by Laura Miller
Slowly, he starts to get up. It takes him a little while to climb out of the chair, but once he does, he balances himself with his cane and stands up tall. Then he shoves his cap back on his head.
“It’s good talkin’ to ya.”
I nod. “I’ll see you next Monday, I suppose?”
“If I’m still kickin’.” He smiles over his shoulder. “And you can call me Weston.”
I smile, too. “Okay.”
He’s almost out of my office, when he turns back around. “You know, you’re sure a hell of a lot prettier than Ol’ Les.”
I bow my head and laugh to myself.
“That’s good to know.”
He nods once and then turns and walks out the door.
When he’s gone, I sit back and let my head rest against the back of the chair while my eyes get stuck on the white ceiling above me.
I’m pretty certain everything Hartfield said today was bullshit. But even bullshit has a little truth to it. Eben’s doing something up on Sheppard’s Hill. I just wonder what it is.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Savannah
(23 Years Old)
Day 6,581
I pass a sign that reads Sheppard’s Hill Road and drive about four hundred meters, when I stop. There’s a fairly new graveled path leading off the county road, and it’s been barricaded off with big, metal gates.
This must be it.
I pull off to the side of the road as much as possible, put my car in park and get out.
The path behind the barricades goes up into the woods. I try to follow it with my eyes, but like old Weston said, I can’t see anything through the trees. And even if there were no trees, it’s very likely that I couldn’t see anything from the county road anyway. The gravel looks as if it goes back a pretty long way. And there’s a cedar post and barbed wire fence that looks as if it runs around the entire property.
I step back and catch sight of a sign on one of the metal barricades. It reads: No trespassing. Violators will be prosecuted.
I push my lips to one side. It’s a normal no trespassing sign, but it does seem a little extreme, especially since people around here usually just use purple spray paint to ward off trespassers.
I look back up the graveled path and rest back on my heels.
“What are you up to, Salem Ebenezer?”
“The girl in the peacock dress.”
The voice startles me, but then I immediately recognize it and turn around.
I’m back at the office now, attempting to work on some stories for next week.
“What did you say?”
“You’ve never heard that one?”
I look down at my dress and at the green and gold feathers that are pressed into the fabric. Then I narrow my eyes at Salem, start to smile and then shake my head.
“The girl in the peacock dress,” he recites. “She chose the world with no one in it. And now, with a brand new pair of wings, she sails the seven seas at night, just as she always wanted. Free. Untouchable, but free.”
I love his gentle voice. It’s comforting. But as he says his last word, I feel my smile start to fade.
“Still writing poems, I see?”
He shakes his head. “Nope, that’s an oldie but goodie.”
I feel my grin coming back. “Well, I don’t know what to think of your poem.”
He lifts his shoulders and then lets them fall. “Think of it as the soulful words of a lovestruck teenager. Nothin’ more,” he adds.
“Lovestruck?”
He laughs and then shakes it off.
“Okay,” I say, not pushing him—even though I’d love nothing more than to push him on that one.
I go to filing some of my notes into my desk organizer.
“I saw your car outside. Thought I’d stop by.”
“All right,” I say.
He finds the recliner in the corner of the office and falls into it. I stop what I’m doing and watch him as he makes himself comfortable.
“You’re quite the talk of the town, you know?”
Instantly, he stills and finds my gaze.
“Me?”
“Mm hmm. Turns out you’re a secret spy for the government.”
He looks genuinely amused. “Wow, that one I haven’t heard.”
I smile wider but keep my eyes on him.
“What are you doing up there?”
“What? Up where?”
“Sheppard’s Hill.”
He drops his stare and exhales loudly.
“Nothing,” he says, taking off his cap and running his fingers through his curls. “It’s nothing. And I can assure you, I’m not working for any government.”
I laugh and shake my head. “I never said you were.”
My eyes find his and stay in them for a little while before I go back to filing again. I’m a little off-kilter with him in the room. I don’t know how to act around a Salem who has a girlfriend.
“Do you miss it?”
I look back up.
“South Carolina,” he clarifies.
I focus on that old rotary phone for a minute. I still haven’t replaced it.
“I miss my family. And I miss the ocean sometimes,” I admit, taking a seat in my office chair. “And I miss that you can go there—to the ocean—and no matter what kind of day you’re having, that salty air just takes everything away—until all you’re left with is yourself and God.”
I pause and smile as my eye catches on a yellow bird sitting on a branch right outside my window. “And I miss the swimsuits hanging over the shower and the beach towels strewn across the porch railing. And I miss the sand—that awful sand that never goes away. I miss that, too.”
I glance back at Eben, and then I gather some notes on my desk before shrugging my shoulders. “But this place is in my blood. So, I guess you could say that me and Allandale get along just fine, too.”
He nods, almost as if in agreement. But my mind stays on his question. I hadn’t really thought about missing Mount Pleasant, until now.
