Here With Me

“Not bad,” I whisper, tilting the bottle and taking another sip.

I’m not shooting it. I’m only tasting. Dwayne Johnson says on the other side of the pain, there’s something better. I can drink to that. Holding up the bottle, I take another sip to something better. Whatever that means.

20

Sawyer

Lockdown.

Ever since the incident outside Noel’s store, I’ve been making up excuses for why I need to be alone, why I need to sit with my thoughts.

I’ve passed two restless nights since Taron found me in the brush, long nights in my room, searching the internet for clues, reading anything I can find to give me insight, a way to control it. The trigger seems to be small, dark spaces.

Noel complained I never told her I’d checked her shop. Why didn’t Taron tell her? I apologized and left early to help prepare for the Peach Festival like I do every year. Tourists come from all over the country and even Canada and Mexico for the three-day event, and as the owner of the largest peach orchard in Taylor Parish, I have to be there. It’s a tradition.

It’s also a minefield of dark rooms and storage closets.

“We’ve got more high-top tables in the back room.” Digger Hayes is at the front of the civic center ballroom setting up lattice and fake pillars for the Peach Ball.

I roll the flat top of a table out to its waiting base in the center of the room. I’ve assembled nine so far. We arrange the framework and set out the tables and chairs, and the ladies auxiliary comes after us with decorations. They’ll hang drapes, foliage, and twinkle lights everywhere to make the space look less utilitarian and more romantic.

My insides are tense, and I’m on guard for any bit of stress that might set me off. Knowing I promised to take Mindy to the ball weighs heavy on my mind. The last thing I feel like doing is partying.

“Would you mind checking for me?” Digger stops where I’m tightening screws under the table.

“What’s that?” I pause.

“The storage room. More high tops.”

I swallow the knot in my throat and shake my head. “Sorry, Digger, I’ve got to take off once I finish this. If you still need me, I’ll help as soon as I get back.”

I’ll make a point of staying away until I’m sure he won’t need me. I’m doing everything I can to help them, but I can’t risk it. I’ve got to get out of here. I need to breathe fresh air, see the sun. Pushing through the crash door, I’m caught by Ed Daniels.

“Sawyer, would you help me do a perimeter check?” Ed is this year’s festival chairman.

“Sure.” I shake his hand, and he returns to his conversation with Dutch Hayes, Digger’s dad.

They’re having some issue with parking and buses being able to get in and out. I was chairman last year, so I know the logistical nightmares. Following them into the

tent, I scan every inch of the farmer’s market.

A perimeter check is basically walking the perimeter of the grounds, making sure all the electrical wiring is properly taped, making sure people are using safety precautions, making sure no one is obviously drunk or disorderly.

My mouth goes dry when I spot Mindy across the room at her mother’s table. She’s leaning to the side, holding a jar of honey. My eyes take in her appearance, and hunger is in my stomach. She’s wearing a light blue dress with skinny straps. Her hair is smooth and wavy and swept over one shoulder. She’s so beautiful. She looks like a supermodel or a Bond girl. She looks like she’s looking for someone.

Our eyes catch, and I’m momentarily frozen. I need to talk to her, but if I do, I’ll make some excuse for why I can’t go tonight. Mindy doesn’t deserve that. She especially doesn’t deserve a broken man, too weak to take care of her… if that’s what’s happening. Fuck, I’ve got to figure out my shit.

A man distracts her, and she turns away to help him.

“We’ve got a situation out by the railroad tent.” Ed catches my arm. “Would you head over and see what’s happening?”

“Sure.” I look once more to where Mindy’s still helping the old man.

I’ll call her when I get a break and talk to her about tonight.

The situation is at the Cobbler Gobbler competition. An enormous man has passed out from what they think is heat, but it could also be he gobbled too much peach cobbler.

Personally, I avoid competitive eating contests. They make me nauseated. Still, these guys are supposed to be professionals. We call EMS, and hours later, I never called Mindy.