The Unwanted Assistant

by Evangeline Kelly

  “It seems we both ran to Alabama to escape our problems,” he said. “I moved here after the accident—grew up in Silverton, Colorado. It was an amazing place to grow up, but when my family passed away, I had to get out of there. It was a small town and everyone knew us. No matter where I went, there were reminders of things my family did together, and people constantly approached me with questions and condolences. I wasn’t handling it well, so I decided to make a clean break and picked a place at random. Alabama seemed far enough away. I owned a hotel in Birmingham, so I figured Tuscaloosa was a good place to start over since it was close by.”

  “And you’ve been here four years?”

  He nodded.

  My eyes fell to the backpack at his feet. “What else did you put in there besides the blanket?”

  He lifted the blue knapsack and pulled out what appeared to be a photo album. Moving closer, he held it on his lap. “You asked to see pictures a while back. I wasn’t ready at the time, but I’d like to share these with you today so you can see how I looked before the accident. Some said I was handsome back then.”

  My heart swelled. He was letting me in, bit by bit. “You’re still handsome, you know.”

  He shrugged slightly but didn’t acknowledge the statement. Instead, he opened the album and showed me a photo.

  “Here’s a picture of Mom, Dad, and Zach at my basketball game.”

  I studied the faces of his parents and brother. He resembled his dad, but he had his mom’s warm brown eyes. Zach looked like a miniature version of Sawyer. “Your brother, he’s cute.”

  He smiled. “Everyone said that.”

  He flipped through the pages, showing me picture after picture. There was one of him as a kid playing the piano and another of his family camping.

  He turned the page and pointed to a photo. “Mom was teaching us to make pancakes here.” He and Zack had flour all over their cheeks, and they had wide grins.

  Studying the faces of the boys, so young and alive and innocent, my heart expanded. Sawyer stared straight at the camera while Zach’s eyes were on his brother. It gripped my heart that they’d been split up in such an awful way.

  “Zach’s looking at you like you were everything to him.”

  Sawyer’s expression darkened. “That was his one flaw.”

  “What? Why would you say that?”

  “He should have found a better hero. Most of the time I was hanging out with my friends and refused to be bothered with him.”

  “I’m an only child, but from what I’ve heard, it’s typical for siblings to have a love-hate relationship. It’s normal to want to hang out with friends and get away from younger brothers or sisters.”

  He opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it, appearing conflicted again. I’d seen that expression on his face a lot lately. He glossed over my statement and continued to flip through the album.

  “I recognize that pier,” I said, pointing to a photo. “That’s Santa Monica Beach.”

  He brightened. “Did you go there a lot?”

  “During the summer, Sammie and I had a beach rotation we followed. Every other week we’d go to a new beach: Playa del Rey, Venice Beach, Santa Monica, and then Malibu.” I’d rarely worn a bathing suit, but I didn’t share that tidbit.

  “I had no idea you liked the water so much.”

  “It’s really about the entire experience.”

  He glanced at me, curious. “What do you mean?”

  “You know, feel the sand squishing between your toes as the sun warms your skin, hear the seagulls overhead while you guard your lunch, feel the breeze on your face, listen to the crashing waves . . .”

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve been to the beach. The way you just described it makes me wish I could be there right now.”

  “Why don’t you go?”

  “I don’t travel anymore.”

  “We can fix that. I’m planning on going home to visit Mom and Dad during Christmas Break. Would you like to come?” My stomach tightened as I realized what I’d said. I’d asked him to spend a few weeks with me and my parents. How would he take the invitation? I’d probably overstepped by suggesting he come back to California with me, but it felt like the right thing to do.

  He studied me for a long moment, and I felt my face flush. “You don’t need to pay for your flight home. I have a private jet.” He pressed his lips together and appeared to consider. “As far as your offer, that’s a long time away. We haven’t even hit Thanksgiving yet. Let’s talk about it another time.”

  It seemed like he was letting me down easy. Was it because he didn’t want to travel or because he didn’t want to spend time with me? I nodded, doing my best to appear unaffected. “Okay.”

  My stomach twisted into knots. I hope I hadn’t made things awkward. When I glanced up at Sawyer, I relaxed when I found him smiling at me.

  He scooted closer and flipped a page, angling the photo album so I could see better. “Here’s my prom picture. I thought I was all that back then.”

  My heart stopped. It was the same picture I’d seen on Madison’s Facebook profile that day I’d done an internet search on him. “I never asked, did you make plans with Madison?”

  His forehead wrinkled. “No, I kind of feel bad. I haven’t called yet.”

  “Tell me why she moved to Alabama again?”

  “Her dad got a job in Mobile, and she wanted to move with her parents.”

  He caught my gaze and frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. You should make plans with her.”

  “Ivy, you seem upset.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You’re frowning.”

  I winced, wanting him to let it go. “This is my tired face. I’ve had a long week.”

  “You looked fine earlier. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.”

  I almost spilled everything. But that inkling of doubt remained, especially since he hadn’t jumped at the chance to spend time with me in L.A. I wanted to have the talk, but I couldn’t bring myself to voice the words I needed to say.

