Chapter Thirty-Five Banks
Chapter Thirty-Five
Banks
It’s been days since the accident, and the apartment building is too quiet—void of the people who made it so lively. I wish I’d taken my father’s invitation to stay at his place, but I couldn’t risk his mood shifting when we’re finally, and maybe sadly given the circumstances, in a better place. Not a healthy one but…better.
It’s always temporary, anyway.
Walking past the second door on the first floor has been painful knowing that there’s nobody behind it. I’ve been tempted to break in. Dawson showed me how to pick a lock once, but I was never as good as he was. The more I thought about seeing the things he hid behind that door, though, the less I wanted to see.
People are already talking.
The school sent out emails for grief counseling if anybody needed it, along with numbers for those who might need other kinds of help. The help that Dawson needed.
But I didn’t want to think about that pointed dig or think about how the girl across the hall hasn’t been back since the day I was arrested.
I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Then I went to the hospital, where I was told the same thing each time I asked where Sawyer Hawkins was, whose last name I finally learned when I asked the professor to give me any assignments that I could pass along when she was better.
The hospital turned me away three days in a row.
It doesn’t stop me from going a fourth time.
The same nurse from the first two days is sitting behind the desk in the inpatient unit. She smiles when she sees me, her eyes a mixture of sadness and sympathy as I walk toward her with a cup of coffee from my favorite café. It’s the same one I used to get for Sawyer, so I figured it was leverage.
“You’re persistent,” Faye comments, eyeing the cup I slide over to her. After looking around, she takes the offering. “And creative.”
I do my best to smile, even though it takes every ounce of energy possible because it’s the last thing I want to do. “I was coming by to see Sawyer, so I figured you could use some.”
She blinks, her eyes going to the older woman sitting on the opposite side of the desk with a headset on as she talks on the phone. When she looks back at me, she says, “I can’t allow anybody but family to see her.”
It’s the same response every day. But today, I’m not turning around or going home. Not after seeing the redheaded girl rocking helplessly alone on the side of that road. My stomach has been in knots ever since.
Faye must know that. “Only family,” she repeats, eyebrows going up as she stares at me.
I nod slowly. “I’m her…brother.”
Faye sips her coffee as if she can’t see the blatant lie, her eyes brightening. “Why didn’t you say that before? I just need you to sign right there in the log, and then I’ll have somebody come get you to bring you back.”
Quietly, I say, “Thank you.”
Her smile is softer, understanding. “From what I hear,” she murmurs, eyes shooting to her coworker again, “she needs somebody. Her sister has been visiting her, but she barely talks.”
Sawyer doesn’t have a sister, unless that’s another lie she told. I’m starting to wonder what exactly she’s been honest about. I can’t get her red hair out of my head, wondering why she would have kept it a secret all this time. She’s not a vain person, at least not the version I used to know.
But who is the real Sawyer?
It doesn’t take long before I’m following a nurse with a firm face back through narrow hallways with flickering fluorescent lights. I don’t say a word or ask the questions balancing on the tip of my tongue.
How is she? Is she doing okay? How is she taking the news? Does she know about Dawson?
The nurse turns to me as we stop in front of a door at the end of the hall. “Somebody out there is looking down on her. None of us can believe how she walked away. After all she’s gone through in life…” Her head shakes. “Your sister is very lucky.”
Your sister.
Lucky.
I press my lips together and nod, not trusting myself to speak. Given the circumstances, I bet she’s used to a lot of different reactions from people when she delivers them to patients.
“She’s been…” Her voice lowers, her eyes moving to the door and back. “She’s closed down since she spoke to the police. Your sister could barely get her to eat anything, so it’s a good thing you’re here. I think she needs somebody now more than ever. Maybe a brother’s reassurance that everything will be okay.”
I should have known the police would have been here. I had to go and talk to them when they ran the registration on my truck. Dad dropped me off and waited for me in the lobby of the station while I gave them my statement. They hounded me with questions I wish I had the answers to, about the second I found out my truck was gone to the moment I was hauled away in the back of a cop car after breaking past the police tape on scene.
I wasn’t sorry for getting in the way.
Not when I saw Sawyer sitting there helpless while the world moved in slow motion around us.
She needs somebody now more than ever.
She’s not the only one.
My heart picks up when the nurse twists the knob on the door, her knuckles gently rapping on the wood. “I have another visitor for you, Sawyer,” she says gently, gesturing for me to follow her in.
I stop in the doorjamb when I see her.
Birdie.
Sawyer.
Tucked under two layers of blankets, looking so small in a room no larger than my tiny apartment bathroom, lies a pale girl with short, red hair. Her eyes aren’t shining with blue mischief like usual but drained of life and light. Dull. Almost gray from here.
The person lying on her side, curled into herself, can barely meet my eyes when I step in.
But when she does…
I swallow.
Red hair.
Blue eyes.
I’m Sawyer. Like Tom Sawyer . It’s a book.
My eyes stay locked on her hair, the same color I remember from thirteen years ago. Except it looks like somebody cut it all off. Did somebody do that to her, or did she do it herself?
