Jack & Sadie

by JB Salsbury

  She’s home. In Vegas. Safe with her family.

  Thank God.

  Rushing in on the heels of my relief was a big fat what the fuck?

  She took off, lied to me, and decided to fly home to Las Vegas without her things? Without telling me? I can see why Jonah would be furious. He probably thinks I beat her or worse—

  “She looked really upset, Jack.”

  Forced from my thoughts, exhausted, and half crazy, I blink and refocus on my conversation with my dad. “You saw her?”

  “Yeah. I’ve never seen her like this. Looked like she’d been crying for days.”

  I run a hand through my hair and rack my brain. “Someone must’ve scared her. Why wouldn’t she tell me?”

  “Not someone. You.”

  “Dad, I’m telling you, things were great with us. We had an amazing weekend together. She even changed her flight to stay longer.” I know because in trying to track her down, I called and found out that while I was in the shower, she did change her flight. So what happened between that phone call and when I got out of the shower to find her gone?

  “I told her you were worried sick. You know what she said?” He doesn’t give me a chance to respond. “She said, ‘That’s not my fucking problem, Uncle Blake.’ So you tell me, you still think you and her are cool?”

  “She said that?”

  “Think, son. Think really hard. The woman I saw in that truck this afternoon was destroyed. How could you do that without knowing what you did?”

  “I love her. I want to spend the rest of my life with her. I would never intentionally do anything to hurt her.”

  “Intentionally.”

  “What?”

  “Is it possible you did something unintentionally? Secrets you might be keeping? Naked photos of an ex lying around—”

  “No. Nothing like that.” Except… myBubble. I close my eyes and think back to when I picked up my phone to text her. The myBubble messages she had sent Dawn were marked as read. I assumed I had opened her messages accidentally, but what if…? Oh God…

  Before I’m even able to fully think through what could’ve happened, I know.

  Sadie knows I’m Dawn.

  “Oh Jesus.”

  “Fuck.” My dad’s curse is fierce. “What did you do?”

  I drop my head into my hand and groan. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

  Of course she found out I’m Dawn. It’s the only thing that would’ve sent her running away with nothing more than the clothes on her back. I should’ve told her. I should’ve stopped pretending to be Dawn as soon as Sadie started answering my calls. What must she think of me? And she found out the morning after we had sex!

  “Dad, this is bad. She’ll never forgive me.”

  “Are you sure about that? I mean, this is Sadie we’re talking about. She’s a sweet girl, understanding and forgiving.”

  “She wasn’t answering my calls—I didn’t know what else to do!” I’m back to pacing my apartment. My legs have the irrational urge to run to her, to fall at her feet and apologize, but I don’t deserve her forgiveness. She must feel so betrayed. “There’s a new social media app my company is representing. I pretended to be one of Sadie’s old college friends and… I…” Dammit, I can’t even say it!

  “You pretended to be one of her old college friends?” Judgment laces my father’s voice.

  “It was supposed to be temporary, but she was talking to me, ya know? Really talking to me. I couldn’t walk away from that.”

  “That’s some fucked up shit, Jackson.”

  “You think I don’t know that?”

  “I think you don’t, or why else would you do it! What a stupid idea!”

  “What do I do? She’ll never forgive me.”

  “You want the truth?”

  I stare out at the city, thinking back to how worried I was about Sadie. The thought of her wandering the streets lost and scared tore me up inside. This? Knowing the woman I love discovered my big, ugly secret? That I helped her in some small way to heal from the cruelty that was done to her only to break her in a different way? Bile burns my throat.

  “Explain and apologize.”

  “That’s it? That’s all you suggest I do?”

  “It’s what she deserves. As far as getting her back? I’m sorry, I think you may’ve sunk the ship if you know what I mean.”

  “No, I’m not letting her go, not again. I made that mistake once. I’ll call her, text her, and if she doesn’t answer, I’ll fly to Vegas and—”

  “Don’t do that. After what I saw today? She needs time. Give her that.”

  Time? But… “I already went years without her. I just got her back.”

  “Yep, and you fucked that up. Respect her space. If she’s open to hearing you out, she’ll let you know.”

  “I feel sick.”

  “Seems appropriate.”

  “Dad, if you see her, will you… I mean, I don’t know, just… make sure she’s okay? She’s been through some shit and I’m afraid this might…” Might what? “I don’t know. I’m worried about her.”

  “I’ll drop in and see how she’s doing, but I’ll be honest, when she sees me, I think she sees you. Sadie has her father’s death scowl.”

  “I need to figure out how to make this up to her.”

  “Good luck with that, son.”

  When I hang up, I fall face-first into my bed. Sadie’s scent envelops me in a warm embrace, possibly the only embrace I’ll ever receive from her again.

  I try to sleep, but sleep won’t take. I toss and turn for twelve hours until I finally give up and burn myself out at the gym, punishing my body for what I did to Sadie’s heart.

  Sadie, it’s Jack. But you already knew that didn’t you? Please, answer your phone. Let me explain.

  * * *

  The response to the myBubble message I sent is immediate.

