Page 37 of Infinite as They Come
My hand shook a little as I held the photos. “You want me to have these?”
Nodding, she wiped at her eyes. “Maybe Sawyer wants to look at them later. You keep those. I’ll put more copies in my wallet when I get home.”
“Thank you.” I held the photos close to my chest, that ache in my heart so heavy, like it was spreading all over my body. It was all a little too sad and crushing, so I focused on that question she had asked me earlier. About what Sawyer was like when he was younger. “You wanted to know what Sawyer was like in school, right?”
She sat up straight, nodding eagerly. “Oh, please. Yes. I’d love to hear about that. What was he like?”
“Uh…” I laughed softly as the memories hit me. “Sawyer was… stubborn, opinionated, honest. Loud. Very loud. But… so resilient and strong and creative. Still is. Everything he paints is so beautiful. He’s the most talented person I know.”
“I’d love to see some of his art. In real life, I mean. I should know these things. Things he’s made, things he likes. Here I am not knowing a thing about my own son.”
My hand found hers on the bench, her skin soft and smooth. “It’s not too late to learn about him. There were a lot of things I didn’t know about Sawyer either. For a long time, we weren’t exactly… nice to each other. But it was so easy to learn about him and get close to him and fall in love with him.”
“I’m so glad he found someone like you,” she whispered.
“I’m glad I found him,” I said just as quietly, eyes roaming over to the other side of the park to where Sawyer was. Shoulders a little stiff, hand rubbing at the back of his neck, probably uncomfortable as all hell, but still, he was trying. He was fighting. I could see Spencer’s little hand gesturing around them like he was pointing something out as Sawyer gave him little nods.
Linda let out a choked breath. “You must think I’m such a terrible mother…”
My brows pulled together as I snapped my head over to her, her own head lowering. “No,” I said, the word coming out fast. “I’ve never thought that. And I promise you that Sawyer’s never thought that either.”
“I left him. He was so small, so young, and I left him. With… With that man,” she said, her sigh deep. “You know, I dropped Sawyer off at school that day, and everything was normal. I wasn’t planning on leaving. I really wasn’t. But… My ex-husband… Sawyer’s father… He really didn’t like the idea of me being… independent. I wasn’t allowed to work. I wasn’t allowed to drive. The only time I got to do anything for myself was when I was taking Sawyer to school and picking him up. And that was what happened that day. I had taken Sawyer to school and I was coming home, and everything was how it usually was, and then I saw it. A wallet. On the ground, fresh and shiny, like I was meant to find it. It belonged to some woman. Denise Brian. I still remember her name on her license. Five hundred dollars she had in that thing. All I could think was: this is the most money I’ve ever seen in my life. She didn’t live too far from us. Just a twenty minute walk from Sawyer’s school. I took the cash, put the wallet in her mailbox, and I ran. I ran like a coward. I took that money and hopped on the first bus out of Dallas. I left my son with that awful man. The same one who hurt me. I woke up with a new bruise on my body every day. I… I really thought he’d kill me one day…”
I had never heard anyone make the next sound that escaped her. It was a sob. Not a little one, not a gentle one. It was one that came from deep down, right from the stomach. Choked, pained, like it hurt just to get the noise out. She was shaking next to me, her body suddenly looking so fragile. Pale, trembling fingers lowered to grip the bench, like she was holding on for dear life. I slowly reached my own hand out, squeezing hers tight. That made her look up at me, her eyes all big and wet, the sight enough to make my own tears prick at my eyes.
“You’re not a coward,” I said, my voice too shaky. “You’re not. Don’t think that you are. You must have been so terrified. I can’t even imagine whatyou were feeling. What you were thinking. You’re allowed to be gentle with yourself and your heart. Sawyer doesn’t hold it against you. You shouldn’t either.”
“I left him,” she said. “He was so little. I just left him like that.”
“You were scared and so young. You didn’t know what to do.”
“It’s the worst mistake of my life. Leaving him. Hurting him.”
“You’re here now, though,” I said, still gripping her hand. “That’s what’s important. You’re in his life again. And Sawyer can see you trying.”
“He must hate me. I can tell. He hates me.”
“He doesn’t,” I said firmly. “He cares about you. He’s hurt. I won’t lie to you about that. He’s hurt and he’s allowed to feel hurt, but he doesn’t hate you. He’s scared. Scared to let you back into his life. He’s not really used to people looking out for him and helping him, so this is different for him, but he cares about you. Don’t think that he doesn’t.”
“Oh, you’re too sweet,” she said, wiping at her eyes. “Gosh, look at me. What a mess.”
“It’s okay. It’s okay to be upset about it. About everything. But it’s also okay to be nicer to yourself.”
“I don’t deserve kindness.”
“Don’t say that. Sawyer doesn’t think that. Neither do I.”
“I’m used to crying over him,” she said with a sad sounding laugh. “This isn’t anything new.”
“Maybe it’ll be happy tears from here on out,” I said, gently placing my hand on her back.
“I hope so.” She smiled at me, swiping her fingers along the skin under her eyes.
I could see Sawyer, Spencer, and Kurt suddenly walking back over to us, so I quickly wiped at my eyes and tucked the photos into my purse. My first thought was to try and read Sawyer’s face, to search for pain, hesitance, anything, but he just raised his eyebrows up at me, one hand pushing through his hair.
“Spencer has something for you ladies,” Kurt said, placing a hand on Spencer’s shoulder.
Smiling shyly, Spencer handed his mom a flower. Long and pink and pretty, he gripped it tight, his other hand resting on her knee. “Here, Mom,” he said, voice all soft and little.
