It’s a thought that never fails to make the feelings of sadness and isolation even more profound.
I’m walking out of the nursery when I hear a knock at the door. My heart turns a somersault in my chest, thinking it’s Sawyer. I run to the door and fling it open, ready to either throw myself into his arms or scream his ear off again, not sure yet, when I stop dead in my tracks. The disappointment settles into my stomach like a heavy stone. Rider looks me up and down, an amused smirk pulling one corner of his mouth upward.
“Please tell me you’re not eating ice cream out of the carton and watching chick flicks,” he starts. “I want to believe you’re not that cliché.”
“Fuck off, Rider,” I snap, pulling my fuzzy purple robe tighter around me. “What are you doing here?”
“I am here to escort you to a meeting,” he tells me.
“What meeting?”
“The meeting I was asked to drive you to.”
“I’m closing the door now.”
“You don’t want to do that. Trust me,” he replies. “Sawyer asked me to bring you down.”
“If he wants me at this meeting, why didn’t he come himself?”
“He had to attend to some of the details.”
I’m torn between wanting to close the door in Rider’s face and getting ready for this mysterious meeting. I have no idea what Sawyer is up to, but if I had my choice, I’d rather speak with him alone. I don’t want to have this discussion in public. More than that, I don’t think this is a discussion we should have in public. This is a private thing between us and should be kept that way. Not that having a meltdown in front of the paparazzi accomplished that all that well. And maybe because of that, I’ve lost the right to dictate how we’re going to get together.
“Between you and me, he misses you, Berlin. He’s been beside himself,” Rider confides. “He really wants to see you. So please, get dressed and come with me. Or, come with me in your fluffy robe and fuzzy slippers if you’re more comfortable. But I have to warn you; it’s cold as hell outside.”
“What is he planning, Rider?”
“Afraid I can’t tell you that,” he replies. “I was told that if I let the cat out of the bag, he would cut my balls off with a butter knife.”
“I could do the same thing right now if you don’t tell me.”
“No offense Berlin, but I’m more afraid of him,” Rider protests. “He’s a lot meaner than you are and is far more likely to make good on the threat.”
He’s probably right about that. “Fine. Come in and wait while I get dressed.”
Turning away, I leave the door open and walk back in to get ready for whatever is happening.
* * *
Forty-five minutes later, Rider pulls to a stop on the street in front of the Jackson. I blink stupidly as I try to decipher what it is, I’m seeing. Large tents have been set up, and strings of bare bulbs light up the area. The street has been blocked off and is empty except for Rider’s SUV and half a dozen food trucks that are lined up in front of the building. It looks like every single resident of the Jackson – nearly fifteen hundred people – are milling around eating, laughing, and talking with one another.
It looks like a party.
“What is going on here?” I ask.
“Get out and find out.”
Rider exits the vehicle, then comes around to my side and opens the door for me. Clutching my satchel to my chest, I climb out of the car – I thought it might be the last opportunity I had to present the package I’d put together for Sawyer and wanted to be prepared.
Christmas carols are ringing through the air, and the buzz of conversation is loud and lively. Rider closes the door behind me and puts his hand on my shoulder. I look up at him, still not comprehending what’s happening here.
“I told you that you were going to be a good influence on him,” Rider says.
I shake my head. “I don’t understand.”
“Come on,” he tells me, an enigmatic smile on his face. “Sawyer’s waiting for you.”
“He’s here?”
“Of course he is.”
My sense of confusion only deepens – what in the hell is Sawyer doing here? And why does it seem like he’s partying with the people of the Jackson? As if I’m moving in a trance, I let Rider guide me into the throng of people. My head is spinning. I’m surrounded by the sound of laughter, Christmas music, and revelry. And then suddenly Sawyer is there, his smile wide, and his eyes twinkling mischievously. He has his arm around the shoulders or an elderly black woman who’s smiling just as wide as he is.
“Berlin, I’m glad you could make it,” he calls over. “I’d like you to meet Martha. She’s been a resident here at the Jackson for forty years. Can you believe it?”
“Forty-three,” she corrects him.
“Apologies, Martha,” he laughs. “She’s been a resident here for forty-three years.”
“I – it’s nice to meet you, Martha,” I respond woodenly, my sense of disbelief growing thicker by the second.
“You were right,” Martha grins at Sawyer. “She’s absolutely stunning. You two are gonna have some gorgeous babies.”
Sawyer laughs, but I can’t help but see the unmistakable light of pride in his eyes. I can see a genuine affection between Sawyer and Martha that is mind-boggling to me. I have no idea how they even know each other. I feel like I’m walking through a dream. Like I’m going to wake up, and this world of the bizarre will blow away like cobwebs on a breeze.
“Sawyer, what’s happening here?”
Martha gives him a kiss on the cheek and then smiles at me as she takes my
