Chaos and Control(70)

The windows are closed, so I know they aren’t home. I take a seat on the porch swing and revel in the silence of this place. If only my mind would be silent.

I can’t stop the hammering thoughts in my head—Bennie and her cancer, Preston and his betrayal, Dylan and his threats, Crowley and my roots. All these things have me out of sorts, like I am a ghost floating above the earth and watching all this happen. I feel so separated and yet, so buried by everything. A breeze whips over me, drying the sweat from my skin. It brings me back to myself, and I’m thankful for it.

On my walk home, just as I turn onto Main Street, I hear a siren blast behind me. I jump and spin to find Sawyer smiling through the windshield of his cruiser. He pulls next to me as I glare.

“What’s the matter, Wren? Did I scare you?”

“You know you did, jerk.”

He laughs, showing off that megawatt smile. “Well, I like to keep things interesting around here.”

“Oh, yes. Crowley is super interesting,” I deadpan. I lean down and cross my arms on the edge of his rolled-down window.

“Hey, just last week Jude ran off the road into Mr. Tibb’s mailbox.”

I roll my eyes and smirk. “Whoa. Alert the newspaper. Wait. There is no paper.”

Sawyer puts the car in park and leans back in his seat. “Something big will happen one day, and I’ll be ready. You’ll see.”

I look out at the road in front of us and back to Sawyer. Bennie’s words come back to me, all the worry about Dylan. I should tell him.

“You may get your wish,” I say.

Sawyer’s eyes widen. “Why? What have you heard?”

“There’s this guy…” Looking at his face makes me hesitate. For some reason, I find it hard to share this with him.

“And?”

The words come out fast, like ripping off a Band-Aid. “Well, he’s a guy I dated in New York. And he was kind of abusive. And I kind of drugged him and stole some money from him to get home. And he’s been sending me things in the mail, and he called Bennie’s apartment one day, and I’m scared he may be coming here.”

“Wait. What?” Sawyer straightens in his seat. His eyes search mine. “Wren, are you serious?”

I nod and scrape my teeth over my bottom lip. “Unfortunately.”

He shakes his head as his grip on the steering wheel tightens until his knuckles turn white. “Why haven’t you made a report?” Sawyer’s smile is gone. He is dead serious.

“Report what? That he sent me things in the mail? He hasn’t done anything to report. It’s just a feeling, you know?”

He nods and places one hand on top of my stacked arms. “You can definitely report weirdness, Wren. But, he isn’t really breaking any laws, so there’s not much we can do. Is he dangerous?”

“He can be,” I answer, wincing at the memory of bruises and aching ribs.

“I’ll step up patrol around Bennie’s and The Haystack. Give me his name so I can run a check on him.”

“Dylan Watts from Buffalo, New York.”

Sawyer pulls a small notepad from his front pocket and a pen from his visor. He scribbles the name down. When he tucks the notepad away, he turns to look at me. We are silent as he stares into my eyes. I’m not sure what he’s searching for, but I feel like he sees me again, like when we were kids.

“Be careful,” he says. “And thanks for telling me.”

Though it’s nothing official, I feel a huge relief telling Sawyer about Dylan. I nod and give a wave as he drives away. When the cruiser disappears from view, I cross the street to the diner. There’s room at the front counter, so I take a seat and wave Angela Louise over.

“Hey, Wren. What can I get you?”

“I need a super jumbo size piece of pie and a water, please.”

“Super jumbo, huh? You want to talk about it?”

I give her a pleading look and shake my head. “Nope. I prefer to just eat my feelings like normal people. Thanks.”

“Pie and water, coming up.”

Angela disappears into the kitchen, and I play with the salt and pepper shakers in front of me. The place is bustling with the lunch crowd, and I do my best to drown out all the noise. The bell over the door rings, and I turn toward it. Preston’s gaze connects with mine, and he gives me a cautious grin.

I turn away and drop my eyes. “Shit. It’s Thursday.” I curse myself for not remembering his schedule.

“Super jumbo pecan pie and a water,” Angela announces, dropping off the plate and glass in front of me. “Anything else?”

I shake my head.

The noise in the diner fades to almost silence. It’s not abrupt. It’s a slow wave of quiet, like turning down the volume on a turntable. Preston slides onto the stool next to me, and I can’t help but look up at him. His shoulders are tense, the muscles in his neck and jaw tight, but his eyes are on me.

He’s beautiful in his optimism, waiting for me to respond. All I can do is stare. His usually perfectly coiffed hair falls out of place. The beard covering his face is longer than normal. White-knuckled hands clutch each other on top of the counter.

“I’m so sorry, Wren.”

I glance around, and most of the diner is watching. Some whisper and point, while others just stare, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. These people have seen him as a creature of habit for two years now. They are shocked and curious. When I look back to Preston, he takes a deep breath and exhales. In this moment, he is so strong, and I am so proud.