by Hart, A.
I smiled. “Thanks!” She waved her hand at me as I began to walk back. “You’ll do great, Dear.”
I got my coffee and donut from the breakroom, talked to a couple of the other teachers that I had gotten to know over the last week, and walked back to my room. It felt very important, like I was about to conquer the world. Maybe it was being in a new place, or maybe it was returning back to work after a long summer off, but I was ready to shape some little minds.
After I set up the classroom and finished my treats I took a final, deep breath. This was it. I stood, propping the door open as the bell rang, and I waited for the sound of children. A moment later, I was greeted by a long line of smiling little children, with backpacks that were as big as them, and nervous parents kissing them goodbye. I smiled, genuinely happy to see the kids’ little faces, and waved to the parents.
“Good Morning. We’re going to have a great day.” The parents all nervously smiled back at me and then, with watching eyes, slowly began to leave. Luckily I only had one crier, who clung to her Mom, but I quickly made her feel comfortable with my bubbly teacher voice and then paired her with a friend she knew to walk her inside. Mom was grateful and shook my hand.
This was always my favorite part, getting to know the kiddos as little humans with big futures, futures that I would start the path for. No pressure or anything. I got down on my knees so I could be at their eye level. As they came up to me, I shook their hands and told them my name and then asked for theirs. After they said their names, I gave each one a unique compliment—their smile, their hair, their shoes—and asked them to sit on the circle carpet. Pleased with me, they each smiled and glided to where they needed to go. I could do this, I could do five-year-olds, and if I was honest with myself, deep in my mind, I was still five myself.
The days went by easily and I was getting quite used to my rambunctious class. I was now about a week and a half into my new teaching position. Charlotte was loving her preschool program and we were spending a lot of time either at Aunt Jules’s or at Emerson and Cal’s. Last night we had gone to a BBQ at Emerson’s house, and Charlotte got to ride one of their horses. She thought that was just about the coolest thing on the planet and insisted on telling everyone when I dropped her off at school this morning. Unfortunately, our night out meant I procrastinated on lesson plans, so I would stay an extra couple of hours at work today catching up. Jules had already picked Charlotte up early today for a late summer swim.
I sat at my messy desk, staring at my lesson plans for the week. Even with everything going on with my new job and my second job of single mom, I couldn’t get Sawyer out of my mind. I tried not to think about him and about how good it had felt to be in his arms again. Although he was capable of making my knees feel weak, I myself never felt weak with him. Sawyer always made me feel stronger when I was by his side, like we could face anything together, like I was capable of things I knew I wasn’t. I sighed and tried to focus again on my work. I had lesson plans and art projects that needed to be strategized, not to mention our upcoming field trips.
In kindergarten, one of the social studies topics is community helpers. In the unit, we go over all of the different jobs that are in a community and why they’re important. It’s also where the famous “What I want to be when I grow up” unit is in the curriculum. We had the honor of going to the Wheatland Police Department last week, and this week was the Lincoln Fire Department. I had called the Wheatland Fire Department, but they said that since their department consisted of one room and one truck, the classes usually took the twelve mile drive to Lincoln, which just happened to be where I had run into Sawyer the other night.
I wasn’t sure if the possibility of running into him again excited me or scared me. However, I truly doubted he would be at or near the fire department. I always saw Sawyer being a lawyer like his father. I wonder if he followed in his dad’s footsteps? I frowned to myself. Sadly, I gave up the right to know what he became when I left all those years ago. The questions about him wouldn’t stop running through my mind, though, as if I had no control. What was he doing in California? Did he find me, or was it the most insane coincidence in the history of man? I wasn’t sure, but I felt this drive to know. I knew that was bad. I yelled at myself in my mind. No, Megan, just leave it alone, leave him alone!
