“The place will fill up soon,” Julia assured her.
“I hope so. It looks like you’re not doing enough to bring in business at breakfast. And you make a lot of desserts.” She pointed to the chalkboard. “Do people really eat it all every day? If there’s any left over, that’s a terrible waste of money.”
“There’s never any left over. I was just on my way out, Beverly,” Julia said. “What can I do for you?”
“Oh, stop with that You don’t have anywhere to go. You never do anything but work and go home. You’re so much like your daddy.”
Julia tried to hold her smile. At one point in her life, she would have welcomed the comparison. Now, she wanted to scream No! I’ve done so much more!
“I know it’s only a few more months until you’re going to sell this place. Rumor has it that Charlotte is interested in buying it from you. I just wanted to tell you that I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Oh?” Charlotte was the day manager of the restaurant, and the perfect person to sell it to. She not only knew the business, she cared about it. And that meant something to Julia now. When she’d first come back to town, Julia would have gladly sold the restaurant to anyone if it had meant a profit. Now that she’d been here awhile, she realized that she owed it to her father to let it go to someone who loved it as much as he had. That’s what staying too long had done to her. It had made her soft.
“I think you might give the restaurant to her for less than you should, just because she’s worked here a long time. But the whole point is to get as much money as possible for it.”
“Thank you for your input, Beverly.”
The waitress brought out a bag containing two covered Styrofoam trays. She handed the bag to Beverly, who took it from her without acknowledgment.
“I’ll see you soon,” Beverly said. “We can go over arrangements. Make it all nice and official, okay?”
Julia didn’t say a word, but she had absolutely no intention of giving Beverly any money from the sale of the restaurant. She didn’t care how mad Beverly would be when she found out. Julia wouldn’t be here to deal with it. It was just easier to let Beverly believe what she wanted to believe. Arguing with her would only make Julia’s time here more miserable, and might even hurt business.
Julia and the waitress watched Beverly leave. The waitress-Julia forgot her name-was new. She was holding Beverly’s bill in her hand.
“Don’t worry about it,” Julia said. “She never thinks she has to pay.”
The waitress crumpled up the bill, and Julia headed for the door.
Only to have it open, and there was Sawyer.
Julia rubbed her forehead. How could a day be this bad so early?
Sawyer was so bright and attentive, even at this hour. She wondered if he ever slept, or if he simply stayed awake all night, pacing with energy and thinking of new ways to sparkle and charm, new ways to get his way. He met her eyes and smiled. “Julia, you look lovely. Doesn’t she look lovely, Granddad?” Sawyer asked the elderly gentleman he was helping through the door.
The old man looked up and smiled. He had deep blue eyes like Sawyer. Alexander men were a sight to behold. “You do look lovely, Julia. That pink streak in your hair adds pizzazz.”
Julia smiled at that. “Thank you, Mr. Alexander. Enjoy your breakfast.”
“Wait for me, Julia,” Sawyer said. “I want to talk to you.”
All sorts of warning signals went up, firework flashes in her periphery. “Sorry,” she said, and slipped out the door as soon as Sawyer’s grandfather had passed by her. “Gotta go.”
She walked down the sidewalk toward home. She thought for a moment that she saw Emily down the street, but then she lost sight of her.
Julia knew she could have driven to work, but with most of her money being funneled into the principal payments on the restaurant’s mortgage, gas was a luxury. Sometimes her walks home reminded her too much of walking to high school because her father couldn’t afford to buy her a car. With envy, she used to watch all the kids who could afford cars drive by. Members of Sassafras, in particular, in their BMWs and Corvettes.
It was all going to be worth it, this sacrifice. She had to keep telling herself that. She had a whole other life waiting for her, one where she could control memories of her past. When she got back to Baltimore, she would pick up where she’d left off and reconnect with friends who only knew her as she was now, not who she’d been then. Nice blank-slate friendships. She’d find a new place to live, get her things out of storage, then find the perfect spot for her bakery. She had worked in other people’s bakeries for a long time. When she got her own place, she would bake with all the windows open and make nothing but purple cookies if she wanted to. Blue-Eyed Girl Bakery. That was going to be the name. That Julia’s eyes were brown didn’t matter. It wasn’t about her, anyway.
“Julia!” Sawyer called.
She felt a prickle along the back of her neck and picked up her pace. Regardless, Sawyer soon jogged up and fell into step with her.
She cut her eyes at him. “Did you actually run after me?”
He looked indignant, like he’d been caught doing something uncouth. “I wouldn’t have had to if you had waited.”
“What do you want?”
“I told you. I want to talk to you.”
“So talk,” she said.
“Not like this.” His hand wrapped around her arm and made her stop. “I’ve kept my distance since you’ve been back, because I thought that’s what you wanted. When I heard you were moving back to Mullaby, I had… hope. But the moment I saw you again, and you gave me a look that could kill, I knew it was still too soon.”
“I haven’t moved back,” she said, wriggling her arm free.
“But I’ve been doing us both a disservice,” he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “This has gone on too long. I want to talk about it, Julia. I have some things to tell you.”
