"Hide your heart under the bed, And lock your secret drawer."
"There. It's done," he thought to himself. He put the journal back into the box and shoved it to the back of the closet. "Maybe now it will stop. Maybe she'll let me rest," he said to himself. He had considered throwing the journal in the trash, but he couldn't do it; he decided that would be wrong. He owed her more than that-even if she was just a figment of his imagination. He would keep the notebook, but he couldn't write to her anymore. "I am alone," he thought, "and I'd better get used to it. She is not real, and I will cease to exist if I continue this charade." He crawled into bed, exhausted. But he would not sleep; he knew she would be waiting for him on the other side.
(Two years later) "What's this?" Taylor said, holding up a tattered notebook, as they rummaged through the piles in their newly remodeled room. He never understood how fast the room could become such a disaster area. This time it seemed like it was going to be impossible to finish the job. But they had to get it done. They had been putting off unpacking forever.
"Oh, that. It's nothing," Isaac said. "Throw it away. I should have pitched it a long time ago." He looked a little sad as he muttered the words. Taylor glanced his way, and then threw the notebook on top of the discard pile.
"Would you guys hurry up, already?" Zac said. "Mom said we had to get the closet done before I can go skating, and, at this rate, I'll outgrow my blades before we finish."
"Zac, you whine to much. Tay, you sure he's not really our sister?"
Those were fighting words. The wrestling match began. Arms, legs everywhere. Pounding, laughing, and then, "Hey, Ike! Take it easy! You're an adult now-we could charge you with assault!" Zac cried.
The mood changed instantly. He hated them bringing up his "adulthood." He didn't feel like an adult-even now at the ripe age of twenty-two. Maybe it was because he still shared a room with his brothers, lived with his family. Maybe it was because his fame and career came to him young, and he felt like the same person he was-before it became so complicated. No, that wasn't it at all. He was afraid. He loved his music, but suspected success would cost him dearly. Somewhere inside, he wondered if fame would force him to live his life alone, without the kind of bond his parents shared. The closest he had ever been to love was in his dreams; dreams he had translated in that journal. He glanced over at the trash pile, and took a deep breath. "Time to take out the trash. Out with the old, in with the new," he whispered. Whose idea was it to remodel and not just build a new house, anyway? He wished for a fresh start, a new place, not a momentary distraction-but right now, he'd welcome anything that took his mind off those disturbing dreams.
* * * * * *
"Isaac, will you run some errands for me?" She tossed him the keys to her car, saying, "The building inspector is running late. He should have been here by now to sign off on the house additions."
"Sure, Mom, no problem. We're almost finished here, aren't we, Tay?"
"Hey, if Ike is out of here, I'm gone, too!" Zac complained.
"Go ahead, both of you, I think the rest of this mess is mine, anyway."
"You always were the packrat, bro," Zac said, and delivered a punch to Taylor's shoulder before he darted out the door.
"He gets it from his father," she continued, "always over-sentimental. You know, last time we had to leave town, I think he took ten rolls of film. Pictures of the house, the neighborhood, even the Dairy Queen. I mean, how sad is that? The DAIRY QUEEN!"
"Well, they didn't have those in LA, now did they?" Taylor grinned, and laughter filled the room.
* * * * * *
"Need some help with that, son?"
"No, Dad, I've got it. This is my next to the last load," Taylor said, as he tied up the garbage bag.
"Okay. Looks like you've thrown a lot of stuff away. Sure you're not going to miss anything?"
"The things I'll miss aren't things, Dad."
"You're just like your mother."
"Funny, she said I'm just like you, Mr. 'Kodak moment' at the Dairy Queen."
"I'm never gonna' live that one down."
"Maybe we could get a franchise, Dad. You could be the Dairy King. Hey, I'm taking this load down to the basement, and then I'm getting a snack. I need a break. Join me?"
"I'd love to, but your mother has given me a list of things that have to be done today. I'll catch you on the next trip." On the way back up the stairs, Taylor grabbed an extra trash bag and decided to go ahead and get the last load. "Then I can take an extra long break," he said to himself. "I'd have the Play Station all to myself." Inside the room, he started bagging up the last few things, when the notebook caught his eye again. He started to open it, but thought, "No, that's Ike's."
"Not anymore, it's not. It's trash. He said so," said a voice in the doorway.
"Zac, you scared me half to death! When did you get home?"
"Never really left. Busted one of my skates halfway down the block. Good thing, too. I find you in here talking to yourself. Sure sign of craziness, you know. So what's the big deal with Ike's old notebook? We've thrown away tons of stuff." He took a running leap for his bed.
"Yeah, but the look on his face when I found it. I just wonder what's in here."
"Then look."
"It's none of my business."
"So?"
"So? It wouldn't be right. Think about it, Zac."
"Might be some juicy stuff in there. Aren't you a little curious?"
"No."
"Liar." He dove for the book, snatching it from Taylor's hands. They sat there on the floor, inches apart, speechless. The only sounds in the room were two faint sets of breaths, and the crackling turn of the timeworn yellowed-page notebook.
"Maybe we should keep this, Tay." Zac said, still flipping through the pages. "You know, he may want it back. It would make a great present...a chick would go crazy over..." He felt a smile creep across his face as he imagined penning his own journal, in pencil, of course, so he could change the names with each passing girlfriend.
Zac flipped to the final page. "Tay, read this..." and he pointed to the final entry. "We can't throw this away, that's all I know." Zac said.
"Yeah, I think you're right." Taylor said, rubbing his head. Satisfied that the notebook was safe, Zac stood up.
"What will we tell Ike?" Taylor looked worried.
Zac turned to face him, his face serious, and full of resolve. He would protect that notebook. He had a feeling Isaac would want it back, and soon.
"Nothing. We tell him nothing." Zac said.
* * * * * *
(Later that week.)"That's the last box. It's official. We're back." She said, in a proud, but exhausted voice.
"Welcome home, honey." He leaned in to kiss her. "Want to christen our "new" old house?" The moment wouldn't last long.
"Okay, guys, break it up. We just remodeled the house. We don't need to have to move again to make room for more kids. Will you guys give it up?" Zac loved teasing them. "Where is everyone?"
"The girls are at the church-an all night lock-in, Mack and Zoe are playing with the neighbors, Taylor and Isaac went to the mall to catch a movie."
"Alone? They went to the mall alone? And they didn't invite me?"
"You were out skating. And they'll be fine." She explained, "School is in session; there is still a few weeks before summer vacation begins."
Good Point. They hated summer now. One, it was too hot-over 100 degrees most of the time, and two, the streets were full of "teenies." Not fans, but "teenies." These people tear your clothes, break into your car, beg for your straw or shoelace. Teenies. A dangerous breed of innocent looking, but deceivingly ferocious, females.
