25. Lucy
The mid-summer heat had arrived,even early in the morning.
I kicked off the blanket that Sawyer tossed over me somewhere in between round three and downing an entire glass of ice water in the middle of the night. He kept the sunroom cozy with neutral colors, the paneling was a deep, espresso stain. I could lay on this daybed for an eternity with him. And that’s when it hit me… I could get used to the idea of waking up next to him.
I wanted what he wanted.
For the last six weeks, he has always been there. Even when I didn’t expect him to be, he was there before I even knew I wanted him there. And now everything has changed. We crossed a line, more like several. Now they’re all blurry.
Today, I learned that he was a stomach sleeper. Rolling over onto my side, I draped my leg over his bare body. I tucked my foot under his leg as I intertwined myself with him. I traced letters on his back muscles over the brightest of red scratch marks that remained as prominent as ever from the night before.
“What are you doing back there? Putting a hex on me, or something?” he said with his face muffled into the pillow, wiggling underneath my touch.
“Don’t hate me, but I think I gotta get going,” I said, pressing my chin into his shoulder.
He angled his head around before he did his body, then shot up in a seated position. He fixed a straggly hair that hung over my eyes. “I could never hate you,” he grumbled. “But I am bummed, I wanted to make you breakfast.” Soft, subtle kisses trailed up my arm, ending on the tip of my shoulder.
“That is very tempting… How about you make me dinner, instead? Besides, I have to figure out what’s going on with Gracie. I should be there for her. I feel terrible that I neglected her after everything.”
“You’re too good for this world, Lucy Collins. Dinner it is.”
I shut my eyes at the sound of my name on his lips. It does something to me as it courses through my veins.
“Anyway,” he laid back down, resting his hands behind his head. “Something tells me that Gracie is just fine.”
“What do you mean?”
“She was laughing and smiling all night.”
“Yeah,” I looked out the windows, envisioning where she stood last night. Every guy under the age of forty was captivated by her last night. She danced, she sang, she drank… She made friends in a town she’d never been to. Maybe she was fine. “She always starts that way. But then it slowly hits her. I want to be there when that happens.”
Sawyer pointed to his jeans bunched up on the floor, falling his head back onto the mattress, he rasped out, “Take my truck.”
I slithered out of the bed and gathered up my clothes. I was itching to see him again and I hadn’t even left yet.
At the door frame, his voice stopped me in my tracks. “You look gorgeous in the morning, by the way,” he said with closed eyes, drifting back to sleep.
I plucked the keys from his jean pockets and spun them around my finger a couple of times, stopping the movement in the palm of my hand before I walked out of the sunroom.
He kept up with his house, it was far from a cliché bachelor pad. He had paintings scattered around his walls, decorative bins for throw blankets, and top-of-the-line cookware hung above the kitchen island. And that’s only from what I could tell from here. The opened rooms had people scattered across the beds and chairs, and there wasn’t a surface in the living room untouched by limbs.
Gracie was cuddled up and asleep in Mel’s arms on the chaise lounge in the corner. The leather squeaked underneath her when she shifted.
I crouched down so that I was level with her. “Morning, G. Wakey, wakey.”
She grumbled, wiping the sleep from her eyes. “What time is it? Oh, jeez, I’m sorry. I tried to find you, but I guess I fell asleep at some point during my search.”
“That’s fine,” I whispered. “Look, there’s a bunch I have to do today. I’m sort of on an adrenaline rush if you will.” I shook Sawyer’s keys in front of her face. “You coming?”
She rotated her head around, found Mel beside her, and then looked back at me. “I–I’ll catch up with you later.”
I found comfort in knowing that Gracie could hold her own in a house full of people she barely knew. That’s where her sweet, outgoing personality always came in clutch.
Whenever she and Asher got into their numerous fights, I always made it a point to be there for her for as long as she needed. I had never experienced a friend going through a breakup, though. I was nervous, I hurt for her. But she did seem okay, so I decided to bask in my bliss and left her there. At least until the sun had fully risen.
