The Unwanted Assistant

by Evangeline Kelly

  I was ready.

  And I would wait for it.

  Chapter 22

  Sawyer

  I was doing pull-ups in the gym when Ivy strolled in. Catching her eye, I winked. She blushed a deep shade of red that reminded me of roses in the springtime: soft and beautiful.

  Her eyes fell to my arms as I lifted myself up on the pull-up bar, and then quickly back to my eyes. My heart crashed wildly in my chest as if I'd held it hostage for far too long.

  She leaned against the wall, wearing navy jeans and a blue sweater, feet crossed at her ankles, hair pulled back into a ponytail that draped over her shoulder in the front.

  “Want to work out?” I asked.

  She snickered. “You exercise more than anyone I know. Are you sure you aren't training for one of those obstacle course marathons where you scale walls and run through the mud?”

  I let go of the pull-up bar and landed on my feet with a thump. “Naw, those things are for sissies.”

  She gave me a look like she thought I was crazy.

  “I'm kidding. You should see the expression on your face right now.”

  “I’ve heard those races can be pretty tough, but if you’re not training for a competition, why work out so hard? You’re always in the gym. Take a break now and then.”

  I shrugged. “It’s something to do and I actually enjoy it most of the time.”

  “Sorry, but I can't relate.”

  “It’s a healthy way to take out my aggression, and I like challenging myself. It’s still work, and there are times when I have to force myself to keep going just like everyone else.”

  “You train like you're in boot camp. Sometimes I get the impression there’s more to it. Almost like you’re trying to prove something.”

  My chest tightened at her statement. I usually kept things to myself, but maybe it was time to let her in. “I’m hungry. Come with me and I’ll make us a snack.”

  She nodded, and I led her towards the kitchen, my hand on the small of her back. Nervous energy pulsed through me at the contact. I needed to be careful. Whatever this was between us . . . I didn’t want to ruin it.

  I almost kissed her the other day even though I’d resolved to wait until we had an understanding. I had to get a hold of myself. How would she respond when she knew everything? Would she hate me?

  Once we arrived to the kitchen, Ivy took a seat on one of the barstools by the kitchen island, while I rummaged through the refrigerator. I pulled out two cherry red apples and a jar of peanut butter. “Does this look good?”

  She smiled. “Perfect.”

  I grabbed a cutting board and sliced the apples into pieces and then used a knife to spread the peanut butter over each slice. “Going back to your earlier question about why I work out so much, I think you were perceptive when you said there was something more to it.”

  “Sometimes it seems like you’re afraid if you’re not at the top of your game, something bad will happen.”

  I placed apple pieces on a plate and handed it to Ivy, then put the rest of the slices on another plate for myself. I took a bite and thought for a moment. “To give you a little history, in high school I was athletic, but nothing like I am now.” I paused, pain pricking my senses. “Back then, my brother got picked on a lot. He was two years younger, and I did my best to look out for him, but something happened that I couldn’t stop.”

  Her eyes widened. “What?”

  I looked down, not wanting her to see my expression because if she did, she’d see just how badly it had affected me. “Kids can be cruel. Bullies even more so.” My voice dipped so low I wasn’t sure she heard me.

  “You were bullied?”

  Nodding slightly, I took another bite of an apple slice and chewed. “My brother, Zach—he had muscular dystrophy. It’s a disease that makes your muscles weaken over time, so he walked differently . . . moved differently than everyone else. A group of kids hated him because he was different—that's usually how it goes with bullies.” I hesitated for a second. Was I really going to do this? Was I really going to share this with her?

  “People can be so cruel sometimes,” she said.

  I nodded. “I’ve never spoken of this to anyone outside my family. Well, Hayden and Sarah know, but they’re the only ones besides my parents.”

  Ivy sat up straighter. “Thank you for trusting me.”

