A Bird on a Windowsill (16 page)

“Whatever happened to the high school boyfriend?” he asks, after our laughter fades. “That one you met down there?”

“Oh,” I start to say, shaking my head, “we broke up a semester into college.”

“So, he’s the one you followed there?”

“Yep, that would be him.”

“So, who’d you leave behind to come here then?”

“Me?” I ask, and immediately, I just know it comes out sounding awkward.

Salem just nods. “Yeah, you.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I dated in college, but... I worked a lot,” I finally settle on. “So, no. No boyfriend.”

“Hmm,” he hums.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, what?”

“It’s just hard to believe, I guess,” he says, and then stops.

“What’s hard to believe?”

“I don’t know.” He sits up in the recliner. “That you don’t have a boyfriend. It seemed as if you always had a boyfriend.”

I just shrug.

“I expected you to be snatched up,” he says. “I mean, I think I just half-expected you’d be engaged or even married by now.”

“You would probably know if I were engaged or married.”

“No,” he says, “I probably wouldn’t.”

I find his eyes and stay in them for a few heartbeats. There’s something hidden in his wayward look, and I can’t, for the life of me, figure out what it is.

“Hell,” he says, dropping his gaze, “you might have a line outside this door here tomorrow, if you’re not careful.”

I fake a laugh.

“You think I’m kidding?” he asks.

I look at him and his goofy grin for a second without saying a word.

“You haven’t changed much, Salem Ebenezer.”

“Apparently, that’s not the talk of the town.”

“No,” I agree, “apparently not.”

His eyes burn into mine, as if he wants to say more, but he never does, and the moments fall away.

“Well,” he says, looking at his watch, “I better get going. It was nice catching up with you, Miss Catesby.”

He stands, and I just smile. “Yeah,” I say, “it was.”

He walks to my office door, but before he leaves, he turns and tips his cap.

“We should catch up more later.”

“All right,” I say, without even thinking twice about it.

And then, he’s gone.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Salem 

(23 Years Old)

Day 6,586

“S
avannah Catesby.”

I hear Dillon call out her name, and I look up.

“It’s about time you stopped by,” he says.

She smiles and walks over to Dillon. Dillon stands and gives her a hug, being careful not to spill the drinks in her hands.

“And you know this guy, of course,” Dillon says, resting his hand on my shoulder.

Savannah nods and smiles. “We’ve met a couple times.”

I smile at her. And then, if I’m not completely crazy, I think there’s a look that lasts a little too long. And I think Dillon notices it, too.

“Well,” Savannah says, “we’re across the room.” She gestures toward a table of girls from high school on the other side of the bar. “But I’m going to drop these drinks off over there and come right back for a second.”

“Sounds good,” Dillon says.

She smiles at him, glances at me and then walks away from our table.

I take a drink from my bottle, actively trying to avoid eye contact with Dillon. I know he’s looking at me.

“Where’s Anna tonight?”

“Working,” I say.

He’s quiet, and when I look up, he’s just slowly nodding.

“How much time have you been putting in at that paper over there?”

“What?”

He gives me an accusing look.

“What are you talking about? I was only there once—to catch up.”

“I’m not saying,” he says, putting up his hands in surrender. “I’m just saying.”

“Dillon.” I shake my head.

“Come on, Salem. I know you liked her. Everyone knows you liked her. You’ve been chasin’ after that girl since kindergarten. What’s different now?”

“What’s different?”

“Yeah,” he says.

“What’s different, if you haven’t noticed, is that I’m seeing Anna—and I’ve been seeing Anna for a while now. What’s different is that I haven’t seen Savannah in six years. What’s different is that when Savannah and I knew each other, we were both just kids.”

I finish, and he’s staring at me with a set of narrowed eyes. I try not to look directly at him.

“Does she know what you’re doing on Sheppard’s Hill?”

My eyes instantly go to his. He already knows the answer to that.

“What about Anna then? Does she know what you’re doing on Sheppard’s Hill?”

“Dillon, I’m not in the mood for this.”

“What are you two talking about?” Savannah comes over and takes a seat next to me.

Dillon looks at her and just smiles one of his cool, confident smiles—the ones he does best.

“You,” he says.

She laughs. “Then why do you both look so serious?”