My favorite part of the day was right now; the sky was still a blueish-gray hue from civil dawn, cascading over Hummingbird Lake.
I cranked open the driver-side door to Sawyer’s truck, smokey notes of vanilla and chestnut were intoxicating as I climbed inside. I settled into my seat, I wanted the aroma to bleed onto my skin so I could bring his scent home with me.
I admired the vintage feel of the truck. Never did I think when Gus taught me how to drive on stick shift that I’d ever truly need to know—but now the talent was coming in handy. I pushed in the cassette sticking out of the radio system and played whatever he was last listening to. I hum songs I never knew before now and dance as much as I can in my seat the whole drive home.
A stupid little grin wouldn’t leave my face even if I took a chisel tool to it.
Once I reached the cottage, I practically leapt out of the truck and skipped into the house. I threw open the door and placed Sawyer’s keys down. Another piece of him finding its place in my world.
Straight ahead, I stared down the hall at the backdoor. On the other side, I knew I’d be met with the unfinished work of yesterday, but I wasn’t scared anymore. I was done hiding from the mess of reality.
I didn’t have time to think about the maybe’s and what if’s when it came to Sawyer. For that, I was grateful. If left alone for long enough, I knew my thoughts had the power to make me believe that I’ve been hit by a blow dart. Completely immobilized as I fall into a never-ending cycle where I’d find a reason to stray. But right now, I want to live on this pink cloud for a little while longer.
In the resonance of my steps against the hardwood, my life memories play out in front of me. I am reminded why I left, why I never came back. It wasn’t for the sole reason that my grandmother wasn’t here anymore, it was because she was everywhere.
The floorboards were flooded with memories of her chasing me up and down the stairs, and playing board games on snowy days on the living room floor. The baseboards bled out every scent that has ever passed through this house—I smelled the fresh sourdough bread in the oven and the homemade apple cider in the fall months.
Everything was her.
Walking through the front doors today, it felt like I was finally coming home for the first time. There was a sense of passion, a feeling of devotion. It broke me that I didn’t initially fall back into place like I’d imagined I would. I thought I could come home after all this time and it would feel the same—like seeing an old friend as if no time had passed.
But that just wasn’t the case.
For the last six weeks, I have felt like a zombie walking around parts of a town I’ve known every nook and cranny of for my entire life. It felt like I knew nothing at all.
Now? Now, I was home.
Tugging at the backdoor, the humidity making the frame all that much more stubborn, I parade myself through the backyard. Whatever will be, will be. Leaving the cottage doesn’t mean I have to leave Rider for good. Because of Tiffany, Rider will always be home.
I swung open the age-worn wood door to the shed and thin slivers of paint chipped off with contact with the siding.
There it still sat in the same spot, the painting. The stool, the book, the painting. They’ve made themselves a home back here without even intending to.
Two remaining boxes are stacked behind the easel with unwashed paint brushes stuck to the top. As I moved the stool into the back corner of the shed, the dust stuck to the palms of my hands. The unoiled hardware of the easel cracked as I dismantled the stand. I tucked it under my arm and stacked the canvas and book on top of the boxes.
Back inside, I removed the standard painting you could find at any department store on the wall that separated the living room from the kitchen. I observed the space on the wall and exhaled as I prepared to mount Tiffany’s unfinished painting in its place. I sat on the ground with crossed legs and stared up at it.
I flipped through the pages of the book, it still had the old book smell that I love so much. The edges were faded only a tad from the sunlight that would sneak in through the windows. Other than that, it was in perfect shape. I held it tight against my chest.
I dragged the last boxes standing over my way—it finally felt like there was light at the end of the tunnel. More notes, more photos. What looks to be a dozen love letters to Tuck, from Tuck. Tiffany’s merlot lipstick stained most of the envelopes tucked away in the old cigar box.
You had my attention from the first time I laid my eyes on you.
