Great Restorations - 9. Chapter 9

AS IF scalded, Marc dropped Finn‘s hand.

“Say what?” Rick blurted through his mouthful of donut.

Finn‘s brows furrowed, and his eyes skipped around the room, falling on everyone in turn. He studied Sawyer last, and then dropped his gaze, smoothing a hand down the front of his tie. His lips thinned, and Sawyer tensed, damning his brother‘s keen intelligence and intuition. There was no question after the way everyone had reacted: Finn knew exactly what was at stake.

“Finn,” Sawyer said. The two of them were at odds, but that had nothing to do with Marc. His brother could be a bastard, but that didn’t usually extend to outright cruelty.

Pale, Marc opened his mouth to speak, but Finn waved him off. “Marc was here going over some contractual details with Sawyer when I arrived last night. To put it delicately, I was in a foul mood, and made some abrasive remarks.” He nodded at Marc. “None of which I meant. I‘m sorry.”

“It‘s no big deal,” Marc said, stuttering through his reply.

“I‘m glad to hear it.” With a loose salute, Finn collected his coat and turned to go. “It was a pleasure meeting you all.”

“Wait,” Sawyer said. “I‘ll walk you out.”

Already, normal conversation had resumed—Reba was berating Rick for something—so Sawyer slipped away without any further explanation. He led Finn to the front door, aware of how his brother‘s gaze took in the mess and disorder.

“Thank you for that,” Sawyer said as they stepped outside.

Finn took a deep breath of cool morning air. “No thanks necessary. It just surprised me.”

“How so?”

“It’s not like you to… involve yourself with someone who isn’t out and proud. In fact, I can’t recall a time when you ever did.”

“You don’t approve, I’m sure,” Sawyer grumbled.

“Your business is your own, Sawyer. It’s just uncharacteristic, that’s all.” Finn seemed to struggle with his next words before pushing them out. “Be careful.”

Since Sawyer had been repeating that same thought to himself for weeks, he couldn’t very well berate his brother for the warning. He nodded. “I’ll call you.”

“I doubt that.” Finn paused, one foot on the porch steps. “I‘m not mistaking what you said, Sawyer.” He ran his hand down the side of a fluted column. In that instant, his touch reminded Sawyer of Marc‘s, almost reverent. “I understand that sometimes you‘d rather avoid an argument, but you deliberately misled mom and me about your intentions for this place. I don’t like seeing her hurt.”

“Whatever you say, counselor.”

Finn closed his eyes. “Why do I bother?” he mumbled.

That was a question to which Sawyer had no answer, but he could make one up easy enough. They‘d been trading insults for twenty years, and he still had a few good ones up his sleeve.

Before he could speak, Marc joined them. His fingers brushed Sawyer‘s as he passed. “Could I have a word with you, Finn?” he asked.

Noting that Finn seemed as surprised as he did, Sawyer started to protest. Marc threw him a hard look, and, nursing a surge of dismay, Sawyer shut his mouth.

“Of course.” Finn hefted his briefcase in one hand, but before he could reach for his garment bag, Marc grabbed it and swung it over his shoulder. Finn muttered his thanks, and Marc answered with a shy smile. Sawyer watched Finn absorb it, blink, then offer a guileless grin in return.

It was a moment of self-realization for Sawyer. Had he not been one hundred percent sure that Finn‘s interest was platonic, he would‘ve bitten his head off. Disconcerted, he took a firm grip of the porch railing and lowered his head to his chest, breathing deeply.

Marc and Finn walked off, neither indicating Sawyer should follow, and in fact they closed ranks, walking shoulder to shoulder and speaking in low tones. Sawyer‘s mouth flooded with a sour taste. Resentment. Stiff with anger, he walked to the end of the porch and took a seat in one of the rocking chairs clustered in the corner. His grandfather‘s chair. It felt appropriate.

A few minutes later, he heard Finn‘s BMW roar to life. He raised his eyes from the scuffed wood deck and watched him speed down the driveway in a cloud of dust. Good riddance. It was pathetic, the way Finn could twist him around like this. Sawyer thought he‘d left the residual hurt feelings behind, but that was as untrue today as it had always been. He couldn‘t remember the last time he‘d felt anything but unhappiness where Finn was concerned.