“Talk about what?” she asked.
He was silent.
She tried to laugh it off. “Does this have something to do with thinking I’ve been baking cakes because of you?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
They stared at each other for a moment before she said, “I have nothing to say to you. And I doubt you have anything to say that I want to hear.”
Undeterred, he said, “Have dinner with me on Saturday.”
“I have plans on Saturday,” she said.
“Oh?” His hands went into his pockets and he rocked back on his heels with surprise. This was a man who wasn’t used to being turned down. “With whom?”
“I was thinking of taking Emily to the lake,” she said, off the top of her head.
“You’re showing a remarkable amount of interest in this girl.”
“Does it surprise you that much, Sawyer?” she shot at him. “Really?”
She could tell that hurt him. And it didn’t make her feel as good as she thought it would. He hesitated before asking quietly, “Are you ever going to forgive me?”
“I forgave you a long time ago,” she said as she turned and walked away. “That doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten.”
His voice carried after her. “Neither have I, Julia.”
THE WEIGHT of Julia’s unhappiness took her breath sometimes when she was sixteen. It had been building for years, brick by brick: adolescence, her father remarrying, her unrequited love for the cutest boy in school, the misfortune of having Dulcie Shelby as a classmate. Still, up until she entered high school, she’d always had friends. She’d always been a good student. She’d always been able to function. But then a gradual depression settled over her like someone flipping out a bedsheet and letting it float down to cover her. By the time her sophomore year rolled around, she’d given up on trying to compete with her stepmother, Beverly. Her pink hair and black makeup were attempts to fight the overwhelming sense that she was disappearing. Her friends started avoiding her as her appearance changed and she became more sullen, bu
t she didn’t care. She would gladly lose them if it meant her father would just look at her.
It didn’t work.
Sometimes she would hear Beverly tell her father not to pay her any attention, that it was just a phase, that she would grow out of it. And of course, he did exactly as Beverly suggested.
Then the cutting started.
Her unhappiness and self-loathing got the better of her one day when she was in her World History class. Mr. Horne was writing something on the whiteboard and Julia was sitting in the back of the room, Dulcie Shelby a few seats in front of her. Julia looked up from doodling in her notebook to see Dulcie whisper something to one of her friends, then take something out of her purse. Seconds later, a small canister of flea powder rolled down the aisle and stopped at Julia’s feet.
Dulcie and her friends laughed and Mr. Horne turned around.
He demanded to know what was so funny, but no one in class said a word. Julia kept her eyes down, staring at the canister touching the toe of her Doc Martens knockoffs.
Mr. Horne finally turned back around, and as soon as he did, Julia took the sharpened pencil she was holding and dragged it heavily across her forearm. She didn’t realize what she’d done at first. She simply watched the pebbles of blood form on her skin with a weird sense of satisfaction, of release.
At first it was random, using whatever she had on hand, but it soon became more deliberate and she started using razor blades she hid under her mattress at home. Every time she cut herself, it was intense and dramatic, like being jerked from the gaping maw of nothingness and back into life. It not only made her feel, it made her feel good. At one point she realized she couldn’t stop, that she couldn’t get through the day without cutting herself, but she didn’t care. She truly didn’t care. It wasn’t long before her forearms were covered in angry spider-webs of scabbed-over cuts, and she wore long-sleeved shirts even on the warmest days.
She’d been cutting her arms for months before Julia’s father and stepmother found out. It was Beverly who first saw the marks. Julia had just stepped out of the shower one morning and had wrapped a towel around herself, when her stepmother tapped on the door and waltzed in, saying, “Don’t mind me. I’m just getting my tweezers-”
She stopped short when she saw Julia’s bare arms.
When Julia’s father got home from work that evening, he came into her bedroom. His face was pinched and worried and he approached her cautiously, as if trying not to crush her with the weight of his presence. He wanted to know what was wrong, and Julia resented the question. How could he not know?
Her sophomore year ended not long after, and her father and Beverly never let her out of their sight that summer. Instead of feeling like she’d finally gotten what she wanted, she hated that they were trying to stop her from doing the one thing that made her feel better.
The entire summer was one long power struggle. She actually started looking forward to the school year so she could get away from them. And of course, the new school year meant she would get to see Sawyer. Beautiful Sawyer. But just a few days before the start of school at Mullaby High, Julia’s father told her that he was sending her away to boarding school. It was a special school, he said. For troubled teens. They were supposed to drive to Baltimore to the school the next day. He’d given her only one day’s notice. One day. He’d been planning this behind her back all summer!
That night, she crawled out of the laundry room window and ran away. If her father didn’t want her around, fine. But she wasn’t going to some stupid school. The problem was, she had no idea where else to go. So she ended up on her favorite perch on the high school bleachers.
She’d been there a few hours when Sawyer showed up. It was after midnight, but suddenly there he was, walking around the track. The moon was out and he was wearing white shorts and a white polo, so she could see him clearly from her seat.
She didn’t move, so she didn’t know what made him look up. But he did, and her breath caught, as it did every time he looked at her in school.