I took a deep breath and focused back on my lesson plans. I was trying to fit in as many community helper field trips as possible, because the kids absolutely loved them. They loved this unit in general. Next week was the veterinarian’s office and then we were going to the post office. I had a class of twenty-five students, and over half of them were boys. Almost all of my boys wanted to be police officers or firefighters. One very spunky girl also wanted to be a firefighter. The girls either wanted to be a veterinarian or a teacher, and then there was Jason. He wanted to be driver for the Postal Service, just like his dad. I thought that was just about the cutest thing I had ever heard. I was working hard to make sure all of my little impressionable souls were covered, because I wanted each one to feel special since to me, they were. Seeing their smiling, giddy faces was worth the many hours of extra work putting it all together.
I wonder what Sawyer is doing right now? God, woman. No! Just stop.
Chapter Ten
Sawyer
I sat up with the sun beating through my window and the sound of Ralph, my overzealous rooster, screeching in through my open window. As I got up to close the window, I realized my feet were trapped under the blanket by something heavy and warm. I looked down at all 75 pounds of golden fluff weighing me down. “Chase, I need to get up.” My golden retriever yawned and then slowly plopped off the bed, leaving behind a pile of gold hair on my blanket. “Thanks.” I mumbled. Chase had been my pal for almost 8 years now. I found him shortly after Megan left. He was just a wet, matted, tiny furball then, but he definitely wasn’t tiny anymore.
He had quickly become my best friend. We would go fishing, hiking, kayaking and bike riding; we’d watch old westerns or Tremors, and we both enjoyed running—well, Chase enjoyed chasing more than running. In fact, Chase got his name because only a week after I rescued him, we went on a hike. When Chase saw a herd of cattle, he chased them. Not even five minutes later, we came across a couple of deer, and he chased them, too. After chasing my three-month-old puppy, I decided that only one name truly fit him.
I closed the window as a gust of warm wind brushed over my body. I padded down the hall, following the click of Chase’s nails on the wood. He stopped at the back door and whined. “Yeah, yeah. Hold on, Buddy.” I opened the door and Chase rushed out. Just as quickly as Chase was out the door, Buck, my horse, nudged his head in the door. I watched as Chase chased the geese, just as he did every morning. Then Chase went after Roger the Rooster, who ran for his life, just like every morning. Buck was an old horse that I inherited with the land. When the owners tried to move, Buck refused to go. He had been on the land for over two decades, so the sellers put a new contingency that the land was mine, if I kept the old man.
The owners said the geese had flown in a couple of years ago and were supposed to migrate with the rest, but for some reason they stayed on the land. So they became part of the package deal as well. Then there was Roger, who didn’t seem to want to stay, but the owners said they didn’t want a rooster anymore. Although I wasn’t sure if I wanted one either, something inside me cracked a little when they said those words. I couldn’t just toss the guy out, so although he was sometimes quite annoying, he too became a part of my home. I didn’t mind having a little extra company, and Chase loved it. In fact, old Buck and Chase became good pals.
“Hey Buck, how’s it going?” I rubbed his nose as he neighed in response. I gave him an apple, and then he was on his way, trotting slowly after Chase. He was pretty limber for an old horse. I yawned as I began making coffee, which was very much needed. I had worked forty-eight hours and only took twelve off to come home for a little bit. Now I was going back in for another forty-eight. I
was one of the only bachelors, so I decided that I didn’t mind picking up extra shifts. My Aunt would come and take care of the animals each day when I was on long shifts. It usually helped me keep my mind off of Megan. Plus, my uncle allowed me to bring Chase in with me.
I got Chase certified as a rescue dog, so technically he was on the staff. As if the thought of him summoned him inside, Chase came running in with the morning paper, the two geese chasing after him. “Hey, Gary, Gert, no mud on the floors!” The geese squawked at me and waddled out the door. I shook my head at myself. As I sipped my coffee, I picked up the paper and almost choked when I saw who was on the front page.
Local Southern Baptist Church Celebrated Fallen Soldier, Sergeant Charles Maxwell, with homecoming of his Wife and Daughter.