“Have a good talk?” he called once Marc had reached the steps.

Marc paused. “Yes. Thanks.”

“For?” Sawyer kicked at the railing, coaxing his chair into a slow rock. The bad taste grew thicker when Marc went tense at his tone.

“For the few minutes of privacy. I just wanted to thank him.” Rather than join Sawyer, Marc hoisted himself onto the railing several feet away. “He didn‘t have to—he could‘ve—”

“Oh yeah. He‘s an upstanding guy. Never doubted for one minute what he was going to say.”

No need to ask if his sarcasm came through; Marc didn‘t refute Sawyer‘s words. He pulled a leg up beside him and looped an arm around his knee. “He‘s not so bad. And he apologized again for last night. Why do you hate him so much?”

“I don’t hate him.”

“You act like you do.”

“Listen, there are things about me and Finn you’re never going to understand. Just trust me and believe that he’s not a good person.”

“I don’t know if I can do that.” Marc straightened his shoulders in the face of Sawyer’s irritation. “Until he gives me a reason to.” He shrugged. “You’re right, I don’t know the whole story with you guys. But maybe all that history is what’s skewing your opinion.”

“Oh, you think?” It took physical effort to bite back any additional vitriol. He was perilously close to saying something to Marc he knew he’d regret.

“Just an observation. He doesn’t seem like the horrible person you make him out to be.”

“You weren’t too happy with him for getting between us last night.”

Marc caught his bottom lip in his teeth, shooting an anxious glance at the door.

Sawyer refused to be charmed. “We‘re alone.”

“For now.” Smiling, Marc slid a few feet closer.

Harmless words. Wistful. But Sawyer was in no mood to play or coddle. “Don‘t worry. Your secret‘s safe. At this rate, you‘ll take it to the grave.”

The light in Marc‘s eyes died.

Sawyer cursed and bent over his knees, pressing his palms to his forehead. This was what hiding and dishonesty brought. “I‘m sorry.”

Marc‘s face was a chiseled mask of indifference. “Don‘t be.” He glanced away, down the driveway, as if he could still see Finn‘s car in the distance. “I deserved that.”

“Yo, Marc!” Rick called from inside.

Marc jumped lightly to the porch. One hand on the rail, he hesitated. He started to speak, but snapped his mouth shut with a rueful shake of his head. Hand curled into a fist, he pounded the railing, hard enough for Sawyer to feel the vibration where he was sitting, then turned and disappeared inside.

His good mood nothing but a memory, Sawyer locked himself in his office. A handful of calls later, he‘d progressed from irritated to livid. He‘d been away from the magazine for longer than this in the past. What had possessed everyone to choose this month to fuck up?

“Since when do I need to be looking over your shoulder every damn minute of the day?” he growled at his admin. Trish could usually juggle a dozen tasks at once. Two deadlines missed in one week was unprecedented.

“Since when is it my responsibility to do your job on top of my own?” she shot back. “Check in every once in a while for Christ‘s sake!”

“I‘ve been busy,” Sawyer ground out.

“You know what, Sawyer?” Trish huffed through the phone. “You‘re shit at this managerial stuff.”

“That‘s what I tried to tell them when they gave me the promotion,” Sawyer admitted.

“You should have tried harder.”

“Watch it. I‘m your boss, remember?”

She hung up on him, which was when Sawyer admitted to himself that the situation with Marc was turning him into a veritable ass. He either needed to make things right between them, or he‘d have no staff left by the end of the day.

Luckily, Tim was the first person he saw. Being angry at someone so unassuming was impossible. Sawyer even managed a smile. “Hey, Tim. Know where I could find Marc?”

“Back at the mill. Said he had a bunch of paperwork to catch up on.”

His inflection put Sawyer on guard. “Paperwork.”

“That‘s what he said.” Tim handed Sawyer the end of a tape measure, showed him where to hold it, and marked the two-by-four he‘d balanced across a pair of sawhorses. “Looked like hell, though,” he added. “Is he okay?”

“How would I know?”

Tim said nothing, just held his hand out for Sawyer’s end of the tape measure, then snapped the button to coil it up.

“Thanks,” Sawyer said, already halfway down the hall. No way in hell was he starting down that rabbit hole this morning. But he filed the conversation away to be picked apart at a later time. His phone was ringing when he got back to his office. Ignoring it, he grabbed his wallet and keys and went to find Marc.

