I fingered the necklace Sawyer had given me, which lay beneath the black T-shirt.
“Learn what you have to and get gone.” He glanced over his shoulder and our eyes met. “Promise?”
I was tempted to tell him he had no business asking anything of me, but I couldn’t. Because what he was asking was what I wanted too. So I kept my mouth shut and nodded.
Jimmy got into the car and drove away.
I stood in the yard and watched the headlights get smaller and smaller, then disappear altogether. The night was cool. I rubbed my arms, stomped my feet. I’m not sure what I was waiting for. Sawyer wasn’t going away.
I turned, and he spoke from the open doorway of his hogan. “You’ll never be number one with him.”
I didn’t bother to wonder how he’d gotten from the house to the hogan without a sound. I just went inside and crawled back into bed, where I lay in the darkness, stared at the ceiling, and knew that Sawyer was right.
Morning came far too soon. When didn’t it?
I awoke to bright desert sunshine and the scent of coffee. Thank God Sawyer wasn’t one of those annoying health nuts who refused to have a coffee pot in their house. Considering his love affair with nicotine, good health didn’t appear to be on his top ten list of concerns. I suspected eternal life, or something near enough, was the reason.
The pot was half full; Sawyer wasn’t in the house. I found myself reluctantly charmed that he’d made coffee for me. He couldn’t be all bad if he did that.
Then again, lack of electricity in his hogan could be the cause. If he wanted coffee he’d have to make it here. There was nothing charming about it.
I showered quickly and got dressed in the dead woman’s clothes. That was really starting to bother me. You’d think after a few days they’d start to feel like mine, but it wasn’t happening.
I poured a second cup of coffee, having downed the first one like water before I’d stepped into the shower, and headed outside. Sawyer crouched in the yard, cooking bacon and eggs over an open fire.
“Got anything against a stove?” I asked.
“Doesn’t taste the same.”
“You like hickory-smoked eggs?”
He didn’t answer.
I looked around for a lawn chair. No such luck. So I shifted awkwardly, waiting for him to finish or speak. After several minutes, I couldn’t stand the silence.
“I need to go to the store for some clothes, better shoes.”
Though the reservation was desolate in certain areas, like this one, it wasn’t without its share of retail establishments.
“No,” he said.
What was it with that word lately? Everyone seemed to be enthralled with it but me.
“I had to borrow—” Or was it steal?
“We don’t have time.” Sawyer slid half the bacon and two eggs onto a plate and held it out.
“I’ll pass,” I said. “Got any wheat toast?”
“Eat.” He set my plate on the ground and filled one of his own. “You’re going to need it.”
I hadn’t eaten since yesterday. Today was not going to be easy. While training, Sawyer not only forgot meals but such niceties as bathroom breaks and sleep. The man could go for days without food or water or rest. He often did.
When we were finished, we picked up our plates and went into the house. Sawyer loaded the dishwasher. For an instant I paused at the incongruity of him cooking breakfast in the yard over an open fire, then loading a dishwasher as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“It’s time,” he said, and pushed the start button.
I jumped as the machine sprang to life with a dull roar. Sawyer walked past me without a glance. By the time I got outside, he’d tossed something funky onto the fire, which then leaped higher than his head.
He sat in the dirt cross-legged and stared into the dancing flames. He seemed fascinated by them, so I plopped down and stared too, but all I saw was fire.
“Open yourself,” he murmured.
I tensed so fast and so hard, my back screamed in protest. “You know I—”
He turned his head; his eyes were pools of black, the pupils dilated so large, they’d overtaken the gray of the irises. The sun blazed down. How could he keep his eyes open without agony shooting into his brain from the abundance of light?
“To know the truth, you must open yourself.”
“I don’t know how.” I never had.
All those years ago Sawyer had tried everything to get me to open myself to the heavens, the earth, the father, the mother, all manner of beings and places and New Age—or was that hippie?—claptrap. I couldn’t do it.
“Open your mind.” He placed his palm against my forehead.
My eyes crossed. I should have closed them, except that would be like turning my back on a wild animal, and I knew better.