Chapter 29
Sawyer
His father called on a Tuesday afternoon, in the middle of Sawyer editing the Okafor gallery, and something in the first three words of the message — call me when you can — told him this wasn't going to be a conversation about invoices.
He called back within the hour, standing on the studio's back steps where the reception was better, and Walt picked up on the second ring, which was itself unusual enough to set off a low hum of unease before either of them said anything of substance.
"Lang came by the marina office again," Walt said, no preamble. "Different tone this time."
"Different how?"
"Less patient." Walt's voice had the careful, measured quality he used when he was choosing his words to avoid saying something worse.
"He's got the Willowmere groundbreaking scheduled for late September.
Says the whole corridor project makes more financial sense if the orchard's part of the package before construction starts, instead of him having to plan around a holdout property in the middle of it.
He's put a real deadline on the table this time. October fifteenth."
Sawyer did the math without meaning to. October fifteenth was eleven days after the Bennett wedding — the season's last one, the one Josie had built the whole calendar around, the one that was supposed to tell her, finally, whether seven weekends of near-perfect execution had been enough.
"He's timing it to land right after her season ends," Sawyer said. "On purpose. So she's making the decision with whatever number the season actually produced sitting right in front of her, good or bad."
"That'd be my read too." Walt was quiet for a beat.
"There's more. He mentioned my name specifically, this time.
Said if I wanted continued work on the corridor project — the Willowmere build, plus two more parcels he's got under contract further up the lake — he'd need me fully available starting this fall.
Full-time, essentially. Which is good money, son.
More than I've seen in a single contract in years. "
"He's using your work as leverage."
"He's using my bank account as leverage, which is a different thing, and effective for exactly that reason.
" Walt's voice had gone tired now, the practical weight of it settling in plainly.
"I'm not going to pretend that contract doesn't matter to me.
I'm sixty-one years old with a bad knee and a marina that barely breaks even most winters.
But I also haven't forgotten what I told you back in the spring, and I meant it then and I mean it now — I'm not going to be the reason a good woman loses her family's land, whatever it costs me not to be. "
"What did you tell him?"
"I told him I needed to think about it. Which is true, and also the only answer I had that didn't burn a bridge I might genuinely need this winter." Walt exhaled, long and slow. "I wanted you to know before you heard it secondhand. Same as before."
Sawyer stood on the studio steps for a long moment after they hung up, phone still in his hand, the late-afternoon light going gold across the gravel lot in a way that would have made a beautiful photograph under any other circumstances.
October fifteenth. Eleven days after Bennett.
A number Lang had chosen with obvious, deliberate precision, designed to land exactly when Josie was most exposed — whatever the season's real total turned out to be, good or bad, sitting right there on the table the same week the offer expired, no room left to breathe before she had to decide.
He thought about telling her immediately.
He actually pulled up her contact on his phone, thumb hovering over the call button, and then stopped, turning something over that he recognized, even as he was doing it, as dangerously close to the exact instinct he'd promised her three nights ago on the dock he was done indulging.
She's got four weddings left and a business to run, the old, familiar voice in his head offered, reasonable-sounding in the specific way that had gotten him into trouble two years ago.
She doesn't need one more variable stacked on top of everything else right now.
Let her finish the season with a clear head.
Tell her once you've had time to actually think about whether there's a way to push back on the timeline, instead of just handing her more fear with no plan attached to it.
He knew, standing there, that it was the same logic.
He knew it, and some part of him — tired, protective, terrified of watching her carry one more thing this season — reached for it anyway, telling himself the delay was different this time because his intentions were different, because he'd actually do something productive with the information instead of just staying quiet out of cowardice.
He put the phone back in his pocket without calling her.
He told himself it was temporary. A day, maybe two, just long enough to figure out if there was anything real he could do about the timeline before he handed her one more thing to be afraid of on top of everything else already stacked against her this season.
He was aware, walking back into the studio, that it was exactly the kind of decision that had cost him two years the first time he'd made it.
He made it anyway.