  “Are you jealous?” he asked.

  “Of course not. You and I are only friends.”

  Sawyer’s shoulders sagged. The light in his eyes disappeared, replaced by a stony indifference. “All right. I see how it is.”

  “You see how it is? What do you mean by that?”

  His hand glided over his scars. “Forget it.”

  Oh, no. Did he think I just friend-zoned him?

  It was too late to take the words back. My heart ached at my stupidity. I’d been too quick to protect myself, to save face in case he didn’t feel the same way about me. Had I ruined whatever small chance we had of moving forward?

  My heart burned with the desire to put my heart out there. It might end badly if he didn’t return my feelings, but then again, it might end well. Unless I took a risk, I would never know. Could I live with myself if I did nothing? Unsaid words and lack of clarity were slowly killing me. No, I had to know where things would lead.

  Hands trembling, I scooted closer to him on the bench. “Sawyer . . .”

  He put a hand on my arm. “Don’t say it—”

  “You don’t know what I was about to say.”

  “I do, and I don’t want to hear it.”

  “But Sawyer, I need to say this.”

  “Ivy. Let’s move on.”

  “If you’d just let me—”

  “I said enough.” His tone was sharp. “Look, I’m sorry. Maybe this was a bad idea. We should head back to the house.”

  “We should talk about this . . .”

  His expression softened, and he cupped the side of my face. “You mean the world to me, Ivy. I would never do anything to jeopardize our friendship. You know that, right?”

  “I do. But there’s one thing I need to tell you—”

  “No.” He forced a smile. “Another time, okay? Today, let’s just enjoy the moment before we have to deal with the harsh real
ities of life.”

  I nodded. What else could I do? Clearly, he didn’t want to have the discussion. But whether it was because he didn’t return my feelings and didn’t want to hurt me or because he thought I wasn’t interested, I didn’t know.

  There was only one thing to do. I would have to wait.

  Chapter 24

  Ivy

  We warmed ourselves at the fireplace while sitting in the library's overstuffed green chairs on a Saturday afternoon. Sawyer had given me a quilted throw, and I had taken off my shoes and tucked my feet underneath my thighs. The firewood crackled and the smoky scent had a calming effect. There was nothing like being indoors on a cold day, snuggled under a blanket.

  We were discussing, The Crook in the Lot. It was an old Puritan book I’d found on one of the bookshelves.

  “What was your favorite part?” Sawyer asked.

  “Thomas Boston's fourth proposition in the seventh chapter. To summarize, he proposed that when you humble yourself under the mighty hand of God, you will be lifted up.”

  “I struggled with that one. A part of me doesn't know if I'll ever be lifted up while I’m alive. Maybe once I'm in heaven with the Lord.”

  “Some people have a lot of trials, and they experience hardship their entire lives.” I rested my arms against the soft throw blanket. “But if someone knows the Lord, even during those difficult times, God is there with them, granting them joy and peace and the ability to persevere. In that sense, He lifts us up in the here and now when we put our full dependence on Him.” I shifted in my chair and gazed at the fire. “This world is not all there is, and God uses everything that happens to us for a purpose. Florence reminded me of that several weeks ago.”

  He nodded. “God used these scars to humble me in ways nothing else could have.”

  “Being humbled is a gift because it shows us what's most important in life, and Who is most important, namely Christ.”

  “You're right,” he said. “I needed to be reminded of that.”

  “His work in you isn't over, Sawyer. I believe He wants you to be around people again.”

  He was quiet for so long I wondered if I'd crossed the line and said too much. He swallowed. “You're probably right, but I'm not there yet.”

  Not wanting to push, I closed the book and stood to put it back on the shelf. “Why don't we take a break and read something else.” Moving towards the shelves, I scanned the other books in his library as my finger ran over the titles. I pulled out a large hardback and held it up. It appeared to be a fantasy with a cover of a beautiful woman standing by a castle. “How about this one?”

  He scowled. “No way.”

  I returned the book to the shelf. “What's wrong with it? I love fantasy.”

  “It's a Beauty and the Beast retelling, and I hate those kinds of books. I only kept that one because it belonged to my Mom. But stories like that . . . they’re unrealistic.”

  I hadn’t realized the theme of the book initially, but I understood how he might feel touchy about a story like that. Still, he would always be a prince to me—never a beast. “We’ll find something else to read if you don’t like it.”

  He continued to talk as if I hadn’t said anything. “That one, in particular, is annoying. It just goes on and on . . .”

  Taking a seat, I folded my hands in my lap. “How so?” I sensed he needed to vent.

  A flash of vulnerability flitted across his face. “I'll tell you if you really want to know, but don't say I didn't warn you. It's not the most uplifting take on the story. It will most likely ruin your idea of happily ever after.”

  “I’m curious to hear your point of view.”

  He stared at the crackling fire, expression pensive. “So, this Beauty chick supposedly falls for this ugly guy who looks like a beast. Apparently, she's in love with the man he is on the inside, and once that happens, he turns into a handsome prince.”

  “That’s the basic theme in Beauty and the Beast.”

