A Bird on a Windowsill

by Laura Miller

  I could get used to Jake Buckler.

  I could easily fall for Jake Buckler.

  And just maybe...just maybe, I already have.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Savannah

  (23 Years Old)

  Day 6,677

  “I’m sitting at my desk at the office when I hear a knock on the door. It’s late. I find sometimes it’s best to work at night. There’s fewer distractions that way.

  I stand up and cautiously walk out into the main room. The door’s locked. And there’s probably no good reason why someone should be knocking on it right about now.

  I glance at the baseball bat in the corner. I bought it after the first night I spent in here writing until three in the morning. I never intended to use it—the crime section in this town usually entails the latest police force’s rant about not parking on the grass downtown or reminding kids that curfew is midnight.

  Nevertheless, I feel my heart rate speed up. Outside, it’s a starless sky—cloudy and the blackest of dark. I know it because I stepped outside just an hour ago to get some fresh air.

  I get halfway across the room and try to make out the dark figure through the glass on the other side of the door.

  “Savannah. It’s Salem.” I hear the voice before I’m even able to make anything else out.

  “Salem?”

  I’m relieved it’s just him; I feel my heart start to slow again.

  I get the door open, and he just stands there—stiff and disheveled. His hair is a little longer than usual, and it’s sticking out every which way from under a red, faded baseball cap. There are shadows under his eyes, and his stare is directed toward his sawdust-covered work boots. And he’s holding the safe.

  I back up to let him in the door.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He shakes his head but doesn’t say anything.

  I’m a little thrown off. I glance at the black and white clock on the wall. It reads 1:10.

  I get the door closed behind him. Meanwhile, he goes straight back to my office and sets the safe down in its place in the corner of the room.

  “I got it open.”

  He’s already sitting in the blue recliner when I join him in my office.

  “Really?” I go to the safe. “How?”

  “It wasn’t a problem.”

  I look up at him, and he smiles for the first time tonight.

  “Turns out, I had the key.”

  I glance at the unharmed safe, and then quickly, my stare is back on him.

  He’s dangling his chain with the key at the end of it from his fingers.

  “No,” I say, in disbelief.

  He sets the chain onto the corner of my desk.

  “That key was for this safe?” I ask, pointing first at the key and then at the safe.

  “Yep.”

  “Huh.” I stare at the little safe. “I had no idea.”

  I’m silent for a second, as I bite at my bottom lip, trying to remember the day I found the key.

  “I hope Uncle Lester wasn’t looking for it this whole time. I found it in the broom closet. I thought it was just some old key. Now, I feel bad.”

  “Nah,” he says, shaking his head. “He just might have known I had it.”

  My eyes find his.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He saw me wearing it once.”

  “He did?”

  “Yeah, when we were in high school—when you came back from South Carolina that summer.”

  “Wait. Was there something in there? Is that why you’re here?”

  He shakes his head, even before I get it all out.

  “No, no.” He takes off his cap and runs his fingers through his messy curls and then sighs.

  “But you have to tell me,” he says.

  “What?”

  “I know you’ve been seeing Jake Buckler. I saw you guys out last weekend.”

  I sit down on the floor next to the safe, bring my knees up to my chest and press my back against the wall.

  “Okay,” I say.

  He seems distracted.

  “I think I’m in love with you.”

  Everything in me freezes up—my muscles, my words, my thoughts.

  “You think...you’re in love with me?”

  “I think I know...” He stops.

  I’m breathing. I know I’m breathing—only because I can feel my chest moving. But I’m not getting any air. I push myself up from the floor and walk to the door—if only just to get a breath.

  “I know...,” he says. “I know this is crazy.”

  I glance at the clock. 1:15.

  “Anna? Does she...?”

  He averts his gaze to the brown, speckled carpet.

  “She doesn’t know I’m here.” He anxiously rubs the back of his neck.

  “Salem.” I sullenly breathe out his name.

  “I know. I know this is a stretch, but I just... I just don’t want any regrets. If we have a chance... If there’s a chance, Vannah, for you and me...”

  My eyes slowly find the floor. This moment, it feels so raw, as if I tried to touch it, it would bleed. This is what I wanted. When I was twelve, this is what I wanted. When I was sixteen, this is what I wanted. When I got back here, this is what I wanted. He is what I wanted. But tonight, it just feels wrong, as if we’re trying to fit the sun into the moon.

  “At least, we can give it a chance, Vannah.”

  I find his eyes. They’re soft and sincere, and they’re pleading with me. I want to say yes. I want to scream it as loud as I can. But I don’t.

  “Can I ask you something?” I ask.

  “Yeah, sure, anything.”

  “Is this because of Jake? Are you here because of him?”

  His eyes descend to his boots. And then there’s silence.

  His quiet is a knife to my heart. And from somewhere I hear the words of my grandmother float into my mind like an ominous cloud. Love and jealousy are not the same. When love fades, love still remains. When jealousy fades, love does not remain.