She elbows me, and I force a smile.

“Your girlfriend here?” she asks.

“No, she’s working.” The words come out shorter than I intended them to.

“Okay,” she says.

I can tell she looks at me, but by the time I look up, she’s already trading questioning glances with Dillon.

“Is everything okay?” she asks.

“It’s fine,” Dillon says, leaning back in his chair. “It’s all fine.”

“Okay, well... I heard you were in St. Louis,” she says to Dillon.

“Yeah,” he says.

“You like it?”

“Yeah, it’s not too bad.”

“Tracy said you still get back quite a bit.”

“Tracy’s here?” Dillon’s eyes light up.

“Yeah.” A big smile takes over Savannah’s face. “You better get over there if you want to talk to her.”

He laughs and looks across the bar. “No, it’s fine. I don’t want to mess up your girl party. I’ll just talk to her later.”

“Okay, well, you guys be safe tonight. I’m going to get back over to them.”

She rests her hand on my shoulder after she stands. And then she’s gone.

Dillon rubs the back of his neck, sits back in his chair and then just stares at me.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

I clear my throat and take another drink.

“Look, man,” he says, “I don’t know what’s going on exactly, but I do think you should know that Jake Buckler has been eyeing her all night.”

“Where is he?” I ask, looking behind me, trying my best to maneuver as covertly as possible.

“Over there,” he says, glancing at a place on the opposite side of the little bar.

I find him, and sure enough, after only a few moments of watching him, I notice he takes a long look in Savannah’s direction.

“What in the hell is he doing?” I ask.

“It looks, to me, as if he’s moving in on your girl.”

My face turns stern and quickly finds Dillon. “She’s not my girl.”

I get up, polish off the last of my bottle and set it down hard.

“I’ll see you later, Dillon.”

“What? You’re leaving?”

“Yeah.”

That’s all I say. And I turn and make my way out of the bar. And when I get outside, I suck in a long, deep breath.

I probably should have just stayed home tonight.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Savannah 

(23 Years Old)

Day 6,590

I
walk into my office and immediately go to the calendar on the wall.

“Do you miss him?”

I freeze, my back to him.

“How are you always in here?” I ask, turning to see Salem sitting in the old recliner.

He shrugs. “I’m mostly a face. They don’t notice if I’m gone too much.”

I smile. “Why didn’t I hear the bell?”

“Well, I would suspect that it’s because your music is too loud.” He points to his ear. And immediately, I remember the earbuds in my own ears.

“Oh,” I say, pulling at the wires and realizing, at the same time, that I’m shouting. “That’s probably a good point.”

I set the earbuds onto my desk.

“Well, do you miss him? Your uncle?”

“Yeah,” I say, my eyes getting stuck on the old wood surface of the desk. My initials are carved into the corner. I remember doing it one day, not too long after I learned how to write them. But instead of getting mad, Uncle Les picked up the little screwdriver and carved his initials right under mine. I run my fingers over the
L
and the
K
.

Thinking of Uncle Les still turns up mixed emotions. I’ve had time to accept it, but I’m still sad. I barely saw him the last six years of his life, before the cancer took him away. I remember everything about spending that last summer I had with him. My mom must have known, even then. And I remember those long days I’d spend here growing up, too. The musty paper smell, his stacks of notes on his desk, the endless sticky notes stuck everywhere, this two-room office—all of it felt like home, in a way. Hell, he’s probably the reason why I got into newspapers in the first place.

“There’s a lot of people here that miss him,” he says.

I sigh, pick up a paper and stuff it with a weekly ad.

“That’s nice to hear.”

He nods. “It’s true.”

“So, what else did I miss?” I ask, trying to change the subject before my eyes go to tearing up on me.

He looks at me as if I’m crazy.

“Here?”

“Yeah,” I say, “with you. I mean, clearly, I missed the whole part where you got a girlfriend.”

He just smiles. “Don’t look so surprised, Vannah.”

My breath catches in my throat, and I feel my own smile start to fade.

“What?” he asks, after a few seconds, as if he doesn’t know why I lost my grin.

“Nothing. I just... You called me
Vannah
. I just haven’t heard you call me that in a long time.”

“Oh.” His eyes are wide. “I don’t even know where it came from.”

