14. Sawyer
Sawyer
Morning light filters through the sheer curtains of the bedroom window. This cottage is meant to be bright and airy. A happy place to make summer memories. It’s the exact opposite of what I need right now.
I squeeze my eyes shut and roll over, wincing from the pain in my neck and shoulders.
It’s no use though. I’ve been up for hours, and no matter how hard I try, I know I won’t sleep.
Not with Owen’s scent still on the pillow next to mine, and the realization that he didn’t just pop out for a coffee run.
That he’s gone and I’ll never see him again.
The bedroom door creaks open, and Mom peers in. She looks just as exhausted as I feel. I doubt she got much sleep on the couch.
“You awake, Baby Girl?”
I nod, not quite ready to speak.
She comes in and sits on the edge of the bed, wrapping her hand over mine under the covers. “I made coffee and there was some pancake mix, so I whipped up a quick batch.”
Pancakes. Heart-shaped and lumpy.
Something breaks inside me and a low sob escapes from somewhere deep in my throat. There’s nothing I can do to stop it.
“Oh, baby.” Mom lays beside me, hugging one arm over my body. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“He made pancakes,” I choke out. “Every morning. He…”
I can’t finish. I just cry into her shoulder while she rubs my back like she did when I was a little girl and I scraped my knee.
“I know,” she whispers. “I know, sweetheart.”
But she doesn’t know. She can never know.
He was so good to me. God, I never deserved him.
She can hold me and soothe me but no one will know that while Owen was planning for our future, I still thought about his brother.
About what could have been. She’ll never know that while I sob in her arms, half my pain is from guilt as much as grief.
Eventually the sobs slow and I summon the strength to sit up in bed. My throat is raw and my eyes burn and I feel completely hollowed out.
Mom smooths my hair back from my face. “You don’t have to eat. I just needed to do something, to feel useful, you know?”
I nod, understanding completely.
“I’m not hungry right now, but thank you.”
Normally she’d push me to eat, but she knows I won’t.
That I get this way when I’m stressed or upset, either loading up on every kind of food I can find, or not eating a single thing for days.
I’ve been this way since I was a teenager.
Binge eating disorder, my psychiatrist told me, when mom finally forced me to see someone.
It’s gotten better to the point where small issues don’t trigger me as much, but shit like this… who knows how far I’ll be set back?
We sit there for a while in silence, my mom rubbing circles on the back of my hand with her thumb.
I know she’s holding in what she wants to say.
That I’ll need to call Dr. Mead again, that I should use the tools I’ve learned.
It’s on the tip of her tongue, but she must realize I don’t need to hear it. Not today.
“I should get up,” I finally say, even though the thought of leaving this bed feels impossible.
“Take your time. There’s no rush.”
But there is. Because every second I lie here, I’m surrounded by Owen. His pillows. His suitcase in the corner still unpacked. His phone charger on the nightstand. His presence everywhere except where it should be. I force myself to stand, biting back a groan as my bruised ribs protest.
“Easy.” Mom helps steady me with gentle hands on my shoulders. “The doctor said you’d be sore for a while.”
Sore is such an inadequate word for how my body feels. It’s like I’ve been hit by a truck. I feel like I should, I guess…like I survived something I wasn’t meant to.
Like I should have died with Owen.
I make it to the bathroom on shaky legs, shutting the door before Mom can follow.
When I look into the mirror I barely recognize the person staring back at me. There’s dark circles under my eyes, a cut on my forehead with butterfly stitches, bruises blooming purple and yellow along my collarbone and shoulders. My hair is a tangled mess and I need to shower desperately.
I look like I survived a roller coaster derailment.
Because I did.
My eyes land on Owen’s toothbrush laying against the sink. Just the other day, I joked with him about how he needs to get an electric one, laughed at him for still using the freebie he gets at his six month dental cleanings.
The sob hits me so suddenly I don’t have time to stop it. I grab the edge of the sink as my knees threaten to buckle, and everything I’ve been holding back crashes over me in waves.
He was going to propose. Knox said he had a ring. Owen was going to ask me to marry him and I was on that ride with his brother instead. I declined his call. I held Knox’s hand while Owen died alone and terrified two rows behind us.
The sobs tear through me, excruciating, like someone’s twisting a knife into my chest. I press my hand over my mouth to muffle the sound but it’s no use.
“Sawyer?” Mom’s voice comes through the door. “Baby, I’m coming in.”
