Page 72 of The Affair
Feeling slightly embarrassed, I nodded. “Yeah. I guess I was looking for something.”
His eyes narrowed onto the page that was open. “Or someone?” he asked.
Looking at the picture I’d found of him from his senior year, I nodded, knowing he needed some additional context for any of this to make sense. “My grandmother fell in love with a man she didn’t know. I guess I didn’t want to make the same mistake.”
Concern washed across his face. “You don’t think you know me?”
Looking down at the younger black-and-white version of him immortalized in the yearbook, I shook my head. “Up until I saw this picture, I didn’t even remember you’d played football.”
He let out a sigh. “Not well. Not like my brother. And besides, we were two years apart in high school. We didn’t exactly run in the same circles.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “But I was your sister-in-law for ten years. I’ve known you since we were practically kids. And yet, I feel like we just met, and I’m the only one who’s talking.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you’ve mentioned more than once that you know me. You can navigate my moods by my facial expressions, and you know whether or not I’m lying, but all of that is because I’m an open book, Sawyer. When you ask me a question, I answer it.”
“And you don’t feel that way with me…” he said. It wasn’t a question, but more of a realization.
Reaching out, I pulled his hand into mine. “Yesterday, you said trust had to be earned before it was given, so I get that maybe you’re not there with me yet.”
His eyes widened just ever so slightly.
“And perhaps your reasons for being distrustful are different than mine, but they’re still valid.”
“I do trust you,” he urged. “More than I’ve trusted another in a long time. But I’ve never been one to open up, and I’m sorry if that makes you feel like you don’t know the person sitting in front of you. Keep asking me questions, Elle. I’ll try to stop dodging them.”
Smiling, I rubbed my thumb over his calloused knuckles. “Deal.”
“Now, where can I find a picture of young Eloise Woods in this thing?” he asked, snatching the yearbook off the bed before I had the chance to.
“No! Don’t you dare!”
He shook his head, contorting his body away from mine so I couldn’t get to the dreaded book. “Quid pro quo!”
“I don’t think that phrase works in this situation.” I laughed before reaching his hands. “Gimme!”
“Nope.” He held out his hand, and I surrendered, settling back against my pillows. “You got to see my embarrassing photo, and now I want to see yours.”
As he held the book out in front of him, his eyes were bright and full of mischievous energy. “Now, let’s see. Where are you?”
He made a big show of thumbing through each page of the sophomore section until finally…
“Aha! There you are. Aww, look at that haircut!”
“Let me see!” I said, snagging the book from his hands. I turned it around, searching the page until I found my resemblance snuggled tightly between super-popular Harry Waterman and brace-face Melanie Zuckerman. “Oh, man. Those bangs! What was I thinking?”
He chuckled. “They’re not that bad. Check out that poor kid,” he said, pointing to the geeky-looking guy two rows up with the haircut that looked like a throwback from the ’80s.
“Oh, yeah.” I laughed, wondering whatever had happened to that kid. “That’s bad. At least my mom didn’t use a bowl to cut mine.”
“No, and it all eventually grew back.”
The way he’d said it had me eyeing him because it was almost as if he was remembering it rather than just stating a fact.
I tried to think back to those carefree good old days when I had been the lucky girl dating the quarterback.Where was he in all those memories?I had brief flashes of him—Reed yelling at him to go away, a few conversations here and there—but he still remained this sort of ghost—there, but not really.
“What was high school like for you?” I asked, watching his eyes linger on my photo.
