Sawyer Says

by Carey Heywood

  I drape my arms over his shoulders. “I think I like you in my way.”

  I need to rein the jealousy shit in now. That will not fly with Sawyer. Besides, that’s not who I am. Jealousy is a bitch move. If you don’t trust the person, how can you say you love them? I should see it as a compliment, instead of acting like a jackass while she’s hurt.

  Talk about my plan backfiring. I wanted to get her out of her element and onto the slopes with me. I feel like shit every time I see her banged up wrist. At least she won’t have to wear that brace that long. I doubt I’ll be able to get her on the mountain again, which sucks.

  I want to share the things I love most, other than her, with her. She doesn’t seem that bothered by it. Maybe that bugs me most of all. I have a girlfriend that I can’t really call my girlfriend. I’m acting like a jealous tool. I’m so strung out on her, I don’t even know which way is up anymore. If Caleb saw me right now, he’d laugh his ass off.

  I had emailed him after Sawyer hurt her wrist. He knows we’re seeing each other. His reply didn’t pull any punches when he asked how long I’ve been in love with her, and if I was in love with her when they dated. He isn’t mad. He’s a good guy and moved on a long time before he moved away.

  He just wanted to know, so I told him the truth. Part of me thinks I fell for her the day she walked onto my mom’s boat all those years ago. I definitely was into her before they met and hooked up. Risking a change to our friendship kept me from pursuing anything with her. After years of her being content the way we were, I let it go.

  It killed me, watching her with him. As much as I like Caleb, their time together was the hardest for me because I knew he was a good guy. It still sucked but was easier somehow when she hooked up with random losers. I could sense their expiration date right off the bat. She came the closest to making a go at a real relationship with Caleb, and that scared the shit out of me.

  She even tried to set me up with Sarah all those years ago. As much as I liked Sarah it was always Sawyer for me. I was at one of my lowest points when I met Kristy. As hard as I tried to make it work with her I still failed. I had decided to once and for all just let it go and give up on the idea of finding a Sawyer stand in.

  I would still be letting it go and living with her as the fantasy in my head if she hadn’t done what she did at Sarah and Will’s wedding. Some days I still wake up and wonder if the last few weeks are just a figment of my imagination. Then I look down, see her sleeping in my arms, and know it’s real.

  Maybe the realness is what’s bringing that jealous side out of me. It’s just the first time I’ve logically had to tell myself that and not hulk smash any guy who hits on her. She’s going to get hit on. It happens to me too. None of those girls can hold a candle to her, though.

  When I told her Kristy and I talked a while back, she didn’t even blink an eye. Sawyer isn’t the type of girl to chase after a guy. It was a risk leaving the condo. I was sweating bullets that it was a mistake, that she would call my bluff and make me show my cards. I’m all in with her, even if my actions said the opposite by leaving.

  When I saw those three words in her text –I miss you- I dropped what I was doing and went to her. I would have been a few hours faster if my phone hadn’t died and I had it on me instead of charging it at work. From someone like Sawyer, so scared of attachments, those three words said so much more.

  Jared wants to come with me to Tennessee, but there is no way he can get more time off from work. I wish he could come but also know it’s better this way, that I should be doing this on my own. He takes me to the airport. Before arriving at security, he gives me a lingering kiss that leaves me wanting more. I make my way to the conveyor belts and turn to blow him a kiss.

  His expression makes me want to turn around and get lost in him. He’s addictive that way. I keep moving forward, feeling sad and hopeful at the same time. Over the years, the memories of my parents had dulled. I’m hoping the farm will trigger new ones for me to cherish.

  After the plane lands, Miss Bess meets me at baggage claim. Her name and voice over the phone did nothing for me, but seeing her in person does the trick. She has put on some weight since the last time I saw her but otherwise seems unchanged. She always wore her white blonde hair in a tight bun on the top of her head. I remembered thinking she was a ballerina when I was little.

