Page 64 of Deceiving Grier

It had been a year and a half since the last time I’d been back in Cedar Creek. Two Easters ago, my mother had guilted me into a visit. It hadn’t been terrible. My father talked mostly about work. I went to a movie with my younger sister, and my mom hosted a big dinner for the whole family. As visits went, it had been fine.

I just ignored the uneasy tension tightening my insides, or the way my father lectured me to stay focused on school and not waste my time with nonsense—which I was fairly certain was code for dating—or the way my mother’s lips would purse anytime I mentioned my roommates.

After being away for so long, I thought maybe I would have felt a sense of nostalgia or homecoming now that I was back. Instead, as Sawyer steered through familiar streets and I watched houses, shops, and buildings that I’d grown up around pass outside the passenger window, all I felt was a growing sense of dread and a strange smothering sensation, making it hard to breathe.

Since Fiona’s call last night, everything seemed to be moving too quickly and in slow motion at the same time. After I hung up with my sister, I scrambled to find a flight home. All the while, everything inside felt cold and hollow, leaving me oddly disconnected from what was happening around me.

Maybe that’s why when Sawyer had insisted on coming with me, I’d agreed. I’d told him he didn’t have to. I hadn’t wanted him to come because he felt obligated, but he’d insisted, telling me there was no way in hell he was going to let me do this all on my own—and essentially one-handed.

He may have had a point. Flying from Portland to Green Bay, then making the half-hour drive from the airport to Cedar Creek on my own would have been complicated without the use of my right hand, and as much as I hated to admit it, just having him with me through this was a relief that had nothing to do with having to navigate the world clumsily with just my left hand.

“You okay?” he asked. I looked over at him behind the wheel, and desperate gratitude flooded my chest.

I knew I was getting too used to this, to having Sawyer to fall back on, but I couldn’t help myself. Besides, we only had months before I would be making this trip for good and alone. There would be no Sawyer at my side then. So for now, I refused to waste the time I had left with him worrying about how much it would hurt when he was gone for good.

I nodded. “I’m all right. It feels strange being back.”

After so long living in The Square, surrounded by Oregon’s ragged cliffs, thick forests and roiling shores, Cedar Creek looked oddly flat and blah by comparison. Block after block of white clapboard houses and well-manicured lawns that all looked alike. Even when Sawyer steered into my family’s subdivision at the edge of town, where the houses were a little newer—built sometime in the 1970s—everything still looked vaguely the same, colorless and bland.

Maybe I wasn’t being fair. November was an ugly time of year. All the warm colors and cozy charm of fall were gone, but the cold beauty of winter had yet to settle in.

“Is this right?” Sawyer asked, nodding to the redbrick ranch the GPS had directed him to.

“That’s my parents’ house,” I said. I couldn’t remember the last time it had felt like home, long before I’d left for college, that was for sure.

For a second, my breath snagged in my throat when I thought about how strange it would feel entering that house and my father not being there. My eyes started to itch, and I forced my gaze away from the house.

Cars packed the wide driveway. My parents’ and probably my sisters’ cars too. So Sawyer pulled alongside the curb and parked out front. At least we could make a fast escape if we needed to.

Sawyer cut the engine, but I grabbed his hand with my good one before he could reach for the door handle. He turned and met my gaze, but I looked away.

“The thing is, my parents—” Not my parents, not anymore. My father was gone, and only my mother and younger sister lived here now. I drew a deep breath and started again. “My mother knows I’m gay, but my family has never been entirely…” I struggled for the right word, not sure how to best describe my family’s reaction to my sexuality. What was the word for pretending something just wasn’t there? “Comfortable with it,” I settled on, finally.

Sawyer leaned closer, cupping the side of my face with his free hand and gently tipping my head back to meet his gaze. “I’m here for you to help you through this, not to make it harder for you. I will be whoever you need me to be. Roommate, friend, boyfriend, some combination of all three, whatever you need.”

My throat shriveled. I closed my eyes and let my head fall forward until my forehead was resting against his chest.

“I’m kind of a mess,” I said, without lifting my head.

“You’re not, but even if you were, it’d be okay.” His fingers trailing through my hair.

I lifted my head and pressed my lips to his in one last chaste kiss before going inside. I turned away, drew a deep breath, and opened the door. We both climbed out of the car, not bothering to take our bags from the trunk. I’d booked a hotel room while we were staying here. There was no way I could be under this roof with Sawyer trying to pretend he was just some guy I knew to please my mother and keep my family from feeling awkward. Not all day, every day.

Together we followed the flagstone walk from the sidewalk to the front door. I hesitated, unsure if I should knock or let myself in. After more than a year, I could confidently say that I didn’t live here anymore, but I didn’t want to make a big deal by ringing the bell. I turned the knob and pushed the door open, stepping into the hall.

Warm air wrapped around me, smelling faintly of savoury things cooking. The muffled sound of a football game drifted out from the living room, and for one dizzying moment, I could almost convince myself that Fiona had been wrong, and my father was fine. He was in the living room watching the game while my mother made dinner, and everything was exactly as I’d left it before going back to school.

I felt Sawyer shift closer. He didn’t speak, but I could see the concern etched on his face.

“I’m okay,” I said, my raspy voice undermining my words. He looked unconvinced, but I swallowed down the lump in my throat and said, “I am,really.”

After kicking off my shoes and shrugging out of my jacket, I looked into the living room. Fiona’s husband, Marty, was sitting on the sofa watching the game. A man I didn’t recognize sat at the other end of the couch, staring down at his phone rather than the T.V. screen. He looked about nineteen or twenty. Probably a friend of Paisley’s.

“Hey,” I said, pulling the attention of both men from their respective screens. Marty stood and smiled sympathetically, but his expression faltered when his look shifted to Sawyer standing just behind me.

“You made it,” Marty said, making his way toward me. “Fiona was worried you wouldn’t get here in time for the visitation tonight.”

“We managed to get a six a.m. flight out,” I told him. “There was a stop in Chicago, but we still reached Green Bay just past noon.”

---