Sawyer.
I raced toward the storage room with Critter while Miller attempted to open the front door which turned out to be locked from the outside. Together, Josh and Miller managed to ram through it just enough to get everyone out. The pouring rain had put out the fire so Critter and I, with burning palms, pushed aside the fallen roof to search for Sawyer and her mother.
It wasn’t until we’d moved the last beam when we realized…they weren’t there.
One glance at one another was all it took for us to be on the same page.
Richard.
Chapter 25
Sawyer
All I heard was crickets. The wind slapped wet leaves and mud against
my face. It was raining lightly but the wind was blowing so hard each drop of water stung against my skin. It smelled like sulfur and decay.
I tried to peel my eyes open but they wouldn’t comply. I was sitting in a few inches of water. My shorts were completely soaked through.
Finn.
My family. My friends.
The library. The roof collapsing.
It sobered me up and pulled me from the haze I was in. I jolted awake. My eyes sprung open, only to find myself bound at the wrists behind a tree at my back.
I was terrified that I lost all the people that meant most me the world. The only thing that kept me from shaking uncontrollably with fear—the only thing that kept me sucking in my next breath, was the life growing inside of me.
I felt sick to my stomach. Everything ached. My body sat heavy upon my bones as if I were carrying around another pile of flesh and muscle on the outside of mine. Like gravity was working overtime to pull me into the center of the earth.
It was difficult to lift my arms. My eyes wouldn’t open fully and I was forced to peer out into the darkness of this world through tiny slits. It must have been the effects of whatever it was that Richard had sedated me with.
Everything hurt. My body, my heart, my spirit.
Then I heard a voice and at first, I was imagining things, but her voice was not only clear, it was calm.
And it belonged to my mother.
“When you were growing up I saw so much of myself reflected in your eyes. It scared me. A part of me wished you were complacent. Obedient. A person who stood in line and waited their turn and did what they were told and were happy that way. But every once in a while, I caught a glimpse of fire in your eyes. Of rebellion. Of questions, greater than the answers the church was giving you. A look that told me you were no more meant for that life than I was. But an even bigger part of me was proud, relieved. And I knew you couldn’t stay there. That fire in your along with Richard’s controlling and abusive ways…it was never going to end well.” She pressed her lips together and looked up at the sky. “I was always surprised you hadn’t run away earlier. And disappointed in a way.”
“I couldn’t leave you.”
She shook her head. “Which makes worse. You should of.”
“No. Besides, you said if I did that Richard threatened to kill you.”
My mother nodded. “He would have. But none of that mattered. You were all that mattered. You are all that matters now.”
I dropped my hands to my stomach. “No. I’m not all that matters now.”
My chest tightened at the look of pain on my mother’s face. I resolve stay strong for her. To push the turmoil inside of me down and be there for both my child and my mother.
“I failed you,” she said, the wind sent her words barreling toward me, hitting me right in the gut.
“You didn’t! You were put in a situation no one could ever imagine themselves in. I couldn’t begin to imagine having to make the choices you were faced with. I understand now. I understand why you did everything and I’m the one who’s sorry. For ever doubting you. And besides, you’re right. We are a lot alike.”
“Maybe, did I ever tell you the story of how you got your name?” My mother asked. She was trying to distract me from the rising water. I needed it because the endless tugging on my restraints was getting me nowhere.
The water was rising quicker and quicker. It is only about It was only a matter of time before it was over our heads.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Tell me.” My blood was pumping furiously through me. I felt hyperaware of my surroundings. Of my body. I was tense like I’d never felt before.
In addition to being completely and utterly terrified.
My mother managed a strained chuckle. “Richard wanted to name you Mara. The biblical meaning being bitter or bitterness. It was like everything he did to you was a punishment for my sins against him and he wanted your name to be no different.”
“Sounds about right,” I muttered, rubbing whenever was tied my hands together and against the bark of the tree to try to slice the bindings apart
My mother looked to the sky like she could see the story she was telling me unfolding above her. “When Critter and I first got together we would lay out in his sunflower fields for hours watching the sun set and just listening to the leaves rustle around us. We’d talk and drink wine and get sunburnt on our noses,” she sighed as she remembered happier times then broke out into a coughing fit.
“Mom, mom are you okay?” I called out, hating feeling so helpless.
She nodded. When she regained herself, I blew out a breath of relief.
She continued. “You already know part of the story. But one day there was this little toe-headed boy. No more than six or seven years old. I watched him drive his big wheel into the field and with his little rusted pocket knife he snipped off a flower, waived to Critter, and drove away.” She laughed softly. “When I asked Critter about it he told me that the boy did that almost every week. When I asked what he was doing with the flowers Critter told me that he found the boy in his field one day and he was upset because he was trouble with his mother for swearing.” She shook her head like she still couldn’t believe it herself.
“Critter snipped a flower and gave it to the boy. He told the him to go and apologize to his mother and give her the flower. Well, it must have worked because every week after that Critter said the boy was there with his own knife snipping away. One for his teacher because he told her that math was for people who didn’t have calculators. Another for the lady at the bakery for knocking over her cake display in the window that had taken her all weekend to put together.”
“That’s kind of adorable,” I commented, my heart breaking as my mind replayed the roof collapsing in the library over and over again. Maybe we would have a boy who liked Finn. Maybe he’d never get to meet his father.
While I was breaking inside, mother spoke as if we were on the porch drinking tea.
“It was adorable. Turns out it happened so often that they came to deal where Critter roped off a patch of sunflowers just for the boy to take as he pleased.”
The rising water was now soaking my jeans up to my thighs. I knew had to move faster if I any chance and cutting through my restraints.
My mother looked over to me. She raised her voice above the wind which had picked up. “You were named Sawyer because of Finn. She sighed happily as if we are about to go pick out bridesmaid’s dresses and weren’t about to meet our ends in a murky swamp.
My stomach felt rock hard. I wanted to flee from this nightmare. I held back the scream that threatened to tear from my throat. “Mother why aren’t you panicking?” I managed to ask, swallowing down my fear in one hard gulp.
She smiled over at me. “I’m terrified for you and the life you and your child may never get to live. But me? I came to terms with my own death years ago.”
My mother kept talking. I kept trying to free myself. “Critter and I even joked how if we ever had a girl that she could marry Finn because he already knew what most men would never learn, how to apologize.”
Now it was my eyes tearing up as I imagined a little version of Finn causing problems all around Outskirts and fixing them with a flower and a sly dimpled smile. “How did you get Richard ever agree to the name?”
She looks almost proud when she gave me her answer. “Sawyer means woodcutter in Celtic. All I did was stretch the truth a little. And since I couldn’t flat out recommend the name to him because he’d just swat it down, I told some of the ladies in church, but I told them that Sawyer meant carpenter, like the occupation of Jesus himself. Sure enough, before I was about to