Page 51 of Searching Blind

She scrambled for something… anything. “Can you… tell me what it’s like being blind? If that’s not rude to ask.”

“It’s not rude. I like when people ask questions instead of just assuming I can’t see anything at all.”

“What do you see?”

Sawyer was silent a moment, then held up the ball. “When you look at a tennis ball, you see a round, brightly colored object, and your brain tells you ‘that’s a tennis ball.’ When I look at it, I can see something is there, but my brain can’t interpret what it is because of the damage to my occipital lobe. Until it moves…” He threw the ball up and caught it. “Then my brain gets with the program again, and I can see. Just for a second, and it’s not clear—nothing like how I used to be able to see. But it’s enough that I can tell by sight what something is. When it stops moving, it’s just a blur of light and shadows and color… and usually, it’s not even the right color. Like this ball? I know it’s bright green, but to me, it looks blue. Or sometimes it’s green, but like a dark green. I have to use my other senses to fill in the blanks. Hearing. Smell. Touch.” He dragged his fingers over the surface of the ball. “Taste—which obviously I’m not going to do because this has been in Zelda’s mouth.” He flashed a crooked smile, and she laughed. “But in this case, touch is enough to tell me this is a tennis ball. They feel different from a rubber ball or a baseball. They smell different, too, but I don’t often go around sniffing things. That would be weird.”

He handed the ball to her, and she dragged her fingers over the fuzzy felt, trying to imagine navigating the world the same way he did. It was fascinating. “Is it true your other senses are heightened now?”

He tilted his head in the approximation of a shrug. “Partially. I don’t have superhero hearing now, but since I rely more on my hearing than other people, I’ve learned to pick up on cues that most people overlook.”

“I hear you clicking your tongue when you’re out on the trail.”

He nodded. “I can tell by the way the sound bounces if there’s a drop-off nearby or if something big is in my path. It doesn’t always stop me from running into things, but it’s enough to keep me from walking over a cliff.”

The thought of finding him at the bottom of a cliff, twisted and broken, sent ice water splashing through Lucy’s veins. She’d seen it time and again with careless hikers who disregarded the marked paths, who thought they were invincible against nature’s wrath. One false step, one misplaced trust in the stability of a rock, and even familiar terrain could become fatally treacherous.

“Does that scare you?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

“What? Falling off a cliff? I can’t say it’s high on my list of pleasant experiences,” he joked, then grew serious. “I guess it does scare me. But living in fear isn’t really living, is it?”

“No,” she agreed, “I suppose it isn’t.”

The silence between them stretched, only broken by the distant hooting of an owl and the crackling of the fire. She watched as he leaned back against the rough bark of the redwood tree behind him and closed his eyes. Zelda set her head on his thigh, and his hand stroked over her brown fur.

“I wish I could see the stars again,” he said softly.

Lucy looked up. Through the branches overhead, the sky was ablaze with a multitude of stars, close enough to touch. The moon hung low, bathing the forest floor with an ethereal glow that caught on every leaf and twig.

“I wish you could see them too,” she whispered, aching to somehow give him this sight. “They’re beautiful tonight.”

“Describe them for me?” he asked.

She hesitated for a second before speaking. “The sky’s clear. Like black velvet strewn with diamond dust.” Her eyes traced the constellations she knew by heart. “There’s Orion. The hunter. And there.” She pointed upwards. “Is Cassiopeia, the queen on her throne. The moon is full and yellow, hanging so low it feels like we could reach out and touch it.”

His lips twisted into a wistful smile. “I’ve always loved the outdoors… The stars. It’s strange to think that they’re still there, but I can’t find them anymore.”

Emotion welled up inside her as she quietly listened to the nocturnal symphony of the surrounding forest. She glanced at Sawyer, his face warm in the flickering firelight, his hand still absently caressing Zelda’s ear. Lucy’s heart ached with a kind of fondness that was more than mere friendship.

God. She was falling for this man. This sweet, smart, nerdy man.

She swallowed back the sudden lump in her throat. “Sometimes I feel like we’re just unimportant specks in this vast universe, spinning on this tiny planet under these infinite stars.” She looked at him then, his face bathed in soft moonlight, his eyes closed as he listened to her describe what he could no longer see. “But when I’m with you… suddenly, it’s not just me alone under these stars. It’s us. And the universe doesn’t seem so big anymore.”

He turned his head toward her, his gaze hot. “I wish I could see you, Luce.”

“Do you want to?” she asked softly. At his nod, she lifted his hand to her cheek. “My eyes are two different colors—one a light brown, like coffee with creamer, and one blue, like a clear summer sky. I’ve always liked that about myself. My hair is brown and wavy, always a bit messy from being outside all day. I usually keep it up in a ponytail or a braid, but when it’s down, it brushes my collarbones. I’m not much for makeup. I wear it occasionally, but mostly just lip balm. My lips are kind of big.”

His fingers moved down, tracing lightly over her lips, and a thrill of heat shot straight down her middle, tightening her nipples. “You have gorgeous lips.”

She released a shaky exhale. “My mom always told me I had a Julia Roberts smile—big and playful and lights up a room.”

“I bet you’re more beautiful than any actress when you smile.” His thumb slid down the indent in her chin. “You have a dimple.”

“Yeah, I have a butt chin.”

He gave a genuine laugh, and her heart did a funny little dance inside her chest. “I… um.” She shook her head slightly, trying to regain her train of thought. “There’s a small mole on my left shoulder blade, a scar on my right knee from when I fell off a bike as a kid. Another scar, just here.” She guided his hand to touch the faded line on her forearm. “From wrestling with a thorny bush on one of my first ranger assignments.”

She watched as his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. His fingertips pressed into the scar tissue before dropping down to trace the veins in her wrist. His touch was gentle, attentive, almost reverent.

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