A Bird on a Windowsill (12 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Salem 

(Seventeen Years Old)

Day 4,592

“I’
m going to miss you when I’m gone,” Vannah says.

We’re at the end of my dock, lying side by side, our backs against the boards. It’s one of those nights my grandma would call soft—the kind where the air is warm, the sky is mostly black and the crickets are drowned out by the gentle, cool breeze—warning of a change to come.

Vannah pulls out her camera and takes a picture of the sky.

Meanwhile, my thoughts go back to her. I’m going to miss her, too. I’m going to miss the way her soft skin feels against mine. I’m going to miss the way her voice wanders with her mind, flowing in and out of dark and light places—sometimes breathy and sometimes cold and thoughtful. But I think I’m going to miss that way she makes me feel the most. Whenever I’m around her, I feel as though the sun’s shining down on me—only me. She kind of makes me feel weightless. And I know I’ll miss these things because I’ve already lost her once. And I can’t even imagine how much losing her for the second time is going to hurt. But I’ll lose her if it means I’ll get a chance to find her someday again, because finding her was living the best kind of dream.

She holds out the photo.

“It’s just black,” I say.

“It’s just...here,” she says, looking deep into the photo. There’s a certain, far-off longing in her eyes.

She keeps her stare on the black image a few seconds longer, and then she sets the camera down—but keeps the photo—and lays her head on my chest. I want to kiss her, but in the back of my mind, that
boyfriend
word lifts its ugly head. So, I just lie there, with our hearts touching. And after a few moments, I can’t tell if I feel my own heart beating...or I feel hers. But I just keep lying there, breathing in, breathing out, until the moon is high above us.

“Vannah?”

I lift my head so that I can see her. Her eyes are closed. Strands of her hair are falling over her face and onto my chest. She looks peaceful. It’s a sharp contrast to the dark-clouded storm brewing above us.

“Hmm?”

“Are you sleeping?” I ask.

“Mm hmm.”

“But you just answered me.”

“Mm hmm.”

I smile and let my head rest back on the wooden boards of the dock again.

“My heart’s awake,” she mumbles, just loud enough that I can hear it.

I lift my head, rest my eyes on her face and just watch her.

“My heart’s awake, daydreaming of you,” she adds.

I pause, my head suspended in the air, my thoughts suspended in time. And then, I smile. I smile and lay my head back down. I don’t know if she really is sleeping or if she knows what she just said, but it doesn’t matter.

“I love you, Vannah,” I whisper.

I can hear leaves in the catalpas around us swooshing, their branches bending back and forth in the wind. I can hear the weather shifting. But mostly, I just hear my heart beating.

“I love you, too.”

It’s just a soft whisper, but I hear it, loud and clear. I close my eyes and let her words get swept up in the hot and cool air swirling around us. They tickle my skin and then fly up and brush past the willows’ arms, swaying to and fro. They’ll soon be lost, but I’ll remember them. And I’ll remember this moment. And mostly, I’ll remember her...always.

Chapter Nineteen

Savannah 

(Seventeen Years Old)

Day 4,605

I
t’s my last night in Allandale. Tomorrow, I’ll leave for the summer and go back to the place I call
home
now. And the truth is, I don’t know how to feel about that. I’ve gotten used to the salty air and the sand and the smell of sweetgrass everywhere. But I’m still not sure if it’s quite
home
yet. And truthfully, I miss Aaron when I’m here. But when I’m there, I miss Eben. It’s as if my heart’s always in two different places.

Eben and I are at Hogan’s slab. I love this place. I love the way the water sounds coming out of the concrete—hurried and free. I love the way it always smells like dirt and sycamore trees. And I love that moon—that moon that hangs just in the right place, so that it can light up a path all the way from its spot in outer space to us, sitting here on this little piece of earth.

Eben’s been especially quiet tonight. I know he’s thinking about me leaving.

I look into his sandy-colored eyes, and he smiles.

I tell myself that we are too good of friends to be in love. But I’m not even sure I believe it. There’s a part of me that feels as if I’d leave it all behind for him—if he asked me to. I’d stay here and live with my uncle. I’d finish high school, and I’d go to college somewhere close. And then, I’d work with my uncle. I think we’d make a pretty good team. But then, I know Eben would never ask me to stay. He’d never ask me to leave everything—my family, my new friends, my new life, Aaron.

