Page 75 of Sawyer

I nod. “Yep.”

“You could’ve told me.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You should’ve told me!” she insists.

“We were having fun!” I say. “It would’ve wrecked things!”

“So instead, you lied.”

“I didn’tlie,” I tell her. “I just kept it to myself.”

“A lie of omission is still a lie,” she says, her face crestfallen. “What if I hadn’t broken up with him that night? When would you have told me?”

“You did!” I say. “You did break up with him! So I decided you didn’t need to know that he’d been cheating on you in Juneau.”

“Knowledge is power, Sawyer. Knowing he was cheating on me would’ve made the breakup easier. I wouldn’t have apologized so much. I could have just blamed it all on him. Part of me felt bad for breaking things off. I let him say really mean, brutal things to me because I felt like I deserved his anger.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, sliding closer to her. Our hips touch, and she doesn’t pull away this time. I’m relieved. “I’m so sorry, and I promise I’ll never keep anything else from you ever again. I promise, Ivy.”

“This hurts my feelings,” she says, leaning her head on my shoulder. “I can’t be with someone who lies to me.”

“Forgive me,” I say, putting my arm around her.

“I do,” she says. “But don’t lie to me again, Sawyer. And delete those photos, please. As soon as possible. They make me look like a fool.”

“I will,” I promise, taking the phone out of her hand and deleting them in front of her. “But you’re not a fool for wanting to believe the best of someone you cared about. I hope you always believe the best of me.”

“That’s exactly why it hurt to find those photos,” she says.

I put my phone on the bed behind us, and my arm back around her shoulders.

“You know, I’m going to make mistakes sometimes, Ivy, and I’m going to need your forgiveness when I do. But I want you to know this. All the time, every minute of every day, I’m loving you. I want what’s best for you. I never, ever want to hurt you.Thoseare my motivations.Thoseare my intentions when it comes to you. And they might get me into trouble with you sometimes, but my feelings for you are pure. I love you. All of you. I promise.”

“I believe you,” she says, turning her face to mine. Her lips brush against mine—the physical manifestation of her forgiveness. “And I love you, too.”

***

Ivy

Maybe it’s because he’s the fifth youngest of six siblings and had to develop a certain amount of emotional maturity to keep up with his brothers and sisters, but I love the way Sawyer speaks to me.

I love the way he understands me. I love the way he explained that he will sometimes make mistakes and will need my forgiveness when he does. He communicates better than any man I’ve ever known, and because communication with my father was so abysmal, having a partner like Sawyer is crucial to me.

Speaking of my father, there’s been radio silence between us.

I didn’t follow-up on his Thanksgiving text, and he hasn’t reached out again. I guess we’re at a stalemate, and that’s okay for now. Someday, of course, I’d like for us to talk—really talk—and try to figure out how to have a healthy relationship, but for now, my feelings are too raw and bruised by his behavior. I need time.

…that I, apparently, don’t have.

During our final rehearsal, I’m standing backstage, in the wings, when I see a tall, thin man enter the theater. Wearing an expensive, black cashmere overcoat and Burberry scarf, he doesn’t blend in with the folks of Skagway who are more comfortable in jeans and flannels. He stands in the aisle for a moment, watching the rehearsal on stage, then takes a seat in the back row, crossing his long legs into the aisle and taking off his hat.

His red hair, worn in the stiff, preppy, business-style he’s always had, is the same color as mine, albeit with a dignified dusting of gray over the ears.

My father is here.

My father ishere, inSkagway.

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