I passed the morning reading a book in bed, pretending he hadn’t returned home. The taxi wasn’t real. Him getting out of it wasn’t real.
Moni returned, asking what I wanted for lunch. If there was anything special she could cook for me. I told her anything she made would be special and she proceeded to boil water for kalguksu, a hot noodle soup. She handed me green onions and I washed them and began to chop.
“Oh,” she said holding up a finger. “I see Ada on walk. She said she want talk with you.”
I paused with the knife in my hand. “Ada?”
“Yes. She stop me on way in.”
“Are you sure that’s what she wanted? For me to go to her?”
“Yes. Now don’t cut piece so small.” She fluttered her hand over the cutting board.
I remember burning my mouth on the noodles, not letting them cool as I hurriedly ate lunch. I heard Moni mutter under her breath with a tsk tsk tsk, saying I ate too fast for a woman. I helped clean up after and threw a sweater and coat on.
When I knocked on the door, Ada answered looking weary. Like she hadn’t slept since I last saw her.
“Ada . . . Moni told me—”
She bobbed her head. “Yes. Yes. Come in, darling.”
I followed her inside to find the house empty.
“Sawyer is back home. I don’t know if you knew.”
“I saw a taxi this morning. I assumed he was here to see you for fall break.”
She rubbed the back of her neck. “He wasn’t supposed to come back.”
“Oh . . . then why—”
“His father died, Isla.”
In that moment, I realized I forgot he ever had a father. That the thin man in the red truck all those years ago ever existed, that he was the man who should have been here for him to call Dad.
“He got the phone call from some idiot distant cousin back in Helena two days ago. It should have been me to tell him. That bastard basically drank himself to death. He was a sorry excuse, but he still was his father.”
I could only shake my head.
Sawyer. Where are you?
Ada rocked on her heels. “Well . . . he came home after he heard. I don’t know why or what good that was going to do. But I suppose he felt like he couldn’t stay where he was. I talked to him for a little bit when he walked in. And then he just . . . took off.”
“Took off?”
“That’s why I told your grandmother to send you over here. I know you probably have a better idea of where he ran off to than I ever could.”
“But—”
“I have to cover an overnight shift at the factory soon. He’s nearly a grown man so I’m not worried but then again—I am. You know what I mean, dear?”
“Yes.”
“Try to see if you can spot him.” She paused and smiled warmly. “It sure is good to see you, though.”
I didn’t have to stop and think it over. There were no phone calls to be made. No car needed to drive around in a search. I knew where he would be.
I knew him better than myself.
Our field was stiff with long grass and dried leaves. He looked so tall, his back to me, hands in his pockets. The edges of his ears were reddened from the cold fall air. I wanted to reach out and cover them with my hands, shelter them.
“Sawyer,” I said.
He didn’t turn around, not right away. He seemed to be waiting for something. When he finally did, he looked at me with lost eyes. It made the surface of my skin ache.
“Ada send you?”
“Sort of. Why didn’t you come over? I heard . . .” I looked down at the ground. I didn’t want to see any more pain.
“Yeah. All these years and he’s gone. Just like that.”
“I’m so sorry, Sawyer.”
He shook his head. “Nothing to be sorry about. He was never there.”
He dug his boot into the grass. “God. Remember how much time we spent here, the three of us? I bet it was hours and hours. Just staring up. Not caring about anything else . . .”
I stepped closer. “I know he wasn’t around for you.” I spoke carefully. “But he was your father. It must hurt.”