It’s hard to process how different she looks compared to what I’m used to, no matter how long I take her in.
Sawyer doesn’t make a move, doesn’t say a word as I soak up her fragile image.
The nurse puts a hand on my arm, as if she’s trying to understand what I must be feeling. She has no idea though.
Because thirteen years ago, I said goodbye to the only person who offered me a semblance of peace when my life was falling apart.
And now, all this time later, I’m meeting her for a second time after saying goodbye to the only other person who helped me get through the cruel fate dealt to me after Hurricane Katrina.
Sawyer left.
Then Mom.
And now Dawson.
The nurse squeezes my arm, bringing me back to reality. “Sawyer is one of the most stubborn patients I’ve had in quite some time. But that kind of strength is exactly what cancer patients like her need to get through it.”
My ears start ringing as the world stops around me. I’m not sure when the nurse drops her hand or when my eyes peel from Sawyer’s short red hair down to her unblinking eyes.
She just lays there. Staring. Distant. Like she’s not even here at all.
Cancer.
Suddenly, I forget about the short memories we created together when we were kids. The fruit snacks and the chips and the tree climbing and the gossiping. I forget about missing her and wondering what ever happened to her and her family and focus on what’s right in front of me. Because none of that matters now.
Not when we’re here, two adults trying to figure out life, both grieving the same person, dealing with our own traumas.
What happened to us?
“I’ll leave you two be,” the nurse tells me softly, her eyes drifting to Sawyer. “If you need me, you know what button to push.”
Once the door closes behind her, Sawyer finally blinks. It’s slow. Tired. Her eyelids heavy with exhaustion.
“How long?” I ask, still standing by the door.
I’m too afraid to walk farther in, to get closer.
Sawyer pulls the blankets up to her chin. “I’ve known for a long time.”
I stare, unable to speak.
She’s known she’s sick for a long time, but she’s never gone to the doctor while she’s been here. Never told me about any appointment. Any treatment. My aunt died from breast cancer. My mom took her to every appointment, every scan. I remember it all. How the life drained from her eyes the longer she fought.
That’s not Sawyer.
Her eyes have always been so…lively.
So hopeful.
“Your list,” I murmur, the pieces slowly coming together as the last few months resurface in my head. I never understood why there were so many items on it that any twenty-something could easily do, but I also never would have judged her.
Sawyer’s eyes close, her head seemingly too heavy to stay up as it settles into the pillow. “I spent so much time fighting to live that I only ever had the energy to exist. So I made a list and enrolled in college.”
There’s a lump in my chest that rises up into my throat and lodges there. “A bucket list,” I rasp.
Her eyes crack open. “A live list.”
My body feels weak as it leans against the door for support. All this time…
She watches me. My Birdie. The girl who used to look ready to fly anywhere if it meant having an adventure. Now I know why.
“All this time…” My words fade as I drag my fingers through my hair. All this time, she knew she was sick. All this time, Sawyer— my Sawyer—was fighting a battle all by herself.
All by herself.
Fists tightening at my sides, I peel my eyes away from her. She lets me have my moment, lying in silence, nothing but hospital machines sounding around us.
Then I stand up, my spine straightening as I open the door and walk out of the room.
The nurse who left me only moments ago watches with wide eyes as I approach her desk with a whole new expression on my face. It’s probably a mixture of fury and determination. “I want to sign her out.”
Her eyebrows go up, but a small smile curls the corner of her lips. “We would need to see an ID to make sure you’re eighteen or older and to go over a few things with you about where you two will be staying, but—”
I toss my ID at her, my eyes going back toward the hallway with the door that I left ajar.
Nobody should be stuck here.
No matter how much they’re used to it.
“She doesn’t deserve this,” I murmur.
The nurse passes me my ID back and says, ever so quietly, “No, she doesn’t.” Her smile saddens, making me think she knows exactly how bad it is.
Cancer.
My stomach drops.
Sawyer’s words from the night of the accident haunt me.
It should have been me.
When I go back to her room, Sawyer is watching the door. I don’t ask her any of the things that I want to know. All I say is “You’re coming home with me.”
She blinks.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
We stare at one another, our eyes never breaking even when the nurse comes in with discharge papers and care instructions.
The only time I look away is when a curtain separates us as Sawyer changes out of the gown and into a spare set of clothes Dixie dropped off.
A swarm of memories comes back to me, hitting me as hard as the news did, and I wonder if Sawyer will ever be honest with me.
Maybe that’s why I don’t ask the questions I should know the answers to. Because I don’t want to know. They say ignorance is bliss.
So I embrace it and add it to the list of my own secrets that fester under my skin for another day.
“I didn’t mean it,” she whispers.
I can only stare at her.
“What I said that day in the truck.”
My stomach dips.
I should have chosen Dawson.
Her voice is broken when she says, “He’s gone.”
It should have been me.
“I know.” My voice cracks. “Let’s not talk about it right now. We have…time.”
I stare at her, wondering how true that is.
Time.
She’s said time is relative.
I guess now I know why.