“But it’s funny,” I say, catching sight of that yellow bird outside again. “Even when I was gone from here, I still always dreamed of this place. In almost every dream, Allandale was the setting.”
His eyes narrow just a little.
“Is that weird?”
“Depends,” he says.
I cock my head to the side.
“Are there white hogs chasing you with animal balloons that look like frogs?”
I laugh. “No.”
“I had that dream once.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. What do you suppose that means?”
“That you’re weird.”
“Yeah,” he says, smiling, “you’re probably right.”
I pick up my coffee mug and take a sip.
“You know,” he says, “they say you dream most about the places you wish you had a little more time in.”
“Do they?”
He nods.
“I think it goes for people, too,” he says.
My eyes find his.
“They say you dream most about the people you wish you had a little bit more time with, too.”
I’m quiet, as I take a breath. “Do they, now?”
He nods and then drops his gaze. “That’s what they say, anyway.”
“Hmm,” I hum.
I set the coffee mug back down onto the desk and listen as the room grows silent.
“Well, I’m on my lunch break,” he says, breaking the purr of nothingness. “Thought it’d be a good time to catch up. You busy?”
I take a deep breath in and then look around the room. There are boxes and papers everywhere. But I guess they’re not going anywhere.
“Sure. All right.”
I watch him make himself more comfortable by propping his ankle on his opposite knee and resting his elbow on the arm of the chair.
Meanwhile, I sit back in my own chair.
“First off, maybe you can tell me why there’s an old reclin
er in my newspaper office.”
The chair is faded blue and worn, but it’s still padded, and it looks somewhat comfortable, although I’ve never felt the urge to see for myself.
“Oh,” he says, looking down at the arm of the chair he’s sitting in, “this old thing?”
I just smile and nod.
“It’s the sittin’ chair.”
“Aah.” I make sure not to look too satisfied with his answer.
“Well, it’s mostly for Old Weston Hartfield,” he says. “In fact, I think he brought it here himself and planted it right here in Lester’s office one day. He got tired of sitting in that old, wooden desk chair that used to be here, I guess.” His eyes move to a chair, filled with papers, in the opposite corner of the room.
I bite my bottom lip and simply nod. “Aah, that makes sense.”
“Yeah,” he says, “he’s usually got the latest gossip—who got their pickup stuck on Keiser Hill Road, who made the most outlandish comment around the coffee table in Casey’s on Sunday morning...”
“Who’s into drugs on Sheppard’s Hill,” I add.
Eben stops and locks eyes with me.
“I’m doing drugs now, too?”
I shrug. “Apparently.”
“Unbelievable,” he says, starting to smile.
He’s quiet then, as if he’s thinking. Then all of a sudden, he sits back even further in the chair. “So, tell me about high school.”
I give him a look to let him know that I know he’s changing the subject. And then I shrug. “Like I said, it was good. I mean, it was high school—the same old, rectangular cafeteria pizza for lunch, volleyball, weekends at the beach, prom, graduation. Nothing I’d like to relive necessarily. But still good.”
“Weekends at the beach,” he recites, in a low voice, smiling as he says it.
I catch his devilish stare, and I already know what he’s thinking.
“Yeah,” I say, “and on holidays, we traveled to private islands and partied all night on big, expensive yachts.”
“What? Really?”
I laugh. “No.”
His smile widens. “Okay, you got me. But you have to admit that weekends at the beach sounds a little more glamorous than weekends at the slab.”
I think about it. “I just might prefer the slab.”
“What? I’m thinking that East Coast sun might have crossed some wires in your head.”
I lower my gaze and laugh to myself.
“Well, what about you?” I ask, looking up again. “I see you became that basketball star.”
“You saw that?”
“Yeah, the papers from your senior year are archived in the back. I might have taken a peek at them.”
He chuckles. “We won state.”
“I saw that. Congrats.”
He looks at me and gives me a bashful smile. “Well, I figured that was probably as bright as my star was gonna shine in that department, so I just focused on school after that.”
I nod. “So where did you go? For school?”
“Missouri.”
“Oh. Good business school, I hear.”
He bobs his head once. “Pretty good.”
“And you?”
“South Carolina,” I say. “Uncle Lester tried to get me to come here to Missouri, too. But I guess, when you’re eighteen, the best journalism school in the country doesn’t hold a candle to a boyfriend.”
“Yeah,” he says, shaking his head. “I couldn’t leave mine either.”
I look at him with narrowed eyes. “You had a girlfriend in high school, too? After I left?”
“No. Dillon. Hell, he might as well have been my girlfriend. He followed me to school and then whined every weekend for me to spend more time with him.”
A wide smile takes over my face. “What does Dillon do now?”
“He works out in St. Louis, at a bank.”
“Aah. You miss him?”
The sound of his laughter fills the little room. “Only on those lonely nights.”
I laugh, too. And even if I’m not supposed to, I can’t help but think how much I like this moment—how much I like to hear him laugh.
