Sawyer lifts her hand, wanting to stop her, wanting to know what she has done wrong, wanting her grandmother not to leave her. She is gone before Sawyer can find the words to ask her to stay.
She trembles with fear at the take-off and landing, but somehow manages to sleep most of the time in between.
“Welcome to Seattle,” the pilot’s voice crackles over the intercom.
“Washington,” she says to herself, trying to picture herself on the other side of the United States. The flight attendant walks with her out to the gate. There is a woman waiting. She is staring out the windows at the plane but turns when she sees her approach.
“Oh, Sawyer,” she cries out, sinking to her knees and pulling the young girl to her chest.
Sawyer is too surprised and still overwhelmed from being on the plane to react. After she doesn’t move to release her immediately, Sawyer relaxes slightly in her grasp. The woman stands slowly, clasping Sawyer’s small hand in hers.
“Ready?”
“What’s your name?” Sawyer asks shyly.
“She didn’t tell you—” The woman shakes her head then smiles brightly. “My name is Wendy.”
“Like from Peter Pan?” Sawyer asks.
She squeezes Sawyer’s hand. “Exactly.”
Sawyer follows her out to a car. “Am I going to live with you?”
“For the summer.”
Sawyer stops, tensing up. “Where do I go after that?”
Wendy cringes. “I’m not sure, sweetie.”
Nodding glumly, Sawyer follows her.
Sawyer is quiet as they drive. She looks around when Wendy parks. They are at a marina.
“Is this where you live?” Sawyer asks, getting out of the car.
Wendy smiles widely. “Come on. I can’t wait to show you.”
She carries Sawyer’s bag as Sawyer follows her into the marina. There are various boats of all sizes docked here. Wendy stops suddenly in front of one of the bigger boats.
“Here she is,” she gestures proudly.
A wide wooden plank acts as a ramp up on to the boat. Don’t fall, Sawyer tells herself as she walks up it.
“Hi.”
She jumps at the unexpected greeting, grabbing wildly for the railing of the boat and hurrying the rest of the way before turning to glare at its source.
A tall boy with messy brown hair watches her. “I’m Jared. What’s your name?”
“Sawyer.” He seems nice. She offers her hand politely.
“Ever sailed before?” he asks, shaking her hand and dropping it quickly.
She shakes her head.
“It’s almost as much fun as flying.”
She crinkles her nose as she thinks of her parents. “I don’t like flying.”
He tilts his head at her. “Good thing this boat can’t fly.”
Silly boy, she thinks, turning back around to look for Wendy. Everyone knows boats can’t fly.
My best friend Sarah is getting married in a week. I’m not sure how I’ve managed to help plan her wedding while simultaneously trying to block it out of my mind. The distraction of organizing the small details is a welcome escape in avoiding how different things are now.
I’m happy for her. I am. Change is good, right. I drag myself from my comfy cocoon of blankets and pad barefoot into the kitchen.
“Dude, it’s not Wednesday,” Jared mumbles behind me, his voice raspy from sleep.
I pull a bowl for my cereal down from the cabinet and turn. “Huh?”
He gives me a crooked smile and points to my ass. I’m still not used to living with a guy and I hadn
’t thought to pull on pants after I woke up. I’m apparently wearing the wrong day of the week underwear.
“Stop looking at my ass, perv.” I pull my t-shirt down as I move closer to the fridge to grab milk. I try my best to ignore the fact that Jared noticing my ass excites me.
This is Jared; the guy I spent almost every summer with after my parents died. Other people had been there too. It hadn’t been some weird Blue Lagoon or Lord of the Flies thing. Even though there were always adults around, we still managed to have fun. Those summers kept me sane. That’s why Jared needs to be not so attractive, especially considering he’s my new roommate.
Any attraction I’m feeling has to be a symptom of the lack of sex I’m experiencing. With Sarah’s wedding, Jared moving in, and life in general, I have been too busy. And it isn’t helping that Jared is hotter than I remember. I move to eat my breakfast in the living room. My eyes stalk him as he gets something to eat.
His bare back to me, I admire the flex and pull of his muscles as he reaches for a glass and then the curve of his ass as he bends to grab something from the fridge. Fuck me, when did he get so hot?
He was always good-looking but in a cute way before. Cute never did anything for me. I preferred the panty-melting type of guy, and that is exactly what Jared has turned into. It would be a smart move to get some distance before I had to retire Wednesday from my underwear drawer permanently.
I leave my half-finished bowl on the coffee table and silently flee to my room. Last thing Jared needs is me panting after him, and I’m not really panting after him. It’s like having a healthy appreciation of art. Just because you appreciate a painting, it doesn’t mean you need to mount it to your wall. Seriously, mounting anything is the last thing I should be picturing.
Jared is my friend, and he’s had a shitty year. Sarah told me herself they had a heart-to-heart over him coming to the wedding. She had been scared that it would bring up bad memories for him. From what she said, he had been nothing but supportive, even agreeing to be part of the wedding party.
Would her wedding remind him of his own failed marriage? It was almost over before the ink dried on the marriage certificate. It had been such a rushed affair in front of the Justice of the Peace. Sarah and I weren’t even there. After the baby was born, they were going to do it right and have a bigger ceremony. All those plans dissolved when Kristy lost the baby. As hard as Jared tried to do the right thing, it was a huge relief when they broke up.