"So what you're saying is we're alone-just the three of us, right?"
"Yes, Zac. So why don't you go play some video games?"
"Subtle, Dad. Way to go. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
* * * * * *
Isaac didn't know why he and Taylor always wound up at the movies together. Zac-now he never disagreed on a movie. But Taylor always went for the brainy movies. Isaac liked the thrillers or the comedies. No plot? No problem. Not Taylor. Always dissecting everything, and trying to predict the ending halfway through the movie. He was usually right-or else his ending was better. For once, it would be easy. Today, they agreed.
"Sold out? It's a middle of the afternoon on a Tuesday! How can it be sold out? The one time we want to see the same movie, and it's sold out!" Isaac couldn't believe his luck.
"Let's just pick something else." Taylor said.
"No, you pick. You always hate what I pick." Isaac shot back.
"If I pick, you'll sulk or roll your eyes through the whole thing." Ouch. Low blow.
"What's that supposed to mean? I'm not as cultured as you?" Lower blow.
"No. You just don't like art films, bro. Don't get so crazy." Taylor tried to calm things down.
"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Let's just go play video games at the arcade."
"Sounds like a deal. Who wants to waste one of our last days of freedom sitting in the dark, anyway? This place will be off-limits come summer."
After a few hours and who knows how many quarters, the duo was worn out. They cruised through the mall, and stopped at a bookstore. After a while, Isaac couldn't take it anymore.
"Tay, I'm hungry. Let's head to the food court."
"In a minute. I'm trying to special order something."
"Tell you what. I'll meet you back here in thirty minutes. I'm grabbing a slice of pizza."
"Cool. I should be done by then."
"Liar. You take forever in these places, but at least I won't have to wait on an empty stomach. Try to leave some books for the rest of the free world." Off he strolled. It felt good to be alone.
He loved his family, but being surrounded by so many people all the time takes its toll. As much as he cared for them, he had never felt so alone as he did lying in his bed in the room he shared with his brothers, in the house he shared with his family, the family his parents had created. He felt more alone there than anywhere else. There he was surrounded by love and by family-but it was not his creation. He was living in someone else's world. There was something honest in the kind of alone he felt now. Walking the mall, he was with no one. That is, unless you counted Taylor back at the bookstore, and at this moment, he decided Taylor did not count. No, he was alone, but not the bad kind of alone that creeps into your soul, filling you with nothing but doubt and regret. He had the good kind of alone; the kind called solitude, and a huge slice of pizza. He found a table and sat down. Everything was perfect.
"Mind some company?"
"Well, actually. . ." he paused. Why can't they just leave me alone? He thought to himself. He looked up, and saw a young woman, cute, in an unremarkable way, staring at him. She looked to be about 5 feet and a few inches, with light brown hair and eyes to match. Cute, but nothing he hadn't seen before.
"It's just that it looked like you're almost done, and there aren't any clean tables." She smiled nervously, waiting for an invitation to sit down.
"Oh, sure. Sorry. Didn't mean to be rude. Please." He motioned towards an empty chair at his table. She doesn't even know who I am. God, I can be such a jerk sometimes.
"Thanks. I thought I was going to drop this tray."
She doesn't look that old, or too young. I wonder if she's. . . He was trying to guess her age, when he realized she was talking to him. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that. You were saying?"
"Do you work in the mall?" She repeated.
"No. Just here on a weekday, trying to avoid the crowds."
"Me, too," and then she added, "I'm Sarah," with an outstretched hand.
"Isaac." She had a surprisingly strong handshake, he thought to himself; he wouldn't have guessed that about her.
"Nice to meet you, Isaac. Thanks for letting me crash the end of your meal."
"No problem." So much for my solitude. But then he looked at her, and he saw something that seemed familiar and safe. Maybe it was the friendliness that seemed to reveal itself in her big brown eyes. Maybe it was that she seemed to have no idea who he was. Maybe it was that he just wasn't ready to go back to the bookstore and wait for Taylor. Whatever the reason, they began to talk, and he began to feel glad she was sharing his table.
"So if you don't work at the mall, what do you do?"
"I'm a musician."
"Really? That's great. What type of music?"
"Mostly pop and rock. I play the guitar, usually."
"Waiting for a big break?"
"Something like that. So what kind of career allows you to cruise the mall on a weekday, Sarah?" He wanted to deflect her attention from him. The last thing he wanted to do was talk about himself. He felt safer talking about other things.
"I'm a teaching assistant at the junior college. It's a great deal, I get to take classes at the local university for free in exchange for helping out at the JC."
"Free school. That is a good deal." Strange, he was almost envious of her.
"We're already out for the summer," she went on, "Funny how college lets out a few weeks before grade schools and starts a few weeks later than they do, but I'm not complaining. I'll take all the summer I can get. To celebrate, I tried to catch a movie, but it was sold out, and none of the other shows looked good-all too serious. When I go to the movies, I want to be entertained. Scare me, or make me laugh until I cry. Who needs to buy a ticket to see the kind of story you can get for free on the six o'clock news?"
"My thoughts exactly." Boy this girl can talk.
They continued talking about movies, sports, travel, and the news. Then, to his own surprise, he heard himself suggest they get ice cream. They returned to the table and continued to talk, until a familiar voice interrupted them.
"Hey Ike, thought you said thirty minutes."
"Oh, Tay. Sorry, man, I kinda' lost track of time." He paused, and then added, "Tay, this is Sarah. Sarah, this is my brother, Taylor."
"Nice to meet you," Taylor said. Thanks a lot man, dump me to go chick-spotting.
"Pleasure to meet you, too. I kind of invited myself to eat at your brother's table. It seemed he snagged the last clean one. I guess my big mouth ran him late."
"You hungry, Tay? I'll wait." Please say no. Please say you have something to do; just go away.
"I'm starved. Back in a sec." He wandered off to grab something to eat.
Great. You never could take a hint. Isaac wished his brother would disappear.
"Well, I'll get out of your way now. It was really nice to meet you, Isaac," she said, as she stood and began collecting her things. She turned to go, and then heard his voice:
"Hey, uh . . .Sarah?"
"Yes?"
"Do you think we could do this again sometime?"
"I'd like that, Isaac. On one condition."
"What's that?"
"Next time, you let me buy the ice cream."
"You've got yourself a deal."
She smiled and started to walk away, when he hollered, "Wait! How will I reach you?" I'm blowing it, but I don't care. You're the nicest person I've met in a long time. You're walking away, and I don't know how to find you.
"My number is on the napkin."
He looked down at the table and there it was, printed neatly: 621-7564 Sarah. When he raised his head, she was gone. A thousand thoughts, none of which he could articulate, were rushing through his head when Taylor returned to the table.
