Sawyer Says Read online

  “Would you ever want to go back?”

  I lift my shoulder. “Maybe.”

  I look down again, opening her journal. I’m looking for one day in particular, 6.14.1997. The day my parents died. I’m not sure why I assume her entry that day will be different from any of the day’s prior. It reads:

  I hold the page open for Jared to read. “The day my parents died.”

  “They died in a plane crash? I don’t think I knew that.”

  I stand, brushing nonexistent dust from my backside. “There was a small plane. I think my dad and another man flew it. They would take food and stuff from the farm places.”

  “Did you ever go with them?” He gets up too.

  He’s standing too close to me not to be touching me. I take a step away from him. “Sometimes, if they weren’t going far.”

  I couldn’t remember where they had been going, only that they had left so early that I was still asleep when they left. I didn’t get to say goodbye, only goodnight when they had tucked me in the night before. Beau’s parents didn’t learn they had crashed until sometime after lunch. I had been in the orchard.

  “Did they go far that day?”

  I ignore his question and take another step away. “I had a kitten.”

  He was black with white paws.

  “Boots.”

  I lift my head, my eyes darting to his. “How did you know?”

  He reaches out his hand, mine lifting as well to meet it before he pulls me into his arms. “On the boat. I remember you talked about him.”

  “He had white paws.”

  We leave the pile of pages and documents we still need to go through. We leave the room, the journal, and the photos. We walk out into the kitchen. He leads me to a stool, helping me sit before going to put water on the stove. He pulls out two mugs and sets the teabags in them as he waits for the water to heat.

  The ring I had forgotten about earlier is now causing a thumping pulse in my finger. I twist and pull, trying to work it over my knuckle but doing nothing other than rubbing a layer of skin from it.

  “Give me your hand,” Jared says, bringing over a bowl of soapy water.

  Warm water slides over my digits, his hand holding mine. Under the water, the fingers of his other hand turn the ring, freeing my finger from its grasp. Both of his hands hold mine, the sweetness of the moment only broken by the shrill cry of the kettle behind us.

  He leaves, setting the ring on the counter before going to move the kettle to a different burner and grab a dishcloth to dry our hands. He takes the dishcloth, which is still damp from his own hands, and he dries mine. Then he leaves to make our tea.

  “What the fuck was up with her journal?”

  He jumps. I had been quiet for so long I wonder if I scared him.

  “Who writes a journal like a grocery list?” My voice rises with each word. “There were like three entries on each page, six if you count the backs.” Dismissing the burn, my fingers curl around the mug he sets in front of me. “I don’t hate people, but I think I hate her.”

  The gulp of tea I take after admitting that burns going down. His hand draws lazy figure eight patterns on my back. I lean toward him, comforted that he doesn’t argue about what I said, just accepts it.

  “What I don’t get,” I straighten back up, and he drops his hand, “are how many friends she had. Tons of people, all ready to watch me so she wouldn’t have to.”

  “If she didn’t have all of those friends, there’s a chance we never would have met.”

  I turn to angle my entire body in his direction, contemplating a life not knowing him. “Nah, I have a feeling we would have met no matter what.”

  He lifts his mug to his lips and pauses before he drinks. “We’ll never know.” His other hand finds its way to my knee.

  “What are we even doing here?”

  Jared sets his drink back down as he cocks a brow at me. “Is that an actual question or—”

  I hit his shoulder and can’t suppress my own smile when I see his. “I know what we’re doing here, but why are we doing it? What qualification do I have, other than being a blood relative, to sort through her things?”

  “Then let’s jam.”

  I use my drink as a reason not to immediately reply while I think it over. I can see an odd reflection of myself in the gloss at the bottom of the now empty mug. I put the cup back down.

  “I want to go home.”

  Jared shifts me into his lap. “Then let’s go home.”