  * * *

  This account has been deactivated.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Three Weeks Later

  Sadie

  “All set?”

  I pat my pockets, touch my purse—am I wearing a shirt? Yep. “All set.”

  Ricky snags my keys from my hand. “You’re scaring me, so I’m driving.”

  I follow him out the door, laughing. “Why am I scaring you—wait! My bag!” I whirl around to grab it only to have him snag my elbow and pull me toward my car.

  “It’s in the trunk.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Thank you.”

  He opens the passenger side door, smirking. “You’re the one who put it in there.”

  “I knew that.”

  He slams the door with a muttered, “Sure, you did.”

  I watch him grab today’s mail from the box, then come around to the driver’s side, get in, and toss a stack of junk mail and bills into my lap. “We’re all gassed up, so we shouldn’t have to stop unless you get hungry or have to pee.”

  “It’s only a couple hours. I think I’ll be okay.”

  He fires up the engine, and I gather the mail to toss it into the backseat—when one envelope catches my eye. I pull it away from the rest, anger stirring my already nervous belly. Even without a return address, I know who the letter is from. The handwriting is a dead giveaway, and it’s the fourth one I’ve gotten in as many days. I roll down my window, tear the letter in half, then gather the two sides and tear them again before tossing it out the window in a shower of paper confetti.

  “Let me guess…” Ricky says as he side-eyes me cautiously.

  I toss the rest of the mail into the backseat. “He’ll give up eventually.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “When he finds another gullible idiot to smokescreen, yeah.”

  He doesn’t argue, but turns up “Take on Me” by Ah-Ha and bobs his head to the beat. “Next stop, Los Angeles!”

  His excitement is enough to wash out all thoughts of Jack and his incessant phone calls and text messages. After a week, I blocked him. That’s when the le
tters started, and those are easy enough to ignore. The second they arrive they make a quick trip to the trash can and I don’t think of them again until the next one comes a few days later. Receive. Toss. Repeat.

  As I leave San Diego in my rearview mirror, I look forward to my exhibition opening this weekend in LA. Ricky and I are headed up early so I can give input on display layout. Mrs. Rothschild said there are reporters interested in interviewing me. I can’t believe this is my life.

  And to think I considered giving this up to be with Jack?

  Lesson learned.

  Never again.

  Jack

  Sadie looks more beautiful than I’ve ever seen her.

  Even from my spot across the street, tucked away in the shadows, her beauty is as clear as ever, seen through the glass of the Aldridge & Shultz Art Gallery. But I didn’t come to Los Angeles to ruin her weekend. I promised myself that no matter how badly I wanted to reach for her, speak to her, I wouldn’t. She deserves this—a night where all attention is on her because of her bravery and talent.

  Am I stalking her? Yes.

  I’m not proud, but I had to see her. Almost a month has passed since she left New York, and I’ve been sick without her. She refuses to hear me out. I’m pretty sure she’s blocked me on her phone, and I haven’t heard a word back from the half dozen letters I’ve written. I’m running out of ideas. How much longer can she blow me off?

  Forever.

  For now, I’ll settle for the glimpses I get of her as she moves gracefully through the crowd of art enthusiasts who’ve come for her opening. Ricky stays close by her side, and I look away when he places his hand at her lower back to whisper something in her ear that makes her smile. I scratch at two weeks’ of beard growth as irritation makes me itchy. He’s been a good friend to her. She deserves as much, and so much more.

  When I peer back up, I find Sadie talking to a man in a nice suit. She’s looking at him how she used to look at me—with a teasing grin and laughter in her eyes.

  It won’t be long before she moves on to someone new. Someone better for her than I am. Someone who won’t deceive her to satisfy his own selfish needs.

  I ask myself the question I’ve been avoiding since she left.

  I’m on the verge of losing Sadie forever.

  What the fuck do I plan to do about that?

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Two Weeks Later

  Sadie

  I’m floating.

  Not really floating, but I may as well be. With my sketchbook pressed to my chest, I glide down the sidewalk toward the Magic Bean, practically skipping.

  My exhibition in Los Angeles was a huge success. So much so that I’m getting commissioned work for custom pieces. And the price people are willing to pay? Well, I’ve quit my job and am working as a full-time artist.

  Currently, I’m working on a series of three paintings for a famous movie producer in LA. He requested an urban theme of my choice, and he jumped on the idea of people in their natural environment, art illustrating the human condition.

  Which is why I’m headed to my favorite spot in Hillcrest for people watching and inspiration. I order my coffee and spot my favorite table on the patio. I’m about to set my things on the table when I spot something on the chair.

  My pulse speeds.

  A cherry Blow Pop.

  I pick it up and look around, afraid of who might have left the candy in my favorite seat.

  There’s no one. Could this have been a coincidence? I suppose anything’s possible. I chalk it up to a weird cosmic joke and sit down to sketch.

  “Where’d you get that?” I point at the white stick currently poking out from the corner of Ricky’s mouth. “Is that cherry?”

