A Bird on a Windowsill (15 page)

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?”

“T
he 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 recliner 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.