Sawyer
I’m dreaming about Zelda.
In the dream, we’re standing somewhere that’s dimly lit, and she’s biting at her lower lip, turning away from me a little, like she’s too shy to take off the black halter top, too shy to shimmy out of her skirt.
That changes when I put a hand around her throat.
Her eyes go wide and dark with lust, and then, hands trembling, she reaches for the hem of her shirt.
When the knock comes, her eyes dart toward the door and a deep flush paints her cheeks red. She’s afraid to get caught, and it turns her on.
Another knock comes and this one pisses me off.
I jump up, and in three lunging steps I’m across the room and to the door, fumbling for the lock. It’s already locked. I give it another twist and go back for her. I’m going to fuck her senseless.
A third knock.
This one yanks me away from Zelda, and I’m flying upward toward consciousness, cursing under my breath.
It’s too bright in the bedroom, and the first thing I do is throw my arm over my eyes. “Shit.” What the hell time is it? I don’t remember what time I got back here last night, only that it was late. And for once, I don’t have a 9 a.m. call set up with Domino, so I didn’t set an alarm.
“Sawyer?”
Jesus. I’m too old for my aunt to be waking me up, but I swallow through the irritated tightness in my throat.
My mouth is dry. After Zelda’s friend rejected Max—that’s what must have happened, even though he didn’t say anything about it when he came back to find me carrying two foaming beers in his hands—he decided to put the night into full throttle.
I don’t go out drinking very much because in my line of work I can’t afford to be a hungover dumbass. Now I remember why. I feel like shit warmed over.
“Sawyer, it’s Linda.”
I swallow again, trying to get a little moisture into my mouth. “I’m up.”
She takes a breath in and lets it out, a sigh so heavy I can hear it through the door. “Your sister’s here.”
I roll over and pull a pillow over my head. I do not want to have this conversation.
“She’s downstairs…I’ve got some breakfast, too, if you want it.”
Aunt Linda is the only reason I’m here, and despite the fact that I’m not in the mood for my sister, I can’t quite bring myself to be a dick to her.
“Give me a couple minutes.”
“Pardon?”
I pull the pillow off my head. “A couple minutes, Aunt Linda. I’ll be right down.”
Her footsteps retreat outside the door, muffled on the carpet. I let myself lie in the bed, on the clean sheets, for another fifteen seconds before I throw my legs over the side and stand up.
Yeah. Drinking at the bar was a smart idea.
I unzip the duffle bag of clothes I brought with me. Grab a clean set of clothes to put on. Pull the door open. My sister’s voice floats up the staircase, and my aunt answers her, but I can’t make out exactly what they’re saying.
It’s three steps across the hall to the guest bathroom, and I shut the door behind me and lock it tight.
Everything is how I remembered it, from the little soaps in the dish by the sink to the clean, thick towels folded in a little closet over in the corner. I take a deep breath. Being in this house is making me lose my edge.
Ten minutes later, showered and slightly less hungover, I come down to the kitchen. Aunt Linda stands at the stove, tipping a pan of scrambled eggs onto a plate that’s already partly filled with toast and bacon.
“It’s almost eleven,” Jem says, crossing her arms and jutting out one hip.
She’s got my same dark hair, but instead of my dad’s blue eyes, she got my mom’s dark ones.
“Hey, Jem.” I take a seat at the kitchen island, and my aunt shoots me a scathing look as she slides the plate over.
“What the hell are you thinking, Sawyer?”
I raise my eyebrows at her.
“Coffee?” My aunt is poised at the counter, coffee carafe in one hand, mug in the other.
“Please.”
There’s a brief silence while she pours the coffee.
“Cream?”
“Sure.”
My sister breathes out sharply through her nose while my aunt adds cream, her face now carefully neutral. When she hands the cup to me, I take my sweet time sipping from it. It’s perfect.
“Think you asked me a question, Jem.” Jem is four years younger than I am. She’s my father’s favorite. I don’t blame her for that. It’s just that she’s never seen his knuckles flying at her face. He was too busy aiming them at mine.
“What are you doing wasting time here?” She’s mad, eyes glistening already.
“I got in yesterday.”
“And you went to the bar instead of visiting Dad.”
I look at my aunt, who shrugs and turns back to the stove.
The first bite of eggs melts in my mouth. I didn’t think I’d want to eat, but this food—this is sheer comfort food, and every bite wipes away some of the hangover. Without asking, my aunt is making a second helping of eggs for me in the pan.
“He’s dying.” Jem’s voice falls to just above a whisper, stretched thin with fear and grief.
For the first time, I see how pale she is.
Her hair looks like she threw it up in an elastic on the way here.
It looks like she’s been at the hospital all night instead of wherever she’s living now. “He’s dying, you asshole.”
My throat pinches. I toss the fork down onto my plate and look her right in the eyes. “I’ll visit when I’m ready to visit, and not a second before. And I don’t need you to understand why. Was there anything else you wanted to say to me?”
It feels the same. Being back here, it feels the same. That migraine pressure of wondering whether he’s in a volatile mood or a frosty one. He can’t hurt me now. I’m too strong. But that old fear never goes away.
My sister will never understand.
She loves him. And it’s not like there’s anyone left for her, aside from me and Aunt Linda.
I stand up from the island and cross the room to her, pulling her in for a side-armed hug. She stiffens for a moment, then turns toward me, wrapping her arms around me and pulling in.
For a second. Then she punches me on the arm. “Go visit him, Sawyer. And don’t be such a dick.” Jem lets me go and heads back out before I can argue with her anymore.
And I eat until breakfast is over.
“I’m behind on my flower beds,” says Aunt Linda.
I’m standing at the sink, rinsing my plate and the pan she used to cook the eggs for the dishwasher, and she’s looking out the back window. She’s got flowers planted in front of the house and in back.
I go to stand beside her.
“You didn’t plant…wait, don’t you have to plant this stuff in the fall?” I remember this from when I was here as a teenager.
“No,” she says, wrinkling her brow. “Last spring got away from me, and then when it came time to plant in the fall…” A sideways glance. Something must have been happening with my dad then, too. A hospital trip. “I could use a hand getting them back into shape.”
I look at her full-on then, and my aunt turns and looks back, unblinking.
I wait.
“What?” She takes another sip of her coffee.
“Aren’t you going to tell me that I should be visiting my dad right now?”
She raises one shoulder an inch. “You’re a grown man.”
That’s her way of saying that she can’t make me do anything. She’s said it to me a million times before, but this time it seems different.
Linda narrows her eyes at me, then sets her coffee cup on the counter. “You probably didn’t bring gardening gloves with you. Let me find a pair of Jerry’s.”