A Bird on a Windowsill

by Laura Miller

  “Well, I think I just expected everyone and everything just to freeze when I left,” I say. “But they didn’t.” I smile to myself. “I think I half-expected it all to look exactly the same when I got back. But in the end, everything just kept moving on and growing up without me, I guess. And I think I just lost my place. And now, I’m just trying to figure out where I fit in again.”

  He’s nodding when I finish.

  “But I do love it here,” I say.

  “I can tell.”

  He makes a face then, as if a thought gets stuck in his throat.

  “What?”

  His eyes wander off the road and onto me.

  “I hope you don’t mind me asking.”

  “No, go for it. I ask people questions all day. I suppose it’s only fair I get asked one every now and then.”

  “Yeah,” he says. “I guess that’s fair.”

  He makes sure to look into my eyes when he smiles next. And I swear, something in me melts a little.

  “Is there something going on with you and Salem Ebenezer?”

  Without even thinking, I instantly take in a sharp breath and force my attention outside the passenger’s window. Tree after tree floats by. I’m not sure what I was expecting his question to be, but I’m pretty sure that wasn’t even on my radar.

  “No,” I say.

  He nods, as if he’s weighing my answer.

  “Okay, I just had to ask. He was acting strange the other day. I didn’t know.”

  “No, I know,” I say. “We grew up together. That’s all.”

  I notice his wide smile.

  “What?” I’m hesitant to ask, but my curiosity is too much for me sometimes.

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” he says. “I just know how that goes.”

  I turn my focus to the side window again for a split-second. “How what goes?”

  “Oh, I just grew up with someone, too. A girl. We spent every waking minute together.”

  “What happened?”

  He clears his throat. “I moved away...for a job, for a change. We gradually lost contact. Last I heard, she was living in Chicago.”

  I nod, not really knowing what to say.

  “Do you miss her?”

  He shrugs. “I miss our friendship sometimes, I guess.” He finds my eyes. “But no, I don’t miss her. I’ve come to learn that letting your past dictate your future is pretty messy business.”

  I smile, but I don’t really feel it, as my stare gravitates toward my window again. “You’re probably right about that one,” I agree.

  Tree after tree just keeps floating on by. Meanwhile, I’m trying to tell myself his comment didn’t sound more like a warning.

  “Do you like French?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Food. I guess I should have asked that earlier.”

  “No, it’s fine. I like any food.”

  “Good,” he says. “I think you’ll like this place.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Savannah

  (23 Years Old)

  Day 6,621

  “Why the long face?”

  Salem’s downtrodden expression doesn’t change, as he takes a seat in the old recliner.

  “Bad day.” He says the words and then casts his eyes to the floor.

  “O-kay.”

  I type out another sentence on my computer before I lose my thought. Then I stop and look over at him.

  He’s sitting there, slumped over, with his head down.

  “You want to talk about it?”

  Slowly, his gaze wanders up to mine, and if I’m not mistaken, he smiles.

  “I’ve just got a lot on my mind today. That’s all.”

  “Like...?”

  “Like things I should have done, things I shouldn’t have done. That kind of stuff.”

  I sit back in my chair.

  “Have you ever watched a train go by?” I ask.

  He looks up at me blankly while seconds tick out of that old black and white clock on the wall.

  “Yeah, of course,” he eventually answers.

  “Well, have you heard the way the rails hiss after it’s gone?”

  He seems to consider it. “Yeah, I think so.”

  “It’s the sound of the wheels hitting the inside of the track,” I say.

  “Okay,” he says, nodding.

  “But the thing is,” I go on, “the sound is with the train. It’s not the tracks themselves. And eventually, the train gets far enough away that you can’t hear the hissing sound from the wheels anymore. But my point is that we think the hissing sound is coming from the rails the train leaves behind. But the sound is really coming from the train.”

  I stop, and he just stares back at me with knitted brows.

  “Am I supposed to know what that means?”

  His silly laugh makes me smile.

  “It means the train’s gone, Salem. Quit worrying about it. You’re just hearing the sounds of the old things echoing back. But they’re not really there. They’re gone. They’re with the train. And now, all you can do is focus on what’s right in front of you.”

  He doesn’t say anything. He just starts chewing on the inside of his cheek.

  “Does that help?” I ask, hesitantly.

  “Yeah, unfortunately, it does.” He stops gnawing on his cheek and refits his cap over his head.

  I notice my laptop went to sleep somewhere in our conversation, so I close it. And when I look up again, his eyes are on me.

  My breaths get short as I get lost in his familiar stare. I can’t know what he’s talking about. But this whole conversation has me thinking about us—about what we were, about what we could have been, about what we’ll never be. It makes my heart ache, knowing that there’s a train out there with all our memories on it, and it just keeps moving down that track, getting farther and farther away.

  I pause before I say my next words.

  “Eben, can I ask you something?”

  “Shoot,” he says.

  “Why did you keep the key?”

  A crooked smile finds his face. “You haven’t given up on findin’ that star tower, have you?”

