Sweet Water(109)

What else did she say in her journal?

The initials—BR.

Those aren’t William’s initials.



My eyes are shut, but even with the drugs, I can’t sleep.

I think I’m dreaming when the next thing I hear is Josh’s voice humming.

My eyes flicker open, and I see Josh’s jade eyes squinting back at me. “Hey, sunshine.” A ray of light streams through the hospital blinds, specks of dust floating around like tiny atoms in a gravity storm. Morphine thoughts.

“I thought I’d check in on you before I check out,” he says. Josh graces me with a little smile, and I smile back at him, so happy he’s here. It’s hard to stay mad at him. We’re all guilty of making mistakes to protect the ones we love.

“Thank you for saving my dad. So much. I can never repay you.” My voice is still dry. It cracks with the strain of speaking.

“You’re welcome.” His left arm is bandaged from his wrist to his elbow, and it’s hanging in a sling. His head is swathed with gauze on the same side as the scar on his neck.

Josh’s scars.

From pulling injured women out of rubble and running into burning buildings to save old men. I’m not worthy of him and all his well-earned scars. I’ve caused so much more pain than I’ve endured.

“I still don’t know how you made it in and out of there . . .” When my mind isn’t imagining Yazmin’s riddled face, it’s remembering flickering images of my home engulfed in flames.

“I was lucky he was in the room leading to the trellis. If it would’ve been any other room . . .” He shakes his head, and I take a deep breath. It doesn’t need to be spoken. “Also, my lungs operate better filled with smoke. It’s like my superpower.”

I have to laugh, even though it hurts. “Don’t think you’re off the hook there.”

“Right, right. I heard you confessed. Good girl. What about you? Are you off the hook?” he asks nonchalantly, but there’s nothing casual about going to prison.

“I don’t know. They haven’t locked me up yet, but I’d understand if they did. You must think I’m just terrible.”

Josh leans in, his sudsy scent filling me with comfort. “I don’t think you’re terrible. I think you’re a good person who made a terrible mistake.”

My breath does a fluttery thing that would produce tears if I wasn’t so dehydrated and looped on opioids. “Thank you for that; it’s more than I deserve.”

Josh places his palms on the side of my bed and rests his head down on the top of his hands. He must still be tired from scaling a stone wall. “No, it’s not. I feel bad I didn’t tell you about Jay and Cash sooner. It’s just hard to give up your drug dealer.”

I laugh again despite myself. “Cash would’ve gotten them from somewhere else if not him. Don’t feel guilty. You’re not the one at fault here. There’re so many variables.”

“Right.” Josh doesn’t sound so sure.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Spencer.” Since we’re apologizing here, I might as well just put the big one out there. There’s always been a part of me that wished Josh had asked to meet Spencer, because it sounded like he had a hunch he existed, both in the music store and definitely outside of Stonehenge. But I’m okay with him not asking too.

“I understand why you didn’t. You had your nice little life all hemmed up, and I’ve never been good at staying in one place.” It’s nice to hear him confirm the story I’ve been telling myself for years, but part of me wonders if he’s only saying it to make me feel better.

“Thank you for being kind.” I close my eyes, weaving my hands gently through his light-brown hair streaked with blond. I’ve always loved the color. Not quite brunet, not quite blond, all mixed up somewhere in between—that’s Josh’s story.

“I’m sorry about our house,” I say.

“Me too,” he says sadly.

A nostalgic part of my brain takes over, and I’ve been wondering—if Josh had never caught wind that I’d married Martin and stolen his house away from him, would he have come home earlier from Europe to reclaim my love? Would we have ended up living together in our house like he promised we would as kids? With our son?

“At least the pergola was saved,” he says.

I exhale, so unbelievably relieved by this. “I’m happy to hear that too.”

“Yes, it was far enough away from the blaze that it was left untouched.”

“Your stage.” I smile. “That’s good.”

“Who knows if the new owners will keep it, though,” he says.

“They’d be fools to tear it down.” The insurance company deemed the house unrecoverable, and I refused to rebuild with Martin, so he put the property up for sale. He said he didn’t want to live there without me.

Josh’s breathing quiets and syncs with mine. “I grabbed something from your car for you. Don’t worry—I’ll give it back once things settle a bit.”

“Uh-huh,” I say, my eyes still closed. We’re held together in a serene silence, lost to a past, a place that doesn’t exist anymore. Just as I’m about to drift into my first peaceful sleep in days, my heart thrums in my chest like a chain saw.