As I read through the rest, my heart danced a melodic contemporary number—I always knew their love was timeless and poetic.
Except these didn’t belong to Tiffany.
I fanned through it faster. Double, triple-checking.
There wasn’t a single thing that could have prepared me.
My heart now lives in my throat.
Signed, With Love, Christian Parker.
I spread everything out in front of me and scanned the top of every piece of paper. They were all addressed to Sunny. My mom.
What was once hidden at the bottom of a flimsy box now canvassed the floor in front of me. There were some photos of my mom standing on her own in front of Highway 57, or outside of Hillside High. I saw a few of Tiffany withmy mom and a handful of my mom from when she was pregnant… It was a secret shrine of Sunny Collins at my fingertips. This was yet another version of her I didn’t know. Another lifetime.
And then I came across one of her with a guy. His hair was a soft brown, slicked back, and had caramel eyes. A smile was drawn across her face, something that was rare. I had never seen her smile, especially not like that. She did once, though it was in a very passive-aggressive manner.
I’m sorry… It doesn’t have to be like this… We can work something out…She’s my daughter, too. I ran my fingers over the indent the pen made on the paper.
My chest heaved. I grabbed onto it, trying to manage it, control it, wrangle it—anything. But nothing worked. Nothing was going to cure this feeling. I felt myself removed from my body, like I was hovering over a body, a person, a life that was not mine and could never be me. That had to be the case.
This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be.
The walls closed in on me and I sunk into the floor beneath me. The light that I was so close to touching, vanished. Everything went black before it turned a blinding white.
My dad. My fucking dad.
No one had the nerve to tell me, not in all of the years that my mother had been absent from my life. I didn’t expect her to tell me, I learned to stop expecting much from my mother long ago. Fuck, honestly, I didn’t know what I wanted in this moment.
I kicked away at all that sat in front of me or my lap and I chucked the empty cardboard boxes down the hall. The echo of them slapping against the hardwood rang through the whole house.
I couldn’t have it near me. None of it.
Though, what lingered closer to me than the rest, was one more letter. Just my luck. This one was the only one in a sealed envelope with faint writing on the front that read For Lucy when she turns 18. This one was written in Tiffany’s handwriting.
She wasn’t around to see me turn eighteen. Did she not expect to see me turn eighteen? Did she plan to not tell me, but rather read all of this for myself when I turned eighteen?
Those were just two more questions added to the many I already had.
Growing up, I asked about my dad. I was curious to know all about who he was or where he was, of course I did. But I learned at an early age to not ask more than once.
When I was five, after my first day of kindergarten, I came home with all sorts of information—and many, many questions. I waited on the blacktop while kids in my class were picked up by their parents, both parents, and that was the first time it hit me that my life looked different.
All I knew was my mom and my grandmother, Gus and Leanne. They were the only family that I knew.
I asked Tiffany on our way home from school. She looked at me in my booster seat through the rearview mirror. With a look of endearment and a touch of fear, she told me to talk to my mom about it.
So, I did.
At dinner, I shared with her all about my day. I talked about how awesome it was to play all day long at school, but that I was ready to come home by lunchtime. That I missed the two of them. I talked about seeing my new friends “mommies” and “daddies” and I asked where my daddy was. For only a beat of a second, she looked up from her phone, stone cold as usual, and stared me down.
You could hear a pin drop. I tensed up in my seat.
How, at five years old, did I say something so wrong?
She clicked her tongue before parting her lips. She said I didn’t have one, and to never ask her again.
So, I didn’t.
Over twenty years later, I never thought about it, or him, again. Why is that? The world is at my fingertips thanks to the internet, thanks to advancements in science. I could have done some research of my own. But in true Sunny Collins fashion, she still had a hold on me. Even out of her vicinity, I was stuck under her thumb. I’m afraid I always will be, and though she has no problem hurting me, I could never imagine doing the same to her.
The door knob twists and I shoot up straight as an arrow in my spot.
Shit.
