A Bird on a Windowsill (23 page)

Chapter Forty-One

Savannah 

(23 Years Old)

Day 6,862

I
kneel down to the old safe in the corner of my office and use Salem’s key to open it. I hadn’t really looked through it since the night he brought it back.

I sift through several envelopes—one holding the deed; another, some old insurance papers; and still another, a passport. I take out the passport. Uncle Lester’s photo is inside. It expired ten years ago, and there are no stamps on its pages. I close the passport and set it gently back into the envelope, when I stop and notice a small photo. It’s stuck in between two folders.

I carefully pick it up. It looks old. Its edges are worn, and a piece of the top corner is slightly torn off.

I stare into the photo and at the woman in it. It’s Olivia.

Uncle Lester talked about her all the time. She’s young in the photo, maybe twenty-something, but I still recognize her. She’s not that much older in this photo than she was in the photo Uncle Les always kept in a frame in his living room.

She’s beautiful, with long auburn hair and freckles dotting her nose and cheeks. I know my uncle had some regrets in life. He was very open about them. And I know one of those regrets was her—not in loving her, but in letting her get away.

I smile at the photo, and then I flip it over and carefully place it on top of the stack of folders.

But then, I stop.

There’s handwriting on the back, and my eyes immediately go to those three little words:

Change our story.

I stare at the words. And just like a breaking wave, a sinking feeling gains momentum and then all at once crashes into my chest. It feels like panic. I panic for Olivia.

I turn the photo over.

“How could it all have turned out that way?” I ask the woman in the photo. “You both loved each other.”

The young woman’s stoic expression doesn’t change; her eyes are caught on something off in the distance, as if she doesn’t have an answer to my question.

I lower myself to the floor and lean my back against the wall.

“Why did it have to end that way, Olivia?”

I look deep into the faded photo, pleading with her.

“Wasn’t there something you could have done?”

You loved him. And he loved you. He never married; he loved you that much. His heart belonged to you. He’d never give it to someone else.

I let my hand with the photo in it fall to my side, and I stare out the window.

He loved you, Olivia. And that’s the song he was going to go out singing—that’s the last song he ever sang. And that was enough for him. Your song was enough for him.

My panicked heart starts to ache, that kind of ache that wishes it had a voice, so that it could cry out.

I close my eyes to push back the tears. They’re tears for Olivia—but I think they’re also tears for me.

Chapter Forty-Two

Savannah 

(23 Years Old)

Day 6,864

I
t was just a plea of a woman to a man she loved...from another time. But it was enough for me.

“J
ake.”

“Savannah.”

He stands and makes his way to the front of his desk.

But I stop right inside his office door. I don’t go any farther. “I have to talk to you,” I say, nervously biting my bottom lip.

“Oh.” He stops short of me and falls back against the desk, crossing his legs out in front of him. “Okay.”

Worry infiltrates the little lines in his forehead. And in his eyes, strangely, I can already see a sense of dread. But he can’t know what I’m about to say.

It takes me a minute to gather up my courage. I breathe in. I breathe out. I can hear my heart pounding so loudly; it’s as if it’s echoing off my eardrums.

“Salem,” he says.

I freeze and look into his eyes.

His face is expressionless. The worry, the dread—it’s gone now.

My lips part—to maybe ask a question, I’m not sure. But either way, nothing comes out. And he only shrugs his strong shoulders and faintly smiles.

“It’s him, right?” he asks.

I don’t know how he knows. I’m at a loss for words, but I force myself to say something, anything.

“Jake, I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know.”

He looks down at his black, polished shoes. Then he folds his arms over his chest.

“I know you didn’t.” He meets my gaze. “But I did. And maybe it was wrong of me to withhold that information.”

I cautiously suck in a breath.

“But do you blame me?” he asks, smiling softly.

To speak feels as if it would be the hardest thing in this world to do, so I just shake my head, instead.

His chest rises and falls. And then all of a sudden, there’s a question on his face.

“Is he marri...?”

“I don’t know,” I say, cutting him off. “I’m crazy. I don’t even know if he’s married.” I try to smile, but I don’t think it ever reaches my face.

He bows his head but keeps his calm demeanor.

“But it’s a risk worth taking,” he says.

I look at him. I look into his beautiful dark eyes. They’re so loving, so understanding, so patient. I tell myself I will regret this, but deep inside my bones, I don’t think I believe it.

