Page 15 of Sawyer

I love you, Clark. So much. Please don’t doubt my commitment to you and to us. I have to help my aunt for a few more weeks, but I promise I’ll be back in Juneau soon. Please don’t be mad, and please don’t give up on me.

I feel pathetic for begging, but I can’t help it. My parents got married recklessly in a haze of lust, the consequence of which was complete and utter unhappiness, for them and for me. I have to try to fix those mistakes if I can, and the only way to do that is to marry someone safe and stable, with the blessing and approval of my father.

Besides, I’m a realist. I know that no marriage is perfect; they just exist in degrees of imperfection, and I’m trying to mitigate mine. It doesn’t matter that Clark’s and my relationship isn’t the steamiest. It doesn’t matter that he seems to take my father’s side more than mine. It doesn’t matter that he’d choose a rowdy night out with friends over a quiet night at home with me. What matters is that he’s a solid choice. He’s a nice boy with good prospects from a great family. More than just a solid choice, Clark is therightchoice. Every time I look at my father’s face, I know it. I’m sure of it.

He doesn’t write back right away, which is to be expected. It’s Saturday night. He’s probably out on the town with his high school friends. I won’t hear from him until tomorrow.

I splash my face with more cold water, blot it dry and take another deep breath.

I’ve got this.

As I return to my seat, I spy Bruce Franks, who stands at the back of his improvised theater. Because the Kozy Kone is just a few doors down from the Purple Parsnip, I see Bruce almostevery day over the summer, and he’s always been kind to me. When I smile at him, he waves me over.

“Oh, my stars and garters!” he exclaims in a stage whisper. “What’reyoudoin’ here off-season?”

“Helping out my aunt and uncle.”

His lips turn down. “I heard about Priscilla. Terrible thing, cancer. How’s she doing?”

“The prognosis is good,” I say. “But the treatment is awful.”

“Chemo is something different. Breaks you down before building you up,” he says. “How’re the girls? I see Jenny’s here with you.”

“She’s impossible,” I confess. “Angry and difficult all the time lately.”

“Tough thing to see your mama sick.”

“I know,” I say. “And I’m being patient. I promise.”

We stand in companionable silence for a moment before he nudges me gently.

“Hey, darlin’,” he says, “I think I saw something about you doing theater up there at UAF.”

I nod at him. “How’d you know about that?”

“I’ve got an old friend in the theater department. Kent Sorenson. You know him, right?”

“Of course! I love Professor Sorenson! He cast me as Ophelia inKing Lear!”

“I know,” says Bruce. “I saw pictures of the production on Facebook. Knew I recognized that red-headed Ophelia on my feed.”

“Wow. Small world.”

“Smallstate,” Bruce corrects me.

He’s right. Alaska is tiny when it comes to people. There are more people in the city of Seattle than there are in the entire state of Alaska. Everyone is a few degrees of separation away from everyone else, and that’s a fact.

“So…” he starts. Suddenly, he stares at the movie screen, fanning himself. “Oh, Lord! Hit pause a second. Would you look at Aiden Quinn! My god on high, he was a snack and a half once upon a time!”

I giggle at Bruce’s enthusiasm, turning my attention back to the movie for a second. Sandra Bullock’s inanotherpassionate lip lock. (I’m beginning to understand my roommate’s obsession with this movie!)My stomach fills with the rapid and unexpected fluttering of butterfly wings as I watch Aiden Quinn push Sandra Bullock against his hotel room wall and kiss her like the world is ending. They fall onto the bed, her on top of him, grasping for each other, gasping for breath, desperate for more.

And for a second—just a split second—I remember what it was like to be kissed like that.

Don’t go back to Fairbanks…don’t go back to him…

“Whew! So anyway,” Bruce continues, all business now that Aiden Quinn is no longer on the screen, “I’ve adaptedWuthering Heightsinto a play and auditions are on Thursday. Any chance I could convince an erstwhile Ophelia to try her hand at Catherine Earnshaw?”

I remember the flyer at the grocery store and nod.

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