***

HE HADN‘T been to the mill in weeks, since he‘d stopped by with Bruce to sign the contract. In that time, the trees had morphed from a deep green to a patchwork of reds, oranges, and browns. Fallen leaves drifted down the river, spinning in the calm waters above the mill and falling one by one over the spillway into the churning rapids below.

But for Marc‘s truck, the parking lot was empty. Just as well. Sawyer didn‘t have the patience to deal with anybody else at the moment. He had some things to say and wanted privacy to say them.

The heavy door pushed open without a sound. As he expected, the main floor was deserted. He circled the area, just to be sure, leaning over the short wall that surrounded the water wheel. A cool, wet breeze wafted up from below. The river. He took a deep breath, then another, letting the clean scent and dull rush of the water calm him, then climbed the stairs to Marc‘s office.

Sawyer hesitated on the small landing, then stepped into the sliver of sunshine that spilled from the cracked door and peered through the gap. A clue to Marc‘s mood would be helpful. He had a feeling he‘d need every advantage he could get. The crack was small, but the angle just right. Sawyer had a clear view of Marc‘s desk. And of Marc.

Contrary to what Marc had claimed, he wasn‘t busy with paperwork. Sawyer could‘ve called that one. Slouched in his chair and facing the window, he didn‘t move, even when Sawyer used a finger to push the door open several more inches. His hands were folded over his stomach, his head tilted back on the chair‘s headrest, and he was so lost in thought that Sawyer advanced several paces into the room before he moved.

“Hey,” Sawyer said when Marc finally noticed him.

Marc said nothing.

Now that he was there, Sawyer‘s brave words stuck in his throat. They stared at each other in silence. Marc was the first to act. Using his heels as leverage, he spun the chair around. “Sawyer,” he said.

What a difference a few hours made. Marc had entered Sawyer‘s kitchen that morning with clear, bright eyes, his usual quiet enthusiasm, and a preoccupied smile. Remembering the night before? Sawyer hadn‘t been able to clear the images from his head, and each recollection had brought another slow, cresting wave of lust. But now Marc looked drawn and pale. Defeated. Sawyer‘s throat constricted.

He kicked the door shut behind him. Turned the lock. Marc followed his movements. “You ran off,” Sawyer accused.

Marc didn‘t deny it. Sawyer reached the desk and continued around the other side until he was standing in front of Marc‘s chair. Taking hold of its armrests, he spun it until Marc was facing him, hemmed in by Sawyer‘s spread legs. Marc swallowed. “What are you doing?”

“Apologizing.”

“You did that already. And I told you it wasn‘t necessary. I know this whole fucked up situation is my fault. Believe it or not, I don’t need reminding.” He closed his eyes. “And I think…”

“Don’t think. Don’t,” Sawyer interrupted.

“I think,” Marc continued, undeterred, “I’m fucking with your life in ways I never wanted to. Sawyer, maybe this just wasn’t meant to be.”

Sawyer snorted. “Shows what you know.” Hope sparked in his chest when Marc‘s lips twitched. Unable to help the compulsion, Sawyer leaned down and kissed him. Marc‘s response was sweet and slow, questioning. “I‘m so fucking sorry,” Sawyer whispered against his cheek when they‘d parted. “My brother has a habit of turning me into a real prick. And when he smiled at you, I almost put him on the ground. So, yeah, you’re fucking with my life. But in every way that I want and need.” He forestalled Marc‘s reply. “But we do need to talk.”

“Yeah,” Marc said, sinking lower in the chair.

Fortifying himself with a deep breath, Sawyer said, “I need to know. Before we go any further. You told me…. I thought you were trying. Are you? Are we on the same page?”

“Yes,” Marc insisted without a hint of hesitation. “But—”

“But,” Sawyer repeated, voice dull. Crossing to the window, he stared down at the parking lot. How many more excuses could he stomach?

Marc‘s chair creaked. A moment later, Sawyer felt a hand come to rest on his back. “What‘s wrong with giving me a little time?” Marc asked.

Old resentments flared up. “What‘s wrong is that a little time turns into a lot of time. And that turns into forever.” He shrugged off Marc‘s hand. “I don‘t want to be sneaking into your house when we‘re fifty. Jesus, how can you turn your back on your true feelings like this?”