  “Come on, Vannah, it’s not like you see yourself falling for this guy.”

  I don’t look at him.

  Seconds trudge on.

  “Vannah. You can’t see yourself falling in love with him. Can you?”

  The moments tick out on that clock. One. Two. Three. But then I feel my stare slowly wandering up. And before we get to four, my eyes find his and rest there.

  Four.

  Five.

  “Wow,” he says, as if understanding is gradually washing over him.

  “Salem, it’s not...” I stop, suddenly at a loss for words. “He is a great guy, but this is just...”

  “Who do you choose, Vannah?”

  I meet his gaze. It’s turned cold. His eyes are raging—a desert storm, spewing sand and wind.

  I’m speechless. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to react to his coolness.

  “I just need to know,” he says, leaning forward in the recliner. He rubs his eyes and then brings a fist to his mouth.

  A moment drags out between us, as if it’s a cinderblock being pulled in the mud by a rope.

  “Salem, I can’t do what you’re asking me to do. I can’t choose. Not like this.”

  The color in his face drains, until his almond skin is the shade of sand. And I watch him, as his eyes catch on the rotary phone on my desk, the printer in the corner, the door. He does everything to avoid making eye contact with me.

  “So, that’s it, I guess.” He slowly rises from the old, blue chair. “I guess that’s my answer.”

  I try to swallow down the tears that I know are just waiting to fall.

  “Salem,” I plead.

  Silence—his eyes lost in mine.

  It’s almost as if we both suspect that just a small sound will cause us to dissolve into nothingness. And I know, deep down, there’s not a word I could say that will heal this moment. The silence has already done its damage. It’s just like right after a storm—when
the wind’s died down and there are branches strewn every which way in the dirt. All that’s left is the cleanup.

  He hesitates but then walks past me. The familiar scent of his cologne floats in the air, triggering my memories of him. And suddenly, I smell creek water and the synthetic canvas of his old trampoline. And I can feel sawdust running through my fingers and the beat of his heart against my cheek. And there’s a part of me that wants to beg him to stay.

  The tears begin filling up behind my eyelids. I feel as if my heart is ripping in two. One piece is going with him while one piece is staying, remaining faithful to Jake. And all the while, my mind is foggy, clouded with so many thoughts: Why is he here? Why now? What if he’s just jealous? What if, in the next few minutes, he realizes he made a mistake—that he’s still in love with Anna?

  He needs some time to think about this.

  I want him to love me—but not like this.

  The tears stream down my cheeks, but I don’t even have the strength to wipe them away.

  I can feel his stare burning into me, although I refuse to look up.

  “You asked me once if I could rewind time for you—make us see what we didn’t see before.”

  His words force my eyes to lift, just as his gaze casts down.

  “Well, I did,” he says, setting a folded piece of paper onto the counter.

  He looks into my eyes then, for what feels as if it’s an eternity. It’s painful, as if he’s slowly cutting off his piece of my heart with a blunt knife. It’s his good-bye. I know it is.

  And then, he turns. And that little bell above the door rings the warning that he’s gone.

  I tell myself it’s not for good.

  I wish I could believe it.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Savannah

  (23 Years Old)

  Day 6,677

  After a few minutes of shell shock, my eyes catch on the piece of paper Salem left on the counter. I can’t even imagine what’s on it.

  Slowly, I move toward it. My hands are shaking. My tears are still falling. I’m trying my best to swallow them down.

  I take the note and fall into a chair in the corner of the room. And carefully, I force the page open.

  It’s his handwriting. It scrolls and winds down the page in black ink.

  I take a breath, and then with a cautious heart, I read his blurry words:

  Day 4,592

  “Vannah?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Are you sleeping?” I ask.

  “Mm hmm.”

  “But you just answered me,” I say.

  “Mm hmm,” you say again.

  I smile and let my head rest back on the wooden boards of the dock.

  “My heart’s awake,” you mumble.

  I lift my head, rest my eyes on your face and just watch you.

  “My heart’s awake, daydreaming of you,” you add.

  I smile. And then I kiss your hair and push strands back from your eyes.

  Your eyes open.

  “I love you, Vannah,” I whisper. “And not just like a friend. I’m in love with you. And someday, I want to marry you, and I want to find our star tower, and I want to grow old with you. But, Vannah?”

  “Mm hmm?” you say.

  “Most of all, I love you.”

  And you smile at me.

  “I love you, too,” you whisper.

  Day 4,563

  “Do you have to go back?”

  I hear you smile before I even hear a word. “Not now.”

  “Ever?” I ask.

  You don’t say anything, at first.

  “I’m coming with you,” I say. “And if I can’t live there, I’m going to visit you...a lot.”

  “Eben,” you protest, “it might as well be a world away. Plus, you belong here.”

  “No,” I say. “I belong wherever you are.”

  Day 4,562

  “Eben, what are you doing here?” you ask.

  I shrug. “I heard you were back in town.”

  “Come here,” you say. “Come up here.”

