A Bird on a Windowsill (22 page)

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Savannah 

(23 Years Old)

Day 6,677

A
fter a few minutes of shell shock, my eyes catch on the piece of paper Salem left on the counter. I can’t even imagine what’s on it.

Slowly, I move toward it. My hands are shaking. My tears are still falling. I’m trying my best to swallow them down.

I take the note and fall into a chair in the corner of the room. And carefully, I force the page open.

It’s his handwriting. It scrolls and winds down the page in black ink.

I take a breath, and then with a cautious heart, I read his blurry words:

Day 4,592

“Vannah?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you sleeping?” I ask.

“Mm hmm.”

“But you just answered me,” I say.

“Mm hmm,” you say again.

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

“My heart’s awake,” you mumble.

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

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

I smile. And then I kiss your hair and push strands back from your eyes.

Your eyes open.

“I love you, Vannah,” I whisper. “And not just like a friend. I’m in love with you. And someday, I want to marry you, and I want to find our star tower, and I want to grow old with you. But, Vannah?”

“Mm hmm?” you say.

“Most of all, I love you.”

And you smile at me.

“I love you, too,” you whisper.

Day 4,563

“Do you have to go back?”

I hear you smile before I even hear a word. “Not now.”

“Ever?” I ask.

You don’t say anything, at first.

“I’m coming with you,” I say. “And if I can’t live there, I’m going to visit you...a lot.”

“Eben,” you protest, “it might as well be a world away. Plus, you belong here.”

“No,” I say. “I belong wherever you are.”

Day 4,562

“Eben, what are you doing here?” you ask.

I shrug. “I heard you were back in town.”

“Come here,” you say. “Come up here.”

I make my way down the stone walk and slowly up the three wooden porch steps to your uncle’s door.

“Vannah,” I say, “I’ve missed you. And I don’t care if you’ve got a boyfriend. Someday soon you’re gonna find out he’s not the guy for you. I’m in love with you, Vannah. And I know you love me, too.”

Day 4,023

You turn my way. You’ve just asked me if I could, would I choose a spot on the moon or one right next to you.

“I’d stay right here,” I tell you.

“But you could see the world, literally,” you say.

I shrug it off. “You’re my world.”

Day 3,650

“Vannah, can I talk to you?” I don’t even acknowledge Rylan Tennessee.

You look at me with a question written on your face. “Okay,” you say.

I watch as you turn your attention back to Rylan. “I’ll call you after practice,” you say to him. And then you smile.

He glances at me before he turns to leave. We’re eye to eye for only a split-second, but I know exactly what he said—because I said the same thing.

She’s mine.

“What did you want to talk about?” you ask, when he’s gone.

“What?” I stutter. “That? Was what?”

You laugh at my jumbled words. “What are you trying to say?” you ask.

“I just...,” I start again, reorganizing my thoughts. “I just wanted you to know that you’re going to see soon that Rylan Tennessee is not the guy for you. And when you do, I’ll be here, and we’ll have a month full of late nights and long talks and stolen kisses. It’ll be a beautiful month, but it’ll be just another beautiful month in between all the beautiful months we’ll share in this life. Because I love you, Vannah. I always have. I always will. And I’ll do my best to make sure you always know that.”

Day 3,285

“Vannah?”

You turn and face me. “Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?” I ask.

“Yeah,” you say.

“Do you like me?” I ask. “Because I like you. I’ve liked you for a long time now. I just thought you should know that.”

Day 2,920

“Do you think we can see it yet?” you ask.

I shrug. “Maybe.”

I run to my bed and start crawling over you to get to the window.

“Watch it,” you say. “Your pokey elbows are stabbing my ribs.”

Your voice makes me stop. My body hovers over yours. I make a joke about my elbows not being pokey. And then I look into your eyes. And I see something. I see your secret. And instead of continuing to the window, I move my mouth closer to yours, and I press my lips to your lips.

Our first kiss.

Day 1,095

“You love her, don’t you?” Dillon asks.

I turn to you and smile.

“I’m only eight,” I say to you, “and I don’t know anything about love. But I do know that, of all the girls, you’re my favorite.”