All of a sudden, I feel his arm around me. He pulls me into his chest, and the familiar scent of his cologne fills my senses. I close my eyes and try to hold onto it.

“The day you stop looking back is the first day of the rest of your life,” I whisper near his ear. The saying is carved into the railing on a weathered boardwalk in Murrells Inlet. I saw it one day, and I never thought about it again, until now. In fact, I never really found it fitting, until now. And in the end, I think I say it more to comfort myself than to comfort him.

Several seconds beat on into the wind.

“Turns out, looking back is all I have,” he says, in a breathy voice.

His words hit me hard—like a heavy downpour to the chest. I breathe in deeply and breathe out a weighted smile that he can’t see.

I love you, too, Salem.

“I’m gonna write you a letter,” he says.

“Okay.”

It’s all I say, and then he nods and squeezes me tighter.

A
nd he did.

One week after I got back to South Carolina, I got a letter. It was from him in his own chicken-scratch handwriting.

He told me he thinks he’s getting close to finding my star tower and that if he found it, I’d have to come home right away and dance with him and all the stars. He said he’d take care of Rusty. He said he wouldn’t forget me. He said I’d always be his bird.

It was sweet. It made me laugh. It made me cry.

And as I set the letter down onto my desk in my bedroom, my heart hurt. And I was mad at the world. I was mad at my parents for making me leave Allandale. I was mad at Eben for not telling me that he liked me under those stairs in junior high. I was mad knowing that it probably wouldn’t have mattered, even if he had. And most of all, I was mad at the fates for making us friends.

It wasn’t fair—that I got to know Salem Ebenezer, only to have to leave him behind.

And I remember sliding that letter, along with every Polaroid I ever took that summer, into my favorite book, and I told myself that he would forget...that he would forget me and move on—and that would be better for him. It would be better for him to love someone he could touch.

And I would forget, too. I wiped my eyes, and I told myself that I would forget every one of those white-bordered memories. And I told myself that I would forget that I ever loved him—that eventually, I would forget the way he bit the inside of his cheek when he thought, that I would forget his beautiful, thoughtful eyes. And mostly, I told myself that I would forget Salem Ebenezer because I feared if I didn’t, I would lose myself.

And I went on with my life. I went on living in our new little house in Mount Pleasant—just a bike ride from the ocean. I went on playing volleyball and going to the beach with my new friends every weekend we got a chance. And I went on loving Aaron Anson, so much so, that I followed him to college that very next year.

And I never wrote Eben back.

And as it turns out, that was the last time I heard from him. But that wasn’t the last time I ever thought about him. Because after it was all said and done, I guess I had learned one of the hardest lessons that life has to give:
Sometimes, forgetting someone you love isn’t so easy.

Chapter Twenty

Savannah 

(23 Years Old)

Day 6,570

M
y dearest Savannah,

I know by now you’ve taken over this ramshackle place. I just knew deep down somewhere that you would inherit this little mess of a world someday. I knew even at eight years old that you were destined to have ink under your nails and a writer’s pad in your back pocket. You just fit so well here. So, I also knew you’d be the only one to appreciate this place—with its old, stale paper smell and all—when it came time for me to pass it on.

I’m sorry I didn’t spend more time with you or your sister. I had this place, which by now you probably can imagine has a way of tying ya down. And I knew you had your life. And you’re still young and living it; I didn’t want to interfere with that. But I do wish now that I had confiscated more of your time. Hindsight’s 20/20, I guess.

But anyway, let me get to some things you might need to know. First, there’s a safe buried in the corner of this office.

I stop reading, lower the letter and look around. Three corners are stacked as high as I am tall with newspapers. And the fourth has an old blue polyester recliner sitting in it. If there’s a safe, he’s right about the
buried
part.

I lift the page and start reading again.

And there’s a key to it, but I lost that a while back. I’m more than certain, however, that you’ll find that, too, if your heart’s in the right place.

I smile and furrow my brow at his words but then keep reading.

Paper goes to press Tuesday night. You’ll always find a story up at the Casey’s. Old Weston Hartfield comes in on Mondays. You’ll just have to work through his meanderings. He sets up shop in Ol’ Blue, and he camps out there for at least a couple hours. But don’t worry, he’s harmless. And he knows EVERYTHING. I don’t know how, but he does.