They stared at each other for a long moment. Then he crossed the track and walked up the bleachers toward her.
Sawyer had never approached her before, but he had always watched her at school. A lot of people watched her, so that in itself wasn’t unusual. But he was always so deliberate about it. She’d often wondered if that was why she had these strange feelings for him, because she thought he really saw her.
He came to a stop in front of her. “Do you mind if I sit?”
She shrugged.
He sat, but didn’t say anything more for a while. “Do you come out here at night a lot?” he finally asked.
“No.”
“I didn’t think so. I’ve walked around this track at night all summer, and I’ve never seen you, like I do during the school year.” She wondered why he walked the track at night. She was too nervous to ask. “Are you ready for school to start?”
She suddenly stood. Being this close to him made her heart feel lighter. He made her whole world seem lighter. But it was all a horrible illusion. “I’ve got to go.”
“Where are you going?” he asked as she clomped down the bleachers in her heavy black boots.
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll walk you,” he said as he stood and followed her.
“No.”
“I’m not going to let you walk alone at this time of night.”
She stepped off the last bleacher and walked across the track to the football field. She looked over her shoulder. “Stop following me.” Once she reached the middle of the field, she looked back again. “I said, stop following me.”
“I’m not letting you walk alone.”
That made her stop and turn to him. “What is the matter with you? Stop being so… so…”
“What?”
“Nice to me.” She lowered herself to the ground and sat cross-legged. “I’m sitting here until you go away.” This didn’t exactly have the effect she wanted. “Don’t sit beside me. Don’t…” She sighed when Sawyer sat beside her, right there on the fifty-yard line.
“What is the matter with you?” he asked.
She looked away. “My dad is sending me away to boarding school tomorrow.”
“You’re leaving?” he asked incredulously.
She nodded.
He pulled at some of the grassy turf around them. Finally he said, “Can I tell you something?”
“Not unless it’s goodbye.”
“Stop being such a smart-ass.” That made her swing her head around. Her father and Beverly had been treading so lightly around her all summer that it was surprising to hear someone willing to call her on her attitude. “This past year, sometimes I would get up in the mornings and actually look forward to going to school because I knew I would see you. I would wonder what you were going to wear. I loved lunch because I could sit in the cafeteria and look out the window and see you up there on the bleachers. I’ve been looking for you all summer. Where have you been?”
Her mouth gaped and she felt like punching him on the arm. He had a girlfriend named Holly who, despite being in Dulcie Shelby’s group Sassafras, was mostly nice. And they’d been going together forever. People even referred to them as a single entity. Sawyernholly. “What is wrong with you?” Julia said. “You and Holly belong together. You match.”
“I’m just saying I’m sorry I never talked to you. I’ve always wanted to. I’ve always wanted…” His eyes went to her lips, and she was suddenly very aware of how close they were, of how he was leaning in toward her.
His lips were inches from hers when she turned away. “Go away, Sawyer. Go back to your nice, perfect life.” She felt tears come to her eyes, and she wiped at them with the back of her hands. They came away streaked with her thick black eyeliner. The tears kept coming and she kept wiping her face, knowing she was making it worse. God, why didn’t Sawyer just go and leave her to her ugly misery?
Sawyer very calmly took off his white polo shirt and handed it
to her. “Go on. Use it.”
She reluctantly took it and scrubbed her face with the shirt. It smelled like something green and fresh-like flower stems.
When she finally stopped crying, she looked at the shirt in her hands. She balled it up, embarrassed. She’d ruined it. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t care about the shirt. Are you going to be okay?”
“I don’t know.” And her eyes started watering again. “I don’t want to go away to school. But my dad doesn’t want me anymore. He has Beverly now.” The school had been Beverly’s idea, of course. Why couldn’t she have just kept her mouth shut about the cuts?
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Sawyer said.
She just shook her head. He didn’t understand, after all.
He reached over to her and hesitantly pushed some of her crisp pink hair behind her ear. “I forgot what you looked like without makeup.”
“I disappear.”
“No. You’re beautiful.”
She didn’t believe him. She couldn’t believe him. “Go to hell, Sawyer.”
“You can believe whatever you want. But I don’t lie.”
“Of course you don’t. You’re perfect.” She paused, then turned to him. “You think I’m beautiful?”
“I’ve always thought that.”
“What about these?” she said, drawing up the sleeves of the button-down she was wearing. She showed him the lines on her arms. Her father and Beverly had emptied her room of any sharp objects, like she was a toddler, so many of the deeper cuts were healed over, but she would still use her fingernails when she got anxious. “Do you think these are beautiful?”
Sawyer actually recoiled, which was exactly what she wanted him to do. It was proof. She really was unlovable. “Christ. Did you do that to yourself?”
She pulled the sleeves down. “Yes.”
She expected him to leave her then, but he didn’t. They sat in silence for a long time. Finally she got tired and leaned back so that she was stretched out on the ground. He watched her, then slowly lowered himself back beside her.
The Girl Who Chased the Moon Page 6