“Whatever happened to the high school boyfriend?” he asks, after our laughter fades. “That one you met down there?”
“Oh,” I start to say, shaking my head, “we broke up a semester into college.”
“So, he’s the one you followed there?”
“Yep, that would be him.”
“So, who’d you leave behind to come here then?”
“Me?” I ask, and immediately, I just know it comes out sounding awkward.
Salem just nods. “Yeah, you.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I dated in college, but... I worked a lot,” I finally settle on. “So, no. No boyfriend.”
“Hmm,” he hums.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, what?”
“It’s just hard to believe, I guess,” he says, and then stops.
“What’s hard to believe?”
“I don’t know.” He sits up in the recliner. “That you don’t have a boyfriend. It seemed as if you always had a boyfriend.”
I just shrug.
“I expected you to be snatched up,” he says. “I mean, I think I just half-expected you’d be engaged or even married by now.”
“You would probably know if I were engaged or married.”
“No,” he says, “I probably wouldn’t.”
I find his eyes and stay in them for a few heartbeats. There’s something hidden in his wayward look, and I can’t, for the life of me, figure out what it is.
“Hell,” he says, dropping his gaze, “you might have a line outside this door here tomorrow, if you’re not careful.”
I fake a laugh.
“You think I’m kidding?” he asks.
I look at him and his goofy grin for a second without saying a word.
“You haven’t changed much, Salem Ebenezer.”
“Apparently, that’s not the talk of the town.”
“No,” I agree, “apparently not.”
His eyes burn into mine, as if he wants to say more, but he never does, and the moments fall away.
“Well,” he says, looking at his watch, “I better get going. It was nice catching up with you, Miss Catesby.”
He stands, and I just smile. “Yeah,” I say, “it was.”
He walks to my office door, but before he leaves, he turns and tips his cap.
“We should catch up more later.”
“All right,” I say, without even thinking twice about it.
And then, he’s gone.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Salem
(23 Years Old)
Day 6,586
“Savannah Catesby.”
I hear Dillon call out her name, and I look up.
“It’s about time you stopped by,” he says.
She smiles and walks over to Dillon. Dillon stands and gives her a hug, being careful not to spill the drinks in her hands.
“And you know this guy, of course,” Dillon says, resting his hand on my shoulder.
Savannah nods and smiles. “We’ve met a couple times.”
I smile at her. And then, if I’m not completely crazy, I think there’s a look that lasts a little too long. And I think Dillon notices it, too.
“Well,” Savannah says, “we’re across the room.” She gestures toward a table of girls from high school on the other side of the bar. “But I’m going to drop these drinks off over there and come right back for a second.”
“Sounds good,” Dillon says.
She smiles at him, glances at me and then walks away from our table.
I take a drink from my bottle, actively trying to avoid eye contact with Dillon. I know he’s looking at me.
“Where’s Anna tonight?”
“Working,” I say.
He’s quiet, and when I look up, he’s just slowly nodding.
“How much ti
me have you been putting in at that paper over there?”
“What?”
He gives me an accusing look.
“What are you talking about? I was only there once—to catch up.”
“I’m not saying,” he says, putting up his hands in surrender. “I’m just saying.”
“Dillon.” I shake my head.
“Come on, Salem. I know you liked her. Everyone knows you liked her. You’ve been chasin’ after that girl since kindergarten. What’s different now?”
“What’s different?”
“Yeah,” he says.
“What’s different, if you haven’t noticed, is that I’m seeing Anna—and I’ve been seeing Anna for a while now. What’s different is that I haven’t seen Savannah in six years. What’s different is that when Savannah and I knew each other, we were both just kids.”
I finish, and he’s staring at me with a set of narrowed eyes. I try not to look directly at him.
“Does she know what you’re doing on Sheppard’s Hill?”
My eyes instantly go to his. He already knows the answer to that.
“What about Anna then? Does she know what you’re doing on Sheppard’s Hill?”
“Dillon, I’m not in the mood for this.”
“What are you two talking about?” Savannah comes over and takes a seat next to me.
Dillon looks at her and just smiles one of his cool, confident smiles—the ones he does best.
“You,” he says.
She laughs. “Then why do you both look so serious?”
She elbows me, and I force a smile.
“Your girlfriend here?” she asks.
“No, she’s working.” The words come out shorter than I intended them to.
“Okay,” she says.
I can tell she looks at me, but by the time I look up, she’s already trading questioning glances with Dillon.
“Is everything okay?” she asks.
“It’s fine,” Dillon says, leaning back in his chair. “It’s all fine.”
“Okay, well... I heard you were in St. Louis,” she says to Dillon.
“Yeah,” he says.
“You like it?”
“Yeah, it’s not too bad.”
“Tracy said you still get back quite a bit.”
“Tracy’s here?” Dillon’s eyes light up.
“Yeah.” A big smile takes over Savannah’s face. “You better get over there if you want to talk to her.”