  I hold my stare in his, trying my best to playfully scold him without saying a word.

  He drops his gaze and shakes his head. “I don’t know. Maybe I wanted to hold onto my childhood. Or maybe,” he says, looking back up at me, “I wanted to hold onto you.”

  I freeze.

  “You were the first girl to ever give me a piece of her treasure,” he says.

  With that, I relax again and feel a small smile returning to my lips.

  “I put it on a chain after you left that first time, back when we were in high school. I’ve worn it ever since.”

  I nod, refusing to say anything—still just taking it all in.

  “Well,” he says, hitting both arms of the blue chair with the palms of his hands. “I best be going.”

  I watch him get up and walk to the door. But then he stops, turns and covers his mouth with his fist.

  “How do you get over somebody?”

  My eyes ask him the question before my voice ever does.

  “What?”

  He glances down at the carpet and then quickly peers back up at me from underneath the bill of his cap. “I mean, how do you get over somebody...you love?”

  I know I must have a stunned look plastered to my face.

  “It’s for Dillon.”

  “Oh.” I feel my heart restart again. “But...Tracy does actually like him, you know?”

  “Really?” He looks genuinely surprised.

  “Yeah.”

  “Huh.” His eyes wander up to the ceiling. And then he pauses before he gets his next words out. “But just for shits and grins...”

  It takes me a second to realize he still wants an answer. “Oh,” I say, dropping my gaze to the surface of my desk. “How do I move on?”

  “Yeah, I mean, you’ve been in relationships before.”

  I feel my chest inflate with a
breath.

  “Well, you’ve been in a couple, too.”

  “Yeah, but I was never... I just want to know how you did it.” His words come out rushed.

  “Okay. Well, I guess...” He meets my stare. “I guess you just keep breathing.”

  “Breathing?”

  “Yeah,” I say, “and one day, you notice that you’re not breathing for them anymore.”

  Something in his look—some little, unguarded part—freezes on his face.

  “Who are you breathin’ for, Vannah?”

  His eyes are locked on mine, until I drop my gaze to the desk again. And then I shrug.

  “Myself, I guess.”

  He’s nodding when I look up. There’s a thoughtful look in his eyes, but it’s also kind of sad, in a way. Long, silent, tense moments pass between us. I don’t know what to say, so I just don’t say anything.

  “So just keep breathin’?” he asks, eventually.

  I think about it for a second and then nod. And then I watch his chest rise and then slowly fall.

  “Eben?”

  His eyes meet mine.

  “You can’t love someone well, until you’re breathing for yourself first.”

  He keeps his eyes on me, but I can’t read them.

  “Thanks, Vannah.”

  And with that, he slips through the door and into the evening, as the sound of that little bell ricochets through the office.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Savannah

  (23 Years Old)

  Day 6,635

  “I’m coming out of the grocery store with some lunch when I see Eben. And I’m about to call out his name, but then I stop. There’s someone else with him.

  It’s Anna.

  I don’t move. I don’t call for him. Instead, I watch them. I don’t even think I mean to; I just do it.

  They’re laughing. My eyes follow his hand as he pushes her hair back from her face. And then she presses her nose to his and gives him a kiss on the lips. And that’s when I look away. And before I know it, my legs are carrying me in the opposite direction.

  “Savannah.”

  I hear my name, and instantly, my eyelids fall over my eyes. God, if you ever thought about giving me the power of invisibility, this would be a good time.

  Reluctantly, I start to turn. And when I get all the way back around, I see him and Anna walking toward me.

  I adjust the paper bag in my arms.

  “I’m not sure if you guys have officially met,” Salem says, when they reach me.

  He looks nervous.

  “Anna, this is Savannah.”

  I hold out my hand.

  “Hi,” I say.

  She takes my hand. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

  I’m curious as to what she’s heard.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you, too,” I say, not really knowing if that’s true or not.

  There’s an awkward pause, and then Anna spins around and faces Salem. “Well, honey, I’m going to be late. I should go. I’ll see you later.” He squeezes her forearm and gives her a sweet smile.

  I shouldn’t, but I envy her for that smile and the way he touches her arm.

  “It was nice to meet you,” Anna says, right before she turns to leave.

  “You, too,” I say.

  My eyes mindlessly follow her, until she disappears behind the building.

  “Are you heading back to work?”

  I hear him, but I don’t think I register the fact that he’s directing his question at me.

  “Savannah?”

  “Hmm?” I say, almost as if I’m waking up from a daydream.

  “Are you going back to the office?”

  “Uh, yeah,” I say, nodding once.

  “Can I walk you back?”

  “No. It’s okay.”

  “But I want to.”

  I find his eyes, mostly, I think, because I’m a little caught off guard by his eagerness.

  “I need some relationship advice,” he whispers, covering his mouth with his hand.

  I breathe in deeply and instantly breathe out a cautious smile.

  “Please,” he begs, playfully.

  “Okay. Okay, fine.”

  We start to walk. And he shoves his hands into his pockets and sighs. I look up at him, but he doesn’t look at me.

