Page 147 of Past the Broken Bridges

More time with Sawyer.

“This is on the property I grew up on,” I say, watching her eyes widen. My foot taps the closest post. “I built this with my dad. Before the alcohol took over, when things were normal. Or as normal as they could have been. I always wondered how you found it, but I never cared enough to ask.”

Sawyer stares at the bridge. “You built…?” Her head moves back and forth in disbelief. “You never told me back then. I found it when I went out adventuring. I was hot, needed a place to rest, and this place seemed so…”

“Safe.”

She nods. “Safe,” she agrees.

“Maybe we were meant to meet,” I remark, leaning back and thinking about us as children, sitting in this very spot. “We both needed somebody back then, and we both need someone now. Especially since Dawson…”

We fall to silence.

Then I pull out the two bags of fruit snacks that I snagged from the campus store, and she lets out a watery laugh and accepts one just like we did as kids.

I play with the gummies poured out into my palm, not eating any of them. “Is there really nothing the hospital can do? If you changed your mind…”

It’s not going to change anything.

Sawyer picks one of the fruit snacks out and squeezes it between her fingers. “The oncologist came to see me after I was brought in. Even if I did change my mind, it wouldn’t matter. It’s spread. They told me it would.”

Emotion crams into my throat, making it hard to swallow.

“I can feel it,” she whispers, a tear sliding down her face that she wipes off with the back of her hand. “I think I’ve been feeling it for a while. Since I got here. Maybe even before.”

My nose burns as I fight off the tears prickling the backs of my own eyes. What can I say to her? There are no words that would make it better. Nothing I could say to comfort her.

So all I do is hold her hand.

She squeezes it.

I squeeze back.

Her voice is nearly inaudible when she speaks again. “I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt anybody.”

She tried warning me. Tried pushing me away. But I wouldn’t let her. “I know you didn’t, Birdie.”

We sit with the quiet swirling around us as the sun begins to set. Then I look up, hearing a faint chirp before a red bird lands on a twig above us.

I point. “Look.”

Sawyer’s head moves up toward the cardinal staring down at her. Its head cocks to the side as if studying her. Then to the other.

“They say cardinals are spiritual birds,” I murmur, transfixed by its fascination in Sawyer. It flies off the branch and onto the ground a few feet away from her. “I’ve read about how they’re believed to be people we’ve lost checking in on us. I took out a book on birds not long after coming back to see what Katrina had done. It reminded me of you.”

We watch as the bird hesitates before bouncing over to her feet, stopping by her shoe. It pecks her once, twice, then flaps its wings and takes off.

“Maybe that will be me someday,” Sawyer says.

The lump in my throat returns, and I can’t find the words to answer her.

It’s well after dark when we finally pull into the parking lot of the apartment building, her hand tucked into mine the entire way. I don’t even know if she realizes it’s there, but she hasn’t let go.

Sawyer turns to me. “Thank you.”

A single tear rolls down her face that I swipe away with my thumb. “You don’t have to thank me, Birdie. I’m just glad I could help you finish your list.”

Her eyes close for a moment, eyelids clenching to fight the flow of tears as she nestles her cheek into my palm. “Still…it means the world to me. I never thought I’d see it again. Didn’t know if it still existed. After everything, I didn’t think you’d even want to be around me.”

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