“I think you must’ve accidentally changed the channel on the television rather than the cable box.” I push up and pat her on the shoulder. “I do it all the time.”
I move into her kitchen, noting that she didn’t really give me permission to tidy up but I’ll go ahead and start and see how far I get before she tells me to stop. As it turns out, Mary has a family member that drops in once a week with groceries and clearly hasn’t realized just how bad off she is because there’s a ton of food to make anything from lasagna to tacos, but the only proof that she’s even eating is a trash can full of frozen dinner boxes.
After I finish the dishes, disinfect the counters and sink, and mop the floor, we’ve watched the evening news and an episode of Dick Van Dyke on some vintage rewind channel. Mary seems to have forgotten I’m even here as she dozes off and on in front of the TV. I throw together lasagna and while it cooks I sit in a metal folding chair watching Leave It to Beaver to the tune of Mary snoring.
I check my phone obsessively for missed calls, but outside of a few texts from my assistant back home there’s nothing. When the buzzer sounds that the lasagna is done, I pull it out and head to Celia’s for small Tupperware so I can divide the dish into single serving pieces and pop them in the fridge. It’s just after eight o’clock when I run out of things to occupy me at Mary’s. I place a slice of lasagna on her table along with a fresh glass of water and gently wake her.
She blinks and after a moment her eyes take focus on me. “Celia, I’m so sorry. Did I miss the end of Dick Van Dyke?”
I grin at the worry I hear in her voice. “You did, but it didn’t come as a surprise that they weren’t actually married so they decided to go get married that night but couldn’t because they didn’t have a babysitter.”
“Oh, dear . . .” She giggles.
“I’m sure they’ll rerun it.”
She spots the food. “You cooked?”
“I hope that’s okay. I put the rest in your fridge. You should have enough for a few more dinners and some lunches.”
“Smells delicious.” Her shaky hand grabs the fork to dive in. “Won’t you join me?”
“I can’t. It’s getting late and I have to finish up at my sis . . .” I clear my throat. “Have some things to finish up at home.”
She takes one small bite and exhales out her nose. “This is good.”
“I’m glad you like it.” I cross to the door. “Thanks for helping me kill some time.”
“Thank you, honey.” She doesn’t even look at me, but continues to stuff her fork with lasagna. “Such a treat.”
“If you need anything I’ll be right next door, Mary.”
I head out into the night and because there isn’t a cloud in the sky, the moon paints a path of light over the ocean so solid it almost looks as if it could be walked on.
As I’m heading up the stairs to Celia’s place my phone buzzes in my pocket. My heart leaps in my chest when I see it’s from my mom. Not Aden.
“Hey, Mom.”
“What happened, you sound exhausted?”
I slump onto the bed and blow out a long breath. “Nothing. I’m just about finished here. I think I’ll be able to get home in the next couple days as long as the movers can pick this stuff up.”
“Not a day too soon.”
I squint at the weird tone of my mom’s voice. “What do you mean?”
She huffs out a breath in a way that makes me think she’s trying to choose her words wisely. My pulse instantly pounds. “Celia’s vision is getting worse. I don’t know, I’m just worried.”
“I talked to her the other day. She said she was fine, that she felt better than she has in months.” Leave it to my mom to overreact and see things that aren’t there.
“She puts on a show for you—”
“Mom.” I sit up. “Celia doesn’t fake it for anyone, least of all me. She’s fine.”
“Sawyer—”
“Can I talk to her?” She’ll prove my mom wrong, and once I tell her Mom’s freaking out she’ll say something to make us all laugh and set Mom’s mind at ease.
“She’s sleeping.”
“Oh, well, I’ll call her tomorrow and check in, but I’m sure you’re blowing this out of proportion. You said the meds make her tired, and she’s probably bored out of her mind being stuck in bed all day.” There’s a throbbing in my neck that matches my beating heart. “Have you thought about getting her out of the house? Maybe if everyone stopped treating her like she was already dead she’d start feeling like she had more to live for.” I’m practically seething now, the combination of worry for Jenkins, Aden’s rejection, my mom’s overprotective doting, and I can’t hear Cece’s voice to see if she’s okay and it has me wanting to punch something. And I’m not a violent person.
Ever.
“Sawyer, just finish up soon and get home, okay?”
I grip the phone so tightly I’m afraid it’ll crack. “That’s the plan.”
We say goodbye and I lie there for a few minutes wondering what the hell just happened. I’m spinning out of control and can’t seem to find a level head.
I want to talk to Aden. He’s been through so much, experienced loss, he’d know exactly what to say to help me deal with this, if only I could tell him the truth and lean on his strength. But I know if he knew the truth he’d hate me.
Still, just being around him would be enough. He makes me forget all I’m not and all I’m pretending to be. With him I’m someone different, not Celia or Sawyer, but just . . . me.
I’ve never missed a man this much.
Why won’t he just call!
I toss the phone to the rickety bedside table followed by the sound of something small hitting the hardwood floor. I push up on my elbow and right there staring up at me like an omen from my sister is that damn quarter.
Heads up.
Call him.
“I can’t call him,” I whisper to no one. “I’ll seem desperate.”
You are.
Am not!
For him, you most certainly are!
I sit up and stare at the coin. I chew my lip and grab my phone. If I call him he could just ignore it. Even Mary mentioned he’s not answering his phone.
I could just show up at the marina.
Jenkins was my friend too.
It wouldn’t seem weird for me to check in on him to see if he’s okay.
I swipe the coin and with a deep breath I toss it in the air.
It hits the ground with a loud thump behind me as I head out the door to confront Aden.
EIGHTEEN
SAWYER
The marina is dark except for a few lights shining on the dock and a handful of boats that are occupied and lit by their inhabitants. The gate is locked, as always, but it doesn’t keep me from gripping the cold steel and squinting to see if I can catch movement on the Nauti Nancy. A soft light in the back is on, but other than that the windows are dark. I dart my eyes to Jenkins’s sailboat and it is completely black with no sign of life. I pray that’s not an indication of its owner, and hope that he’s just in the hospital recovering.