And for everything else, there’s Jan.

Well, anyway, that’s that—about all you need to know. I guess you’ll know what to do with the rest. This paper’s been my life. Take care of her. She might be old, but she holds all the town’s secrets, and that means she’ll always be worth something—at least to me...and now, to you, too.

And don’t stop living! Like I said, this place has a way of tying ya down. Don’t let it!

Love,

Your Uncle Les

I finish and carefully set the letter onto his—my—desk. And I let go of a lungful of air. I can feel my eyes burning as I desperately try to hold back tears—tears that have been a long time coming. I squeeze my eyes shut until I can’t feel the burning anymore. Then, slowly, I open them back up and catch sight of a blurry rolodex. I blink the remaining tears away and move my hand toward it.

I flip through a few of its little white cards, and I notice each one is handwritten. There’s a first name and four numbers below the name. And for the first time in a while, I laugh. I flip through some more—all first names, all followed by four digits. I’m guessing these were written before cell phones. And it’s clear, they weren’t written for anyone who doesn’t know the people of this town by their first names.

My eyes leave the rolodex and move to the old rotary phone on the desk next to it. My mind goes back to my uncle sitting right here in this chair, talking and smiling, that black receiver to his ear, his feet propped up on his desk.

Next to the phone is a big, white coffee mug that reads
Wyandot County’s Best Newspaper
in black letters painted down its center. I feel my grin widen, just as I hear that little bell above the door in the front of the tiny building clanging back and forth. It’s rigged up to the doorframe by a ruler and baler twine—always has been.

I pick up the letter, fold it and slide it into the top drawer before making my way out of the office. And when I look up next, my breath catches in my chest.

“Eben.”

“Savannah?” It’s a question, I think. But then again, it’s not.

I make my way to the door and throw my arms around him. It takes him a second, but he eventually puts his arms around me, too, and we hold each other for several, long heartbeats.

He smells good. He’s still wearing the same cologne he used to wear in high school, and something about that makes my heart happy.

I pull away from him, and his eyes quickly roam over me. And I’m not too ashamed to admit that I like that they do.

“Wow, I, uhhh...,” he begins. “Sorry, I wasn’t expectin’... I just expected...” He stops and takes a breath. “Hell,” he says, with a little grin playing on his face, “I don’t know what I was expecting, but I, sure as hell, wasn’t expecting you.”

I fall back on my heels and feel a comfortable smile pushing its way to my face.

“Salem Ebenezer.” I just look at him, taking him all in.

He exhales. “Savannah Catesby.”

I do notice he doesn’t call me
Vannah
. It’s weird, but it has been...

“Has it really been six years?”

He seems to think about it for a second, and then he nods. “It has.”

“Well.” I bow my head before meeting his same beautiful light eyes again. “You look...great.”

Immediately, a bashful air takes over his face, and if I’m not mistaken, I think his cheeks get a little red, too.

“So do you,” he says.

It’s definitely Eben—a grown-up Eben, but Eben, all the same.

“You’re here.”

I nod. “I’m here.”

“Since when?”

“Since today,” I say.

He slowly bobs his head, as if he’s still just taking it all in, too.

“Well, what brings you back?”

“Um,” I mumble, and immediately my eyes fall to the old, faded brown carpet. I start to shrug as I look around the little room. “He left it to me.”

“Oh.” He quickly drops his gaze. “I’m sorry. Yeah. Of course.”

“Yeah,” I breathe out. I really don’t know what else to say.

“He was too young,” he says, under his breath.

I nod. “Yeah, he was.”

He looks up at me, and our eyes meet. “So, are you here for good then or...?”

I suck in another big breath and then rest my hand on the back of an old desk chair. “I’m here for now, at least.”

The truth is I hadn’t really thought too much about it. I found out that Uncle Les left the paper to me only a few weeks ago. In that time, I quit my job, packed up my life. And now, I’m here.

I watch him bob his head a couple more times, as if my answer is the one he expected.

“Well, uh, it’s good to finally see you again.” His words sound sincere. And I don’t know why, but that seems to comfort me a little, as if leaving my job and home and my family and friends might have been okay, as long as I got to hear Salem Ebenezer say those words. But at the same time, he also seems distant—not like the Eben I left here years ago.