"Man, had to wait seven minutes for a fresh batch of egg rolls. Say, where's your lunch buddy?"
"Sarah? Oh, she had to take off." He folded the napkin and placed it in his pocket.
"Well I guess we have the table to ourselves."
"Yeah. Um, don't mean to rush you, but it's four-thirty. We should probably head home soon. Kids will be hitting the mall after school, and. . ."
"I know. I'll choke this down, and then we're outta' here."
Isaac didn't hear another word the rest of the meal or during the ride home.
Isaac left the house early the next morning, before anyone else was awake. He wanted to watch the sunrise. Strange, how the loneliness in his heart could be crowded out so suddenly by the curious intrigue he found in Sarah. But he would not question it; he had slept peacefully for the first night in God only knows how long, and he would not over think this and destroy this new, calming influence. He needed time to satisfy his desire to know what it was about her that made him feel this way. I could use a friend. Everyone I used to know has gone away to school or moved. She could be someone I could talk to, and just hang out, be normal. He felt the loneliness begin to creep back into his world and he fought with every bit of his strength to push it back into the void where it had been vanquished only hours earlier. I should call her. He took the wrinkled napkin out of his pocket. 621-7564. Sarah. He took a deep breath, and a smile crept across his face as he watched the sun come up over the top of the horizon. Minutes, hours, who knows how much time went by? He glanced again at the napkin, and picked up his car phone.
"Hello?" The groggy voice answered.
"Sarah?"
"Who is calling?"
"Isaac."
"Isaac!" She tried to clear her throat without him hearing.
"How's it going?" he tried to sound cool.
"Fine. You're an early bird."
"Too early?" I am such a complete moron. Of course it's too early.
"No. I've been up for awhile," she said, "I couldn't sleep last night." I was thinking about you.
"Funny, I slept like I hadn't rested for a thousand years." I was dreaming about you.
"That's not funny. I'm a zombie."
"Would some ice cream perk you up?"
"Ice cream? At . . ." she glanced at her alarm clock, "seven-thirty in the morning?"
"We could put it on pancakes if you'd prefer."
"Now that's a tempting offer."
"Then say you'll meet me for breakfast."
"You'll meet me for breakfast."
"Cute. I'll meet you at the IHOP off Highway 64 in twenty minutes?"
"Sure. Just look for the girl with the giant bags under her eyes."
Well, that was easier than I thought it would be. Now what? He started the car, and headed toward the freeway. There was something about her that put him at ease. He liked her, even though he barely knew her. Talking to her was like breathing. It just happened. He hadn't known anyone like that in a long time. He didn't know what to do next, but he knew it would come to him eventually. Right now, all he could think about was Sarah, and pancakes. And that was enough.
* * * * * *
"Good morning, all," Zac said, as he bounded into the kitchen. "What's cookin' this morning?"
"Whatever you fix," said Jessica, "everyone is on his own this morning."
"Well then, it's a Dr. Pepper and Twinkies for me!" He jumped up onto the counter and got the box from its hiding place, and then jumped down, barely missing his sister. "Hey, where's Ike? I thought I was the last one up today."
"I dunno. He was gone before I got up, and his car isn't in the drive." Taylor offered.
"Maybe he's a secret agent, maybe he's been living a double life all along, and he's not our brother, the whole music thing is a cover, and . . ." he was getting louder with each word, as he paced circles around the kitchen table.
"You're so stupid, Zac," she said, gathering her bowl and cup, "I'm going into the den to watch cartoons. You're ruining my breakfast."
"She's testy today," Zac said, as he unwrapped the Twinkie, cramming half of it into his mouth, and licking his fingers.
"Well, Zac, maybe she's just tired of your . . . oh, never mind"
"My what, Taylor? Go ahead and say it. She's tired of my. . ."
"I'll tell you what, then," Taylor hollered, "You're always. . ."
"Both of you, knock it off!" Isaac said, entering the kitchen to break up the fight.
"Hey, where have you been sunshine boy?" said Zac.
"Out."
"Hey, Ike, I was gonna' make some eggs, want some?" Taylor tried to change the subject.
"No thanks, I've already had breakfast-with Sarah, and no, I won't tell you about it." He was grinning, as Taylor slapped him a high-five.
"Who's Sarah?" Zac asked.
"A girl Ike met at the mall last week," Taylor said, trying to be nonchalant.
"She's really cool, and I like talking to her. Don't get any ideas, because she's not into me that way; she's just going to be my friend." He took a Twinkie out of the box and threw it at his brother, hitting Zac in the head. His skin felt hot. Why do I feel like I have to defend myself?
"That's what you always say," Zac answered, "But you always wind up kissing your 'friends,' Ike." Zac could really twist the knife sometimes. Why did he always have to say everything that was on his mind?
"I didn't kiss her, and I probably won't." He continued, grabbing Zac's shoulder, "It could be cool, having a girl for a friend. I mean it--maybe you should try it sometime." He looked at Taylor, "We're just friends. I like talking to her. I don't really want to do anything else with her, and I'm pretty sure she feels the same way. She's not my girlfriend."
"Yet." Zac added.
"Shut up," Taylor warned.
"Ever. We're just friends." With that, he left the room and headed to the basement. "Finish your breakfast, Zac," he called out over his shoulder as he hopped down the stairs, humming.
* * * * * *
Back at her apartment, Sarah was busy cleaning out her drawers and closet-a first week of vacation tradition for as long as she could remember. She was contemplating whether or not she really needed five pair of black shoes when she heard a knock on the door.
"Coming," she yelled, and raced toward the door. She checked the peephole to see her neighbor, Rebecca standing there. "Hey, girlfriend! Come on in!"
"Where were you this morning? I thought we were going to hit the bike trails at nine." She brushed the damp red locks from her face, and readjusted her headband.
"Oh, Becs, I'm so sorry. It completely slipped my mind."
"I called, but there was no answer, and your car was gone-so I went without you."
"I'll make it up to you. Count on me next time."
"I was just worried, that's all. Hey, can I get a glass of water? I've drained my sport bottle."
"Yeah, sure, have a seat. You can keep me company while I do some late spring cleaning."
"Love to, but I smell like a barn. I have to pick up a double shift at the hospital today. I'll be on for twenty-four hours straight, and I think I need a long hot shower and a nap before I head into work. Please help me remember why I went to nursing school?" Then she added, "But I'll hold you to our bike date. How does Friday sound?"
"Perfect." Sarah promised, placing her hand on her friend's shoulder, "I won't stand you up again," then she added,"and you're a great nurse. You know you wouldn't be happy doing anything else."
"Oh, sometimes I think I could be very happy working a sno-cone stand if it would let me sleep normal hours!"
"You don't mean that. Look, I really feel bad about missing our ride. So how'd it go solo?"