Voice pitched low, Marc answered, “How do you know what my true feelings are?”

Good point. He‘d been so wound up with physical desire, everything else had fallen by the wayside. Maybe Marc didn’t feel a fraction of the connection that Sawyer did. Maybe he didn’t feel any. More uncertain than ever, Sawyer didn‘t answer.

“I hate this,” Marc murmured. “I don‘t know how to explain without going into a whole bunch of stuff that I‘m not really sure I understand myself.”

“What‘s the bottom line?”

Marc paused before answering. “I’ve been ‘not good enough’ before. I’ve been ‘not what was expected’ and, while we’re at it, I also have a history of being a 'fucking disappointment'.” Marc wrapped his arms around his torso in a tight hug. “I don’t like losing people."

Those five words dripped with enough misery that Sawyer immediately wanted to know the driving force behind them. Now wasn‘t the time. “I know it‘s hard–”

“No, Sawyer, I don‘t think you do. And it‘s not your fault. I mean, that‘s just who you are.” Marc choked on a laugh. “You can’t explain cowardice to someone who’s brave. Not with any measure of success. You’d take on the world without a second thought. But I‘ve never been a hero.”

“You don‘t have to be. You‘ve built this up in your head as something insurmountable. It‘s not. Give people a chance to understand.”

“And if they don‘t? Are you going to feed me some line about how I‘m better off without them?”

Sawyer turned and gripped Marc by the shoulders. “Actually, yes. You think that‘s harsh?”

“It feels harsh.”

“It‘s not. You‘re making it that way.” Easing his grip, Sawyer ran his hands down Marc‘s arms. “Listen, can we go somewhere and talk? An early lunch. Just us.” Marc‘s hands felt like ice. Absently, Sawyer rubbed them between his palms. “I want to try to work through this.”

“What’s wrong with talking right here?”

Firing off a string of curses, Sawyer dropped Marc‘s hands. Marc‘s jaw tightened. His voice rose in pitch to match Sawyer‘s. “This isn‘t easy for me.”

“Marc. Jesus,” Sawyer yelled, giving in to his frustration. “It‘s all about what‘s easy, isn‘t it? You‘re living this way because it‘s easy. No questions. No awkwardness.” He threw his hands into the air. “You‘re worried about losing people who don‘t even know you.”

At some point, he‘d crossed a line. One look at Marc‘s face proved that. “You think you know me,” Marc said, more chill in his voice than Sawyer had ever heard. He shook his head. “You don‘t.”

Disagreeing would get him nowhere, but he couldn‘t help himself. “I do.”

A knock on the door cut off Marc‘s reply. Just as well. They‘d started to tip into dangerous territory, to a place where neither of them would back down.

“Marc?” someone called.

Sawyer couldn‘t place the voice at first. But when it came again, a tentative “Marc?” he put a name to it. Rachel. “Your girlfriend‘s here. Perfect timing.”

“You don’t know her either. She’s my--”

“Beard?”

Marc’s eyes froze over, and Sawyer‘s stomach cramped, like someone had punched him in the gut. “My friend.”

Damn it, he hadn‘t signed on for this. When the hell was he going to learn? Hiding wasn‘t who he was. “I‘ve gotta go,” he muttered, stumbling around to the door. He flicked the lock and opened it for Rachel. Her face lit up when she saw him. “Sawyer! Hi.”

“Hi.” He nodded and forced a smile onto his face. “Long time.”

“Too long. Oh.” She glanced past him to Marc. “I’m so sorry. I’m interrupting.”

“Nope. Not at all.” He focused his forced smile on Marc. “We’re done.”

Pale, Marc gave a slow, sad nod.

“Oh. Okay.” Rachel tugged on the end of her ponytail and took a few tentative steps toward Marc. “Feel like taking a girl out to lunch?”

“Uh, sure,” Marc answered, avoiding Sawyer‘s eyes. “You okay?”

She‘s fine, Sawyer almost snapped, only to realize his error a second later. Rachel shrugged and reached back to play with her hair some more. Her hands were shaking. “Oh, you know. Same crap.”

Marc‘s lips pursed. “He called again.”