A picture of Megan, holding a little blonde girl in a summer dress and standing in front of the Church, was underneath. Next to it was a faraway picture of her late husband in full combat gear. Under the picture were details of his life and death. I took a deep breath. My hands shook and I swallowed hard. She had been married, but not to the guy at the club. I squinted a little harder and saw the same guy from the club standing not too far behind her in the picture. I wasn’t sure who he was, but I didn’t like the way he treated her the other night. A sense of relief washed over me. I now knew that she was okay. Well, not really. Her husband died, which was tragic, but it seemed that they had a good life, that she had been safe, but this wasn’t exactly enough evidence to prove anything.
Megan Maxwell. My heart lurched. She wasn’t Megan Santos anymore. She wasn’t my Megan anymore. She belonged to someone else, and although he had passed away, her heart belonged to him and because I knew Megan too well, I knew that her heart most likely always would. My best friend, who I had fallen head over heels for, wasn’t mine. I swallowed hard again, feeling like I was swallowing sandpaper. I knew she left eight years ago, but she hadn’t felt truly gone, not until now. A little piece of my heart broke and, as if I weren’t in enough pain, I stilled at the realization of what Megan was going through alone. She lost her husband and was now a single mother. Shit. I knew that hit a chord in her soul that hurt. I knew this would be harder for her than most. I hated that I wasn’t there for her when she needed me.
I shook my head as I read the heroic story of her husband’s death and how he saved his fellow soldier’s life. I took a deep breath. I was happy that she had found him and then sad that she had lost him. A little pain flickered in my gut again. Megan had already had a hard life. She had obviously finally found a family, and then this happened to her. She didn’t deserve it. She deserved to be happy, even if it wasn’t with me. I sighed. The little girl looked like a perfect mixture of the two, and she had her mom’s smile.
She was here in California. The other night wasn’t a fluke. This paper was from the town over, but since I lived out in the country where the borders blended, I had the neighbor boy pick me up both papers and leave them on my driveway when he could. She was probably only miles away from me, and the thought both excited and terrified me. What did any of this mean? When I found her, what would I do? I couldn’t not take the time to find her, not when I was this close. I can’t believe I just let her leave the bar the other night.
I had promised myself so many times that I wouldn’t do that, but when the time came I was too in shock to think clearly. I had told myself I learned a lesson: not to let the things I loved slip through my fingers, and yet here I was, standing in my kitchen, thinking about how I messed up again. The thing is that I never thought it would actually happen. It had always been a vision of mine, but one that seemed more like a dream. I had thought I had seen her so many times in the last eight years that I didn’t truly believe it until it was too late and she was being carried away. Nothing felt real until I’d watched her leave again.
Having her in my arms again, kissing her like I’d wanted to do every night for the last eight years, was the best moment of my life. The best I could do was hope that our paths crossed again soon. I chuckled lightly to myself. I had read a book on the law of attraction just for the fun of it one day; my uncle swore by it. The theory was that if you focused enough time and energy on thoughts, they would come true. Maybe it worked, because God knew I spent every waking moment thinking of Megan. She was too close not to find. I would ask around. Heck, I would go to church next Sunday if I had to. She was here, and it would happen. First, I needed to figure out what I was going to say.
I looked back down to the paper and stared at the picture once more. I felt a slight sense of guilt thinking it, but maybe there was still room for me in her heart? God, that sounds terrible. She lost her husband, and here I was trying to snake my way back into her heart. I cracked my neck at the ways it made me feel like a total ass, and then I decided I didn’t care. Her husband’s death was awful, and I truly wished it never happened, but it did, and he was gone. I cracked my neck again and winced. I knew the moment I saw her in the club that I hadn’t stopped loving her. The kiss we shared the night she left had rocked my world. I had spent almost an entire decade looking for that spark again. No woman was able to hold a candle to Megan. She had made me want to be a better man that night, and I had never stopped. Maybe if I was better, she would come back.
