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July 27, Saturday
BY THE middle of the sweltering afternoon, I’d decided that Sawyer wasn’t coming back, and it was just as well. I was sitting on the wraparound porch under a ceiling fan waiting for a FedEx truck to arrive with my new laptop. When I heard a vehicle arriving, I pushed to my feet. But instead of a white delivery truck, Sawyer’s black truck came into view. I told my stupid heart not to perk up. But it did a little dance, dammit.
He waved and I waved back as he rambled by. Then suddenly his brake lights came on and he backed up. He stopped in front of the house and rolled down the passenger window. “I was hoping you’d come down after while with some sweet tea.”
I hesitated, then nodded. “I could do that.”
He grinned, then kept going.
I puffed my cheeks out in an exhale. With my track record, I had no business falling for a hot guy I didn’t know that well.
But I felt a bout of vertigo coming on.
July 28, Sunday
“THE STONE looks new,” I said, marveling over the difference in the small headstone of the Civil War soldier, Cyrus Watt.
“It just needed to be cleaned,” Sawyer said, wiping a cloth over the surface. “Years of acid rain and other chemicals in the air and in the ground, plus fungi and algae, it all takes a toll.”
“It’s nice, what you do,” I offered.
He inclined his head. “Thanks, but I really do it for myself more than anyone else. I hope after I’m gone someone will do the same for me.”
I didn’t like to think about death, especially my own. Although I’m sure a therapist would have a field day with that one.
“Hey,” he said casually, “I was wondering if you’d like to come by my studio sometime.”
I straightened. “Your art studio?”
“It’s more like a workshop.”
I hesitated. A fling was one thing, but getting to know each other, spending time in each other’s living spaces…
“Never mind,” he said.
“No,” I blurted. “I’d… like that.”
He smiled. “Okay. We’ll make that happen sometime.”
“Sawyer… how well did you know Rose Whisper?”
His demeanor changed. “We were friends before she left to live with relatives after her parents died.”
“But not when she came back?”
“Not really,” he said. “Rose was different when she came back to Irving. She had emotional issues, which was understandable, but she used recreational drugs to cope, and that’s not my thing.”
“There was a tour guide here a few days ago. She said this graveyard is a famous burial ground for witches.”
His face went stony. “I’ve heard that nonsense, too.”
“She said Rose’s parents were witches and she had some kind of great power.”
He scoffed. “Don’t tell me you believe that crap.”
I raised my hands. “No. But did Rose believe it?”
He sighed. “Yeah, she did. And I think it killed her.”