  He nodded vigorously like he despised everything about this. “The story lies and tells you that if someone cares about who you really are, you’ll suddenly change and become better looking.” He laughed bitterly. “Real life isn’t like that, Ivy. Sometimes the beast continues to look like a beast.”

  The fact that he saw himself in that light made my chest ache. Made me want to set straight his warped understanding of himself.

  For a while, I’d been living in fear of telling him how I felt, letting apprehension and “what-if’s” control my actions. Now was the time to be courageous, to move forward and accept whatever consequences came from sharing my feelings.

  I didn’t let myself consider what it would feel like if Sawyer rejected me. All I wanted at that moment was to build him up, to encourage him. To give him a view of himself through my eyes.

  A year ago, I’d gone to a singles’ workshop on relationships at my church in California and my pastor had said, “When you have a crush on someone, you think of your own feelings. But when you’re truly in love, you think of the other person’s best interest even if that means personal sacrifice on your end.”

  Did that mean I was in love with Sawyer? The idea sent flurries of warmth throughout my body like tiny fireflies lighting the night sky.

  The time had come to put aside fear of rejection, insecurities, and pride and take a risk because I desired the best for Sawyer. I wanted him to know someone admired him. Needed him to see how much he meant to me. If he didn’t feel the same way, it would be okay. I would be okay.

  I gathered my thoughts, hoping I'd be able to say what was on my heart. “If Beauty loved him for who he is on the inside, then it wouldn’t matter to her how he looked on the outside.”

  He laughed scornfully. “Yeah, right. It matters.”

  “What if Beauty turns out to be an ogre herself?” I asked carefully. “Kind of like Fiona in the movie, Shrek.”

  He stared at me for a long moment. “So, you’re telling me one day I’ll find my ogre? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “I didn’t mean it in a bad way, only that beauty lies in the eye of the beholder.”

  He glanced away and fiddled with a piece of lint on his t-shirt. “Fairy-tale endings don’t happen in real life. No woman will want to be with a man who looks like this,” he said pointing to his scars.

  “You’re wrong, Sawyer. I want to be with you, and I think you’re amazing. I’ve never met anyone like you, and you couldn’t be more handsome in my eyes.”

  My breath hitched in anticipation as I waited for his response. It took a moment for my words to sink in. He slowly turned his head and focused on me with laser-intensity, eyes flashing with an emotion that surprised me. Anger.

  “Don’t play with my heart.”

  “I’m not playing with you, and I meant every word.”

  His eyes brightened and the corners of his lips almost curved up, but it was short-lived. He glanced away. “I’m not fit for any woman, much less someone like you.”

  “You’re being absurd.” I stooped down in front of him and took his hand. “You're beautiful, Sawyer. Your scars are part of who you are. They’re evidence you’re a survivor and God has plans for you.” I touched the edge of a burned crevice and he flinched. “You don’t have to pull back from me. I wouldn’t change your face for the world.”

  He breathed in sharply as I gently traced a finger along the hardened ridges of his scars. He didn't pull away this time, but closed his eyes and leaned into my touch. When he opened them again, his eyes were sad and almost resigned. My heart nearly broke. How could he think no one would ever accept him?

  I needed to convey how strongly I’d fallen for him, and that I accepted him, scars and all. A magnetic pull drew me closer and closer until my lips softly kissed the deepest part of his injuries.

  He jerked back like I'd stung him, and then took my hand, gripping it tight. An electric charge passed between us and every nerve ending in my body came alive. His eyes flashed like a storm cloud wit
h a fierceness that made me tremble. In one swift movement, he tugged me against him and kissed me.

  He cupped my face, and the kiss became urgent as if it was the last chance he’d ever get. I melted into him and pulled away when my breathing turned shallow and my heart pounded so fast I was sure he could hear it.

  He dragged his knuckles along the side of my cheek. “I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time.”

  I felt light-headed and giddy and nearly lifted my arms in the air and screamed, “Yes! Finally!”

  The moment was broken when he stepped away, breathing hard. He walked to the other side of the room, putting distance between us, and he wouldn’t look at me. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

  My stomach dropped to the ground. Stunned, I moved back to my seat. “You . . . regret kissing me?”

  His fingers were splayed through the top portion of his hair. “No . . . of course not.” He rushed to speak. “Don’t ever think that. But I’d planned on waiting.” He let out a long breath and glanced at me. “We’re alone in this house and I need to be careful to protect you. I want to honor the Lord and avoid temptation. Things can get out of hand quickly if we aren’t mindful.”

  He had a point. We were alone most of the time, and although I wanted to rush into this relationship, he was wise for slowing it down. I too desired to honor God, especially in how I handled myself around Sawyer.

  “You need space to figure out exactly what you’re getting into with me,” he said. “I want you to think about what’s best for you. I don’t want to take advantage.”

  “You’re what’s best for me, Sawyer. I know what I’m getting into.”

  “You may think you accept my scars now, but imagine how that will affect our relationship later on. People will stare at us in public. They’ll make comments, and we’ll never be able to escape that constant attention.” He gripped the back of his neck. “I was selfish to let this go on for as long as it has. I’m not good for you, Ivy. You deserve a life with someone who won’t have to grapple with that.”