  “I remember you,” I exclaim.

  “Hey, darling,” she smiles. “You sure grew up pretty.”

  I blush, thanking her. Once we have my bags, I follow her to a beat-up tan pickup truck. The farm is an hour from the airport. At first, the silence seems unending, but once we break the ice, it feels natural talking to her. She does her best to catch me up on the ways the farm had changed after I left. There are new faces and some old ones she said I’d remember.

  “So, what’d you do to your wrist?”

  I huff, lifting it for her to get a better look. “Tried and failed to snowboard.”

  She laughs, admitting the same thing would probably happen to her.

  When I ask her to tell me how the farm works, and what its mission is, she tells me to wait to have that conversation with Bradley.

  “Who’s Bradley?” I ask.

  She laughs, “I think you know him as Beau.”

  She laughs harder when my mouth drops. “I remember Beau.”

  He was two years younger than I was and used to follow me all over the farm. It drove me crazy. I think I called him tag-a-long, like the cookie.

  “He runs the farm now,” Bess adds.

  The image of the kid in my memory rebels against the idea that he has, one, grown up, and two, is mature enough to run a farm. What’s even weirder is accepting the fact that I’m older than he is. I still don’t consider myself an adult.

  When we pull off the main road, a gravel-paved drive winds toward the main house. Bess points out stuff along the way. This farm is not a big operation. Total acreage is just shy of fifty. There are four buildings: the main house, two smaller cabin-style houses, and the barn.

  I’m getting one of the cabin-style houses all to myself. Bess pulls right up to its front porch and carries my smaller bag while I heft my larger suitcase out from the back of the truck. It’s a log-style cabin. The front door opens to a large living and dining room. There’s a wood stove front and center with a puffy, yet dated sofa in front of it.

  The dining area consists of a rectangular pine table with three mismatched chairs. Past the main room is a small kitchen. There are two doors at the end of it, one leading to a bedroom, the other to a bathroom.

  “Doesn’t sleep that many people,” I remark.

  She motions for me to follow her back out to the main room. There are two oversized wardrobes up against one wall. “Both of those actually hold murphy beds. Don’t open that one.” She points to the one on the right. “Something is wrong with the hinge, and the bed will just fall on you. Hurts like hell,” she adds before turning to point toward the ceiling.

  There is a ladder leaned up against the wall behind the wood stove. “There is a loft up there that can sleep four more.”

  “Why isn’t anyone living here right now?” I wonder.

  “Most of us live in the main house during the winter to save on electricity. No point in heating this place if there’s room over there,” she explains.

  “I can stay in the main house too,” I argue, not wanting to be a burden.

  She waves me off. “We’re full up. Besides, the whole point of this farm is to lend a hand.”

  “But I could stay in town at a hotel or something,” I try.

  The look she gives me stops my protests. I throw up my hands in defeat.

  “Come on. I want you to meet everyone.” She tilts her head toward the door.

  I follow her out front. Since the main house is close to my cabin, she leaves the truck where it is and we walk over together. I don’t know why I’m nervous. Meeting new people has never scared me. Maybe that’s the difference. There will
be people here that already know me, people that knew my parents. I want to live up to their memories of my mom and dad.

  The main house is colonial-styled, with a wide porch boasting many wooden rocking chairs. My fingers reach out to skim the worn edge of one as we pass. Bess holds the door open for me. I pause on the threshold, glancing back at the rockers. I used to sit on my daddy’s knee and count fireflies.

  The memory is so vivid, I feel briefly disoriented when it passes. If the weather was warmer, I’m sure those chairs would be full right now. I give a tight smile to Bess as I continue my way into the house. Directly in front of the door are stairs leading to the second floor. On either side of the stairs are a living room and a dining room.

  Each room speaks to the number of people living in the house. There are four couches and two side chairs in the living room and the longest table I’ve ever seen in the dining room.

  “Everyone should be back this way.” Bess moves past me, turning her head back to talk.

