A Bird on a Windowsill (13 page)

I laugh an honest laugh. “Maybe.”

He turns and makes his way to the door.

“Eben,” I say, regaining his attention.

He slowly turns back toward me.

“We should catch up.”

His eyes meet mine. It’s only one, momentary look, but it’s so very cryptic. I can’t tell if that’s a
yes
, a
no
or a
hell no.

I’m a little sad that he doesn’t seem as excited to spend time with me as I am to spend time with him.

But eventually, he nods and gives me a small smile. “And thanks again,” he says, tipping the bill of his cap, right before he slips outside.

The little baler-twine bell sings, alerting me he’s gone. And I breathe out a long, unsteady breath.

“Salem Ebenezer,” I whisper to myself.
It’s been a long time.

My eyes fall to the page on which he scribbled the classified:
1968 Chevrolet C-10 1/2-ton pickup with custom trim. Original 327 V8 with 3-on-the-tree transmission. A little rust in the rockers, but great body. Runs well. 200,000 miles.

His name and number follow. I hear the truck start up outside, and I see the sun’s glare from its windshield bouncing off the big front window. I don’t know how he has the heart to sell that old truck.

I know I don’t.

I glance at the piece of paper one more time, and then I fold it in half. And then I fold it in half again, and I stick it into the back pocket of my jeans.

Chapter Twenty-One

Savannah 

(23 Years Old)

Day 6,573

I
hear the bell ring above the door. I’m in the back corner office going over everything with Jan—Jan, the secretary, the graphic designer, the ad specialist, and right about now, my everything.

“I’ll get it,” Jan says, starting to stand.

I’m sure tending to everyone who walked in the door was her job, too—up until today.

“No. I’ll take care of it. We need a paper out this week.”

Jan smiles and sits back down, and I make my way to the door.

“Hi,” I say, before I can even see the figure standing behind the front desk.

“Hey.”

I immediately recognize the voice.

“You know, we should really stop meeting like this,” I say, as he comes into view.

He laughs and dips his head. His laugh is just how I remember it—low, even and authentic.

“I was just dropping by the ad I had been working on with Jan,” he says. “I added a couple things, and...”

“Is that you, Salem?”

He peers back into the other room, as Jan’s voice echoes through the narrow hallway.

“Yeah, it’s me. I brought the ad back.”

“Thanks, dear,” Jan says. “You can leave it with Savannah. We’ll get it in next week.”

“All right. Thanks,” he says to Jan. And then, just like that, his attention is back on me.

“Well, how’s all the sortin’ through everything coming?”

“It’s coming,” I say, trying not to sound or look as frazzled as I feel.

He rolls up the piece of paper and then unrolls it.

“Is it for the lumberyard?” I ask.

“Hmm?”

I eye the page in his hand. “The ad.”

“Oh.” He glances down. “Yeah.”

He sets the piece of paper onto the desk, but it stays rolled up. I watch as he tries desperately to straighten it.

“It’s fine,” I say. “I’m sure we can read it all the same.”

He lets go of the ad, and it curls up into a tube again.

“Do you work there now?” I ask, even though it seems pretty obvious with the
Ebenezer Lumber
sewn in orange thread onto the pocket of his navy shirt.

He nods. “Yeah. I actually went to school for business. I do most of the buying these days.” He shifts his weight to his other leg. “You know, Dad’s tryin’ to make that early retirement, and as soon as I know my way around all the movin’ parts, I’m pretty sure the only place we’ll see him is fishin’ on the lake...or on some golf course somewhere.” He pauses to laugh under his breath.

“Golf? I didn’t know your dad played golf.”

“He took it up a couple years back.” He looks up at me now. “He’s awful, but he loves it.”

I lower my eyes, and at the same time, try to conceal my smile. “Well, that’s all that matters, I guess.”

“Yeah,” he says. “His golfing buddies would beg to differ.”

