Wander and Roam (Wander #1) (15 page)

I’m finally free. I left that stiflingly heavy backpack of memories in the cemetery yesterday. I want to revel in my newfound freedom, enjoy life again. Spend more time with Sage.

“Come on.” He’s already walking toward the path. I grab my backpack, throw my dental supplies back in, and follow him.

Within five minutes of reaching Susan’s dock, the breakfast bell tolls.

“I’ve missed Susan’s cooking.” He heads toward the dining table. “Might as well drop off her camping gear before bringing my pack back.”

And then he’s gone.

I wait in the yurt for as long as I can. While we never spoke of our expectations, Sage’s obvious brush-off hurts me. I initiated everything that happened last night, though. I cannot blame Sage. It wasn’t as if he seduced me with whispered promises.

I thought our connection was real.

I wouldn’t even know what “real” feels like, with my inexperience. I can’t help worrying I scared Sage off with my complete openness about the mess of my life since Robbie died. No one would want to get involved with that kind of dysfunction.

When I can’t wait any longer, I head down to the dining area. Surprisingly, Susan still sits at the table, nursing little Zachary. She’s usually not here so late.

“I’m sorry I’m so late. Don’t worry. I’ll still put in my five hours today.”

“I’m not worried.” She runs her fingers through Zachary’s fine blond hair. “I imagine you were tired after your long weekend.”

“Something like that.” I pile a plate with fresh fruit, homemade granola bars, and cold pancakes.

“What did you think of Sydney?” She places the baby upright and pats him gently upon the back.

Sydney. I don’t want to remember lying on the blanket watching the bats lift off nor the amazing kiss atop the Harbour Bridge. “Um.” I cannot meet her eyes. “What a beautiful city.”

“Abby, did something happen? Between you and Sage?” Susan glances at his still-empty seat. “I know it’s none of my business, but if you need someone to talk with…”

“I’m fine. We’re fine.” I eat my remaining pancake in two large bites then wrap the granola bars in a napkin. “I just overdid it. Trying to fit the whole tourist experience into one weekend was pretty exhausting.” I grab the granola bars and head off to the gardens. I remember my friends’ sighs of annoyance whenever I tried to share my worst fears about Robbie’s illness. When you’re young, the last thing people want is to be reminded they’re vulnerable to disease and accidents, too.

Once in the gardens, I’m completely alone. I settle among the bed of garden greens and pick a selection of salad greens: arugula, red leaf lettuce, and tender baby spinach leaves. When my bag is full, I move to the potatoes.

The repetitive work of digging up the red-skinned potatoes, shaking off the excess soil, and smoothing the ground is freeing. Here in the gardens, I can lose myself in my work and forget about all of life’s outside stressors. Sage was right. Focusing on the present is freeing.

The thought of the present brings the hurt of Sage’s absence back full force.
After all we shared this weekend, how could he avoid me?

A
FTER AN
entire day passes without any contact, I’m fed up. Sage must have stayed out until I fell asleep. I heard him rustling in the middle of the night, but by morning, he’s already gone.

I need to confront him. I’m too fragile to deal with this hot-and-cold crap. The only problem with questioning him is finding him. In the last twenty-four hours, he’s become an expert on disappearing.

The breakfast bells rings much earlier than normal. I throw on clothes and head down the trail. Since I probably won’t even see Sage, I don’t bother taking time to look cute. It’s not as if he’ll even notice me.

What changed?

Maybe this day-after brush off is normal. I wouldn’t know, given that I’ve always been loyal to Robbie. I haven’t been with anyone else, not in high school, not in college. Sage could think I was just a casual hook-up, but it’s not likely with everything I shared.

When I reach the tables, he’s actually sitting at one. He eats his breakfast without even looking up or saying hello. I fix my plate then pause in the gap between the tables. I could plop myself right next to him, making it impossible to avoid me or mimic his cold-shoulder routine and sit at the empty table. I’ve never been a confrontational person, and this mess I’m in is
so
personal. I’m afraid of losing control when we finally talk, but don’t want to break down in front of Susan. She should be back any minute to collect the dishes.

I place my plate at the opposing table, so we’re sitting back to back. Perfect. We can’t see each other, so we don’t have to talk to one another.
But if it’s so perfect, why am I so upset?

My lip starts to wobble, and tears well in my eyes. I quickly bite my lip, blinking back tears before they can fall. I force myself to take a bite of the oatmeal. I can barely swallow the thick, congealed mass.

“Well, don’t you both look happy as can be?” Susan walks into the dining area, holding a fussy Zachary in her arms.

I stare into my bowl, mortified that Susan has probably guessed
why
we’re not talking. Sage doesn’t respond, either.

“I need a favor. A big one, given how friendly you’re being to each other.” Susan soothes Zachary as his fussing increases. “The poor little guy’s running a temperature.”

“Do you need some medicine? I could take the water taxi to town,” Sage says.

“I wish it were only an errand trip.” Susan sighs. “The farmer’s market opens today. The money I make at the market funds the farm for the year.”

