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I’m not even sure if Ramona hears me. I see the exit sign to my immediate left, and I push through the crash door, stumbling out into the hot, humid, fresh air.
15
Mindy
Sawyer isn’t answering my calls. I’ve called or texted him every few hours since he disappeared this morning. He didn’t tell me goodbye. He didn’t say anything. He just left.
Ramona said he had a run-in with Mr. Hebert, which is bizarre and confusing. Mr. Hebert says it’s okay, everything’s okay. He won’t tell us any more, but he has a nasty purple mark at the base of his neck, above his collar bone. The doctor checked him out and said he’s okay, just some bruising to his windpipe, but Beth is going to have a fit when she sees him.
Once I’m sure he’s okay and everyone’s settled, I take off for the day, determined to find Sawyer and get to the bottom of what happened. It doesn’t make any sense. I can only imagine the old man must’ve run into something in the dark. That storage room is a mess, and many of the boxes are chest high.
I go to my house first. Ma is still out of town, and I drop off the ballots and quickly change out of my pants, cardigan sweater-set, and flats into a light cotton sundress and canvas tennis shoes. I drive to the farmhouse, but Sawyer’s truck isn’t there. I drive past the distribution center, the civic center, even Denny’s. Everything is quiet and pretty much deserted. It’s a Saturday afternoon, and I expect most everybody is inside in the air-conditioning.
Frustrated, I drive back to the farm house. I can hang out with Noel and wait for him to show up at least. Parking behind the shed, I take a chance and walk across the back of the fields toward the Hayes fishing pond. I’m halfway there when I spot his blue Chevy.
Breaking into a jog, I cross the distance, my shoes make a thumping noise on the wooden pier. “Sawyer?” I call, shading my eyes with my hand.
I look all around, but I don’t see him until my eyes land on him sitting on the bank.
I go to where he is, dropping to my knees. “What are you doing out here? I’ve been trying to call you.”
His chin drops, and the muscle in his jaw moves. “I don’t have my phone.”
His knees are bent, and his arms are propped on them. A stalk of grass is between his fingers, and he’s not looking at me. Everything about him is closed, guarded, and I fight the frustration pushing against my chest. We’re back to this after everything? After last night?
“You could’ve told me you were leaving.” Somehow my tone manages to remain neutral. “Ramona and I had to get Mr. Doucet to help us with those boxes, and he’s slow as molasses in January.”
“I’m sorry. I was feeling… vertigo or something.”
“Is that what happened with Mr. Hebert?”
Concerned hazel eyes flash to mine. “How is he?”
Shifting to my butt, I shrug. “He says he’s fine. I’m not sure how Beth and her parents are going to feel, but the doctor says he’s okay.”
Dropping his head, he rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m glad he wasn’t hurt.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“I’m not r
eally sure.” Lifting his head, his eyes go to the lake again.
Exhaling deeply, I try to release my frustration. It’s not like I haven’t known this guy my whole life. He’s a master of smashing all his feelings into a tight little ball and shoving them way down…
“I know two old ladies who are pretty happy Jimmy got it in the neck. Or one of them, at least.” I’m only partly teasing, hoping to lighten his dark mood.
He looks at me confused.
I lean closer. “Mr. Hebert has been playing the field. Two timing Ms. Wilson and Ms. Turner, and trust me, it is causing major problems.”
“Oh,” he nods, seeming to relax a fraction. “The Viagra comment.”
“Miss Jessica.” I shake my head. “She seems so sweet and innocent, but she’s a pot stirrer.”
He finally lowers his knees, resting his hands in his lap. “I didn’t know old people were so active.”
“I wish I didn’t.” Scooting closer, I put my cheek on his shoulder. I want him to put his arm around me, but he just looks out at the water.
