Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Sawyer
I’M SITTING ON the deck later that evening, thinking about what Jake said.
I still have no appetite. I’m too tired to cook. Maybe still too numb to want anything at all. I sip a glass of white wine, chilled and dry, and set it down on the rail, blinking into the yard where something moves near the edge of the trees.
At first, I think it’s a dog, skinny, with sharp angles and an alert posture. It sits on its haunches, facing me. The light is dim, but I have the strange sensation it’s watching me. I don’t move, afraid to startle it. Afraid it will vanish before I can make sense of its presence.
Slowly, as my eyes adjust, I realize it’s not a dog at all.
It’s a coyote.
A twinge of unease coils in my chest, but it fades quickly. After everything I’ve seen, everything I’ve lived through, this doesn’t feel like fear. Not real fear. Not the kind that changes you.
He stays there. Still. Focused. Thin. Maybe old. Maybe lost.
And suddenly, I feel something strange. Like I recognize him. Or maybe I just understand him. Alone. Unsure of where to go. Looking for something he probably won’t find.
Without letting myself overthink it, I pull out my phone and call Jake. Reaching for someone feels foreign… but it doesn't feel wrong. Not tonight.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey. Everything okay?”
“I think there’s a coyote in my yard.”
A pause. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. He’s not close. But he’s been sitting there for a while. Watching me. He looks like he might be hungry.”
“I wouldn’t go near him. Want me to come check it out?”
“You don’t have to. I just didn’t remember them being around here.”
“They weren’t, not years ago. But lately, yeah. There’s been a lot of clear cutting in the area. They’ve lost habitat.”
“That’s sad.”
“It is. They’re incredibly adaptable. They eat everything, bugs, crops, dog food, even watermelon. They’ve survived because they’re hard to get rid of. But there aren’t sanctuaries or places that will help them. They’re considered a nuisance species.”
“That’s awful. So I should just leave him alone?”
“Yeah. That’s the best thing you can do. But I doubt you will.”
There’s silence on the line. And then, without fully knowing why, I say, “No. I won’t. I’ll put some food out for him.”
“I’d do the same.”
And I know he would. “Okay.” I hesitate, and then, “Do you want to come over for a drink?”
“I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
*
WHEN JAKE PULLS into the drive, I’ve already put some sliced turkey out for the coyote. He ate it and then melted into the woods like he was never there at all. I wonder if he’ll be back.
Jake knocks, and I open the door. We walk through the foyer and into the kitchen.
“Do you want a glass of wine?” I ask.
“Honestly? I’d rather have a beer, but—”
“I don’t have any.”
“Wine it is, then.”
I pour him a glass, and we carry it outside. He leans against the deck railing, swirling the wine before taking a sip.
“Pretty good,” he says. “Not that I know much about wine.”
“It was here. Left in a cabinet. I was surprised the cork hadn’t crumbled.”
We both watch the dark where the coyote had been.
“Gone?” Jake asks.
“Yes. He left when you pulled in.”
“Not surprising. They don’t hang around long once they know they’ve been seen.”
“It was strange, though. He didn’t seem afraid of me. It was like he was trying to tell me something.”
Jake turns slightly toward me. “I get that. Living out here, I’ve felt it too. A kind of understanding between us and the animals. Like we’re sharing space that doesn’t really belong to either of us.”
I nod. “This house. The land. It all feels temporary now. When I was younger, it felt like forever. Like if we owned something, we’d outlast it. But that’s never really true, is it?”
“No,” Jake says quietly. “I think it’s not about how long we’re here. It’s about what we do with the time we are.”
I glance at him, startled by how much that echoes what I’ve been struggling to name. “I used to think I had that part figured out. My job, my purpose. It all made sense—until it didn’t.”
“Will you go back?” he asks gently.
“No,” I say without hesitation. “I can’t. I used to feel alive doing that work. Now it just feels… broken. Like I was fooling myself all along.”
Jake reaches out and puts a hand on my shoulder. “No one would have tried harder than you.”
The words hit something deep. I look away, biting the inside of my cheek.
“I didn’t sign up for a war, Jake. But that’s what it became. Except the enemy was invisible. And relentless. And it always won. I left. I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t keep watching people die.”
“Sometimes, we do everything we can, and it’s still not enough. That doesn’t mean we failed.”
“But what if there is no next?” I whisper. “What if I’m just… done?”
Jake is quiet for a moment. Then, “Sometimes the hardest part is waiting for the next thing to show up. We expect it to arrive right away, but it rarely does.”
I glance at him. “How do you know that?”
He takes a slow sip of wine. “Have you ever looked me up online?”
I blink. “No. I thought about it. But maybe I didn’t want to know what happened to you. Maybe I wanted to remember you as you were.”
Jake studies me, then, after a long pause, says softly, “You could. If you want. And then I’ll tell you everything. Tomorrow. Just know it might change how you see me.”
I nod slowly, unsettled by his tone. There’s something in it I don’t recognize. Something heavier than he’s let me see before.
He finishes his wine and sets the glass on the railing. “Thanks for the drink. If you see the coyote again, give me a call.”
“I will. And… thank you. For coming over.”
“Goodnight, Sawyer.”
I stand at the door and watch him walk to his truck. I listen to the engine hum as it rolls down the driveway. The house feels hollow once he’s gone. Like something real just left it.
Inside, I set my glass in the sink and rummage for something to eat. My stomach growls, surprising me. I haven’t felt hunger in days, but I make crackers with peanut butter and eat them standing at the counter.
It tastes like nourishment.
Like life.
Like maybe I’m not as far gone as I thought.
Later, in bed, I glance at the laptop. Jake’s challenge lingers in my mind.
I sit down, prop pillows behind me, and type his name into the search bar.
What I find shocks me.
The headlines. The articles. The accusation. The resignation. The swirl of speculation.
There are no facts. No confirmations. Just noise. But I know what damage it can do.
As a doctor, I’ve seen careers destroyed over accusations. I’ve seen people leave medicine not because they failed—but because they couldn’t afford the cost of defending themselves.
Jake was never a quitter. But now I wonder what he was protecting. Who he was trying to spare.
The Jake I knew… the Jake I saw today… he doesn’t match the picture painted in those stories.
I close the laptop and sit in silence. The house is still.
The truth is, I want to ask him.
Not because I’m nosy.
But because I need to believe something can still be true in a world where so much feels like a lie.
And maybe, just maybe, he’s the one who can help me believe again.