  Three days have passed since I found the Blow Pop on my seat at the coffee shop, and I’ve found one every day since. One on the hood of my car and one on our doorstep. But I hadn’t seen one yet today. I thought maybe the cherry Blow Pop shower was over until I came downstairs to take a break from an eight-hour painting session only to stumble upon what seems to be another one.

  He pops the thing from his mouth, the inside of his lips and his tongue red. “I found it in our mailbox.” He shrugs. “Figured it was a gift from the postman.”

  I haven’t told Ricky about Jack’s latest attempt to get my attention. Not only because I hope not acknowledging his attempts will make them eventually stop, but also because it’s a little creepy. I’ll let Ricky believe it was the mailman even though everything in me knows these spontaneous candy deliveries are from Jack.

  “I forgot how good these things are.” He crunches on the tangy hard candy.

  “They’ll give you cavities.” I grab a Dr. Pepper from the fridge, and my phone vibrates in my pocket

  He looks pointedly from me to the can in my hand. “Right.”

  I push the paint-splattered hair that had fallen from my ponytail off my forehead and check the caller ID. “My mom. Third time she’s called today and it’s only ten o’clock in the morning.”

  “Sadie,” he says, pulling the lollipop from his mouth, “all the press your paintings are getting in LA, you knew this day would come.”

  I nod, because he’s right. With the handful of interviews and articles, I knew information about my exhibition would eventually get back to my parents. The phone stops ringing and I slump in relief at being off the hook, even if for only a few hours.

  “Get it over with.” He chomps the Blow Pop’s bubble gum then flicks the stick into the garbage. “Like a Band-Aid.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  He scoots up next to me and wraps an arm around my shoulder. “I know you don’t, but it’s time. Think about what they’re going through.”

  “That’s the problem, I don’t want to think about what they must be thinking.” I sit in my shame at having to explain to them what happened to me and why I didn’t tell them about it. Will they understand?

  “Call her back,” he says, setting my phone in front of me.

  “You’re right.”

  He winks. “I’m always right.”

  With my heart in my throat and dread creeping up my spine, I hit the button to call her back and press the phone to my ear.

  My mom answers after one ring. “Sadie?” The tension and panic in her voice confirms my fears.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “Gia read about your work in some art magazine she gets…”

  Our family friends Gia and her husband, Rex, love contemporary art and keep a finger on the pulse of the market.

  “Rex was so proud of you, he brought it to the gym to brag and your dad…” She chokes up. “Sadie… we didn’t know.”

  “I know. I’m sorry, there’s a lot I didn’t tell you guys, but…” I look up into Ricky’s warm, supportive eyes. “I’m ready to tell you now.”

  My alarm goes off before the sun is up. I roll out of bed, brush my teeth, throw on my bathing suit, and stare at the six feet of foam and fiberglass hanging on my wall.

  Conquering the conversation with my parents about what happened to me that night at the beach took days and a lot of tears. They didn’t respond the way I thought, and their love and support washed in, pushing away the shame my secrets brought. They accepted that I’d had to handle the aftermath of that night in my own way in order to regain control over all I’d felt I’d lost. I felt a piece of myself return, one that I thought I’d never get back.

  Empowered by independence, I managed to heal another part of me that had been wounded that night.

  “It’s time,” I say softly, and before I can talk myself out of it, I grab my surfboard.

  Ricky’s in the kitchen, wearing nothing but a pair of board shorts and a mean case of bedhead. Coffee mug in hand, he freezes when he sees me descending the stairs, and when we make eye contact, a slow smile spreads along his lips. “No fucking way.”

  “I’m ready.” I lean the board against the counter and grab my own cup of coffee. I’ll need the liquid energy to
make up for what I’ve lost in muscle. When I turn around, I find Ricky texting someone. “What are you doing?”

  He’s still grinning. “Getting the crew to meet us down there.”

  “I don’t think my getting back into the water requires an audience.”

  He finishes typing, hits Send, and dumps his coffee in a to-go cup. “Not an audience—a support team. In case you think about changing your mind.”

  “I won’t.” I sip my coffee as excitement charges my blood. “I really think I’m ready.”

  “I hope you’re right.” He kisses my forehead. “Now come on, let’s go before you pussy out.”

  When we step outside, the sky lightening with the rising sun, I spot the familiar white stick with the red-and-white wrapper on my doorstep. Before I can think too hard on it, I kick it into the shrubs and forget I ever saw it.

  Another Saturday at the coffee shop.

  I’m embarrassed to admit I didn’t come last weekend because I feared I’d find more than another Blow Pop. I was afraid that instead of finding candy waiting for me, I’d find the one person I vowed I’d never acknowledge again.

  I breathe a sigh of relief when I get to my table and see a couple sitting there. Usually I’d balk at having to sit somewhere else—that table has the perfect angle so I can see people inside, on the patio, and passing by. But not today. Today, I’m happy to find another seat.

  I grab my coffee and take a spot in the corner with my back to the wall. I pull out my pencils, open to a fresh page, and sit back and wait for inspiration to strike.

  “Sadie?” The barista, Maddie, approaches me with her hand in the front pocket of her apron.

  Did I leave my change behind? “Yes?”

  She pulls her hand free. “This was left here for you.”