"It was okay. Hey, don't feel bad, Sarah, I knew you must have had a good reason for skipping out on me." She was hoping for an explanation.
"Yeah, I did. Pancakes with ice cream-and Isaac."
"A boy? Do tell." Rebecca sat down. The shower could wait; this was going to be good.
"Look, don't go getting any ideas. We're just going to be friends. I can tell. He doesn't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"You know, like that." She continued, "It's just that when I talk, he listens to me, and I that makes me feel like I can tell him almost anything. Most guys are quiet while you talk, but they're really just thinking of what they're going to say when you stop talking. He's different. Look, I've only just met him, but I'd swear that it feels like I've known him all my life."
"You're gushing," Rebecca said, with her green eyes dancing.
This is really corny, I should shut up, right?"
"No, but let me get this straight: you know he's not interested in you because he acts interested in you?" Rebecca was really confused. "Do you know how insane you sound?!" She paused, dumbfounded, and then regained her composure, saying, "Okay, for the sake of argument, let's say that he's not interested in you. Are you the least bit interested in him?"
"That is the question that was keeping me up last night." She hesitated, "I'm not sure. He's a musician-seems like the transient type. He travels a lot. There's not anywhere he hasn't been. I mean, he's a really nice guy, and I love talking to him. He's pretty cute. Not in a drop-dead gorgeous way, but he is cute. And oh, his eyes. I can't explain it. It's just that his life seems so complicated. I think I'm better off being his friend. He's a drifter, like Ryan. I'm not letting myself go there again." Ryan. This was the first time she'd let herself say his name out loud in months. It still hurt, but not as much this time. "This is pointless. We're just pals, friends, we talk. And he's not interested, so this discussion is over. Right now."
"Me thinks the lady doth protest too much," Rebecca quipped.
"See you later, Shakespeare," Sarah opened the door to usher her friend on her way, "You need a nap and a shower." She held her nose, just to tease her friend. "Don't forget. Nine A.M. Friday," said Sarah, half-grinning, half-glaring. Rebecca was too much sometimes. Especially when she was right.
Days went by, as did countless e-mails, and endless phone conversations. There were late night chats (and water fights) by the pool at Sarah's apartment, and tons of thoroughly emptied cardboard pizza boxes along with plenty of no-plot rentals from Blockbuster. And ice cream-so much ice cream. He told her the truth about his "job." Just when it seemed that they had nothing to talk about, they'd talk some more. There was silence, too. Just being in the same still, quiet place, thinking--sharing solitude. How ironic, that they now shared the very thing he begrudged her for taking from him on the day they met. But he hadn't kissed her; Zac was wrong. They really were just friends. Only there was no "just" to it. Being such good friends seemed like something more than "just."
"Hey, it's me," Isaac said.
"Hey, me. Coming over? There's no one at the pool. We'd have it all to ourselves."
"Actually, I was wondering if you'd like to come over to my house for a change."
"Okay, sure. What time?"
"Why don't I pick you up? I have some errands to run that will put me in your neighborhood." He was lying, but he wanted the extra time to talk, and he loved it how she wasn't embarrassed to sing along, even if it was off key, with the car radio. That was one of her most endearing qualities.
"Cool. Time?"
"Oh, yeah. Could you be ready in forty-five?"
"Only if you don't have any great expectations."
"We're just grilling hot dogs; it's not a fashion show. Don't be such a girl."
"Okay, mister-only if you won't be such a weenie." Laughter on both ends of the line. They seemed to do a lot of that.
"See you in forty-five, then."
"Later, Oscar Mayer."
* * * * * *
Knock. He was early. Oh, great. The one time I'm not ready, and he's early. She ran to the door, threw it open, and said, "Look, Isaac, I know I said forty-five, and. . ." But it wasn't Isaac, it was Rebecca.
"Expecting someone else?" Rebecca was really loving this. "I just came by to borrow your hammer. I've misplaced mine again, but it appears that if I hang around, I can meet your friend."
"You're always losing your hammer. I think mine is in the hall closet in one of the bins. Check for yourself; I'm running late."
"I'm late! I'm late, for a very important date!" Rebecca squealed in a high-pitched voice. Sarah gave her a blank look. "Wonderland? You know. Alice, the white rabbit, tea party. Wonderland." Sarah could spend every bit of her free time reading, and still never catch half of Rebecca's literary allusions. If the nursing thing ever got old, Sarah teased her about having a successful second career as a librarian.
"Yeah, okay. Rebecca, will you cut it out? I'll make you leave if you don't behave." She was bluffing, and Rebecca knew it. She wanted Rebecca to meet Isaac. Then maybe the endless questions would stop, with the mystery solved. Sarah went into the bathroom, and was drying her hair when he knocked on the door.
"Hello?" Isaac was taken aback at the sight of a stranger.
"You must be Isaac, come on in," as Rebecca ushered him into the apartment. "Sarah is still getting ready. I ran her late (waving the hammer). Borrowing this for a little home repair across the hall. I'm Rebecca."
"Nice to meet you, Rebecca."
"Thanks.
"Hey, I didn't hear the door! Rebecca, I hope you behaved yourself."
"You know me." She was smiling, and mouthing "Cute!" behind Isaac's back.
"Well, we better get back to the house. Everyone is going to wonder what has happened to us." Isaac said, trying to be subtle.
"Right. Keep the hammer as long as you need it, Becs. I know where to find you."
"You kids have fun. Catch you on the bike trail, Sarah." Rebecca said, as she left.
"You bet," and Sarah closed the door.
"Sorry I'm running late, I just need to find my shoes. It'll only take a sec." She hollered over her shoulder as she moved down the hall to her room.
"No problem. Hope you like crowds. My whole family will be at the house."
"Awesome. I finally get to meet all the characters in your wild stories. I can't wait." She hollered over her shoulder as she moved down the hall to her room.
"Truth is always stranger than fiction; my family will prove that theory." He wasn't lying.
"All ready," She appeared from the back room. "Let's go. I'm starved. Did I ever tell you about the time I won a hot dog eating contest?"
"Yes, you did. Many times. Third grade, Mrs. McCutcheon's class, and you puked for days." He ducked and she missed his head. "Any chance of a re-enactment tonight?" He shot her a grin.
"None. I'm a changed woman." She got into his car, and they drove to his house. She was about to meet his family, which made him really nervous. He hoped they behaved themselves. Especially Zac.
He pulled into the drive and parked the car. Isaac suggested they cut through the gate and go into the backyard. He'd give her the home "tour" later. His parents were there, and introduced themselves first, followed by Isaac's younger siblings. They were all getting along fine, making polite conversation, when Taylor and Zac rounded the corner with high-powered water guns in each hand.
"Take that!" Taylor hollered.