  “What is wrong with you?”

  “What?” A shocked look blankets his face.

  “Why would you think something’s wrong with me?”

  “Because you’re acting weird.”

  “I’m acting weird?”

  I nod, as if it’s clearly obvious. “Yeah.”

  He laughs, takes his hands out of his pockets and grabs the paper grocery bag from my arms.

  “Why did you never put the ad for my truck in the paper?”

  I eye him suspiciously. “I thought you needed relationship advice.”

  “I do. But that first.”

  I try my best to hide my smile. “I forgot.”

  “It’s your job, Vannah. You didn’t forget.”

  I shrug. “I don’t think you should sell it.”

  I glance up at him. There’s a crooked grin on his face now.

  “It’s a good truck,” I say. “It still runs. You should keep it.”

  His crooked grin turns knowing, all of a sudden, and I’m not quite sure if I’m thankful or wary of that.

  “Anyway. What’s your relationship question?”

  He gets quiet and goes to biting the inside of his cheek.

  “She thinks I love you.”

  Suddenly, I feel the color in my face draining into the gray sidewalk at our feet.

  “What?”

  “She thinks I love you,” he repeats, but this time, slower. “Like, really love you.”

  We walk a few more steps in our silence.

  “Why?” It’s all I can think to ask. “Why does she think that?”

  “I don’t know...because you’ve been my friend all my life, because I talk about you, because you’re here...”

  “Wait.” I stop and face him. “Why do you talk about me to her?”

  He shrugs and stops, too. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  I let go of some air I think I had been holding deep inside my chest.

  “Well, did you tell her we’re just friends?”

  He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even move. He just keeps his head down, his eyes on the sidewalk.

  The conversation is getting awkward fast. I don’t know what he’s thinking. I have no idea what to say.

  “Okay,” I say, starting to walk again. “Tell her... Tell her you love her. Tell her you’d choose her over me every day for the rest of your life.”

  I hate my words. But I love him more.

  He’s walking too, now, but he’s also shaking his head slowly back and forth.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I can’t tell her that.”

  “What? Why?”

  He seems to ignore my question.

  “You’re seeing Jake Buckler, aren’t you?”

  His mood has shifted. He seems agitated, all of a sudden.

  “What?”

  “Jake,” he says. “You’re seeing him.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Yes, we went on a date. But that’s not really any of your business.”

  He pushes out a fake laugh. “Vannah, you’ve been my business since Day One.”

  We get to the door of the office, and we both stop while I root in my purse for the keys.

  “Salem, go talk to your girlfriend.” The word girlfriend comes out of my mouth sounding as if it’s a four-letter word. It surprises even me. I don’t think I meant it to.

  He lets go of a sigh, just as I’m getting the door open. Then he follows me inside and sets the bag onto the front counter.

  “Go,” I say, facing him.

  “Okay, okay. I’m going.”

  “And tell her,” I say, a little too angrily.

  He meets my gaze, and something in his eyes
asks me: Why? Why are you upset? I ignore it, though. And after several moments, he tips his cap and then turns to leave.

  And a second later, he’s slipping out the door.

  I watch him from the window.

  I really wish I knew more about what was going on in his head these days. I used to know that; I used to be able to read his mind.

  But I do know that he loves her. He loves Anna. It hurts to admit it. It hurts to see him love someone else. But what can I do? I’m the reason we didn’t talk for six years. I’m the one who never wrote him back. And anyway, I keep telling myself that if he loved me, he wouldn’t be with her. No matter what he says or doesn’t say, if he loved me, he’d be with me.

  I watch him get into his truck in front of the grocery store, two parking lots away. Then after a second, the truck reverses, and my eyes follow it down the street, until I can’t see it anymore.

  I should probably start taking my own advice.

  “The train is gone,” I whisper under my breath.

  I should move on.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Savannah

  (23 Years Old)

  “Pizza delivery.”

  I hear two knocks on the door, and it makes me jump. But then, before I know it, I’m flying off the couch and standing in front of the mirror in the hall.

  I smooth back my hair and smile, making sure there’s nothing in my teeth, before heading to the door. But I get halfway there, and I stop.

  There’s a vampire book sitting on the table. And I’m not quite sure why, but I feel the need to hide it.

  I pick up the book and stuff it in between Anne of Green Gables and The Great Gatsby on the bookshelf. And as I’m walking back to the door, I notice the Polaroids are gone. I thought for sure I had put them underneath that book.

  I hear another knock, and I forget all about the photos and rush toward it.

  “Hi,” I say, opening the door to a handsome man.

  “One large pepperoni pizza,” he says, smiling back at me.

  “Thank you.” I take the pizza and start to close the door.

  “What?” He puts his hand to the door. “No tip?”

  I laugh. “Where are my manners?” I shove my hand into my jeans pocket and pull out an old gum wrapper.

  “Will this do?” I ask, holding the wrapper out.

  He looks at it and shakes his head while a devilish grin plays on his face. Something about his look makes me swoon.