Don't Make a Sound (Sawyer Brooks #1)(41)

“So why you and not both of us?” Sawyer inwardly cringed at how pathetic she sounded. But it wasn’t as if Harper had needed to choose one over the other. She could have saved them both.

Aria groaned. “Harper has spent years beating herself up over everything that happened when we were growing up. We weren’t her responsibility, Sawyer. It was a horrible time for all of us. She did what she could, and she’s been trying so hard to make up for leaving you behind. Why can’t you cut her a break?”

Silence followed.

Aria said, “I’ll talk to her tonight and tell her you’ll be staying in River Rock for a while.”

“Thanks.”

“Before you go,” Aria said, “what do you want me to do with the cat? Nate is allergic. They can’t keep him. And poor Mr. Baguette is stuck in his cage until you figure out what to do with him.”

“I don’t want him to go to the pound,” Sawyer said. “Can you find a kennel where he can stay until I get back?”

“You can’t afford a kennel. I’ll take care of him until you return, but you’ll need to figure it all out then.”

“Thanks. I owe you.”

“Yeah. You do. Call or text tomorrow to check in,” Aria said.

“I will.”

“Love you.”

“Ditto,” Sawyer said before she hung up. She wasn’t sure why she couldn’t say those three little words, but something held her back every time. Expressing her feelings was just as difficult as touching and showing physical affection. It would take time, her therapist told her. The important thing was how she felt inside. She cared about her sisters and would do anything for either one of them.

Sawyer figured that was a good start.





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Sawyer used a paper towel to wipe sweat from her brow. She’d been cleaning for hours. Every cobweb was gone and the windows gleamed. She had swept the floor but still needed to shake out the area rug that she’d thrown outside. The door to the cottage was open, and her dad peeked his head in. “Mind if I come in?”

“Not at all.” She waved him in. He didn’t appear to be as tired and broken down as he’d seemed the first night she’d arrived.

“You’ve been working hard. The place is shaping up.”

“Thanks.” Sawyer walked to one side of the mattress, the side farthest from the door. “Mind helping me turn this over?”

He walked over to the other side, and it hardly took any effort for both of them to flip it. Compared with the dirty side, this side of the mattress looked brand new.

“You know where to find sheets and pillows,” he said.

“Thanks for the help.”

He scratched his whiskered jaw. “How are your sisters?”

First Mom, and now Dad. Had a bit of remorse finally crept into their souls? “I thought you and Aria kept in touch?”

“Small talk,” he said. “She tells me she’s fine. I say good. We hang up.”

“You’ve always been a man of few words.”

“That’s no excuse. I should have tried harder to talk to you girls and get to know all of you.”

“Yeah, well, that’s life. Like Mom is always saying—today is a new day.”

“You hate when she says that.”

Sawyer was surprised he knew anything at all about what she liked or disliked. “I do despise it,” she said. “Today is just another day. It doesn’t make yesterday magically disappear forever.”

Dad smiled.

Sawyer stared across the bed into his sea-green eyes. Who was this man, really? And why was he here now, talking to her? Was it an age thing? Had he been wallowing in some sort of come-to-Jesus soul searching? Don’t waste your time, she wanted to say, but didn’t. When she was young, she used to fantasize that Mr. and Mrs. Russell, the people who owned the bookstore, were her parents. She could have hoped and wished until her face turned blue, but Mom and Dad would never have been the sort of parents who raced her to the kitchen to get their hands dirty in a bowl of pancake batter or put the fear of God into her if she didn’t get As or Bs on her report card. She couldn’t remember either one of them ever feigning interest in what she was doing. So what did he want?

“What is it?” Sawyer asked. “Is there something you want to say to me?”

His eyes shimmered.

“Say it,” she prodded.

But no words came forth. Instead, he bowed his head so that his gaze seemed to rest on the floor. He obviously wanted to get something off his chest, but she wasn’t going to push him. She waited him out. Let the quiet strangle them both. Whether it was confessions or apologies or something else, she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it—not now, maybe not ever. “I’ve got to get to town,” she finally said.

He lifted his head, watched her as she gathered her bag from the bedside table. “I heard you were reporting on the murder.”

“I am.” She didn’t bother going into more detail than that. What would be the point? “Is it okay if I stay here in the cottage while I’m working on the story? I don’t plan on being here long.”

“It’s fine,” he said unconvincingly.

“I should go.” She had intended to take a shower and change her clothes, but her sudden desire to get away overrode any need for cleanliness. As she walked past him to leave, he grabbed hold of her arm. Her instinct was to pull away, but she held still, waited. “Be careful,” he said as he released his grasp.