I nod. “It is...a risk worth taking.”

And then, his soft smile turns sad. And I don’t know if it’s sad for him or sad for me or sad for the both of us.

“I’m sorry,” I say, trying not to cry. I wish I could take this all from him. There’s a part of me that wishes I had never met him—then I could spare him from this. But then there’s the selfish part of me that also can’t imagine never knowing him.

“Don’t be. I think I knew it all along.”

“But how?” I ask.

“You forget. I have one, too. ...And I also took the risk, once upon a time.”

I nod, as it all starts to make a little more sense now.

“But you’re not...” I stop because I’m not altogether sure how to finish that sentence.

His shoulder slightly lifts and then sinks. “It doesn’t always work out,” he says. “But...” He looks down at the floor briefly before finding my eyes again. “But every once in a while, the odds have got to be in your favor, right?”

I’m motionless, speechless, as my heart breaks for him and for everything we could have been.

“It was nice getting to know you, Savannah Catesby.”

I smile because, at the very least, he deserves that simple gesture.

Even as my heart breaks, I smile.

Chapter Forty-Three

Savannah 

(23 Years Old)

Day 6,865

I
pull up to a building with
Ebenezer Lumber
stretched across its roof in big, orange letters. And I stop the car.

I’m in Iowa.

And this is crazy, I know. But I have to do it.

I tuck the keys into my purse and push open the driver’s side door. There are a million thoughts running through my mind, but mostly, they all either have to do with anticipation or fear. I try to block them out as I make my way across the parking lot.

The two glass doors automatically part when I reach the building. And instantly, my nose is filled with the scent of newly cut lumber and fresh paint. I breathe it in and breathe out a smile. It reminds me of Eben.

My hands start to shake. I grab the straps of my purse to try and hide their trembling.

“Uh, hi,” I say to the first person I see wearing a navy, collared shirt.

A young girl, maybe in her late teens, stops in front of me.

“Is Salem Ebenezer working today?”

“Uh, yeah,” the girl says, “I think he’s back in his office.”

I feel my heart start to race.

“Okay,” I whisper.

“Do you want me to get him for you?”

“Um, no,” I quickly say. “Could you just point me in the direction of his office.”

“Sure.” She gives me a friendly smile. “It’s just back in the left corner, next to customer service.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

The girl goes back to stacking small boxes onto a shelf. I, on the other hand, stare apprehensively at the back of the building. I think I’m equal parts terrified and giddy. A thought runs through my head that I should just turn around and run back to my car. But then just as quickly, another thought tells me to run to his office—to run to him—and wrap my arms around him and hold him, hold him until he tells me to let go.

I decide on something in between those two thoughts, and I steadily walk toward the back of the building, in the direction the girl pointed me.

The customer service table appears way too soon, and I look to the left and find an open door to an office.

I stop. There’s no one at customer service. I’m more than thankful. I don’t think I could have managed to get a decent-sounding word out to someone else.

I close my eyes briefly and then take a deep breath. Then cautiously, I walk to the open door and look up.

I see Eben. But then I see Anna.

They don’t see me.

I don’t even think. I just turn and start walking.

I walk until I’m through the store and across the parking lot and into my car.

And it’s not until then that the tears start burning the backs of my eyelids.

Every hope I had was in today—in that moment. But then, I saw... Then, I saw
her
. And in that instant, I felt the weight of this crazy idea.

Tears start falling down my cheeks. I try to wipe them with the back of my hand, but no sooner do I get them wiped away, new ones come.

He loves her.

He...loves...her.

He doesn’t love me.

The tears have turned into sobs. I rest my head on the steering wheel and press my hand to my heart. The pain in my chest feels as if it’s crushing my bones.

This is it. This is the end of our story.

I cry. I cry for me. I cry for us. I cry because it’s the only thing I can think to do.

And I don’t know how long the tears fall, but eventually, I lift my head. And I take a breath, and I wipe my puffy eyes. And I stare out the blurry windshield. And I think:
Where do I go from here?

And then, through a new stream of tears, and against everything I believe, I hear a little voice rise up. It whispers its name:
Surrender.
And then it says:
You need to let it be. You need to let this be...and not because you want to or because it’s the right thing to do, but because this is life. And sometimes, you can’t write life in your own words—no matter how beautiful the words.

Sometimes, it just is.