"No fair! I told you I had to reload!" Zac was so competitive.
"Hey, guys, give it up. We've got company!" Isaac said.
"Company? Sounds so formal. Afraid to let me see your brothers beat you?" Sarah challenged.
"You up for a fight?" Isaac said.
"You bet!" Sarah was thrilled to be done with the small talk. After all the stories, she felt she knew them far too well for empty pleasantries.
"Hey Tay, count us in!" Isaac yelled. "Hand over one of your guns, both of you!"
"Good to see you again, Sarah," Taylor said. He offered a wet hand, and she took it. "This is Zac," Taylor said, "He's the evil one, so watch out," and he handed her a gun.
"Don't listen to him, Sarah. Want to help me take these two down?" Zac said, throwing his empty gun to Isaac.
"I'd love to!"
And so it began. Before long, they had made complete messes of each other. Why did I bother fixing my hair? Sarah thought to herself, but decided she didn't care anymore. She was having too much fun to be a girl right now. Finally it was dinnertime, and they called a truce.
"How about some dry shirts for the losers?" Taylor said, taunting them.
"Speak for yourself, you're just as drenched as we are." Sarah shot back with her mouth and her gun. "Surrender!" Taylor fell to his knees.
"Yeah, we creamed you guys," Zac said. He hated to lose. "You, too, Ike-on your knees!"
"Whatever. Let's go inside and get some shirts." Isaac had a way of moving things along.
"You know, Sarah, I think you'd really like paintball. You're a natural with a gun," Zac said, as they all headed in the house.
Back outside, they sat on the porch, talking, laughing, trading jokes, and eating. Sarah told her hot dog story, with Isaac interrupting to add all the good parts that she was forgetting, and everyone begged for a proper demonstration. The sun was going down. They lit candles, turned up some music, and the patio became a makeshift disco.
"Care to dance, partner in crime?" Zac asked.
"Love to," Sarah said.
Everyone, from the oldest to the youngest was dancing and laughing. After letting Sarah make the rounds on the dance floor, Isaac cut in and took a turn. And as always, they began to talk.
"Your family is the best. Even better than the stories. I used to think it was strange-you still being here, but I get it now. I wouldn't ever want to leave this place, either."
"I'm really glad you came over. I'm sorry I waited so long; it's just that we're kind of a weird bunch, and I just. . ."
"Were you afraid you'd run me off? You are stuck with me, Isaac Hanson. There is nothing you could ever do that would change that. We will be friends forever-longer than that if it's possible."
They danced on, talking and laughing, not noticing that everyone else had gone in the house.
* * * * * *
Inside, Taylor and Zac were cleaning up while their parents were getting the younger members of the family ready for bed.
"Sarah is really cool, isn't she Zac?"
"Yeah. She's a blast." Suddenly, he didn't sound too enthusiastic. He was staring out the kitchen window, looking out into the backyard.
"So, I guess you were wrong this time-they really are just friends. You saw for yourself tonight, didn't you? No mushy stuff at all." Taylor loved rubbing it in; Zac wasn't wrong too often, and he wasn't going to let this pass him by.
"Yeah, I guess, but there's something familiar about her. I feel like I've met her before." Zac's voice was distant, his tone pensive. Then he turned around, his face white as a sheet. "I'll be right back, Tay," and he ran upstairs to their bedroom. When he returned, he was holding Isaac's tattered notebook.
They stood silent, both of them, each one aware of the other's thoughts. They had met her before, and so had Isaac. They knew her well. They stared out the kitchen window, watching the dance, unable to speak, remembering the notebook's final warning:
Should we ever meet in daylight,
"What are we going to do?" Zac finally managed to get out, in a faint whisper.
"Nothing, we do nothing." Taylor answered firmly.
(Much later that evening)
"Man, I don't know what we were thinking. Ike is gonna' be steamed when he finds out we read his journal, and then he's never going to trust us again, he might even decide to move out of the room-or worse, the house, and . . ."
"Cut it out, Zac. Nothing is going to happen, because Ike isn't going to know. We're going to throw the thing away, like we should have done in the first place."
"But Tay, if Sarah is the girl in the journal, shouldn't we . . ." His voice trailed off. He was confused. He didn't like the feeling; it didn't come often, and when it did, it was most unwelcome. "I mean," he continued, "don't you think Ike will want it, now that he's. . ."
"Ike has forgotten the journal, and so should we." Taylor's voice was full of resolve.
"But, man, if it were me, I think I'd regret. . ."
"Now who's the packrat?" Any other time, Taylor would be enjoying the irony.
"Maybe we should talk to Dad," Zac offered quietly.
"NO!" Taylor ripped back in a whisper that was more of a shout. "We can't tell them. They'll want to see the journal, and then they'll want to talk-like they always do, and then Ike will be really mad at us. You'll be fronting him out to the whole family if you tell Mom or Dad. Think, Zac."
"Sorry, I was just. . ." He was getting more confused by the minute.
"Let's stop and see what we've really got here. Ike kept a journal. We read the journal. And now we're imagining that Sarah is the girl in his letters in that journal. That's all."
"But I don't think we're imagining," Zac was almost pleading.
"Zac, what do you think we should do? Go upstairs, wake Ike up, shove the journal in his face, and tell him he's in love with Sarah? He's made it clear he's not."
"I don't think he's made that clear at all."
"Hello! Earth to Zac! He's only insisted that they are JUST friends how many times?!" Taylor was becoming indignant.
"Yeah, but. . ." Zac was backed into a corner, and he knew it.
"No buts, we're not saying anything, and as far as I'm concerned, this is over." Taylor said.
"But we can't destroy the journal."
"Okay. The journal stays, for now. But we're not talking about it anymore, got it?" Taylor always seemed to get the last word.
Zac, satisfied that the yellowed notebook was safe, agreed. Zac would protect that notebook, no matter what the cost. He had a feeling Isaac would want it back, and soon.
"He is the very breath you feel inside your lungs at night.
He is the bitter wind who's drying up your appetite.
He is the darkness that seeps into your fading light."
(Two weeks later) "Whew, Becs, I think that's our best time, yet!" Sarah said, glancing at her stopwatch. She loved their bike outings. They were approaching the apartment complex when Sarah saw his car. Ryan was back.
They rounded the corner, and there he was, sitting on the steps. All six-foot, four inches of him. His tanned skin and blue eyes glowing in the sunlight. His dark hair made his neatly pressed white shirt look even whiter. He was devastatingly handsome; there had never been any argument about that.
"Hey, girls! Out for an early morning spin, I see. Some things never change."
"Isn't that the truth!" Rebecca glared. She wasn't glad he was back, and didn't mind showing it.
"Ryan, what are you doing here? I thought you were in Mexico." Sarah said, trying to be calm.