I looked down at my phone and it was already eight in the morning. I had meant to call Gracie over a half hour ago. Gracie zipped through the threshold, giddy as ever. “Oh, my L.C., I am sooo over Asher.”
I wiped away a tear that managed to escape. “That’s great, G.”
“What’s wrong, what is it?” she slid herself onto the ground beside me, her knees almost leaving track marks behind her.
I handed her the single letter but struggled to let go of it. I could hang onto it and never tell a soul that I found these. The only other living people that know would be, of course, my mom. Then there’s Gus and Leanne—but they wouldn’t say anything until I say something first. They weren’t the type to air out other people’s dirty laundry. They know, they have to know.
I didn’t have to share this with Gracie, I could’ve pulled it back and acted as if it were nothing. Instead, she won the fight with my gorilla grip and a small piece of paper ripped off the side as she took it in her hands.
Nothing, she says nothing.
Instead, she took me in her arms and I was fighting back all the urge to let it all out, to finally cry. Up until an hour ago, I didn’t have a dad. That’s what I was told, that’s what I was made to believe. I didn’t have a dad.
But now I had a dad and he had a name. My dad was, is, Christian Parker.
“I can’t be here, I can’t do this,” I said, muffled over Gracie’s shoulders.
“Luce, Luce… Breathe… Do you want to go back to Sawyer’s?”
I broke loose from Gracie’s hold and scrambled to find his keys, but I couldn’t remember where I put them. I can barely remember my own name right now. I stop, my hands perched on my hips. My chest heaved in and out once again, but I fought back the tears with all that I had.
Gracie stared at me waiting for my next plan of action, but I didn’t have one. “I—Uh,” I sucked in a breath. “I’m supposed to go back there tonight. A date, we have a date. But?—”
Right when I allowed myself to fall, straight into Sawyer’s arms, I felt the need to crawl right back up the bumpy hill that had a barricade between the two of us. This was too much for me, this was too much for anyone—there’s no way I could start a relationship like this.
“A date? Lucy, how long has this been going on? Why haven’t I heard of him before?”
Maybe because if I spoke it into existence, it made my feelings all that much more real. That wasn’t something I was ready for.
“I actually met him on my first day here. Man, it was a wreck. A car wreck, that is. Like one you couldn’t look away from. I’ll tell you about that another time. But, I don’t know, he’s sort of been around. Everywhere I turn, there he is. And he’s been nice…”
“It looks a little more than nice, if you ask me. I saw the way he looked at you in the truck last night.”
My skin burned at the thought. His eyes, they do something to me. He has a way of making me feel like I’m the only girl in the world. It’s insane.
“Yeah, but that doesn’t matter right now. And anyway, I can’t go like this.”
“Well, yeah. Not like that.” Gracie took a step back and evaluated my current state. Smudged mascara and all, tears seeping through my dress. I was a mess. “We’ll go shopping!”
“What? No. No way. I have to figure all of this out.” I waved my hands over the disarray of stationary under my feet.
“All of that is still going to be there when you get home. It’s been there for twenty-six years, it can hold off for another twenty-six hours.”
I looked back at Gracie, then down to the floor again. There was a truth within her words. It’s been there for ages, if I never found it, I’d be dancing around the living room right now counting down the hours until I saw Sawyer again.
“Ah, okay. I’ll go change.”
“Oh, this is going to be so much fun!” Gracie started to jump up and down. “I need a distraction and a reminder that love still exists!”
“No one said anything about love.”
I dropped my head and focused on the way the light reflected onto the floorboards. The sunrays waved back and forth, the shadow of the trees in the backyard filtered through and painted the floor in front of me. Try as I might, I couldn’t join in her excitement for all of this. Not when everything that just unveiled itself is staring up at me.
“I better get upstairs,” I choked out.
She stopped me as I reached the bottom step and pulled me in closer again. This time tighter. And that’s where it all comes out and I can’t find a way to make it stop. The aching, piercing sobs escaped my mouth and I began crumbling to the ground.