  I email my grandmother’s lawyer to arrange for the items I had stored in the breakfast room to be shipped to Denver. Even though I wasn’t sure I wanted them, Jared makes sure everything from her nightstand comes with us: the pictures, documents, and my grandmother’s journal. Then I book the next flight for us home.

  Jared doesn’t argue my driving the rental back to the airport. It’s as though he knows I need to feel like I’m in control.

  “Have you ever seen so much road kill?” I ask just to say something.

  “Raccoons get run over in Colorado, too.” He voice is lighter than his grip on the side handle.

  “I’ve just never seen as many. Think they’re suicidal here?” He sucks in a breath as I ride the bumper of the hatchback in front of us.

  “Maybe there’s a rogue Kool-Aid-drinking cult of them.”

  I ease back into my seat and off the bumper of the car in front of me. If Jared can joke with me, it means we’re good. I need us to be good, not to be changed by whatever happened in New Hampshire.

  Other than constantly asking if I’m okay, which I am, he doesn’t seem to believe our leaving New Hampshire isn’t a big deal. Jared sleeps, or pretends to sleep while I drive home from the airport. I think he’s pretending because his body hardly moves when I switch lanes. Once we’re back at the condo, he runs to the store to restock on food after we get our bags in.

  I’m asleep on the sofa when he gets back. I wake in his arms as he carries me to my room. He cradles me against his chest, and I lean up to kiss his neck. When he looks down at me, I move my lips to his. If he’s hesitant because I might be tired, it doesn’t last long. His urgency grows with mine. I want to escape and get lost in him.

  I don’t complain when he stays in my room that night, having grown comfortable sleeping with him while we were away. The next morning, he wakes up before I do, pressing a hurried kiss to my forehead before racing off to work. The mountain waits for no one, I think to myself as I drift back to sleep.

  When I finally wake up, I sink into a state of not knowing what to do with myself. I go through the motions. I shower; I eat a chocolate chip Eggo. I call the foreman in charge of the studio renovations and leave a lame message to check in. I call Sarah and rap Beastie Boys on her voicemail because she doesn’t answer either.

  Being alone is scary. I don’t need to dwell on the negative. I need a distraction. After loading the washer up, I hop into my Hummer and go to the mall. Since my eighteenth birthday, I’ve never really needed to work for a living. I’m the sole beneficiary of a living trust in my name created by my parents before they died. I’m not a bajillionaire or anything, but with the exception of some first class airplane tickets, I don’t spend a whole lot.

  I had invested in Sarah’s company, but she paid me back ages ago and then some. There’s the condo and my Hummer, but it’s not as if I bought a mansion and drive a Bentley. I like consignment stores for clothes and yoga instead of partying. I do have a few expensive pairs of shoes, but I’m short and they were purchased under the misguided assumption that if they cost more they might be comfortable. They aren’t.

  I get a chai latte and wander around the mall. I love to check out the kiosks in the middle of the walkways. The knockoff purses, the jeweled cellphone cases and the next miracle skin cream are always fun. You can tell the people who work them are on commission because they put used car salesmen to shame with their pitches.

  I am sucked in by the girl with the magic hair straighter and am i
n her chair, heated wand to my scalp before I know it. The string-eyebrow-remover woman has her eye on me too. I’m curious about a straighter though, since my hair can get frizzy. After buying one, I dashed into the toy store across the way to avoid the eyebrow woman.

  I amble up and down the aisles, thinking back to when I was small. My toys on the farm growing up were trees, kittens, and wide-open spaces. We didn’t have a TV, just a radio. I grew up playing cards and checkers, not Mario Cart. After the summer I spent with Jared and his mom, I went to a boarding school in Canada. The headmistress was an Italian woman named Carmen Bartonili.

  She knew my grandmother and took me in like her own. When I was thirteen, I saw the movie The Little Princess with Shirley Temple. I used to pretend that the news of my parents’ deaths was a mistake, and they were in a hospital somewhere with bandages wrapped around their faces so nobody knew who they were. They would moan and mumble like the father in the movie for their little girl.