"Well, I've missed you," he said, "Most of the earthquake repairs are done, and with all the good contracts gone, I thought I'd come back to greener pastures. And this time, I'm back for good." He offered her a hand with the bike, but she continued on by herself. He followed her through the door of her apartment. Even Rebecca, nosy as she could be, knew not to follow.
"So, if you're not doing anything, I thought we could . . ." He said, closing the door behind them.
"Ryan, you can't just walk back in here, without any warning and expect me to . . ."
"Babe, I love you. I thought you loved me." He said.
"You can't do this. It isn't supposed to be like this." She went on, "We can't just pick up where we left off. You've been gone for almost eleven months, and I haven't heard from you once. Do you call that love?" She said flatly.
Before he could answer, the phone rang. He moved towards it, but she waved him off.
"Hello?" She said, trying to stay cool.
"Hey, give you three guesses what I'm doing right now." Isaac teased.
"Look, um, I can't talk right now. Can I call you back in a minute?"
"Okay, but don't forget that we have a movie date tonight."
"About that, I'm not sure if I can make it. Something has come up."
"Sarah, are you okay? Is there something I can . . ." Isaac knew this wasn't like her at all. "I'm fine. I'll be fine. Rain check on the movie? I won't leave you hanging for long, promise."
"Sure. You're really okay?"
"Yeah. Thanks. I'll call you back later. Bye." She wanted to cry. Ryan had the worst timing. Some things really never change.
"Who was that?" Ryan asked.
"No one you know," she said curtly.
"Sorry. Not my business. You've got friends who obviously remember to call. I shouldn't throw stones. Look, you're right. It was wrong of me not to call you, and it's wrong of me to expect you to be glad to see me now. But I'd really like to talk to you. I have missed you. I know I screwed up, let me make it up to you. We can work all this out. Besides, you must be starved after your ride."
"I need a shower." She tried to resist his charm.
"I'll take you to your favorite spot-we'll have pancakes." Ryan offered.
"With ice cream?" She said softly, talking to herself.
"What?"
"Nothing," she said.
They talked over breakfast, though she had a little trouble focusing in on the conversation. She kept flashing back to seeing his car, then seeing him again after all these months. Why was he back? She knew the answer to that one. He really did love her, in his own strange way. But she was crushed when he left for Mexico; it seemed he was always leaving. The job in Mexico was different than all the other times; it had become virtually a third-world nation after the earthquake. She knew his leaving meant he was going to be completely cut off from her for who knows how long. He promised to write, but she knew he wouldn't-it just wasn't his style. "Babe, travel is just part of being in the construction business," she could hear him saying. Still, no matter how times they said goodbye, he'd always return. They always seemed to find each other again, no matter how many times she swore that she'd never take him back. Ryan said that was because they were meant to be together. Sitting in the booth across from him, she felt lonely all over again, the way she did on the day he last left her. It was like the wounds had been reopened, and her heart was draining out onto the floor. She felt the life pouring from her soul, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
It was a quiet ride home. "Ryan, thanks for breakfast," she said, trying to be polite, yet firm at the same time, "but I need some time to sort all this out. You don't need to walk me up. Thanks again. I'll talk to you soon." She opened the car door and stepped out.
"Call you later?" He said, and knowing she needed some time to absorb his return, he added, "Tomorrow, maybe?"
"Yeah, tomorrow. Bye, Ryan." She turned quickly towards the stairs, started walking, and didn't look back. She knew she couldn't look back, not right now. Once inside, she let go. Her stomach was twisted into a knot, there was a lump in her throat so big she could barely breathe, and tears blinded her eyes. Her ears were ringing with the sound of his voice. "And this time I'm back for good." She leaned against the front door, slid down onto the floor, and gave in to the pain. Minutes later, there was a knock. Still crying and crunched down into a ball against the door, she yelled out; "Go away, Rebecca. Just go away."
A voice on the other side answered, "It's me, Isaac." She got up, and let him in.
She was a mess, he could tell that much over the phone. But when Rebecca had called and told him about Ryan, he knew he had to make sure she was okay. So he went. Against his better judgment, he went. He was praying Ryan would be gone; he didn't want to see him. When she opened the door, he looked at her tear-stained face and felt his own heart breaking. If he were to walk through the door right now, I would kill him. he thought to himself.
They sat down on the couch, and she told him all about Ryan, the three years of their strange on-again, off-again relationship. He hid his surprise; they had never talked about Ryan. He listened a lot, saying little. She needed to hear herself talk, to sort this out. Finally, she began crying softly, and before long, she had fallen asleep on his shoulder. He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. Then he carried her into her room and placed her gently on the bed. He covered her with a blanket and then went to the front of the small apartment to call Rebecca.
"Rebecca," he began, "it's Isaac. She's okay, I guess. He's really messed with her head, though. She's asleep right now. Maybe she'll have a clearer picture of things when she wakes up."
"Isaac, don't leave her alone. She doesn't need to be alone right now."
"I'm not going anywhere, Rebecca. I'll be here."
"Good."
He went back down the hall to check on her. He sat on the foot of the bed, watching Sarah sleep. He didn't know Ryan, but he hated him for hurting her. Everything inside him wanted to protect her, to keep her safe from the "Ryans" of the world. He started talking, "Damn him for doing this to you, Sarah. You deserve someone who will love you, protect you, and take care of you. I would do that; I could do that for you, if you'd let me Sarah." It was the first time he'd said the words out loud. That was when he knew--Zac had been right all along.
There was no mention of the journal between Zac and Taylor, only nervous, awkward glances every now and again. It seemed the strangest when Sarah was around the house, which was more often with their usual spots now crowded with "teenies" on summer vacation.
Something had changed between them, but no one could tell exactly what. Some of the initial playfulness had left the relationship; that was evident to everyone in the house. But that perhaps that could be easily explained, they were merely settling in. After all, it had been almost three months since they first met. And while they didn't see each other as often as they had in the beginning, there were still many nights of marathon talks, with her staying over instead of driving home. One such night, they were alone in the tree house, and Sarah began:
"Why does love have to be so complicated, Isaac?"
"That is a question people have been trying to answer for ages, Sarah. But it sure does keep the songwriters in business. If anyone ever finds the answer, I'm afraid I might be out of work."
"Seriously, Isaac. Why does it have to be so hard?"
"I don't think it's supposed to be hard. I think people make it harder than it has to be. Take me, for instance. There was a woman, she was the perfect woman, and I saw her in my dreams every night. At one point, I started listing what it was about her that was so wonderful to me. I wrote it all in a journal."
"Why?"
"I was lonely, I guess."
"I'd love to see it sometime-your list. Isaac Hanson's perfect woman."
"Trust me, you wouldn't, and besides, I threw it away-along with the letters."
