Chapter 6: Sawyer

For two days he stayed only in his tent or in the community kitchen. He talked to no one more than was necessary. Kate stopped trying after a few failed attempts at finding out what was wrong with him. He could have been seen looking towards Claire’s tent or in the direction she ran from him, but only if someone was watching very carefully.

She sat there then, reading a thick novel on astronomy. She’d have to read this chapter again. She was finding it impossible to recall even the previous paragraph. Right now, however, it didn’t matter to her. Claire just needed to look busy so no one would ask her about Charlie, or worse Sawyer. So she kept her face in her book and hoped the people around her would leave her to herself.

Before she’d been reading very long, her hopes were dashed as a long shadow fell into her field of vision.

“I’m sorry, I … I can’t really talk, umm… Aaron’s been fussy and…” The excuses fell flat as she looked up and met eyes with her visitor.

“I think we might need to talk, eh Mamacita?” Sawyer’s voice was low and he shuffled one of his feet back and forth in the sand like a guilty child.

“Yea, umm, come inside,” she stood quickly and held back the flap to the tent Charlie built her. Sawyer hesitated and looked back to his own tent. He considered turning and running. Even he wouldn’t have been able to say why he was there, and the safety of his tent would be preferable to the conversation he could see in his near future. He ducked under the low entryway anyway and sat himself on her cot. She followed him in and sat as far away as she could while still sitting next to him.

They each studied their hands as though they contained the secrets of eternal life. After a minute or two, they both looked up and tried to start something. They immediately looked back down, more embarrassed than they’d been before they’d spoken.

Sawyer spoke softly, still addressing his lap, “I got a daughter.”

Claire turned her head towards him, shocked at his revelation, but more at her surprise. It was painfully clear at that moment how little she knew about the man next to her, but right now seemed an odd moment to tell her this.

“Umm, why…” She was cut off before she reached full volume.

“I don’t see her. I’ve never seen her. I’m not even sure how old she’d be, I’ve only just seen her picture.” He plowed through his sentences, determined for this to take no longer than it had to. “Her mama put me in jail. I conned her. I left before I knew. She thought all I wanted was her money and she had me arrested.”

Claire watched the side of his face, losing all thought of interrupting. It occurred to her that she was the only one who’d heard any of this.

“I left her some money, but she won’t know who left it. She won’t ever know me, but I think that’s better. I’m no good. Nothing I do turns out good. I don’t deserve a chance with her.” For the first time, he stopped. He took a deep breath and ran his fingers slowly through his hair. His hands fell back to his lap, and his eyes came to focus just short of the crib in front of him and the sleeping child inside it.

Claire waited for him to continue. For a few minutes it seemed he wouldn’t, that he’d already said too much, and couldn’t say anymore.

“That’s why.”

If anyone outside the tent had been any louder, if the waves had been crashing any closer, if the wind had been any stronger, she wouldn’t have heard him. She held back the urge to ask more of him and let him go on himself.

“I know I’m no good, and bad things always happen around me, and I thought, this time, maybe… I could… be better, but,” he paused and sighed deeply, “I just made things worse. I told you because I wanted to think that I was a good person and that someday I might deserve to know her, but I don’t think that’ll ever happen.” There was an ending note in his last word. They sat in silence. Claire had nothing to say yet, and Sawyer wasn’t ready to speak again.

“No.” Claire breathed out the word as she looked back to her hands. “No, you didn’t make things worse. It wasn’t your fault, what happened.” She turned towards him and waited until he looked up at her before she continued. “I would have found out sooner or later, and I’m glad I did. It really is better this way.” Her words seemed to have no effect on him, and his eyes remained as sad as she’d ever seen them. She slipped her hand slowly into one of his still in his lap. He let her tangle her fingers between his and squeeze his hand. He looked back down at their hands intertwined in his lap.

“You deserve better than you think you do, Sawyer.” A tear rolled slowly down one of her cheeks, but her voice never faltered. “I don’t know really who you were before, but the man you’re becoming here is a good person. There are a lot of things not good about the way this worked out, but there’s one very good thing, too. I want my baby to be around someone who knows when something needs to change, and now he can be.” They looked up at the same time. Claire’s tears were falling faster and Sawyer’s eyes were misting quickly. “Sawyer, you did good here, even if it doesn’t look like it,” she went on almost whispering, “and I hope you know that I think you deserve quite a lot.”

The two started at each other, still holding hands. They didn’t more as a tear fell silently from Sawyer’s eye. Claire said nothing as she squeezed his rough hand again and then slid her small fingers out from his and stood in front of him. She put her hand on his shoulder and said again, “thank you.”

Sawyer’s head was filled with feelings at her words. He was amazed she didn’t hate him. He was relieved she saw any good in the situation, where he saw none. He was angry with himself still for what he’d put her through. More than anything else, he began to feel forgiven. He felt pardoned. All his sins seemed to melt away in the light of her shy blue eyes, despite their tears. He stood.

“Thank you,” he breathed. Her hand slipped from his shoulder as he walked out of her tent, looking up at the sky and smelling the sea, as he’d never done before. When he got back to his tent, he pulled a worn piece of paper and beaten-up pen from a pile near his bed. In a slow, shaky hand he began a letter that he would always carry next to the other.

“Dear Clementine…”

The End.