  Carmen wasn’t anything like the mean woman in the movie, though. She tried her best, but I think I missed Jared and the foreignness of being on a boat in the middle of the ocean too much to fit in there. On impulse, I buy a Tech Deck skateboard and avoid the eyebrow woman as I make my way back to my car.

  Sarah calls me back right as I’m pulling in.

  “Sabotage? Really?” Her hello.

  I snort, “A classic.”

  “I’m not disputing this, only trying to figure out why I had a three minute serenade on my voicemail. FYI, I saved it and plan on playing it for Will when he gets home.”

  I kick-shut my door because my hands are full and wink at the mailman who stops to check out my car. “Whatever floats your boat, babe.”

  “So, how goes it?”

  I can hear her fingertips moving across her keyboard and know she’s multitasking. That girl is a workaholic. I make a mental note to remind Will to make her unplug before I answer. “We’re back home. There’s going to be an estate sale and whatever doesn’t sell is going to be donated to the local woman’s shelter.”

  “Oh.” I fumble my keys at her exclamation. “We got the dining room set. I love it.”

  “Sweet. No scratches or anything from the move?” I chuck my now empty latte cup and take the bag from the toy store into my room, opening it as she answers.

  “Nope, not a scratch on it and it fits perfectly in the dining room. We still need to get a rug to go under it. I tried to send Will out for it last night, but he refused to go without me.”

  I pull out a pair of nail clippers to bite into the plastic wrapping of the toy skateboard. “Um, can’t say that I blame him. You can be hard to shop for.”

  “I am not,” she argues.

  I let it go, knowing better. My skateboard comes with two extra decks in case I want to change it out.

  “How are things with Jared?”

  I hedge, “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t pull that crap with me, Sawyer. This is the first time you’ve lived with someone you’re,” she pauses, “being intimate with. This is a big step for you, and I just wanted—”

  “A big step?” I cut her off, questioning her choice of words. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Jared and I are just friends.” I leave out the fact that she knows he loves me since that would hurt my argument.

  “If you say so.”

  My mouth drops. That little... “I do say so. Nothing has changed. We’re friends.”

  “Okay, sweetie.”

  Something in her tone makes me want to kick her. I’m interrupted, though, by my foreman calling on the other line. “I gotta hop, but I’m serious.”

  “All right, babe. Talk later.” That’s the last thing I hear before I click over.

  The renovation had hit a snag that may put us a week back from the originally planned opening. It sucks but isn’t the end of the world. We talk a bit longer, and I let him know I’ll be stopping by the next day to check out the progress in person.

  I’m switching another load of laundry into the dryer a few hours later when Jared walks in.

  “Are you gonna make it?” I ask.

  He looks like he had his ass handed to him.

  “I think I’m getting old. I’m going to be hurting tomorrow.” He lets his coat fall to the floor. He glances back at it as if he’s contemplating picking it up before just deciding to leave it there.

  “Tomorrow,” I scoff. “You look like you’re hurting right now.”

  He gives me a glum nod in assent, and I laugh at how pitiful he is in a cute way. “Want me to run you a bath?”

  He’s quick to reply, “Only if you’ll join me.”

  I fill my tub with hot, bubbly water and climb in first so he lies in front of me. With his back to my chest, I do my best to rub the tension gathered in and around his shoulder blades. Before too long, he’s asleep. I let him nap until the water starts to get cold and then make him get out. Only after I have him settled in my bed do I wonder why I didn’t make him go to his own room.

  He fights me, but I get him to eat some soup before he passes out again from exhaustion. I forget how strenuous his job is. When he doesn’t take breaks and is used to it, the strain doesn’t seem to affect him that much. I wonder what he’ll do when he gets older. He won’t be able to snowboard forever. Even though it’s early, I curl up with him and drift off to sleep.

