A Bird on a Windowsill (20 page)

Chapter Thirty-Four

Savannah 

(23 Years Old)

“P
izza delivery.”

I hear two knocks on the door, and it makes me jump. But then, before I know it, I’m flying off the couch and standing in front of the mirror in the hall.

I smooth back my hair and smile, making sure there’s nothing in my teeth, before heading to the door. But I get halfway there, and I stop.

There’s a vampire book sitting on the table. And I’m not quite sure why, but I feel the need to hide it.

I pick up the book and stuff it in between
Anne of Green Gables
and
The Great Gatsby
on the bookshelf. And as I’m walking back to the door, I notice the Polaroids are gone. I thought for sure I had put them underneath that book.

I hear another knock, and I forget all about the photos and rush toward it.

“Hi,” I say, opening the door to a handsome man.

“One large pepperoni pizza,” he says, smiling back at me.

“Thank you.” I take the pizza and start to close the door.

“What?” He puts his hand to the door. “No tip?”

I laugh. “Where are my manners?” I shove my hand into my jeans pocket and pull out an old gum wrapper.

“Will this do?” I ask, holding the wrapper out.

He looks at it and shakes his head while a devilish grin plays on his face. Something about his look makes me swoon.

“Not even close. And even if that were real money, it wouldn’t be any good.”

“No?” I ask, pretending to be surprised.

Jake steps inside, forcing me to step back. And then he takes the pizza box and sets it down onto the little table in the hall.

“No,” he repeats.

He comes closer and puts his arms around me. I momentarily close my eyes and breathe in his crisp, exotic-smelling cologne. I could swear sometimes he’s just stepped off some jet from Bora Bora right before he comes to see me.

But this is the first time he’s ever touched me like this. And I like it.

I wrap my arms around his neck and press my body into his embrace. He holds me for a long while. And then he pulls away and looks into my eyes. And there’s a moment—like a question—that floats in the air between us.

Can I kiss you?

I don’t know if it’s him or me that asks it. Regardless, I answer, by keeping my stare in his.

He moves closer, his lips nearly touching mine. The way he does it makes me lose my breath. He’s so deliberate in his actions, yet also so careful, as he takes a strand of my hair and tucks it behind my ear. It’s as if I’m standing in front of two men.

Within a moment, his warm breaths hit my lips, and instinctively, my eyes fall shut.

My heart races. I almost can’t breathe. His lips touch mine. A shock resonates through my body.

The kiss is new, foreign, different, amazing. And too soon, it’s over, and he’s pressing his forehead to mine.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out. “I just couldn’t wait a second longer to do that.”

I laugh softly. “I’m just wondering who got the tip.”

“I did.” I hear him smile. “I definitely got the tip.”

Then he pulls me into his arms again.

“I never expected to find you here, Savannah.”

I rest my head on his chest and speak softly: “You’re not what I expected to find here, either.”

And he’s not. He’s not at all what I expected. What I expected to find here was a boy I fell in love with when I was just a little girl. I expected a boy who would hold my hand while we watched the sky light up in a summer storm; I expected a boy who would lie next to me on Hogan’s slab and fall asleep to the sound of the creek water pushing through the concrete; and I expected a boy who I thought would always be mine.

But that boy is gone now. That boy grew up. And now, he’s a man in love with another woman.

But this man in front of me—he’s beautiful and loving and funny, and I can’t find anything wrong with him. This man just might be my future. In fact, I’d be lucky if he were. And I’m afraid that if I don’t let go of that boy from my past, that I might miss out on everything good that could be waiting for me—on this side of my crystal ball.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Savannah 

(23 Years Old)

Day 6,657

“Y
ou’re better off trying to freeze hell.”

“What?” I ask, looking up.

“That wallpaper there has never seen daylight.”

“Well, there’s a first for everything.” I stand up and take a stack of papers to the desk. Salem comes over and takes another stack and sets it on the desk, too.

“Plus, apparently, there’s a safe under all this.” I gesture toward the corner still full of black and white news articles, long ago, folded into newspapers.

Salem takes off his hat and runs his fingers over his hair. “Is this how he hid it all these years?”

I laugh. “I guess so.”

“Well, what’s in it?”

“I don’t know.” I shake my head. “Safe stuff. The original deed, maybe, papers... Things like that.”

Immediately, he gives me a sideways look. “You’re not thinking about selling, are you?”

“No. No,” I assure him. “I just thought it might be good to actually know where the important stuff is. Thought that might be a good thing.”

“Yeah, that’s probably a good thing,” he agrees, refitting his cap over his head. “I’ll help ya.”

He moves toward the stack of newspapers and bends down low next to me. I can feel his face so close to mine. And I think he notices it, too. We both stop and surrender to our breathing. For a solid three seconds, all I can hear is the rasping of our breaths and the beating of my heart as the air around us grows thick.