And I give you a hug, just so you know it’s true. And I don’t care what Dillon has to say about it.

Then I whisper in your ear: “You’ll always be my favorite girl. And if someday you find yourself believing something different, it’s a lie.”

Day 1

“Who are you?” you ask.

“Salem.” I clear my throat. “My name is Salem Ebenezer.”

“Ebenezer?”

I nod.

“Do people call you Eben?”

I shake my head. “No, but you can.”

“What are you doing here anyway?” you ask.

“I noticed you a few days ago, and I’ve been coming here ever since. You look nice, like we could be friends, and maybe someday, when we’re grown-ups, we could be more.”

“Okay,” you say.

“Vannah?”

“Yeah?” you ask.

“Are you mine?”

You give me a pretty smile. “Yes,” you say.

“Eben?”

“Yeah?” I ask.

“Are you mine?”

“Always,” I say.

I press the page to my chest. My hands have stilled. There’s a smile on my lips, but my heart is still breaking and the tears are still falling. I long for those moments—those simple, delicate, precious moments when the sky was darker and the stars, brighter.

I want them back. I want to hold them in my hands. I want to feel them. I want to press them against my heart.

I close my eyes and pray for them. I pray that somewhere, somehow, those moments are being held in a safe, happy place—where no one can touch them. Those are our moments. They’ll always be ours—
only ours.

I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand.

They’re only ours.

And even if there is no safe place they can go, and even if, by now, they’re nothing but lost pieces of dust—floating in the light of an empty room—I still love them.

I still remember them.

I still love them.

I always will.

Chapter Forty

Savannah 

(23 Years Old)

Day 6,692

I’
m sitting at the little writer’s desk in my house when a glare hits the window. I watch it dance to the wood floor. And then I see an old pickup truck ambling down the drive.

It’s Salem.

Instantly, the pen in my hand falls to the surface of the desk, and without another thought, I suck in a quick breath. Seconds disappear into the hum of his truck’s engine. And then it’s quiet. And I hear the hinges of his door scream before I stand and make my way out to the porch.

It’s been two weeks since I last saw him in my office at one in the morning. And I think I’ve spent the last two weeks secretly soul-searching...and praying—praying that after some time, he might still feel what he felt that night.

The wooden floorboards feel coarse under my bare feet as I go to the big porch brace and lean up against it.

He stops when he sees me.

“Hey,” he says, closing the door to his truck.

“Hi.” I’m so nervous, but I’m also so happy to see him.

He forces his hands into his jeans pockets, bows his head and shifts his weight to his other leg.

“I’m going to ask Anna to marry me.”

I stop breathing. He meets my gaze, but I quickly look away, and at the same time, I rest my hand on the brace.

“Vannah.”

I don’t say anything. I just force myself to take a breath. And then I move toward the porch swing and fall into it.

There’s a bird in the tree beside me. It distracts me for a moment. It’s singing as if it’s just another sunny day.

Salem walks to the porch and presses his back against the brace.

“Savannah, I’m telling you this because you’re my oldest friend. And if for no other reason, you should know. And you should hear it from me.”

I breathe out—slowly, steadily—but I still don’t say a word. I just keep staring at that little bird in the tree while all my hopes of a life with this boy run out of me and pool up on the weathered boards at my feet.

“And I know,” he goes on. “I know that just a couple weeks ago I was asking you...” He stops there, and his silence has my eyes wandering to his.

“Vannah, she loves me. And I
do
love her. And I know the timing is all messed up. But this date—the day I was going to ask her—was planned months before you got here. And then, you got here... And then, it just...”

He stops and drops his gaze.

“It just all went to hell when you got here,” he finishes. “But I’m trying to put it all back together again. I’m trying to put my life back together—the way it was before you... The way it was before you came back.”

He stops again. And this time, his hand goes to the back of his neck. And he sighs; he sighs, as if all the wind leaves his sails—in that one, solitary moment.

“And I came here to tell you that I’m sorry, too. I just let my imagination get the best of me, that’s all. I’m sorry for what I said. I’m sorry to even ask you something like that...like I did. I shouldn’t have. I had no business coming in there like that. That wasn’t fair to you...or anyone.”