“Yeah,” I agree, gripping the chair tighter. “It’s good to see you, too.” I wonder if he knows how much I mean that.

It’s quiet again. And I’m trying to figure out why it feels so strange to be in the same room with him. Maybe it’s because it’s been so long. Maybe it’s because of the way we left it. Or maybe it’s because of the way
I
left it.

“Uh, did you...?” I start to ask. I point to the piece of paper in his hand. I didn’t know what else to do with the silence.

“Uh, yeah,” he says, shaking his head, as if he’s shaking something off. “I did actually come here for a reason. I don’t usually wander aimlessly into buildings.” He smiles effortlessly. “I have a classified.”

I nod, and my smile naturally widens. I’m not sure how much I can handle today, but I’m pretty sure I can handle a classified—and just maybe one from Salem Ebenezer, as well.

“All right,” I say, looking around the front desk for a form. I shuffle through some papers and come out with last week’s board of aldermen meeting minutes and a stack of printed cartoons. “Uh, here.” I turn over the minutes and slide the page toward him. “You can just write down your contact info and information about the item on this. I’m sorry. I don’t know where any forms are.”

“Oh, it’s fine.” He takes the paper and grabs a pen from behind his ear.

His action pulls me back. In fact, I might not have ever thought again about him and his habit of keeping a pen or a pencil behind his ear, if it weren’t for today. And that thought kind of makes me sad.

He starts jotting down some words, and I tear my stare away from the side of his head and focus on his face while he’s not looking. His jawline is squarer than the last time I saw him, I think. And he’s got facial hair—a dark five-o’clock shadow. But his eyes are the same dusty shade of brown.

“It’s been a good eight years,” he says, looking up.

I quickly force my eyes to the counter again. “What?”

“My old Chevy.” He haphazardly points in the direction of the parking lot outside. “I’m finally selling her.”

“Oh,” I say. I look out the window and notice his old truck, and immediately, I smile. We have a lot of memories in that old thing—a lot of memories I haven’t thought about in a long time. And I know it’s crazy, but for a second, my heart hurts at the thought of someone else driving around with our memories.

“Eight years? That truck was nearly new to you last time I saw you. Has it really been that long already?”

He stops writing, and his eyes find mine. “It’s been a while, Savannah.”

His words sound sad, maybe even a little angry, but I’m probably just imagining things.

I look down at his left hand, and I notice he’s not wearing a ring. I close my eyes and slowly let go of a breath. Him being married would definitely have meant too much time had past. And honestly, I don’t know if I would have been able to handle that much.

When I open my eyes again, he’s looking at me.

I panic slightly and clear my throat. “You said you’d never sell it.”

“You remember that?” He seems genuinely surprised.

“Yeah, I do.”

He lets go of a low chuckle. “Good memory.” I watch his hand as it taps the surface of the desk once. “Yeah, well, there was a time I didn’t think I’d ever sell it. But I guess there just comes a day when you’ve just got to move on.”

He looks at me with an even expression, as if he wholeheartedly meant for his statement to have a double meaning.

I clear my throat again and try to busy myself by shuffling around some of the papers on the desk. “Well then, I guess we’ll try to get it sold for ya.” I look back up at him and force a smile.

At the same time, he glances down at the sheet of paper and then sticks the pen back behind his ear. “Well, I think that’s it.” He slides the information my way, along the desk’s surface.

I give it a quick once-over, noticing his phone number is still the same.

“How much do I owe ya?”

“Oh,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s on us.”

“Naw.” He pulls out his wallet.

“No, really, it’s fine,” I say, resting my hand on the hand holding his wallet.

I notice his jaw tighten at my touch, and I quickly take back my hand.

“Um.” I try my best to recover. “Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t know what to charge you right now anyway.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “You sure?”

“Yeah. Positive.”

“Well, thanks.” He stuffs his wallet back into the back pocket of his faded blue jeans.

“It’s nothing,” I say.

He steps back but doesn’t bother turning. “It’s good that you’re back.”

I smile without even realizing I’m doing it. I’ve been trying to tell myself that all morning. But it sounds so much better coming from his lips, for some reason.

“In fact, you’ve probably forgotten how fun this little town can be,” he adds.