More tears sprang to Rachel‘s eyes. “I should‘ve checked the caller ID. The diner was just so busy. I wasn‘t thinking.”

Marc shook his head. “You shouldn‘t have to check it. He needs to learn to leave you alone.” The implied ‘or else’ was so obvious that Sawyer forgot his own anger for a moment.

Rachel gave a shaky sigh and aimed an adoring smile at Marc. “I know. I need to stop letting it get to me. You always know what to say to make me feel better.”

Marc tugged the chain on his desk lamp, throwing the office into shadow, while Sawyer wrestled with another bout of jealousy. "How about The Brick Oven?” Marc asked Rachel. “It‘s quiet this time of day.”

She swiped a hand over her cheek, drawing Sawyer‘s attention to the unshed tears in her eyes. “Thanks. That‘d be perfect. I mean” —she gestured to Sawyer— “if you‘re sure you’re finished.”

“Oh yeah,” Sawyer said. “We‘re finished. I was just leaving.”

“Sawyer,” Marc called as he brushed past Rachel. His eyes swam with remorse. “I‘ll call you.”

Don‘t bother, Sawyer wanted to say, but he couldn‘t. Not with Rachel right there. He responded with a noncommittal shrug and descended the steps two at a time back to the main floor. The Explorer‘s wheels spun on the loose gravel in the parking lot, then caught, and the car shot up the hill and out of the gorge.

***

REBA took the brunt of his bad mood when he got back to the house. As a testament to her experience with teenaged theatrics, she brushed it off. “What the hell crawled up your ass?”

“Nice,” he growled, stalking by her into the kitchen.

“No, seriously.” She followed, thrusting her travel mug in his face when he yanked the coffee pot off the burner. He filled her up first, though it left him with little more than a dark, bitter mouthful, riddled with grounds.

“I‘m fine.” After one taste, he spit the coffee back into his mug and poured it down the sink. “Okay, I‘m not fine, but it‘s nothing serious.”

“You‘re lucky your nose doesn‘t grow when you lie.” Reba snorted, snapping the lid onto her cup.

“I‘m leaving,” Sawyer blurted. At least that worked to get Reba‘s full attention.

“Like, forever?”

“No.” He contemplated how much time it‘d take him to get his head on straight. “Maybe a week. I‘ve been neglecting some things at the magazine.” He waved his hand. “You know.”

“Do you have to leave today? It‘s Friday.”

Sawyer hadn‘t forgotten. He wondered if Kurt‘s offer was still on the table. “Yeah, I do. Sorry.”

“Huh.” Reba shrugged. “Tomorrow‘s poker night at my place. Thought you might want to join in.”

It was Sawyer‘s turn to be caught off-guard. “Me?”

“Sure.” Reba flashed him a sugary grin. “In case you haven‘t figured it out by now, we love to take your money. You should come. You could meet my boys, ignore Rick, laugh at Karen when she tries to bluff. Doesn‘t it sound cool?”

Sawyer indulged in his first heartfelt laugh all day. “Actually, yes."

“And Marc makes this mean drink with rum and Midori. I don‘t even think it has a name, but it‘ll knock you on your ass.”

Marc and lots of alcohol. Definitely not a good idea. But the disappointment was keen. Too keen. He really needed to get the hell away. “Maybe some other time.”

“Okay. You don‘t work too hard, and we‘ll try not to do any serious damage around here. Have you told Marc you have to leave?”

Sawyer had to clear his throat twice. “No. Let him know for me, okay?” He turned to fuss with the coffee pot. Reba didn‘t take the hint, but stood watching him, plastic mug clasped in both hands. He glanced at her over his shoulder, arching an eyebrow. “Was there something else?”

She frowned at him. A disappointed, motherlike frown.

“Reba?”

“Nope. See ya,” she said, shaking free of her reverie, though her farewell was clipped and cool. She pushed through the door into the hall. He stared after her, mind whirling at her odd behavior. His split-second decision was looking better by the second. Perspective, that was exactly what he needed. A massive dose.

***

IT TOOK him fifteen minutes to pack a suitcase and another ten to clear the city limits. He rang Bruce as soon as he‘d left the narrow, twisting roads for the eight-lane interstate. “Heads up. I‘ll see you tonight.”

“You‘ve had a change of plans to your change of plans?”

“Something like that.”

