Page 169 of Past the Broken Bridges

Her husband turns to the ribbon. “I know she would have loved this. The days she ran away to meet you were some of her favorites.”

You were my favorite memory.

Dixie rubs my back in silent comfort.

I clear my throat. “They were mine too.”

The photographer from the paper comes over and interrupts. “We’re ready for you.”

Nodding, I turn to Sawyer’s family. “I was wondering if you’d like to do the honors at the ribbon cutting. They’re going to do an article on the memorial. You don’t have to talk to them if you don’t want to, but it’ll highlight Sawyer’s time here and why this is important.”

The three of them share a look before Mr. Hawkins finally answers. “We’d be honored to do anything to share the love Sawyer had.”

Bentley, who’s been standing silently the entire time, tucks the frame under his arm. “If it’s all right, I think I’ll sit out on the ribbon cutting.”

His mother looks heartbroken. “Bentley…”

He shakes his head. “I can’t,” he whispers.

I grasp his shoulders. “That’s fine.”

Ten minutes later, the photographer takes the photo of Sawyer’s parents cutting the ribbon for the official Sawyer Hawkins memorial and starts the interview.

Hours later, after everybody leaves for their hotels for the night, I’m standing by the end of the bridge when I notice something silver reflecting off the streetlight overhead.

Kneeling down, I graze my fingers over the package of chocolate fudge Pop-Tarts resting by the tree, along with the flowers, stuffed animals, and other mementos left behind.

Bentley.

“I apologized to her,” a voice says from behind me, causing me to dart up and spin to see the seventeen-year-old standing there with his hands in his pockets. He’s looking at his sister’s favorite treat, a permanent frown settled on his face.

“Do your parents know you’re here?” I ask.

He shakes his head.

In that moment, I recognize so much of Sawyer in him. I gesture toward the bench Dixie helped me build and sit, waiting for him to join me before saying, “It doesn’t get easier right away, but it will. Eventually.”

He toys with his fingers, keeping his eyes on his lap. “Is it easier for you?”

If I lie, how will that help him? “I’m getting there. It doesn’t happen overnight.”

We fall to silence, save for the passing vehicles and insects in the background.

“I apologized to her for what I said,” he tells me quietly, voice barely more than a murmur. “It doesn’t feel like that matters though.”

I knock his knee with mine until he looks at me. “Sawyer loved you and knew you didn’t mean what you said. She was willing to come back to New York because of that love. That’s what you should focus on.”

“She wasn’t mad?”

I lean back and stretch my legs out. “No. Sawyer had a lot of things to be mad about, but she never let them consume her. If she wasn’t mad about those things, there was no way she was going to stay angry with you.”

I don’t know if that helps or if it even can. It was hard enough losing a friend, a neighbor, a woman who could have possibly been the person for me. But a sister? Thatbreak is deeper—harder to heal. I’d know. Dawson was like a brother to me, and his absence is still one I feel wedged into my soul.

“Did you love her?” Bentley asks.

“Sawyer?”

He nods.

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