I sign the receipt he's holding out, then lock the door behind them when they're gone.
I walk back into the kitchen and stare down at the book. It could be Peyton’s, but I don't think it is. A young girl wouldn't be careless with her journal. I've been there. When I was Peyton's age, I'd have grabbed my journal in a house fire before running from my room.
Which means it's Sawyer's.
I tap my pursed lips with two fingers. Does wanting to read it make me an awful person?
His behavior was bizarre last night, and he admitted something happened. He also told me I can't know, because it will hurt me. I've been envisioning the worst scenarios all day long. For hours, I've been convinced he cheated on me, even though it doesn't seem like something Sawyer is capable of. But what the hell else could it be?
I'm staring at the book when a key slides into the front door lock. I train my gaze at the door, watching as it opens and Sawyer steps in. First, he looks at me, then down to the table. His eyes bulge.
He comes toward me, arms open. "Jessie." He says my name cautiously.
I put out a hand to stop him. "I didn't read it. It's your journal. I believe in privacy."
Sawyer pulls out a chair and sits down. His forearms lean on the table, and he looks at me earnestly. I remain standing, and the journal lies between us. "It's not mine,” he says, running a hand through his hair.
"Whose is it?"
A long time passes before he answers, maybe ten seconds. They feel like forever. "Jo found it at Wildflower. It was my mother's."
I lift my chin, then lower it inch by inch as I process this information. "This is what upset you so much last night?"
He nods.
I poke at the front cover. "And there is something in here you can't tell me about? Because it will hurt me?"
“Exactly,” he answers, somber.
I reach for the journal. It was never a choice. I'd rather know the truth and handle the pain than be lied to. I can't imagine how Sawyer's mother, who died before I was born, could possibly hurt me now.
I open the journal. I read every entry until it ends.
"Who is she referring to?" I ask, but I already know. I don’t know how, but the answer is there, a heavy stone in my stomach.
Sawyer grimaces like he is about to be sick. “Your dad. I called my father, and he told me."
I choke on a sob. "Your mother… slept with my father?” The meaning of the words dusts the surface, sinking in. “She disrespected my mother."
Sawyer's jaw twitches. "Like your dad disrespected my dad? He slept with another man's wife." He sounds horrified.
I can't hear that right now. I can't see that right now. Not my dad. My dad with the ironclad loyalty to his family. A man who, without a doubt, would place himself between a bullet and any of his loved ones.
"Oh.Oh. No no no." I shut my eyes against the truth, but it doesn't work. I see only a younger version of my father, with a woman in his arms. A woman who is not my mother.
Sawyer pulls me to his chest, his big hands holding my head to his galloping heart. I cling to him, refusing to accept this new information as reality.
Impossible. This cannot be unlearned.
My chest splits open. The pain is atrocious and exquisite.
“I went to see the sheriff today.” Emotion fractures his sentence.
“Why?” I ask, my face still pressed to him. I don’t want to move from this spot. He smells clean and fresh, and whatever else it is that makes himSawyer. The man who holds my heart.
“My mom died on that road out there.” His arm shifts, and even though I can’t see it from my position, I know he’s pointing beyond the HCC, to the road leading to town. “And now I find out she and your dad were having an affair?”
My mind makes the connection immediately. “Sawyer, no.” I pull away from the smell that soothed me a second ago, and look up at him. “What happened to your mom was an accident.”