"What a shame. Letters?"
"Yeah. I'd try to write all my dreams down whenever I could remember. Most of them were impressions of her, and I wrote the entries as letters. At the time, they seemed important."
"And now?"
"It got to the point where the only place I was happy was in those dreams. That's when I knew it had to stop, so I quit writing. But the dreams kept coming, so I quit sleeping. I was really screwed up."
"And now?"
"Since I've let go of all that, I would say for the most part, I do. I haven't ever seen her again. If I learned anything, Sarah, it was this: life may not be perfect, but it beats living with your head on your pillow, you know?"
"I think I understand what you mean. But it's hard sometimes. When I'm asleep, I can go back in time to the best days with Ryan, and relive the moments as many times as I want."
"You know, you have to accept the bad stuff along with the good if you're going to have a relationship with someone, Sarah. You have to keep your eyes open to make love work. Think about it: that's why when a person takes wedding vows they promise 'For better or worse,' right?"
"Yeah, 'sickness and health, rich or poor,' I know. It all sounds so romantic, but I think it's really hard to live it, don't you? Why is that?"
"I think we're back where we started." He patted her shoulder. "And it's late. Stay tonight?"
"You're always such a worry wart." She said.
"Please stay."
"You know I will."
"Good, then. We should turn in; I'll get your stuff ready in the den."
He fixed her spot on the sofa bed, and then went on to bed himself. He lay there awhile, unable to sleep. He decided to slip into the den and see if Sarah was awake, too. He stood there, at the foot of the sofa, watching her rest, listening to the soft, even sounds of her breathing. Lost in thought, his mind consumed with the thought that she might be dreaming of Ryan. He went outside and climbed back up into the tree house, and sat there watching the stars. He was remembering the day he had met Sarah, and all the days since. Had it really only been ten short weeks? It seemed like a lifetime. And then he heard the voice:
"I thought I'd find you up here."
"Zac. What are you doing up?"
"I could ask you the same question."
"Couldn't sleep." Isaac said.
"Me, either."
They sat together, in silence, for a long while, watching the night sky. And then it happened.
"I love her." Isaac said, softly.
"I know," said Zac.
"What am I going to do?" he asked.
"Tell her."
" I can't," Isaac replied.
"Why not?"
"Ryan."
"Ryan?"
"Her," Isaac swallowed hard, "boyfriend." The word stuck in his throat, choking him.
* * * * * *
The summer was ending, and Sarah would be going back to school soon. She'd be back to classes and working at the junior college. Isaac hadn't seen as much of her as he would have liked since Ryan had come back to town, and now her time would be even more divided. He had to let her sort out her feelings for Ryan, he had told Zac. To confess his feelings for her now would be wrong, or at least it seemed that way to Isaac. Even though Ryan had been gone, they still shared what was, at the least as Isaac saw it, an implied connection to each other. Sarah had unfinished business with Ryan, and Isaac would be patient. Besides, he knew what it was like to be away from home for extended periods of time, and that made him slightly sympathetic to Ryan's situation. Still, he couldn't help wondering why Ryan never called or wrote to her, and why she had never mentioned him during all those talks. He tried to shake off his gloominess as he strode toward her door.
"Hey, Isaac! Come on in. I was just looking for my. . ." She walked on back to her bedroom closet, and began searching. He followed. This had become a ritual, of sorts, for them.
"Shoes?" He knew her well. "The ones you have on are fine, Sarah."
"Maybe, but I was thinking that I needed to find the ones with the wooden heels. They're around here somewhere. . ." She continued digging, and he knelt to help. Scary, she had so many shoes, and he knew exactly which pair she was talking about. The two of them were on hands and knees rifling through the piles in her closet floor. He was so close to her; he could smell her hair, and it took every ounce of strength he had not to tell her everything that was on his mind. "This is futile, we're going to miss the movie. I'll just wear these. I'm sorry that I put you through this." Her voice sounded plaintive, and feeble.
"Put me through what? It's just a pair of shoes." You act like you're afraid of me.
"It's just that Ryan hates it when I . . ." Her tone was making him uncomfortable.
"I'm not Ryan." He stated it firmly, and then put his hand on her shoulder. "I'm not Ryan," he repeated, more softly, looking deep into her eyes to make sure she understood.
"Why did he have to come back?" she said. "Why did he have to come back now, after I've just started to get used to being on my own?"
"I don't know." He was trying to be her friend, and a gentleman, which was getting harder, given that Ryan's interests challenged his own.
"Isaac, what do you think I should do?"
Leave him! I love you! His heart was shouting so loud, he could feel and hear the blood pulsing in his temples. "I wish I could tell you that, but I can't."
"Can't or won't?" She said.
"Both, I suppose." He went on, "As much as I would like to step in, I can't. You have to sort this out yourself. Maybe you shouldn't think so much about what the past has been like with Ryan. Maybe you should start thinking about what a future with him would mean for you." He held out his arms, and she scooted over to him. He sat there on the floor in the middle of the closet holding on to her. He was congratulating himself on his objective advice when he realized the time. "I think we're going to miss our movie," he whispered, kissing her gently on the top of her head.
"Could we just stay here a little longer?" She asked.
"As long as you like," he said. He could stay forever-he was hoping for that.
She knew Ryan would be arriving any minute. She was starting to remember the things about him that were so attractive to her at first. He had the most beautiful blue eyes, and big, strong arms. When he was holding her, she felt like she was the safest she had been in her whole life. She remembered the way he never came to her door without flowers, the way he noticed everything about her down to a new pair of earrings or eye shadow, and the way he would fix the broken things around her house on his days off. He took care of her; he made her feel like a queen. But that was three years ago, and for eleven months of that three years, he had been gone, without so much as a word to let her know he still cared. In that time, she had abdicated her throne as his queen. "Life isn't safe, love shouldn't be. You want safe? Buy some pepper spray and a dog." Rebecca told her. She remembered all the pots of coffee and talks with Rebecca in the early weeks after Ryan had gone to Mexico. But she had banished him from her mind in the last few months, and her heart, or so she had thought. She wanted to be someone's partner now, not some tender blossom that was in constant need of care and attention. He needed to know that, or maybe she needed him to know that she knew that. For whatever the reason, she felt talking to him today would be rough, and she sat nervously on the couch, waiting for the knock at the door.
* * * * * *
Meanwhile, across town, someone else was trying to come clean with his own revelation.
"Mom, what do you think of Sarah?" Zac asked.
"I like her. I think she's an extraordinary young woman, and a good friend to Isaac. Why are you so interested?" She asked.
"Do you feel, like weird or anything, when she's around?" He continued.
"No. She seems to fit in pretty well."
"Yeah, I guess so."