  I make my way down the stone walk and slowly up the three wooden porch steps to your uncle’s door.

  “Vannah,” I say, “I’ve missed you. And I don’t care if you’ve got a boyfriend. Someday soon you’re gonna find out he’s not the guy for you. I’m in love with you, Vannah. And I know you love me, too.”

  Day 4,023

  You turn my way. You’ve just asked me if I could, would I choose a spot on the moon or one right next to you.

  “I’d stay right here,” I tell you.

  “But you could see the world, literally,” you say.

  I shrug it off. “You’re my world.”

  Day 3,650

  “Vannah, can I talk to you?” I don’t even acknowledge Rylan Tennessee.

  You look at me with a question written on your face. “Okay,” you say.

  I watch as you turn your attention back to Rylan. “I’ll call you after practice,” you say to him. And then you smile.

  He glances at me before he turns to leave. We’re eye to eye for only a split-second, but I know exactly what he said—because I said the same thing.

  She’s mine.

  “What did you want to talk about?” you ask, when he’s gone.

  “What?” I stutter. “That? Was what?”

  You laugh at my jumbled words. “What are you trying to say?” you ask.

  “I just...,” I start again, reorganizing my thoughts. “I just wanted you to know that you’re going to see soon that Rylan Tennessee is not the guy for you. And when you do, I’ll be here, and we’ll have a month full of late nights and long talks and stolen kisses. It’ll be a beautiful month, but it’ll be just another beautiful month in between all the beautiful months we’ll share in this life. Because I love you, Vannah. I always have. I always will. And I’ll do my best to make sure you always know that.”

  Day 3,285

  “Vannah?”

  You turn and face me. “Yeah?”

  “Can I ask you something?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” you say.

  “Do you like me?” I ask. “Because I like you. I’ve liked you for a long time now. I just thought you should know that.”

  Day 2,920

  “Do you think we can see it yet?” you ask.

  I shrug. “Maybe.”

  I run to my bed and start crawling over you to get to the window.

  “Watch it,” you say. “Your pokey elbows are stabbing my ribs.”

  Your voice makes me stop. My body hovers over yours. I make a joke about my elbows not being pokey. And then I look into your eyes. And I see something. I see your secret. And instead of continuing to the window, I move my mouth closer to yours, and I press my lips to your lips.

  Our first kiss.

  Day 1,095

  “You love her, don’t you?” Dillon asks.

  I turn to you and smile.

  “I’m only eight,” I say to you, “and I don’t know anything about love. But I do know that, of all the girls, you’re my favorite.”

  And I give you a hug, just so you know it’s true. And I don’t care what Dillon has to say about it.

  Then I whisper in your ear: “You’ll always be my favorite girl. And if someday you find yourself believing something different, it’s a lie.”

  Day 1

  “Who are you?” you ask.

  “Salem.” I clear my throat. “My name is Salem Ebenezer.”

  “Ebenezer?”

  I nod.

  “Do people call you Eben?”

  I shake my head. “No, but you can.”

  “What are you doing here anyway?” you ask.

  “I noticed you a few days ago, and I’ve been coming here ever since. You look nice, like we could be friends, and maybe someday, when we’re grown-ups, we could be more.”

  “Okay,” you say.

  “Vannah?”

  “Yeah?” you ask.

  “Are you mine?”

  You
give me a pretty smile. “Yes,” you say.

  “Eben?”

  “Yeah?” I ask.

  “Are you mine?”

  “Always,” I say.

  I press the page to my chest. My hands have stilled. There’s a smile on my lips, but my heart is still breaking and the tears are still falling. I long for those moments—those simple, delicate, precious moments when the sky was darker and the stars, brighter.

  I want them back. I want to hold them in my hands. I want to feel them. I want to press them against my heart.

  I close my eyes and pray for them. I pray that somewhere, somehow, those moments are being held in a safe, happy place—where no one can touch them. Those are our moments. They’ll always be ours—only ours.

  I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand.

  They’re only ours.

  And even if there is no safe place they can go, and even if, by now, they’re nothing but lost pieces of dust—floating in the light of an empty room—I still love them.

  I still remember them.

  I still love them.

  I always will.

  Chapter Forty

  Savannah

  (23 Years Old)

  Day 6,692

  I’m sitting at the little writer’s desk in my house when a glare hits the window. I watch it dance to the wood floor. And then I see an old pickup truck ambling down the drive.

  It’s Salem.

  Instantly, the pen in my hand falls to the surface of the desk, and without another thought, I suck in a quick breath. Seconds disappear into the hum of his truck’s engine. And then it’s quiet. And I hear the hinges of his door scream before I stand and make my way out to the porch.

  It’s been two weeks since I last saw him in my office at one in the morning. And I think I’ve spent the last two weeks secretly soul-searching...and praying—praying that after some time, he might still feel what he felt that night.

  The wooden floorboards feel coarse under my bare feet as I go to the big porch brace and lean up against it.