Page 79 of Sawyer

“I’ll bring them over later,” he says.

“My boots?”

“You don’t need them.” He lifts me into his arms. “My truck’s out front. I’ve got you.”

I lean my forehead into the crook of his neck and close my eyes. He smells like sweat and pine-scented soap and somethingelse that is always, eternally, Sawyer. He pushes open the theater door, his boots crunching on the snow and ice as he carries me to his truck, opens the passenger door, and places me gently inside.

I’ve got you.

We drive to my aunt and uncle’s house, a short distance, in silence, the words,You are not my daughter anymore, circling in my head.When we get there, I sit listlessly in my seat until he opens my door and carries me into the house.

I’ve got you.

There is some fussing from my aunt and uncle as he rings the doorbell and steps into the living room with me in his arms, but I keep my head buried in the curve of his neck, and my eyes closed. I will tell them all about it tomorrow.

I’ve got you.

A door is opened, and I am gently lowered to my bed. I keep my eyes closed and curl into a fetal-style ball. A moment later, I feel Sawyer’s body spooning mine, his arm around me, his breath warm on the back of my neck. Someone covers us with a warm blanket.

We’ve got you.

The lights are turned off, and the door is closed, and I realize I am lying in my cousin’s twin bed with Sawyer’s body beside mine and his arms around me, both of us still dressed in costumes from the 1840s. It is completely absurd, and yet, the beauty of it makes me weep.

I’m not a daughter, butI’m not alone.

I never have been.

And I never will be again.

Chapter 10

Sawyer

Yuletide is a big deal in Skagway.

The month-long celebration kicks off on the Friday after Thanksgiving with a Christmas tree lighting downtown, and every weekend from then until Christmas, there are parties, wine tastings, special craft classes, sales at local stores, fundraisers, visits with Santa, holiday-themed movies at various spots around town, a Gingerbread house contest, and finally, Christmas caroling and church services on Christmas Eve.

Wuthering Heightsis one of the many Yuletide offerings in Skagway and slated for tonight, the second Friday in December. Afterward, everyone in the cast, crew, and audience will head over to the Annual Yuletide Ball at the Happy Endings Saloon.

I’m excited for tonight. I’m ready.

Despite missing the last half hour of our dress rehearsal on Wednesday night, if Ivy and I can focus and remember all the hard work we put into preparing for the show, we will wow the good folks of Skagway. I hope so anyway. I feel like she needs a win right now…the last two days have been rough on my girl.

Ivy slept fitfully the night I stayed over at the Caswell’s place. It was like she had a fever of the heart or mind; her body wasn’t sick, but her heart was in such pain, her mind had trouble assimilating the damage. She woke up a couple of times in the night, crying for her mother and father, and I did my best to soothe her back to sleep.

On Thursday mid-morning, when she finally dragged herself out of bed, she was tired and crabby. We made hot cocoa, popped popcorn, and watched Christmas movies on theHallmark channel for most of the day, which seemed to cheer her up a little.

When she texted me this morning on her way to work, she seemed more like herself. She asked if I could pick her up on the way to the theater for tonight’s performance, and I said I would.

I’m still worried for her—the things her father said and did have cut her to the core—but she told me last night that her independence was worth the pain. If buckling under her father’s expectations and pressure and marrying someone who didn’t love her was the price of his approval, she said she didn’t need it.

But telling your only child that she’s dead to you?

Whew.

That’s not something you can get over quickly, even if itisthe price of your freedom.

All I can do is what I have been doing—be there for her, give her time, and love her all the while. I have a much easier job than she does.

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