I laugh, and this time, I don’t even try to hide it. But all too quickly, there’s a silence that fills the space between us. My first instinct is to fill it, but I don’t have the slightest idea of what to fill it with.

“Well, I should probably get goin’,” he says, patting the surface of the standing desk. “I only snuck out to drop that off.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Of course.”

“I guess I’ll be seeing ya around then.”

I nod my head once. “I guess you will.”

“And you’re right, we should catch up.”

“Yeah,” I agree.

He smiles and then turns and slips through the heavy, wooden door, cuing the baler-twine bell.

When he’s gone, I take the rolled-up page and go back to Jan.

She’s staring at me as soon as I make it through the doorway to the little corner office.

“What?” I ask.

“You two have history?”

I drop my gaze and try my darnedest not to grin. “You could call it that.”

“I’d call it more than that, but that’s just me.”

“What?” I try not to look surprised.

“Oh, don’t think I didn’t hear the words you two were sayin’ in those long pauses out there.”

I start to laugh. “I almost forgot how this town worked.”

“What do you mean?” Jan feigns hurt.

“Really,” I say, “the only thing I’m concerned about right now is getting a paper out this week. ...And maybe getting a new phone for the office. The last place I saw a rotary phone was in an antique store in Asheville.”

Jan smiles, takes the ad, pushes up her glasses and goes back to her computer. “Then, a paper you will have, Miss Catesby.”

I let go of a thankful breath.

“But you might want to have a conversation with that boy...sooner than later,” she adds.

I give Jan a questioning look.

“I don’t even want to know what that means.”

“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I keep a curious eye on Jan. But I’m not worried. I know Eben. In fact, there’s not anyone in this town that knows him better than I do.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Savannah 

(23 Years Old)

Day 6,575

I
sit down onto the couch and bring my knees up to my chest. I’m tired. I’m tired from moving. I’m tired from trying to get this place organized. I’m tired from trying to get caught up with everything at the paper.

I rest my head back on the couch and close my eyes. And just when I do, I hear a loud bang come from the kitchen.

I quickly lift my head, as adrenaline sprints through my body.

I’m trying to place the sound, when it comes to me.

It’s water—gushing water.

I jump up and run to the kitchen. It looks normal. Nothing’s out of place. But I still hear the water. It’s coming from under the sink.

I throw open the cabinet.

“Shit.”

Bending down, I close my eyes and reach for the valve that shuts the water off. As I do it, cold water sprays into my face.

“Shit, that’s cold,” I gasp.

I get the valve turned off, and the water stops, but my face and my sweatshirt feel as if I’ve just run through a sprinkler.

I stand and wipe my eyes with a dry part of my sleeve.

I want to cry, but I laugh instead.

Of course. Of course this would happen tonight.

I grab a towel from a drawer and start soaking up the water from the floor of the cabinet. And when I get most of it up, I drop the wet towel into the sink and think for a second.

I remember the guy who always fixed our plumbing when we lived back here. I think he’s retired. But he had a son, who I went to high school with, and I think he was going into the business. I wonder if he’s still here.

Salem’s the first person I think of that would know that. I go back into the living room and grab my phone.

It feels kind of weird sending him a text, but then again, it also feels pretty normal, too.

Savannah:
Hey

Salem:
Hey

Savannah:
Is it too late?

Salem:
No. What’s up?

Savannah:
I’m sorry to bother you, but a pipe just busted under my kitchen sink. Does Jason still do plumbing?

Savannah:
Salem?

Salem:
I’ll come over.

Savannah:
No, it’s okay. You don’t have to. I turned off the water. I’ll survive until tomorrow.

Salem:
You’re at Lester’s, right?

Savannah:
Right

Salem:
Give me ten minutes.

Savannah:
Seriously, you don’t have to come.

Salem:
I’m on my way.

Savannah:
Okay. Thank you. :)

“H
ey.” I step back to let Salem in. “You know you didn’t have to come. I...”