I shook my head as I sipped my coffee and placed the paper on the counter. “Small world” didn’t even begin to explain it. I remembered reading something about things happening for a reason and couldn’t help the tiny smirk that played on my lips at the irony. My dad always said God had two things: a plan and a good sense of humor. I laughed lightly as I took another sip of my coffee. In this case, God had both. Suddenly, my alarm went off on my phone. “Shit.” Chase came running inside, wagging his tail, completely aware of what time it was. I slammed my coffee back, placed my mug in the sink and headed to the door. I still needed to feed Buck before I left. I decided I had enough time to take a quick shower before I headed to work. I had plenty of time to think about how to go about this whole Megan thing during my shift.
Chapter Eleven
Megan
I yawned for the hundredth time in the hour I had been awake. I sat in the Bronco in the parking lot of my school for a moment. I decided that I needed to make sure I didn’t look like as much of a zombie as I felt. I laughed as the memory of a ten-year-old Sawyer, in a zombie costume for Halloween, popped into my mind. Then, as heat flushed my cheeks, I pushed that thought away. I had walked away from him for a reason. I couldn’t give him what he deserved then, and I sure as hell couldn’t now. I wasn’t sure why he was in Lincoln the other night, and to be honest, I was starting to believe that maybe I dreamt the whole thing. If I didn’t, well then, that was even scarier. I couldn’t be near him. He had a power over me that was too much to bear. I didn’t leave my bubble that was Wheatland often, nor did I plan to. I wouldn’t see him again. The thought made me relieved and sad at the same time.
I pulled down the visor to check myself out in the mirror, and something fell onto my lap. I looked down and was blinded when the sun reflected off of something small and shiny. I grabbed the object off of my lap and stared at it. It was a small purple and white shell. I smiled. Charles, you really know how to make a girl miss you. I completely forgot about the small shell Charles had tucked into his visor years ago for “good luck”.
Almost eight years ago, Charles and I had met in a diner outside of Fort Benning, Georgia. He had a couple of weeks’ leave after airborne school and offered to accompany me on my small journey to Florida. I was running out of money and out of strength to stay away from Sawyer. I didn’t mind the financial help, company or distraction. Still, it seemed odd for me to accept help and company from a strange guy. The thing was, he wasn’t a strange guy. I knew he was good from the moment I met him. I knew bad guys well. I had a great creeper meter. Looking back now, I know that Charles had a piece of my heart from the second I laid my eyes on him.
My plan at the time was to start over in Panama City, maybe get a
job as a waitress. I had been sure that Sawyer would have found me there. I remember being surprised that he hadn’t found me yet. I was starting to think that maybe he listened to me, and he didn’t even try to find me. That was what I had wanted—at least, I told myself that’s what I wanted. I wanted him to be happy and safe. Still, the thought that maybe he believed me shot a sharp pain through my stomach and up into my throat. Maybe he didn’t know me as well as I thought he did. I didn’t want him to find me for his benefit, but I wanted him to find me for my own. I kept waiting for him to show up. I remember having mental battles with myself because if Sawyer found me, I would have gone with him, and that wasn’t the best for him. That’s all I wanted . . . the best for Sawyer, always.
Sawyer had already lost his parents. If I had stayed with him, if I had gone with him when he showed up to get me, he would have lost everything else. It would have been all my fault. That was why I needed to start over. I had figured the high turnover city of Panama City would do for a while. I could recreate myself, and no one would ever know. I could be anyone I wanted. Heck, I could change who I was weekly if need be.
When Charles and I got to Panama City, he went and looked at apartments with me and even helped me find waitress openings. We went out to eat, went to the beach every day, and spent every waking moment enjoying each other’s company. All the while, I expected Sawyer to show up, knowing I would probably go with him and leave Charles behind. I thought of Sawyer a lot, but I also found myself letting him go as I clung to Charles. The first memory of when I began to fall for Charles revolved around the tiny shell I now held in my hand, in Charles’s beloved Bronco. My mind flashed to the significance of the tiny shell I held so tightly, and suddenly I was in the past.
