“Maybe,” I said quietly.
“Call some friends from school. See if anyone wants to come down for a visit.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“I can give Jake a heads-up, if that’d make it easier.”
“No,” I said quickly, emotion tightening my throat so that I can barely get out a whispered,“He won’t even notice I’m not around.”
“That’s not true,” Tommy said.“You’re a stunner, sis. And you two have this weird intelligentsia vibe going on.”
“He’s smart,” I murmured.“And kind.”
“So are you.”
Thunder rumbled across the lake. The clouds hovering above us now were darker, ominous-looking. Smith Mountain stood majestic and deep green across the wide expanse of lake. A splat of rain dropped onto the dock, then another, and another and then began to pour. Tommy got up from his chair and held out his hand.
“Come on, we need to get inside.”
“No,” I said.“You go. I’ll be up in a minute.”
“Sawyer—”
“I will. I promise.”
He nodded, gave me one last look, and jogged toward the house.
But I didn’t follow.
I stayed on the dock as the storm rolled in. Rain pounded my head, streamed down my face, soaked through my clothes.
And I let it.
Some part of me wanted the lightning to find me. To end the ache before it grew into something I’d have to carry for years.
But fate didn’t have that in mind for me either. So when the clouds parted, and the sun slid back across the sky, I was still sitting there, raw with the new awareness of just how long the summer would be, now that it was going to be measured in days of not seeing Jake.
Chapter Seven
Sawyer
BY MY THIRD cup of coffee, the silence is too loud. I start the list.
I open the Notes app on my phone and give it the uninspired title: To-Do. Then, still in my pajamas, I begin walking through the house.
Most of the windows are cloudy with grime, years of weather clinging to the glass.
Call window washer.
The living room, kitchen, main hallway, and foyer all need paint.
Call painter.
At least a dozen light bulbs are out.
Buy light bulbs. Me.
The carpets are dusty, edges curled from neglect.