He exhales. And I think maybe he waits for me to say something. But I don’t. I
can’t
. And he goes on.

“I just got caught up in the past, I guess. I just got caught up dreaming an old dream; that’s all. And I...” He pauses and clears his throat. “I think maybe, maybe you were right—what you said a while back, when we were younger. I think the universe
did
just intend for us to be friends.”

And then he’s quiet. And for a minute, I listen to that bird sing in the tree.

“Savannah?”

I sit back in the swing.

“Maybe,” I whisper.

Then, I stare at that bird, secretly asking it to sing a song that will make this all go away.

“Do you forgive me, for being an idiot?”

I look up at him and into his light brown eyes. And there’s a thought that flashes through my mind:
this might really be
the end.

“I forgive you,” I whisper.

He nods. But then he remains still for several, silent seconds before he starts to turn.

“Salem.”

I wait until he’s facing me again. And when I lock eyes with him, suddenly I don’t know what to say.

I love you.

I. Love. You.

This isn’t how this is supposed to go.

You’re supposed to choose me.

You’re supposed to love me.

We were supposed to be together.

In the end, it was supposed to be me and you.

Eben, I love you.

I don’t know how long I’m in his eyes when, somehow, I recall that the moments have just kept moving—and I haven’t said a word.

But he loves her.

I drop my gaze and press my lips together.

“Thanks for rewinding time.”

I say it despite the fact that I want to hate him. I want to hate him for closing the door on eighteen years, woven together with
our
tears and
our
laughter and
our
moments. I want to hate him, but I can’t.

He hesitates but then nods once.

“Do you think if it all would have happened that way, we’d be in a different place right now? That we wouldn’t be better off just friends?”

I lift my shoulders and then let them fall.

“No tellin’,” I say. I know the words come out sounding sad.

He holds my stare for longer than he should. And then he slowly tips his cap.

“Take care, Vannah.”

There’s a heartbeat where the world, as I know it, falls away. And then, I feel my lips move.

“You too, Eben.”

My eyes follow him as he makes his way back down the three porch steps and to his old truck.

There’s a part of me that wants to run to him and tell him that he’s wrong, that maybe we’re both wrong—about everything.

I hear the door to his truck squeak open. And then, I watch him climb into the cab.

“Stay,” I whisper, under my breath, knowing that he can’t hear me.

Maybe we’re wrong.

His truck slowly reverses down the driveway, shifting ever so slightly as it moves over the big, white rocks.

And then, all too soon, he hits the county road and takes off. But not before he looks back.

Maybe we’re wrong.

My heart starts to race, though I was sure he took it with him. I force my hand to my chest to slow it down. And gradually, I feel my eyes start to burn with tears. But I can’t tell if I’m mourning the loss of my oldest friendship...or my happily-ever-after.

S
alem left town a month later. He never told me he was leaving. Joey, from the lumberyard, said he moved to some little town in Iowa. He said they were opening another store up there. But that’s all he knew.

Rumor has it that Anna went with him. And unlike most rumors around here, I assume this one’s probably true because I haven’t seen her around either.

I thought about selling the paper and moving back to South Carolina. I thought it might just be easier that way. But as quickly as the thought came into my mind, it vanished. My uncle chose this paper over the love of his life. I couldn’t stand to see it be all for nothing. Plus, I like it here. This is home. And no matter how much I miss the beach and the ocean and the salty breeze, I belong here. I belong with this old creek water and the tall sycamores and the soft, red clay. And even though I know Jake would have gone with me, I also know he belongs here, too.

Jake and I have been seeing each other for five months now. He keeps asking me about rings and houses and churches. They’re indirect questions, but we both know that I know what they mean.

I can picture myself with Jake. He’s a good, solid, beautiful man, who loves his nephews and baseball and the simple things—even though he looks like a piece of art. I love that contradiction about him.

And I love him. I do. I thank God for him every day.

And every day, I try to think of Salem less and less. He’s in so many memories; it’s hard
not
to think of him. But I do suppose one day will come when his name doesn’t cross my mind.
Someday. Maybe.