  A hallway running alongside the stairs spills into the kitchen. There are children reading at a small round table while two men and three women fuss around the kitchen. A lot of cooks in the kitchen are all I can think. They all look over at us as we enter the room.

  Everyone starts talking at once, and I’m overwhelmed by all of the introductions. It’s hard to separate one from another, and I don’t know whose hand to shake first. I’m also pretty sure I heard a little girl ask why I have pink hair. I smile in her direction while Bess tells everyone to hush.

  “Hi,” I wave, turning a half circle so I can make eye contact with everyone in the room.

  It was something my dad taught me before he died. “Don’t look to see if there is mud on their shoes, Sawyer. Look to see if there is honesty in their eyes.” I remember asking him what honest eyes looked like, and he said you knew when you first met people if they don’t look you dead in the eyes that they’re hiding something. Could be something big or small, but it’s there in that moment.

  My mom was a fan of a firm handshake. She would say, “No wet pasta,” and my dad would tease her saying, “it’s limp noodle.”

  They weren’t able to teach me every life lesson, but to this day, I look people square in the eyes when I’m meeting them and have a firm handshake.

  “Long time, Huck,” a deep voice behind me, pulls me back.

  I turn to look at him. Only one person ever called me that. “Beau?”

  When he nods, I pinch my lips together to keep my mouth from dropping. Farm life clearly agreed with Beau McIntyre. He’s not as tall as Jared but still towers over me. Then again, who didn’t? He wears a worn in Red Sox baseball hat, his light brown hair peeking out from the sides. He stands tall and his broad shoulders fill the gray Henley he wears.

  I start smiling just thinking of all the trouble we used to get into. Seeing my smile must relax him, and he echoes my grin. There they are, his fucking dimples. I move forward, and he pulls me into a long overdue hug. The sweetness of the moment is short-lived once I inhale.

  Rearing back, I try to breathe through my mouth. “Oh, my God, you smell awful.”

  Everyone behind us starts laughing, and Beau has the decency to take a large step back. “On that note,” he winks at me, “I’m going to take a quick shower.”

  I wait until he’s turned up the stairs to breathe through my nose again. This is something I had forgotten about living on a farm. Bess introduces everyone to me by name. There are currently three families living in the main house.

  Beau’s mom and dad live at the other end of the property in the second cabin. That cabin is a one-room without electricity. They use the wood stove to cook and clean and have an outhouse. Beau and Bess are the only ones in the main house who lived here when I did.

  “Once Beau is cleaned up, I expect he’ll drive over to the cabin and pick up his folks. I know they’re excited to see you.”

  His parents were best friends with mine. They met some time after my parents graduated from college. The farm has been in Beau’s family forever.

  I sit with the kids at the table and hang out until Beau comes back downstairs. His hair is still wet from his shower and curls a bit at the ends.

  He clears his throat when he walks back into the kitchen. “Hey, Huck. Wanna ride with me?”

  I excuse myself from our animated conversation of ‘what if there was a hidden island of dinosaurs that were going to come and get us’. Seems one of the older kids is reading Jurassic Park. I bite back a smile when I distinctly hear one of the girls ask if she can have pink hair, too. I follow Beau out and stick my tongue out at him as he holds the door open for me.

  “You look so grown up,” I tease, walking down the steps.

  There’s only one truck parked out front so I head toward it.

  “That’s the funny thing about time,” he replies.

  I nod. “It sure has been a long time.”

  He starts toward my door, as if he’s going to open it for me. I give him a look as he changes direction to head right to his side. I’m buckling my belt as he opens his door.

  He stands there for a minute, just looking at me. “How come it took you so long to come back here?”

  I gape at him. “What do you mean?”

  He climbs in, shutting his door a bit harder than necessary. “This was your home. It shouldn’t have taken you seventeen years to come back here.”

  My mouth settles in a tight line. I straighten my shoulders and look out the windshield.

