Page 88 of Sparking Sara

“That’s not what we agreed upon, Ollie,” Sara says.

Sara is upset.

Oliver looks frustrated.

“You know I’m trying,” she says. “I’m trying to be the person you want me to be. And I appreciate the patience you’ve shown me. But we agreed that Denver would be in my life. Inourlives. He’s my friend. Maybe even my best friend. I’ll go home with you, but he’s free to come over whenever he likes.” She looks over at me. “That is if he wants to.”

“Of course I want to,” I say. “I’ll help in any way I can. We all just want what’s best for you, Sara.”

She nods, relieved. “Good. Then I guess I’m ready to go home.”

Oliver picks up the box of her art supplies and grabs her small suitcase, rolling it towards the door.

Sara makes her way around the room, hugging Donovan, Joelle, and me.

Donovan wipes a tear that escapes his eye. “I don’t know why I’m crying. I’ll still get to see you every day.”

Sara’s eyes are wet, too. It must be hard for her to leave the one place she feels safe. “Thank you all,” she says. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

She’s speaking to everyone, but she’s only looking at me.

“We’ll see you soon,” I say.

Sara stops in the doorway, looking around the empty room before her eyes catch mine again. She looks at me the way she did the night we met. Her eyes hold mine just like they did in the mirror. She’s scared. She has no idea what’s coming next.

“Come on, hun,” I hear Oliver say from the hallway.

Sara gives me a sad smile. And then she turns and walks away. Of course she does. She might be afraid of going home. She may be worried about her future. But she’s also the strongest woman I’ve ever met.

Joelle picks up a book off the table. “She forgot this. I’ll just run it out to her.”

I back up until my calves hit the chair behind me. I sit down and take a deep breath.

Donovan sits on the end of the bed and studies me for a minute. “You keep saying you want what’s best for her,” he says. “But did you ever stop to think that what’s best for her isyou?”

Part Two

Sara

Chapter Twenty-one

“When you’re ready.”I hear Oliver’s voice swim around in my head as I put away the negligees he gave me as my coming home gift last night.

He was the perfect gentleman. As promised, he slept on the couch. He didn’t ask me to model his purchases. He didn’t do anything more than give me a soft kiss goodnight.

In my closet, I look through my clothes. I know they’re mine, but it feels like they’re someone else’s. In the corner, however, there is a collection of paint-splattered shirts and yoga pants. I must wear these when I work. I sift through them and pick out something to wear, feeling comfortable for the first time since arriving home last night.

Home.

I shake my head because when I think of that word, all I can see is the house I grew up in or the rehab center I lived in for three weeks. Three weeks—that’s all it took for me to consider it a safe place. Maybe that’s all it will take here as well.

I run my hand along Oliver’s dress shirts, hung neatly along one side of the closet, and I wonder if that’s how long it will take for me to considerhima safe place.

I wander through the kitchen, opening drawers and cabinets to get the feel of my new surroundings. I look at the photos displayed on our bookshelves, hoping I might discover something about myself. Praying something will spark my memory against all odds.

Then I spy the bag containing Denver’s gifts. I pull out the journal and turn it over in my hands. Suddenly, I find myself searching the apartment for a diary. I remember keeping one as a child. Maybe I kept one as an adult, too.

I go back into the bedroom and rifle through my dresser drawers, sneezing at the dust I unsettle. I get down on my knees, something that isn’t as easy as it used to be, and feel under the mattress, hoping my hand will come out with the answers I’m searching for—the missing links to the past three years of my life. But nothing.

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