  I put the peanut butter back in the refrigerator and returned. “This one Saturday, Zach and I hung out at the park. Zach used to like to feed the pigeons, and I’d agreed to hang out with him that day. He loved animals—read anything he could find about birds. It was the first time I’d seen him smile all week. He was throwing bread crumbs when this group of kids walked up. I recognized them from school, and at first, they just taunted Zach and called him a mama’s boy. They made a few comments about me being a loser because I had a brother who didn't walk right.”

  “Oh, Sawyer, that’s horrible.”

  I nodded. “I didn’t care what they said about me, but they shouldn’t have said anything to Zach. They surrounded us and the taunting escalated to something worse.”

  “Oh no, I have a feeling I won't like this.”

  “This kid, Aiden was the ringleader. He was this mean kid—used to get in Zach’s face and taunt him all the time. He gave an order to throw rocks and everyone obeyed like puppets on a string. I went after him, knocked him to the ground and clubbed him in the nose, but he rolled me over and straddled me. He and this kid, Ronnie, held my arms down while the others continued throwing rocks at Zach. They laughed the entire time.”

  For a moment, the lump in my throat prevented me from speaking. The memory was ugly and wretched and my hands trembled, the vision of Zach’s frightened face imprinted on my mind. “The more Zach screamed, the more they laughed. To watch someone you love be attacked right in front of you, and to be helpless to do anything about it . . . there’s nothing worse. I blame myself for what happened. If I’d been stronger, tougher, Aiden and Ronnie wouldn’t have been able to hold me down, and I could have done something.”

  “Maybe if it had been one person,” Ivy said. “But they surrounded you. You must know that no matter how strong you were, there wasn't anything you could have done against a group of kids.”

  My fist clenched at my side, and heat rushed through my body from the memory. “If I’d been strong enough to push them away, I would have covered Zach with my body. Instead, I had to watch those kids beat him senseless.” Blood pounded in my temples and I grit my teeth. “He never did anything to hurt anyone. He was the kindest person I knew.”

  Ivy waited patiently, gaze trained on me.

  I took a few seconds to pull myself together, and when I finally spoke, my voice hardened. “After that, I vowed I’d never allow myself to be that helpless ever again.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Sawyer.” Her voice was soft, kind. “They outnumbered you. What those kids did to your brother was wrong on so many levels—but it was their fault, not yours. You can’t blame yourself.”

  The memory haunted me. Zach’s broken body on the asphalt, blood staining the ground—me calling Mom in a panic. The police showing up . . . an ambulance. Angry tears clouded my vision, and I couldn’t say anything else. Ivy left her seat and stood next to me, her hand on my back. We stood like that for a long moment, and I didn’t dare say a word. My hands still trembled, and my entire body tensed because I didn't want her to see me in this state.

  “It's okay,” she whispered. “I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere.” She rubbed circles on my back until my body relaxed.

  “It’s weird how something so long ago can still affect you. The threat is long gone, but I can’t stop preparing for it like those bullies are just around the corner.” The ache in my chest grew stronger, making it hard to breathe. “The shape I'm in now—those guys wouldn't have a chance. But it's too late.”

  She squeezed my arm. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

  “The night befor
e my family died, I could tell Zach was upset with me because I chose to play basketball instead of hanging out with the family.” My voice cracked and I glanced away, mortified I’d lost this much control around her. Another part felt relieved because I’d held it in for so long and it was freeing to share it with someone.

  “I’m sure he knew how much you loved him,” she said. “I’m sure he never blamed you for what happened.”

  “He should have blamed me. I was supposed to be there for him. I was supposed to be the one he counted on.” My gaze locked with hers as I leaned my forearms on the island. “That wasn’t the only time I failed him. If you even knew what I did, you’d walk away and never come back.”

  There was a stunned moment of silence.

  The surprise in Ivy’s eyes changed to compassion. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  She was too nice. Anyone with sense would run. What was I doing? This association would drag her down. I ran a hand through my hair and pulled in frustration.

  “Sawyer, you take responsibility for things that aren’t yours to bear. Whatever it is you did, it won't push me away. I won’t ask you to share if you aren’t ready, but I want you to know I’m here if you ever want to talk about it.”