I stop because his eyes are lingering on my sweatshirt.

I look down and notice it might as well be soaked. But before I can say anything about it, he smiles and steps past me.

“Looks like you got into a fight with a fire hose,” he says, over his shoulder.

I laugh to myself and close the door.

“Water was going everywhere.” I follow him into the kitchen. “Luckily, I was here.”

“Luckily,” he says, kneeling down at the sink.

I notice he has a small arsenal of tools in his hands.

“Looks like you’ve got a broken slip-joint nut.”

I kneel down next to him and peer under the sink, too.

“A broken nut, huh?” I laugh under my breath, mostly because I have no idea what he’s talking about.

“Yeah, not a big deal.” He crawls under the sink, so that only his bottom half is sticking out. “I’ll just replace it real quick.”

“And that will fix it?” I try not to stare too long at the place his shirt has come up around his abs.

He’s been working out.

“Yeah, should.”

His words make me jump. But I quickly realize he can’t see me. His eyes are still glued to the piping. So, I relax again and continue to examine him—from his toned stomach all the way to his scuffed work boots.

But after a minute, he’s pawing at the floor. I see the wrench, and I figure he must be aiming for it, so I pick it up and put it in his hand.

Our hands touch briefly, and he stops. And for only the second time tonight, he lifts his head and looks at me.

“Thanks,” he says, with a warm smile.

“You’re welcome.”

The feel of his hand sends a warm shock through my body, starting at my fingertips. And it’s only a tiny moment, but it brings back so many memories of my hand in his.

I watch him as he goes back to pulling and replacing little metal parts. I do have to admit there’s something attractive about watching him work.

“That should do it.”

He reemerges from under the sink, and it forces my thoughts to a halt.

“You’re done already?”

“Yeah, it was a pretty easy fix.”

I softly clear my throat, trying not to give away that I was just thinking about how attractive he looked.

“Well, thanks. I really appreciate it.”

He stands and turns on the water in the sink. This time, it comes out from the faucet and not the pipes underneath.

“Not a problem.”

He brushes his hands on the pant legs of his jeans and starts gathering up his tools.

“Well, do you want to stay a little while? We could catch up. I have...” I stand and go to the fridge. “I have Gatorade...and cheese,” I say, looking inside my empty refrigerator. “And now, thanks to you, I have water.” I gesture toward my sink with a big smile plastered to my face.

He grins and lowers his head. “No, I need to get going.”

“Oh, okay.” I can’t help but feel as if he’s brushing me off. But then again, he did come over to fix my sink—not to have a reunion.

He moves toward the door, and I have no choice but to follow him.

“By the way, how did you know I was here, at Lester’s?”

His eyes quickly cast down to the floor at our feet. And he shrugs. “It’s a small town. Can’t hide your business, remember?”

He looks back up at me and smiles.

“Right,” I say, nodding.

Then he turns to leave.

“Thanks again...for coming out. I know it’s late. ...I owe you.”

“No, it’s fine,” he says, turning back only for a second. “You don’t owe me anything.”

I smile, and he pushes through the screen door.

“Have a good night, E.”

“You, too.”

I watch him get into his truck. And a flash of his headlights later, he’s gone.

I step back from the door and gently close it. I’m relieved the pipe is fixed. I wasn’t excited about not having water in the kitchen for the rest of the night or about having to deal with getting it fixed tomorrow, for that matter. And it was sweet of him to come over. He didn’t have to. I didn’t even know he could fix a broken sink.

But something also has me feeling a little unsettled. Something about him tonight was different. He was short—polite but to the point.

I fall back against the door and let it catch my weight.

What if Eben has changed? What if we’ve both changed? What if we just can’t be the same two people we used to be?

A heavy feeling fills my chest, making it hard to breathe. I think it’s a gentle reminder of how much time has passed—a forewarning, of sorts, of the wall that’s grown up between us.

My only hope is that we can break it down again.