“No, it’s fine,” I quickly say. “It’s nice.”

I can tell he’s at a loss for words.

“Well...?” I ask again.

He gives me a blank stare, and it makes me laugh. “You and...?”

“Oh. Anna?”

“Yeah,” I confirm.

“Oh.” He sits up in the chair. “She’s great, really. We met at one of Dillon’s parties in St. Louis about six months ago.”

“Hmm,” I hum. “So, are you guys like...really serious then?”

“Oh, one sec,” he says, reaching into his buzzing pocket.

“I’m sorry,” he mouths.

I shake off his apology to let him know it’s fine, as he pulls out his phone and puts it to his ear.

“Yeah,” he says. “No, I can pick it up.”

I stuff another ad into a paper.

“Sure,” he says, after a brief pause. “I love you, too.”

I stop what I’m doing and look up at Salem. He’s busy stuffing his phone back into his jeans pocket. He has no idea that my heart just took a beating with those four, little words of his.

“I’m sorry. Now, what did you say again?”

I force myself to take a breath. “Oh, it was nothing.”

He looks as if he doesn’t quite believe me. “Okay, then.”

I watch as he shifts in his chair. “Can I ask you somethin’?”

I nod. “Sure.”

“Did you read my letter?”

I drag in a long breath. I think I knew this was coming. I expected it, eventually. And of course, I know exactly what letter he’s talking about.

“Yes.”

“And...?”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out, so I try again. “Salem, that was a long time ago.”

“As a friend,” he interjects. “Just a friend asking a friend.”

His look is gentle and almost pleading.

“I’m sorry I never wrote back,” I say, slowly setting the paper down. “I’m sorry I never texted or called. I’m sorry I...”

I stop. He’s piercing me with his light brown eyes, as if my answer’s not good enough. And I know it’s not.

“I didn’t know what to do,” I confess.

“We were friends,” he says. “You could have just written back. I mean, at the very least, we were friends, right?”

“Yeah. We were. We are,” I say.

I look at him. He’s biting the inside of his cheek and nodding his head.

“It wasn’t anything you said...or didn’t say,” I add. “I’m just...sorry. I really didn’t know what to do. I was a teenager. I had a boyfriend. And you were here. And I was there. And I felt as if I were in two places. And I didn’t feel as if I was being fair to Aaron...or you. So, I just did what I thought was right, I guess.”

He’s still slowly bobbing his head when I finish. And then he stills.

“One more thing.”

“Okay,” I say, but secretly I’m scared to hear it.

“You did like me, right? I mean, you said you... I mean, I didn’t just make that up?”

He’s wearing this face that looks as if he’ll just break in half if I don’t answer his question the right way.

“I did,” I assure him. “Yes, of course.” I barely get the words out.

“Were you in love with me?”

I freeze and fix my eyes on him.

“Yeah.” I don’t even think about it before I say it. “I did love you. I still love you. ...You’re my oldest friend,” I add, being careful not to cross any lines with him and his girlfriend.

He softly chuckles and then drops his gaze.

“What?”

“I asked you if you were
in love
,” he says.

I don’t know what to say after that, so I just go back to stuffing the last ad into the paper and setting the paper onto the pile. I don’t know what he wants me to say. He’s the one with the girlfriend. He’s the one who just told her he loved her. He’s the one...

“Wait,” I say, “why did you want to know?”

Seconds draw out, and I can hear that clock on the wall and its unforgiving ticks.

“No reason,” he eventually replies. “I guess I just always wanted to know that, and now...I do, so...”

“Wait.” My mind is just now starting to process his question. “Were you in love? Like really, in love...”

Before I can even get the rest of the sentence out, he stops me.

“Did you read the letter?”

I nod.

He keeps his eyes on me, but he doesn’t say another word. And after a few more moments, he gets up.

“I’m meeting Anna in Washington in a half hour. I should probably get going.”

“Yeah, okay.” I cross my arms against my chest.

“Okay,” he says. And then he tips his old baseball cap and escapes through the door.

And then he’s gone.

And I’m just left with a thought:
Salem
was in love...with me. And I broke his heart. And it still matters to him.
But then, it’s quickly replaced with another thought:
But he just left to go see Anna—whom he loves.