Page 80 of Sawyer

When I park in front of the Caswell’s house on Friday evening, Ivy leaves from the kitchen and jumps into my truck.

“You ready, Heathcliff?” she asks.

I lean over to kiss her quickly. “You’re in a better mood!”

“I’m getting there,” she says, fastening her seatbelt. “The show must go on and all that. I can’t lie in bed and cry for the rest of my life just because my father hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” I say, backing out of the driveway. I don’t say this forhissake, but for hers. “He’s just mad. Give him some time. You take some time, too. Reach out in a couple of months. See if he’s thawing.”

“Honestly, I don’t know ifI’llbe thawed by then.”

“Then wait a few more months after that. You’re family. People can surprise you.”

“Well, I’m not shedding any more tears over it. It sucked. It hurt. But it is what it is. I went back through everything I said…how I held my ground…how I started building boundaries and demanding the respect I deserve. Honestly, I think I handled myself really well. I don’t regret anything, you know? I’m sad he’s so angry with me and disappointed in my choices. But you can’t change other people,” she says. “The only person over whom you have agency is yourself. That’s what Aunt P. says, and she’s right.”

“Mrs. C. was always a favorite of mine.”

“She’s told you a million times to call her Priscilla.”

“No, ma’am.” I pull into a parking space near the theater and cut the engine, turning to grin at my love. “Can’t do it. Sorry. She’ll always be Mrs. C. to me.”

“You’re adorable,” she tells me, unbuckling her belt and sliding closer to me. “How about we tongue fuck for a few minutes before we blow the roof off this theater, huh?”

“What an awesome idea,” I say, pulling her into my arms.

***

The show is good.

It’sso good, in fact, that by the final act, during Heathcliff’s death scene, I hear soft sniffling and crying in the audience.

“Do take some food, Mr. Heathcliff,” entreats Vera as Ellen, offering me a bowl of soup. “You’ve eaten naught in three days.”

“Away with you, Ellen!” I bellow.

I’m lying in a bed, dressed in a similar nightgown to the one Catherine dies in. McKenna has just put talcum powder in my hair backstage to make it look gray.

“Nourishment and rest, sir,” insists Ellen. “You need only look at yourself in a glass to see how you require both. Your cheeks are hollow and your eyes bloodshot, like a person starving with hunger and going blind with loss of sleep.”

“I cannot eat or rest,” I tell her. “I am but an arm’s length from the shore. And once there, my soul’s bliss will kill my body.”

“Bliss?” asks Ellen, flustered and confused. “What bliss?”

“When I die,” I tell her, “no minister need come, nor need anything be said over me. I tell you I have nearly attainedmyheaven, and that of others is altogether unvalued and uncoveted by me.”

“Yourheaven? But, sir…there is only one,” she whispers. “Your words frighten me.”

In the corner of the room, Ivy, dressed in her white nightgown with bare feet, has been hiding behind a bureau. She slips out, standing like an angel in a blue spotlight. Sheisan angel.Myangel.

“She comes for me,” I murmur to Ellen. “She is here.”

“Who is here?” Ellen looks to the corner where Heathcliff’s eyes are fixed, but sees nothing.

“Catherine,” I say weakly, reaching out my hand.

“I will go for the doctor!” Ellen cries, hurrying from the room.

Catherine walks slowly to my bedside, her smile growing as she comes near. When she is an arm’s length away, she reaches out her hand.

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