A Song For Rory

Rory folded her arms across her chest.

“Fine. But your five minutes starts the next time you open your mouth.”

Sawyer nodded but wisely didn’t utter a sound.

* * *

THE PROMENADE WAS blessedly vacant this time of day as people spent the late afternoon hours shopping or sailing on the bay. A few couples were scattered along the boardwalk and one man was fishing over one of the railings, but they were spread out so that Rory and Sawyer were mostly alone.

Sawyer had taken her at her word about when the timer on his five minutes would begin. He said nothing as they’d walked from Callahan’s to the promenade and still remained silent as they began strolling the stretch of boardwalk. After a good three minutes of silence, Rory grew too uncomfortable to allow it to continue. She stopped and turned to face him, crossing her arms over her torso. She made a point of tapping her wrist.

“Okay. You can start talking now.”

But he didn’t, not right away. At first, she thought he was antagonizing her, but then she realized he seemed to be searching for the words. His struggle gave her a moment to study him more closely. His light brown hair was trimmed short around his ears and behind his neck. She couldn’t see any more, since he still wore the baseball cap he’d been sporting in the restaurant. He didn’t wear any sunglasses, despite the afternoon sunshine. A part of her wished he had. It was difficult to stare into the familiar warmth of his blue eyes. He had a faint dusting of scruff along his jaw, and she wasn’t sure if it was an intended effect or whether he’d just not bothered shaving that morning. Maybe he’d been in too much of a hurry...to see her?

She tensed. She couldn’t let herself think such things.

It was hard not to, though, when he kept stealing glances at her, his mouth twitching slightly every time she met his gaze. It was also strange to be standing so near to him, after so much time apart.

He was somehow different...and yet still Sawyer. The way he carried himself was new to her. He moved with an easy confidence, maybe even a touch of arrogance, as if he’d finally found his place in the world, and no one could take him from it.

She hated that. She admired it. She envied it.

“I’m going to start timing you whether you speak or not,” she announced, as much to jump-start the conversation as to take her mind off her emotions.

“You said you wouldn’t start timing until I started talking.”

She smirked at his slip. He made a face.

“Okay, round one to Rory.”

She didn’t reply, simply tapped a finger on her hip, pretending to tick off the seconds—though she was really just waiting to hear what he’d say next.

“Please stop that.”

She ignored him. He groaned.

“Fine. Listen. I’m sorry. I was a jerk. I was selfish and inconsiderate, and maybe a little bit dazzled by the idea of my name in lights.”

“A little bit?”

He looked at her, managing to catch her eyes with his so that she couldn’t look away.

“I don’t know how else to say it except that I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did—you didn’t deserve that. I’ve missed you.”

Her heart began to pick up speed.

“You’re unhappy?”

He hesitated. “No,” he admitted. “I can’t say that I’m unhappy. I...love what I’m doing. I love performing, and I’ve gotten to travel the world. It’s—” he drew a deep breath “—it’s everything I ever dreamed.”

Her heart continued racing, but this time in anger.

“You came all this way to tell me that? ‘I’m sorry, Rory,’” she said, mimicking him, “‘but really, my life’s great now. Just thought you should know.’”

She grunted in disgust and turned away from him, stomping down the boardwalk. She passed an elderly couple seated on a bench and only barely registered their frowns of disapproval. She wrapped her arms tightly around her midsection, holding herself together or holding back her fury, she wasn’t sure which. Seconds later, she heard the soft thump of Sawyer’s footsteps behind her, trying to catch up.

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“You’ve said enough.”

“But I haven’t told you the most important part.”

She almost stumbled in hesitation, but righted herself and took two more steps before he spoke again.

“You didn’t let me say that it hasn’t been worth it.”

She stopped abruptly, and he ran into her from behind so that she staggered forward. The next thing she knew, his hands were around her waist, keeping her from falling. For a moment, just the span of a heartbeat or two, she let him hold onto her and savored the memory of his embrace. But by the count of three, she came to her senses and pushed him away.

“Don’t touch me.” She whirled on him. “Don’t you touch me.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He backed up, hands in the air. He looked pained.

“I didn’t come back to rub things in. I know I’m not the best guy, but do you really think I’m that cruel?”

She shifted from one foot to the other, uncomfortable with the question. As much as she’d tried to vilify Sawyer in her mind over the last couple of years, she didn’t know if she could call him cruel. Selfish, yes. Insensitive, sure. But cruel? No, he’d never been that. The man who had cradled her in his arms the night she’d lost her father was not mean. But even so, he’d broken her heart, and while he might not have done it out of cruelty, his selfishness had wounded her just the same. Just because he was ready to make amends didn’t mean she was ready to let him.

“Why now?” she asked him.

Sawyer hesitated, his eyes flickering with some emotion she didn’t recognize. Guilt? Embarrassment? Whatever it was, she pushed the question to find out.

“After two years of complete and utter silence, why did you come back now?”

“Because I missed you.”

She wanted to believe him, but something didn’t ring true. He wanted something from her, something that went beyond simply missing her and wanting her back in his life.

“A lot may have changed between us in two years, Sawyer, but I can still tell when you’re holding something back.”

He tugged at the baseball cap, a sign of his discomfort. “I’m telling you the truth. I miss you, Rory. More than you can imagine. I think about you all the time. There are nights when I toss and turn because my dreams are full of you and how I let you go. Some days, I forget to eat because my stomach is in knots, wondering what you’re doing, worrying that you’ll move on and find somebody else. I try to write music, but the words won’t come to me because I don’t have you there to tell me which lyrics are good. Sometimes, I can’t even—”

“Wait, back up.”

Sawyer stopped speaking as she held up a hand, but his mouth remained open as he registered her words.

“You’re having a hard time composing music?”

His jaw snapped closed, and he looked almost guilty.