  When I wake up, snuggled up to a deliciously shirtless Jared, I remember the Tech Deck I bought at the store. I ease out of his arms and grab the package from where I tucked it beside the bed. I carefully open the plastic encasing my new board so that I don’t wake Jared.

  His chest piece is mainly black and white, with every shade of gray between. There are subtle pale blue highlights at each peak of the snowcapped range. I’m gently sliding my board over his pecs on my second downhill pass when he shifts. Avalanche, I think to myself, as my board falls to the bed between us.

  “What are you doing?” he asks with only one eye slightly open.

  I retrieve my board and start again at the peak closest to me. “I’m snowboarding.”

  He shifts in bed so he’s on his side facing me. He rubs sleep from his eyes and blinks a few times before watching the progression of my board across his chest.

  “I’ve wanted to do this as long as you’ve had this tattoo,” I admit.

  “You’ve always wanted to fingerboard a skateboard across my chest?” he clarifies, still waking up.

  I lift the deck from his chest, holding it up for him to see. “No wheels, so this is clearly a snowboard.”

  He doesn’t argue my logic, and I return to my play, shivering when his fingertips crawl up my arm. “Do I get a turn? I think you have a better mountain range.”

  “Aren’t you funny?” I tease, tossing my board and dropping my lips to his.

  The bath last night must have helped because when Jared leaves this morning to do some actual snowboarding, he barely limps. Meanwhile, I’m heading over to the studio to talk with John, my foreman. One thing I like about the space is how close it is to my condo, maybe a fifteen-minute drive.

  The front door is locked, and after banging on it loudly for a second time, John comes to open it.

  “Sorry about that. It’s hard to hear anything over the noise.”

  “Fair enough.” I glance around. “The place looks great.”

  John’s eyes follow mine. The walls are done and painted in the main room.

  I shrug out of my coat, resting it over a stack of boxes, and cross my arms over my chest. “So what’s the reason for the delay you mentioned on the phone?”

  I’ve never been one to bullshit, and from what I’ve seen of John, he’s the same way. He motions me to follow him over to another stack of boxes across the room. Opening the top, he pulls a strip of wood laminate out.

  “They sent the wrong flooring and aren’t able to get the right stuff out for,” he pauses to gauge my expression, “at least another week.”

  My jaw drops. “At least? Wh
at’s the worst case scenario?”

  He pushes the plank back into the box and rubs his hand over his face. “Conservatively, I don’t think they’ll get it to us in a week. I think we’re looking at closer to two weeks and then installation time.”

  I groan. This is not good news.

  Looking back up at him, I ask, “There’s no way we can use what they sent?”

  He reaches down to pull the plank back out. “It’s not the color you ordered.”

  It’s almost an onyx-toned wood, the exact opposite of what I wanted. I wanted the place to feel light, airy, peaceful.

  I shake my head. “You’re right. That color is all wrong. I’m just annoyed. This is definitely gonna delay the opening day.” I glance around again. “Does this throw other work off schedule too?”

  “We can work around it. Once the floors are done, we should be done with everything else.”

  “Cool,” I exhale and let John show me around.

  Now that the walls are redone and painted, it’s easier to envision the final space. The main entrance will open to a front desk type waiting area. This will be where people can check the calendar and sign up for classes or spa stuff. There is a short hallway with bathrooms, a room for facials, one for massages, and then a big open space for the yoga classes.

  “I love it,” I say to no one in particular.

  Past the main yoga space, there is an office, storage room, and small locker room where people can lock up their coats and purses during class. John is standing back a ways, just watching me check out the place. I like him. He reminds me of myself. If I hadn’t have been so busy, I might have asked him out when I hired him. He’s a good-looking man in that faded jeans, tight white t-shirt way. I think he’s single. I stop thinking about the studio and start thinking about which one of my friends I can set him up with.

  “Are you single?” I blurt.

  He blinks a couple times, and then grins, “Interested?”

  I roll my eyes and laugh. “Not for me.”