  “Thanks, Ivy. And you’re right. I’m not ready.”

  That conversation would have to come later. Because when it came up—and it would come up—there’d definitely be a fallout.

  Chapter 23

  Ivy

  Another week went by, and though Sawyer seemed in conflict with himself at times, the wall that stood between us came toppling down. He was less cynical, less moody, and more open to sharing his feelings. He even smiled more.

  As I parked my car and walked up to the front door of his house, I thought about my conversation with Mr. Jeffries earlier that morning.

  Ivy, you're a genius. Whatever you're doing, keep doing it. He looks happy.

  Sawyer and I had grown closer, and I cherished the connection we had. Nothing had been stated or defined, except Sawyer’s declaration that I was important to him. I wanted to break the ice, tell him I felt more than friendship for him, but I wasn’t brave enough. Maybe that was stupid since he’d almost kissed me, but it hadn’t happened again, and a part of me wondered if I’d imagined the entire thing.

  As I walked in and shut the door, I glanced up to find Sawyer waiting for me in the foyer, a backpack over one shoulder and a picnic basket in tow. “Would you like to take a walk?”

  “Um . . . sure.”

  “There’s a trail through the woods leading to a pond, and it’s quiet, peaceful and—”

  “I’d like that,” I said like a child who'd been offered a lollipop and couldn’t wait to tear off the wrapper. “Sorry, I cut you off. What were you about to say?”

  He chuckled as if he’d seen right through me. “Just that it’s a place I like to go when I need to think. I want to share it with you.”

  We left the house, taking a path that led through a clearing of vibrant trees: yellow, red, and orange. I soaked it all up: the woodsy smell and the way the wind tugged at falling leaves, carrying them softly to the ground. It wasn’t as if the trees didn’t change color in California, but the vibrancy of the colors here outshined the others in comparison.

  I couldn’t stop looking at everything, taking it all in. The fall air was cooler now, and it felt good to snuggle into my sweater as we strolled down the path in no particular hurry.

  A year ago, around the same time, Austin and I had set out on a hike through the Santa Monica Mountains. I’d sprained my ankle ten minutes into the excursion, and he’d been annoyed we had to turn back. I hadn’t thought of him for a while and wished him well with Tina. Not that I wasn’t still upset about the betrayal, but the longing to get back together had passed.

  The more my feelings for Sawyer grew, the more my hurt over Austin’s betrayal faded. My heart filled with gratitude.

  Thank you, Lord, for bringing me to this point in my life. For healing that wound. For helping me to lean on you through it all.

  Sawyer pointed to a body of water in the distance, breaking my train of thought. “There it is.”

  It was lovely. Morning light skidded across the crystalline blue water, mirroring the colorful trees lining the perimeter of the pond. Sawyer had a picture of this place on his wall. I’d seen it the day of my interview and even back then, it had drawn me. He led us down the path until we reached a bright yellow bench near the water’s edge.

  “Wait,” I said. “I’ve got to get a picture of this.” I motioned for Sawyer to move closer and pulled my phone out of my pocket. Holding it high in the air, I took a picture of the two of us with the pond in the background.

  When I looked at the photo, I grinned. We appeared like a couple. Sawyer had his arm around my shoulders, his head close to mine, and we both had the biggest grins on our faces.

  He gestured for me to sit next to him and set the backpack and picnic basket by his feet. “What do you think?” He motioned to the view.

  “It’s amazing. How did you find this place?”

  “I explored the area. Knew it was a place I could be out in the open and still feel a sense of privacy. I found out who owned the land and purchased it.”

  “I can see why you like it.” The bench curved against my back, almost as if a designer made it especially for comfort. I knocked on the wood. “Was this here before you bought this place?”

  “No, I had it installed. Wanted a place to sit without having to lug a fold-out chair every time I came here.”

