Page 20 of The Strawberry Field
I reach the end of the row, and there’s nothing left to keep my thoughts from going where they’ve been trying to go all morning.
Sawyer.
I tried to keep her out of my head, but now I let her in.
Seeing her yesterday had rattled me more than I wanted to admit. I’d gone to Carl’s to grab a few things, and she was the last person I expected to see.
She’d looked up and recognized me, and for a moment, I saw her emotions flash wide across her face before she locked them down.
I’ll admit it. Curiosity got the better of me long before yesterday. I’d looked her up once or twice. Social media. A few photos: beach trips, running races, a clean white coat and confident smile. She looked strong. Alive. The Sawyer I remembered, only more herself.
But the woman I saw yesterday…
That wasn’t the Sawyer I remembered.
She looked thinner than she should be. Pale. Her hair hung limp around her shoulders, like it hadn’t been washed in a few days. But it was her eyes that stayed with me.
Haunted.
Like she’d seen something too awful to speak of—and hadn’t yet found a way to live with it.
I know her parents died last year. Maybe that’s it.
But I wonder if there’s more.
I thought about sending a card. But the bridge between Sawyer and me is long and cracked, and I didn’t know how to cross it.
That summer, we were young. Naive in every way that matters. We thought the future was ours to shape. I never imagined the life I have now. I doubt she imagined hers would lead to whatever weight I saw in her yesterday.
The age difference scared me back then. Two years is nothing now, but when you’re seventeen and she’s just turned fifteen, it might as well be a canyon. Still, the connection was there. Real. Immediate.
Too real.
Tommy had no idea what he introduced when he brought me into his world. He never imagined a spark would form between his best friend and his little sister.
And I never acted on it.
But I thought about it.
And maybe that’s enough to taint it in hindsight.
I hoe a weed too aggressively, slicing through the soil. Hattie glances at me, ears twitching. She picks up on the shift in my mood. She always does.
“It’s all right,” I murmur, softening my voice. She relaxes, wagging her tail once before continuing on ahead.
I wish people were as forgiving as dogs. As simple. The world would be a better place for it.
It’s been a long time since I wanted anything more than what I have here. This life, quiet, self-contained, private, suits me. There’s no one looking at me with questions in their eyes. No one wondering if the rumors were true.
I know what people see when they look me up online.
And no matter what I say, doubt will always linger.
Because that’s the world now.
The louder story wins.
The news tells its social media-polished version with a smile, then moves on to the next wreckage. They don’t look back to see what’s been left behind.