“The produce won’t last until next week.” Sage stands and clears his dishes.

“Exactly.” Susan gently rocks back and forth, and Zachary’s cries soften into sleepy whimpers. “Can you and Abby handle it?”

Susan has so many responsibilities between raising a child and running a farm completely by herself. I would be happy to help her. “Of course—”

Sage cuts me off. “I think I can handle this on my own.”

“No, it’s a two-person job. I usually have a friend from town join me.” Susan gives him a sharp stare. “Even with having breakfast early, we’re already running late.”

“You really can’t handle spending one day with me?” My voice is so low, I’m not sure if he even hears me.

Sage’s voice softens. “Abby, it’s not that. I just thought—”

“The two of you can work out your differences once the produce is unloaded, but you really need to hurry.” Susan quickly shares information about the market. “My friend will be waiting with his truck when you get to the dock.”

For the next half-hour, we lug boxes of packed produce down the steep trail. It’s an exhausting job since wheeled carts don’t work on the rocky path. When the water taxi arrives, I help load the boxes in. Thankfully, nothing falls in the bay, which isn’t an easy task given the boat’s swaying.

We’re so busy hauling and loading that we couldn’t stop to chat even if we wanted to. But as the taxi takes off through the water, minute after minute silently passes. Sage chooses to stand at the bow, as far from my bench as he can possibly get on this tiny motorboat. My fists clench tighter and tighter as the dock approaches. At the very least, he owes me some answers. Maybe this awkward trip is a blessing. While we’re manning the booth, he’ll be trapped for six straight hours, unable to hide from me.

Now, I just need to figure out what to say.

The taxi docks one town down from where we caught the ferry. My taut muscles loosen. At least we won’t have to walk through a place so ripe with memories.

A tall, heavyset man pulls his pickup truck to the edge of the dock when he sees the boat arrive. “Let’s load it up! The market will open soon.”

We lug each box of produce to the truck and slide it into the open back. The work goes quickly with all three of us helping. Before the man closes up the pickup, Sage hops into the back. “I’ll ride back here.”

I head to the passenger side. While we would have been cramped, the seat’s long enough for three people. I can’t help feeling snubbed. Again.

“My name’s Lonnie.” The man jumps into the front seat then holds out his hand. “Sorry, I should’ve introduced myself sooner.”

“No worries. I know we’re in a hurry.” The waterside disappears as the truck weaves through the little town.

“You’ll have an easier trip back,” he says. “Usually, you sell out of most stuff, so you’re just hauling empties home.”

“Are you staying for the entire market?”

“Nope. I’ll help you unload, then I need to bring Susan some supplies.” He pulls onto a crowded street. Trucks line the side, and tables rest on the inside of the town square. “She said the two of you might need some time and space. Something about a lover’s spat?”

My cheeks warm. This is a set-up to get Sage and me together to talk. It isn’t even Susan’s business. But I can’t stay angry with her. She must have had good intentions.

“Come on.” Lonnie parks and hops out. “Let’s set up.”

We settle into a routine. Sage carries the boxes of produce over, while I arrange it on the tables. We work in harmony together, probably because the set-up requires no communication from either of us. Within the half-hour, the truck’s completely unloaded, and the tables brim with fresh produce.

“See you this afternoon.” Lonnie waves before driving away.

I arrange each of the pricing signs that Susan packed. They’re cute, with hand-drawn images of each type of produce. At the same time, Sage tests Susan’s scale and sets out plastic bags along the tables. We’re surprisingly efficient given we still haven’t spoken a word to one other.

“Do you want to weigh the produce or take the money?” I finally ask.

“I’ll weigh,” he says.

With nothing more to do, we sit on folding camp chairs and wait for our first customers to arrive. The market opens in five minutes.

I break the silence. “Why are you ignoring me? Did I do something wrong?”

He studies the sidewalk so carefully, he could be counting ants. “I don’t know if this is the best time to—”

“Well, you constantly disappear. This might be my
only
chance to get answers.” I twist a rubber band around my finger. If I look at him, I’ll never be brave enough to continue. “Are you going to answer me? What did I do?”

“No, Abby. It’s not you—”

“What am I supposed to think? I know I’m messed up, and I’m so sorry you had to witness
how
messed up on our hike, but…” I don’t know what else to say.
How many times has he caught me crying or writing letters to my dead boyfriend?
Heck, I wouldn’t even want to date me.

“I think you’re brave.” He lifts my chin until our eyes meet. “Brave and selfless. You give up so much of yourself for those you care about.”

“What?” This entire time I assumed he saw me as the crazy girl who talks to dead guys.

“Look how you sat with Robbie for hours when he was in treatment, and how you wrote him letters every day.” Sage strokes my cheek. “Most men would jump to have a girlfriend who was so loyal.”

He thinks I’m brave, selfless, and loyal?
“Why—?”

“Excuse me.” A woman carrying a wicker basket approaches our table. “How much is the Swiss chard?”