  “It’s comfortable.” As I stared at a clearing of trees on the other side of the pond, the sun illuminated the leaves like gold and crimson flames. “I’ll always love L.A., don’t get me wrong, but sometimes it feels too crowded and smoggy. I prefer being in open spaces like this—around nature.”

  “What part of L.A. are you from?”

  “The east side. About twenty minutes from downtown.”

  “You said you grew up without a lot of money. Was that hard on you?”

  “Yeah, sometimes it was. When you don’t have a lot, paying the bills becomes the main topic in your home. Sometimes I wanted to focus on being a teenager and forget about finances.” I breathed in the fresh, cool air and changed positions on the bench, tucking a leg underneath me. “But it wasn’t all bad. It helped me value what I had and appreciate the closeness of family.”

  Sawyer picked up a pebble and threw it, watching it skid across the pond. “Mom used to pound that into me. God first, family second.” He picked up another pebble and rolled it around in his hand. “Sometimes I wish Mr. Davenport didn't give me his fortune. Maybe life would have been simpler.”

  “I’ve never heard you talk about him.”

  He gave me an odd expression. “I haven’t?”

  “No.”

  “He was a lonely old man who had lots of money and needed someone to give it to.”

  “I feel like there’s a story here,” I said, shivering when the wind picked up.

  Sawyer pulled a red blanket out of his backpack. “You’re cold. This should warm you up.” He moved closer on the bench and wrapped it around my shoulders.

  I smiled. “You came prepared. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Our eyes met for a second and I wondered if he might try to kiss me again. He moved away and disappointment filled me.

  “So, that story you were about to tell me?”

  “Right. I was young, about eight years old, and Mom and I stood in line at a café. This older man was in front of us, and once he’d ordered his coffee, he pulled out his wallet and was short a dollar.” He laughed, his eyes alight with the memory. “According to Mom, we’d talked that morning about helping the less fortunate. When I saw he needed money, I figured he must be one of the less fortunate ones. Now I understand he had credit cards, but in my eight-year-old mind I didn’t get that, so I stepped forward and gave him my allowance.”

  “Did he take your money?”


  He chuckled. “Yeah, he did, actually. He explained who he was to Mom, told her he was impressed with my willingness to part with my allowance, and said he’d like to send us a gift. Mom was very trusting, so it’s a good thing he didn’t turn out to be a con-artist because she gave him our address. Sure enough, a few days later we received a gift basket with all kinds of gourmet finger foods.”

  “Talk about a chance encounter.” I considered for a moment. “On second thought, there is no such thing as a chance encounter, not when we understand God is sovereign, and He directs all things.”

  “True,” he said, smiling, “I believe that as well.”

  “So, did you get to know Mr. Davenport after that?”

  “No, but he sent a gift to our home every year at Christmas, and Mom would reciprocate by mailing him fresh baked cookies. I always decorated them with icing and added a note to go along. Even as I got older, I still did it because it had become a tradition. When I was fifteen, his attorney contacted my parents and told them Roland Davenport passed away without a living heir and had given me everything in his will. We were shocked. It seemed to come out of nowhere.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “Yeah. I sometimes wonder why God allowed the happenstance with Mr. Davenport. I’m not sure if it was a blessing or a curse.” He threw the pebble he’d been holding in his hand, only it plunked down in the water rather than skipped across like the last pebble. “I was your typical teen back then—self-absorbed and focused on friends and sports. Having money made me cocky, overly sure of myself. I thought nothing could touch me.” A muscle in his jaw tensed. “That is until . . .”

  “The accident.”

  “Yeah. God humbled me.”

  He changed the subject after that and asked about my classes. We laughed as I described one of my eccentric professors. I told him about how Sammie and I grew up together and attended the same schools.

  “Sammie suggested I apply to the University of Alabama while Austin and I still dated. At first, I dismissed the idea because I didn’t want to be separated from him, but I filled out the application, anyway. I think I sensed back then our relationship wasn’t going anywhere. I was actually relieved when the acceptance letter came. The timing was perfect.”