  After taking a couple of deep breaths, I turn my head back to him. “I was just a kid. Don’t you think I would have rather stayed here instead of being shipped off to one stranger after another? It’s been seventeen years. Unless you’ve been following me the whole time, you don’t have a fucking clue what it’s been like for me. We were friends a long time ago. That doesn’t mean you can be a judgmental asshole to me now. If this is how this visit is going to be, you can swing by the cabin so I can pick up my shit. I’ll just go home.”

  His mouth drops at some point during my tirade. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  I cross my arms over my chest, still feeling slightly defensive despite his apology. “Good. Don’t make me kick your ass.”

  One of his eyebrows lifts up. He must think he can take me. His dimples make a brief appearance before he schools his features and solemnly nods. He slips his belt on before starting the truck. The radio station blares a metal anthem from Metallica.

  “Not country?” I joke as he turns the volume down.

  He shakes his head. “I thought we were trying to be friendly.”

  “So, not a fan of country.” I make a check mark in the air. “What else should I know about Beau McIntyre?”

  He ignores my question at first. “So, you like country music?”

  I shrug, only a little annoyed he’s turning the questioning around. “I guess I like a little bit of everything. There are some more folk or bluegrass sounding bands that could be considered country that I love.”

  He scratches the stubble on his chin. “I do like Mumford and Sons.”

  I fail at holding back a laugh at how embarrassed he seems admitting that. “All right,” I pause to catch my breath, “other than being an undercover country fan,” he snorts, as I continue, “what have you been up to the last seventeen years?”

  The road to his parents’ cabin is rough. I hold on to the ‘oh shit’ bar to keep from being bounced from side to side as he catches me up.

  “Dad had a mild heart attack a couple years back.”

  He pauses as he takes in my wide-eyed expression. “He’s okay, or has been okay. We’ve made a lot of changes around here since it happened. I’ve taken the operation of the place and he and my mom moved into the far cabin.”

  “Why didn’t they stay in the main house?”

  He smirks. “Come on, Huck. You know my dad. Do you think he would relax if he saw work that needed to be done? Delegation never was his thing. This was the only
way we could be sure he would take it easy. It was my mom’s idea. Apparently, that cabin was always his favorite.”

  “Is it helping?” I ask.

  “He still feels useful out there, we ran into an issue a while back where some local high school kids thought it was abandoned and were getting high in it. Now that it’s lived in, we don’t have to worry about that anymore. Plus, he can fish in a small pond. They’ve only been in the cabin for less than a year and his blood pressure’s already getting better.”

  It was clear Beau would do anything for his dad. His admiration for both of his parents was evident with every word he spoke about them.

  I envy that so many of my friends had great relationships with their parents. Will lost his dad a couple years back. Their relationship had been just starting to turn around when he died. For Will’s sake, I’m glad. The one positive aspect I had to losing my parents when I was ten was I couldn’t remember any bad times with them.

  They weren’t around for me to rebel against during my teen years, not that I ever did rebel. I lived with Carmen during the school term and spent summers with Jared’s family until I was eighteen. Carmen didn’t care how I dressed or what I did to my hair as long as my grades were okay.

  Jared’s mom was all about the adventure; I could only get into so much trouble on a boat in the middle of nowhere. After I graduated, I bailed though, on everyone. I needed to stand on my own two feet. All through school, every break, the girls were always so excited to go home to their families. As much as I loved Carmen and Jared’s mom I never saw myself as more than a guest.

  I took off, headed down to Florida in search of the sun. I confused attention from boys for playing house. I kept it casual though, wanting a family but leaving town whenever things got serious enough to resemble one. Maybe moving around so much is what made my relationships with guys always gravitate toward temporary, like part of me was always ready to leave.

  Beau went to college nearby, living at home versus the dorms. His degree is in social work. I almost ask him why his major isn’t more agriculturally related when he explains the mission of the farm to me.