And then he moves. He lifts a stack of papers into his arms and carries them to my desk. And the moment is lost.

My heart is pounding in my chest, but I try not to think about it. I force myself to move, and I pick up an armful of papers. But at the same time, I steal a quick glance at him. If he was affected at all, he’s got a good poker face. It almost makes me think I was only just imagining things.

We get all the papers moved from the corner to my desk. And now my desk is full of newspapers, and our hands are covered in black ink. But now there’s also a safe—a black safe—in plain view, staring back at us.

I kneel down and pull on the little door.

It doesn’t budge.

“Do you have the key?”

I breathe out a defeated sigh. “No.”

Salem laughs loudly and then plops down into my desk chair. Meanwhile, I twist around and let my back fall against the wall.

“He never said where the key was,” I say. “I think I just always hoped it was open or something...or that I would have found the key by now.”

“Well, I guess I could try and open it back at the shop. I hear they’re mostly meant to be firesafe, not necessarily theftproof.”

I bite my bottom lip in thought. “Yeah,” I murmur, considering it. I slide down the wall, until I’m resting on my heels. “You don’t mind?”

He shakes his head. “No, I can try.”

“All right.” I glance at the little safe and then back at Salem. “Thank you.”

He smiles, and out of nowhere, a pesky thought crosses my mind.

“Why are people warning me about you?”

“What?” He looks a little taken aback.

I don’t say anything. I just wait for him to talk.

He sits back in the chair and lowers his head, so that I can’t see his face behind his red baseball cap.

“In high school,” he says, “when you didn’t write back...and after I called, and I texted...”

My heart drops in my chest.

“When I didn’t hear back from you,” he goes on, “I kind of lost it for a little while. And the last couple months of senior year, I just...” He shrugs his shoulders. “The season had just ended, and I didn’t have basketball to distract me anymore. And I started drinking. I stayed out too late. I skipped class.”

His eyes meet mine. They’re dark and thoughtful now.

“The thing they’re all talking about—the reason why they probably warned you to stay away from me—besides the fact that I suck at being a boyfriend because I spend all my time on Sheppard’s Hill...”

My eyes dart to him, and he stops, almost as if he knows he’s said too much.

“Anyway,” he goes on, without addressing the Sheppard’s Hill part, “today, they all have their stories and reasons for why I’m not all right, but it’s all because of one night.”

He pauses and refits his cap over his head. I don’t say anything. I wouldn’t know what to say anyway. I just wait for him to continue. And he does, eventually.

“One night, I got drunk, and I got in my truck, and I drove down Excelsior, and I ran right into the side of the Old Red Bridge.”

I suck in a gasp, and my hand covers my mouth. “Eben.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head, “I was fine. And no one was with me. It was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, but by the grace of God, I was fine.”

He sits up straighter in the chair.

“My truck got a little beat up. The bridge got more beat up. And thankfully, for my ass, Sheriff Howard showed up. So no criminal record. But that was the last straw for my parents. I was basically on house arrest with them until I finished high school. And then, as soon as they could, they shipped me off to college. And believe it or not, it took me four years, but I got it mostly together there.”

I feel his eyes on me, but I don’t look at him. My stare is concentrated on a tiny piece of the carpet. I don’t know what to say. I got so caught up in the story that I missed how it all began. But now, I remember.

“But that’s why,” he says. “That’s why they all think I’m a little bit of trouble.”

He’s quiet then.

“I’m really not, though,” he adds, in a rasping voice. “Trouble,” he clarifies.

My stare slowly lifts to his.

“I’m sorry.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “No. It wasn’t your fault.”

“But if I would have just...”

“No,” he says, cutting me off. “You did what you thought you had to do. I was responsible for me.”

I silently stare into his eyes. I want to take back everything—everything I didn’t do back then. I want to write him. I want to call him. I want his eighteen-year-old self to know how hard it was to let him go. I want him to know how many nights I cried for him and how many days I walked through as if I were in a fog, missing him.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he assures me, giving me a gentle smile.

My eyes drop to the floor. A handful of emotions are spiraling through my body, and since I can’t choose just one, I swear they vow to tear up every part of me.

“I’ll see if I can get this open.” He slowly stands and moves toward the safe. And then in one, smooth motion, he lifts it off the floor.

My eyes find his, and I just nod, unable to do much else.

“I’ll call you and let you know,” he says. Then, he disappears into the front of the little building.

Seconds later, I hear the bell above the door clanging. And soon, it’s just me, left sorting out a decision I made six years ago. If I would have known how it was all going to affect him, I would have done it all differently.

I thought I was saving him. And this whole time, I was killing him.