Page 8 of Saints & Sailors

Squaring my shoulders, I made my move, trying to get by him as casually as possible. I had no real game plan, but I wasn’t in the mood for the introduction. Maybe running away wasn’t such a bad⁠—

Scott stepped in my path; eyes lit up with hope. “Saylor?”

“Nope.” I went to leave, but he wouldn’t budge.

His eyes narrowed a little. “It’s just that you look like a girl I’m waiting for.”

How would he know what I looked like? “Have you ever met her?”

“No, but I imagine⁠—”

“Then you’ve got the wrong fuckin’ girl.”

My swearing offended him momentarily before he blinked and chuckled with a shake of his head. “I named you Saylor because I used to go sailing. From the phone call with your mother I had an hour ago, I learned you’ve got quite the sailor’s mouth.”

At my five-ten height, Scott wasn’t that much taller than me. He definitely wasn’t intimidating, but there was a hint of authority about him, like when pushed he could go there.

I threw my hands up in surrender. “You got me.”

A second later he held his hand out to shake with me. “Hi, Saylor, I’m…Scott. I’m your father.”

For a moment I couldn’t speak. Unable to process this bizarre reality I’d fallen into.

Scott was standing there with his hand outstretched, waiting. His eyes kind, and an eager smile on his face. And all I could think about was who the hell meets their father this way?

Around us people were reuniting with their families, or sending them off on adventures. Hugging hello or clinging close in goodbye. And yet I stood meeting my father for the first time with the man attempting to shake my hand.

This was completely fucked.

I wrapped my arms around myself. “Saylor.”

Scott lowered his hand and tipped his head my way, accepting my refusal to touch.

God this was painful.

Scott stood there, staring at me, a spark in his eye and a small smile on his face.

“What?” I asked when it became too weird.

He shook his head, going and looking at the ground. “Nothing, it’s just…you look so much like her.”

My mother. He looked at me and saw my mother.

I was the same age as she was when they’d first met. I wondered if the sight of me would haunt him. If this whole thing would become too much for him.

Scott gave me a tightlipped smile, tinged in sadness, taking my luggage and showing a hand toward the door. “Shall we?”

“Not like I have much choice,” I mumbled.

He took the lead and opened the door for me before wheeling my two suitcases behind us.

“It’s a forty-five-minute drive back to Meadow Grove, would you like to stick around here and get something to eat first?” Scott offered.

My stomach grumbled for attention, but I didn’t bite. He’d probably pick a restaurant, which meant awkward small talk.

“No thanks.” I made a mental note to raid his fridge whenever we got to his place.

In the parking lot, Scott stopped at a dark purple Ford pickup before stowing my luggage in the truck bed.