“Okay. Weirdo.”

Sawyer laughed. “Pot, meet kettle.” He rolled the window down, enjoying the warm breeze. If this was the last of their Indian summer, he planned to enjoy it. Already his head felt clearer.

“Are you bringing Marc, by any chance?”

As if Bruce‘s words carried the power of prophecy, the sun disappeared behind a bank of dark clouds. Frowning at the sudden gloom, Sawyer ripped off his sunglasses. “No.”

“Huh.” Bruce clucked his tongue. “Damn.”

“Why?”

“Well, it‘s like this: I‘ve got the prelims for that project out by the waterfront—the one modeled after the mill—and I wanted to run them by your boyfriend.”

Sawyer clenched his teeth. “He‘s not my boyfriend.”

“I have some authenticity questions,” Bruce said, too amused for Sawyer‘s liking.

“I see how it is. You couldn‘t care less about seeing me. It‘s Marc you want, so you can pick his brain. That‘s low.”

“Are you saying that I can‘t use you to get to people and then exploit their talents for my own personal gain? What kind of a friendship is this?”

“I‘m not bringing him,” Sawyer grumbled. He punched the button to roll up his window. The air had grown chilly all of a sudden.

“Oh well. The questions can wait.”

“Good.”

“But not forever.”

“Fuck you.”

Bruce‘s laughter rang through the phone. “You better be nice to me, or you‘ll be sleeping in the park tonight.”

Sawyer started scrolling through the radio stations. “What? I don‘t own an apartment anymore?”

“It‘s been sublet, as you requested. Good thing you already took most of your stuff out of there. They called you two days ago, but you obviously didn‘t get the message. Ask me how I know that.”

“Fuck!” Sawyer slammed his fist against the steering wheel. “I erased a bunch of voicemails without listening to them. I figured it was you nagging me.”

“That’s twisted. Well, you‘re officially homeless. A nice Chinese couple is now putzing around your gourmet kitchen. The gal‘s about three feet tall and two years pregnant. Seriously. I don‘t know how she manages to walk. The guy liked your red door. Some cultural thing. They moved in yesterday.”

Sawyer cursed again, and Bruce chuckled. “Hey, it was your idea, and a good one, by the way. That place is primo. You‘re going to make bank.”

“It‘s just that the timing could have been better.” Like some weekend when he wasn‘t running away from Marc. “And I left a few personal things behind.”

“No, you didn‘t. Your real estate lady panicked when you didn‘t call her back, so she called me. What the fuck, Sawyer? You gave your real estate agent an emergency contact person?”

“No. I said, if you need something, call Bruce Banner. He’s my bitch.”

“I’m nobody’s bitch, Calhoun. Facts. And emergency contacts are for when you‘re dying in the hospital, not when you need someone to fetch your shit. Speaking of which—” Bruce cleared his throat.

Sawyer sighed. “Yes?”

“It‘s acceptable to hide your porn in a box under the bed when you‘re fifteen, okay? But when you‘re a grownup, you display it with pride. In order to set you on the path to true manhood, I‘ve emancipated your magazine collection from its cardboard prison.”

“I don’t look at those.”

“You buy them for the articles?”

“I really don’t.” Anymore.

“Oh good, cause that’s what the Internet is for.”

Sawyer took a quick mental stock of the contents of his cardboard box. “Don’t you dare throw those out. They’re vintage. They have historical value. And they make me nostalgic."

“That's more than slightly disturbing. But I guess that means I’m bougie now. I alphabetized them and gave them a spot of honor on the top shelf of my entertainment center, between Architectural Digest 100 and Chicken Soup for the Soul.”

A fraction of Sawyer‘s depression lifted. “I‘ll be there by dinnertime.”

“I‘m aquiver with anticipation. How long are you staying?”

“A week or so.” He hadn‘t been lying to Reba. The situation at the magazine had reached the tipping point. The higher-ups didn‘t care if he spent 365 days a year at the North Pole, as long as he did his job. The writing he could do anywhere, and often did. The operational side, he delegated. “Things are a mess at work. Starting Monday, I‘ll be camping out at the office.”

“Don‘t you hate that?” Bruce asked. “You ignore your job for a month and your business has the nerve to fall in the crapper.”

“It‘s un-American,” Sawyer agreed.