“I’m fine,” I choke out, even though we both know it’s a lie.
“You’re not fine. Open the door.”
I don’t want her to see me like this. I don’t want anyone to see me like this. I need to get it together. But I can’t seem to stop crying and my legs are giving out and I’m sliding down to sit on the cold tile floor with Owen’s toothbrush clutched in my fist.
I crawl to the tub and turn the faucets. The sound of running water drowns out Mom’s knocking.
“Please,” I whisper. “I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.”
My head falls back against the chipped wooden cabinet. It hurts but not as bad as the all consuming pain climbing through my limbs, seizing my breath. I’m in a well and there’s no coming up for air.
Somehow I end up stripping off my clothes and climbing into the tub. I soak until my fingers prune and the water turns cold enough to make me shiver. With hands that seem detached from the rest of me, I wash my hair, slumping under the water to rinse away the grime.
When I finally drag myself out and wrap a towel around my body, I notice Mom slipped clean clothes through the door at some point. I didn’t even hear her.
There in a pile is some clean leggings, a soft T-shirt, and one of Owen’s hoodies.
Does she know that it’s his?
I hold it up to my nose, inhaling the fresh smell of his laundry detergent mixed with a hint of cologne. Moisture lines my eyes again, but I’m so cried out, so completely done, that I blink it away.
I hold it against my chest and bring it out onto the bed. Mom must have made it while I was in the bathroom.
I get dressed, run a brush through my damp hair, and toss it up in a ponytail. When I come out, I find Mom wiping down the already clean kitchen counters.
“Feel better?” she asks, barely looking up as she wrings out the sponge.
“A little.”
She sets it next to the sink to dry and turns toward me. “The pancakes are in the fridge if you change your mind. Or I could make you some toast. Eggs?”
“Mom, I’m really not—”
“I know.” She finally looks at me with red-rimmed eyes. “I know, baby. I just...I don’t know what else to do.”
Neither do I.
“Don’t you need to get back to work soon?” I ask. My Mom’s boss at the bank is notoriously dickish when it comes to unplanned time off. He gave her hell last year when she took a week off from the flu.
“Clark will understand. I’ll call him later and give him a little update.”
I lean against the counter, eyeing the pot of coffee, but knowing my stomach will hate me for it. “Did any of the other tellers offer to cover for you?”
“Oh, they all did. You know how much they love you.”
It’s true. Mom’s coworkers have been like an extended family since she got her job there a few years ago. Even with the scandal still on everyone in town’s radar, they looked the other way, treated us like family, took care of us.
She goes to the fridge and grabs a cold bottle of water, cracking the top before handing it to me. “At least drink some water.”
I sigh and begrudgingly take her offer, downing half the bottle in one long gulp. She watches with a satisfied grin that shouldn’t annoy me as much as it does.
“Can you believe how Richard looked?” The tone of her voice makes me think she’s been waiting for me to be put together enough to bring him up.
“He looked like anyone would who just lost their son unexpectedly,” I say, trying to put an end to whatever gossip she’s trying to spew.
“I guess you’re right.” She taps her fingers on the counter. “But I think it goes deeper. He looked so much older. Maybe thinner? What do you think?”
“Mom.”
“I know, I know.” She sighs, and I think she’s finally done, but nope.
“I bet Victoria is back on the pills again. I understand it, losing a child like that, but...” She trails off, picking at her nail polish.
“I just wonder if she’ll even be able to handle the funeral arrangements.
If Richard will have to do everything himself? That woman’s always been so fragile.”
And I’m done.
“I’m not getting into this. Not right now.”
“I know. I’m sorry. That was awful of me.
I’m just...I’m bitter, Sawyer. About everything that happened.
And seeing Richard again after so long…And Owen...
” She pauses, and when she continues she sounds like my mom again.
Real and genuine. “Owen was the one good thing to come out of that whole mess. He was so kind to you. To us. When no one else was.”
Tears prick my eyes again. “I know.”
“He loved you so much.”
I turn away, biting my lip to keep from crying again. “I know, Mom.” And I loved him, just not the way he deserved. “I’m going to get some air.”
I slip on my sandals and hurry out the door before she can try to stop me.
The air is starting to get warm and humid now, a typical June day at the lake. If life were like it used to be, Owen would have insisted on taking the boat out today and Knox would be hanging on the dock, reading some boring book about Ancient Greece or space or some other non-fiction topic.