Page 54 of The Affair
As I made my way to the stairs, his voice stopped me. “Do you mind if I do some dictation?”
A smile spread across my face. “No,” I answered. “Just don’t—”
“I won’t touch the leather ones,” he promised.
I continued my way up to my room, the sound of him moving about downstairs a welcome comfort to my ears. As I made myself ready, pulling off my fuzzy pink robe and lifting the sheets on my bed, the sound of his deep voice carried through the hallway, giving me a sense of peace and tranquility I hadn’t felt in ages.
And as I drifted off to sleep, I dreamed of many things.
I dreamed of my nana and her leather journals, of Sawyer and his soft, lilting voice.
And I dreamed of love—the messy kind that sent you down long, forbidden pathways.
Chapter Seven
In all the sordid fantasies I’d had that began with Sawyer entering my room, none of them included me being struck down by the flu or him waltzing in with a tray of soup.
“More chicken noodle?” I asked, peeking my head out from the covers.
“You know it,” he answered. “How are you feeling?”
“A little better actually, but don’t think that makes me forget that you’re intruding. I don’t recall giving you permission to enter my bedroom.”
Setting the tray on my dresser, he took a look around. “I don’t believe I asked,” he countered.
I watched as he stuck his hands in his pockets and sort of wandered around for a moment, checking out the room in his normal curious fashion. His eyes fixated on certain things, my trophies from the high school debate club that were now pushed back on my bookshelf to make room for more age-appropriate things like self-help books and skin care products. A mishmash of old and new—that was the disaster that he’d walked into.
“Why haven’t you moved into the master?” he finally asked.
The question sort of threw me a little, but I should have been used to this by now. Sawyer wasn’t exactly shy when it came to his pointed questions.
“Um, I don’t know,” I answered. “It’s my parents’ room. It would be weird, I guess.”
He shook his head. “It used to be your parents’ room,” he corrected me. “But it’s not anymore.”
I swallowed, my throat scratchy, but I wasn’t sure if it was from the flu or a by-product of this sensitive subject matter that was causing it. “Why are you always so eager to move on?”
“Why are you so hell-bent on not?” he countered with a raised eyebrow.
I abruptly sat up, moving a couple pillows behind me so I could lean against them. I must have been doing the task with a little extra force because when I finished, I noticed Sawyer staring.
“What?”
“I’m sorry if I upset you,” he said, dejected. “Can I get your tray? You must be hungry, right?”
Folding my arms across my chest, I pursed my lips before answering, “Yes, that would be nice. Thank you.”
He did as he’d said, pulling the tray from the dresser and placing in on my lap. He set up the little feet, so it was nice and sturdy on the bed, just like my mom used to do.
As I began to stir my soup, he spoke up, “It’s not that I don’t understand you’re dealing with a loss and that the house represents that,” he said, his eyes staring down at the floor. “But I guess I feel like if you sit here in a mausoleum of sorts, you’ll never be able to move on with a life of your own.”
Still messing with my soup, I answered, “So, you think if I clean it out and make it my own, I’ll suddenly have a new lease on life and what? I’ll find a new man and finally get over the old one?”
His eyes met mine. They were bright and full of an intensity I hadn’t seen before. “You’re not over the old one?”
“No.” I shook my head, letting out a sigh. “Yes, of course I am. That’s not what I meant. I am. I’m just—I’m sorry. I’m getting angry over nothing. I know you mean well, and you’re right. I do need to clean out the place, but it’s hard, you know? The idea that this house could look different… feel different. When I walk in, I can still remember each and every Christmas morning in that living room. What happens when I change it?”
“You’ll still remember,” he said. “It’s just a room, Elle. But your memories will always be there.”