"Zac, is something wrong? Is there something you need to tell me?" she asked. She didn't like to pry, but she felt like he was trying to say something to her; something was on his mind.
"Mom, it's just that I think she's. . .well that he. . .what I'm trying to say is I think they. . ." he was interrupted. Taylor had entered the room. This would have to wait; Taylor couldn't hear what he had to say to his mother. This had to be done in private.
Back at Sarah's apartment, she heard his footsteps on the stairs, and knew he was about to knock. She felt her stomach pulling up into a knot. "Well, Ryan, I hope you're ready. I know I'm not," she said to herself, and she moved toward the door.
"Hello, sweetheart," he entered, handing her a neatly wrapped bunch of white daisies, her favorite. He remembered.
"Thanks," she said, accepting the flowers and a brief kiss. "I'll put them in some water." Oh, Ryan, why do you have to be so sweet and so damned good looking?
"I thought we'd go to the park for a picnic, if that's okay with you." He was really trying. The park had been where he'd taken her the first time he'd told her he loved her. Over time, it had become their special place.
"The park would be lovely." She was lying. The park was the worst possible place he could take her today. She'd need every bit of strength she could gather, and the park seemed like a dirty trick.
The drive to the park went smoothly enough, they listened to the radio and she resisted the urge to sing with the songs-it drove him nuts. They unloaded the car and walked to "their spot." He offered her a soda, and then leaned in close. "I've missed you so much. Being down in Mexico taught me something really important-I need to be near you. I'm tired of the travel. I'm going to look for permanent work here. The money may not be as good, but we'll have time, and that's all that matters. You are all that matters to me anymore."
Why did the words she so longed to hear eleven months ago now repulse her? Why was she getting so angry? His next declaration was too much for her.
"I love you."
"Ryan, I love you, too," she said, mostly out of habit. She struggled to quickly qualify her words,"a part of me always will, but not like you. . ."
"No buts. Marry me."
"Ryan, that's crazy. How could you think I'd just run off and marry you like that?"
"Look, this is about my leaving, isn't it? Sarah, sweetheart, please. Forgive me. I want you to believe me. I told you, I'm back."
"This isn't about you being gone, or being here. It's about me. I've changed, Ryan, and I like the new person inside my skin. I'm not the same person you think I am. The person you love is gone. You may not want to hear that, but she's not here. I'm here now. I like it that I take care of myself, that I can be around someone because I want company, not need it. This is about who I've become while you were gone. Can't you see that I'm not the same person you left behind last year? Can't you feel that when we're together? Don't you hear your soul shouting when we kiss? I'm not doing this to hurt you, but staying with you would mean going back, and I just can't do that."
"I'm not asking you to do that. Look. I know I really messed things up, and I know it will take time for you to really believe that I'm back for good, but I don't see why we have to be apart to work this out. Can't we work on this together? I know you've changed. I like the 'spark' you've found. People change. Let me change with you. Give us a chance."
"I don't think I can. I need to be alone right now. This is all so fast, and I don't think I should make such a big decision after everything, and I just need to think . . .I just can't . . ." She was rambling, and she couldn't stop.
"Can't? Or won't?" He was getting angry. She had hurt him, and he didn't like the feeling creeping into his stomach. He wondered if maybe she was just trying to even the score, pass a little hurt back to him for leaving her.
"Both, I suppose. I'm sorry, Ryan, really I am."
"But I want you to be my wife. I want us to get married and have kids, and grow old together."
"I don't think I can give you what you want. And I'm beginning to believe that no amount of time is going to change that. Please, try to understand, Ryan."
There was no way he could understand. She was his life. Sure, he had done a lousy job of showing it, but she had his entire heart, and he had given it to her, sure that she would be the only one he would ever love that way. Now, they were sitting here in their special spot-he had just proposed to her, and she had told him that she was lost to him forever. It was too much. He stood up, and walked away, leaving her on the blanket. She heard the motor start and watched his car drive away. She doubted he would be back for her, but it didn't matter. She couldn't be with him now or ever; they both knew that. There was no going back for them, not anymore.
"You've left me for the last time, Ryan," she said, digging into the picnic basket for a napkin to wipe away her tears.
"I am worthless sounds, compared to all your perfect words."
Zac took the journal out of the hiding place, went into the den, and started reading. No one would be home for a few hours, so he knew he wouldn't be disturbed. He had decided to go through each of the entries, and make a list of all the similarities and differences between the woman in Isaac's journal and Sarah. He drew a chart, and began making his list. He had a good start, and had gotten almost halfway through the notebook when he heard keys in the back door. Oh no! Must have lost track of time. He took the journal, and shoved it under the sofa cushions, trying his best to look casual.
"Need some help with the groceries, Mom?" He slid into the kitchen.
"Thanks, there's more in the car." She said.
"You stay in here, Mom, I'll unload the rest."
"Thanks, Zac. You always were my favorite." She grinned, and messed up his hair.
"I'll bet you say that to all of us."
"And I mean it, too."
"Well, you're my favorite mother." He said, teasing her.
"Your sincerity is overwhelming. Got you some more Twinkies, by the way."
"How'd you know I was out of those? Does everyone know about my hiding place?"
"There are no secrets in this house, Zac, you should know that by now."
Boy, are you wrong about that one, Mom. He thought to himself. He laughed, and gave her a hug. He was lucky to have such a cool mother, and he knew it. After helping her unload the groceries from the car, he went down to the basement. He got his skates and headed for the door.
"Don't be out too long!" He heard her call from the kitchen.
"I won't!" He answered.
She had just finished putting the groceries away when the phone rang. It was Isaac.
"Mom?"
"Yeah, hon. What do you need?"
"I was just calling to remind you that I'll be at Sarah's tonight."
"Oh, that's right. The back-to-school movie marathon."
"Yeah. I was just calling in case you forgot. Didn't want you to worry."
"Thanks. Hey, before you go, have you seen my new sheets, the ones with the pretty embroidery? I've looked everywhere."
"I think they're still on the sofa bed in the den. You know, from the last time Sarah stayed over."
"I remember, she said I didn't have to get her clean sheets every time. I'll check later. Thanks. "
"I'll see you in the morning, Mom."
"Be careful, Isaac."
"That's my middle name."
"Funny. Be careful. See you tomorrow." She hung up the phone, and went into the den. She unfolded the sofa, and onto the floor fell the notebook. She laid it aside and gathered the sheets in her arms and went to the laundry room. She started the laundry and went back upstairs, where she sat on the sofa and began to leaf through the pages of the notebook. Before she knew it, her cheeks were damp with tears. The journal was so personal, so moving. She was not prepared for the depth of the emotions hidden on the pages. Why hadn't Walker told her about this? Why had he kept these beautiful letters a secret? And what was it doing under the sofa cushion? She read on: