Into You Series: The Complete Collection

27. Saria

CHAPTER 27

SARIA

T he first thing I think when I’m ten hours out from Atlanta is that Harry was absolutely right: this van needs insulation.

Damn it.

The storm blew in a nice cold front that has me wasting all the van’s energy on heat to keep my toes from freezing off. Even Mercury is in his cage in the passenger seat, buckled in and saying “Brr” every few minutes.

I don’t know where my destination is. I assume that’s half the fun. I say ‘assume’ because fun is the last thing happening to me at this very moment.

I’m cold. I have no clue where I am. I didn’t even use a GPS, so I don’t know what part of town I’m in or if I even have a part of town within fifty miles of the endless open pastures on either side of me.

I know I said I wanted to roam the prairielands, but I didn’t expect log cabins this soon.

I knew pulling off the interstate was a bad idea. I’ve been on this side highway for what feels like half my trip, when in reality I think it’s only been one hour. Regardless, the sun is starting to go down, and I have no rest stop in mind. While this would be fine given that I have a van with a bed and a composting toilet, I still need a semi-safe place to park. The only time I came close to napping in the van before this was when Harry and I—no. I can’t think about that.

I look up and finally see some form of signage. Thank God.

It’s a large green sign. FOXE HILL. 10 MILES.

“Well, that’s better than nothing,” I mumble, cranking the heat and barreling forward.

I left Atlanta in a shotgun blast. The subletter arrived at my apartment earlier than I expected, but I was already finishing up packing the van. I barely slept all night so I could get a move on with the process. Half my stuff was driven to storage, and my car was dropped off at my parents’ house. I called a rideshare back to my apartment, and by the time I arrived, subletter Tammy whatever her name is was already hanging out at the railing overlooking the complex and waving in my direction.

I was out and she was in one hour later. After that, it was letting Treasuries Inc. know I wasn’t coming back. I didn’t want to talk to Nia about leaving, but she took some notes, got me to sign some paperwork, and I left all the same.

As I drive down the road, emptiness in front of me and the ever-present clanking of pots and pans strapped up in the back of the van behind me, I can’t help but wonder what Harry’s doing. I bet he’s found his way under another car, beneath another hood, wiping his forehead with the hem of his shirt, revealing those abs to another unsuspecting woman who has no idea how deep she’s getting just by admiring him from afar.

I bet Cara is playing mechanic right next to her daddy, handing him tools, calling out random names of car parts she doesn’t understand. It’s like house for her, and her dolls are the customers waiting in line for the next big repair.

I wonder when Harry will get his new lift. He was so excited about that thing. He said it would bring new business. I hope that will be enough to pay for a babysitter so he can go to classes.

The tinge of guilt stings, but I shake the thought.

He wasn’t my responsibility. Neither of them were. It wasn’t my job to stay and look after them. This is my life. This is what my life should have been this whole time—not stuck in Georgia for the rest of my days with no future. I’ve made my own future.

No man. No office life. Just me, Mercury, and the road.

Eventually I’ll have to consider what to do for work, but I’ve heard being a virtual assistant pays enough to survive in a van. Then I think back to what Charlotte said…how van life isn’t as cheap as it seems.

Whatever. This is fine. I’m fine.

I roll down the window a bit, trying to let the smell of freedom wash in. The air is cold, and freedom feels more like a bitter chill with the looming dream of loneliness at night. Plus, freedom also kinda smells like manure.

I roll the window back up, seeing a sudden sign of life up ahead. It’s a main street with buildings lining both sides of the road. It’s mostly empty for a Thursday night. I expected something…more. Maybe people walking around. A bustling city?

No, this is too small-town for something like that, I suppose.

I see a neon sign lit up at the edge of town. In red, in the shape of an octagon are the words FIRST STOP. I pull into the parking lot, shut off the van, and take Mercury out of his cage, letting him climb up to my shoulder as we both brave the cold.

My boots crunch on the gravel as I walk toward the entrance. It looks like an older building, a mix between an abandoned saloon and maybe an old barn. It’s in desperate need of a paint job, and I can’t decide if that’s the look they’re going for or if that’s just how it ended up and they haven’t messed with it since then.

I’ve seen maybe one bar like this before on a road trip, and it was meant to be kitschy, as if to attract tourists. This one seems…normal, somehow.

When I’m just outside the door, I can hear the muffled sounds of country music. I swing it open, and the muffled sounds get much louder.

At first, I don’t see anyone. Everything is wooden—the creaking floors, the walls covered in various memorabilia and liquor labels. I peer around, reaching up to pet Mercury’s feathers, because if mine are metaphorically ruffled, I bet his are too.

“You lost?” a voice says from the far end of the bar.

Behind the bar top is an older man, scrawny with a thick mustache and a baseball cap. He seems friendly enough, but less friendly is the bulky man on the opposite side, straddling the bar stool in fitted jeans and a dark red and black checkered flannel. He’s strong in his shoulders, built like one of those cowboy romance cover models. He reminds me of Harry on the night we met, but with dark brown hair, a stronger brow, and a perfect five-o’clock shadow.

“I…I’m just stopping for the night,” I say, conscious of my stammer but not bothering to cover it.

“Are you a pirate?” the mysterious cowboy man asks. His voice carries across the bar with purpose.

“What?” I ask.

“Your parrot,” he says.

“Is he okay?” I ask. “I couldn’t leave him in the car.”

“Is he of age?” the bartender jokes, his mustache perking up. “Hell, are you?”

“I have my ID,” I offer, taking a few steps forward as if approaching two wolves in the wild. Though, if I had a better sense about me, I’d probably not approach at all. I’m in the middle of nowhere in an empty bar with two men.

Harry would be so upset with me right now.

The wooden floors creak below me as I cross the open dance floor and wind my way through overturned chairs stacked on tables. I sit down on the bar stool next to the intimidating man, and he smells like spice and whiskey.

“I’ve never seen you before,” he says.

“I’m just passing through. Looking for a place to park for the night.”

“We have a hotel on the other side of Main Street,” he says. “Cute kitschy place.”

“I’ll check it out,” I say, thinking before mentioning I’ll be sleeping in a van. I may not have added insulation, but I know better than to tell a stranger I’m alone with barely any protection besides my parrot.

“Well, that’s about the only place we have. Not much to think about,” the bartender says. “You know, I think Sadie is working tonight…” His sentence trails off. I wait for him to finish, but when he doesn’t, I let my bottom lip curl into my mouth and nod slowly.

“I’m Saria,” I say to nobody in particular.

“Asher,” the handsome flannel guy says. “And this is Tom. He owns this place.”

“It’s nice,” I say conversationally.

“No, it’s not,” Tom says with a lighthearted chuckle. His thick whiskers ruffle with his breath, and I nod again. I get the feeling they’re brusquer here in Foxe Hill, to the point without any shit.

“So, what are you doing all the way out here?” Asher asks, leaning his elbows on the bar top. “People don’t just roll into Foxe Hill.”

“They don’t?”

“Not really,” he answers. “So, what brings you here?”

I guess we’re keeping the attention on me. Given that there’s nobody else in the bar, I can see how I might be the mysterious odd woman out.

“I’m just exploring,” I answer. “Driving. Road trips, you know.”

“On a Thursday?” Tom says through another chuckle. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“I’m out of college,” I say.

“Oh yeah?” Asher asks. His posture gets straighter, and if he were a dog, I’d swear his ears would perk up. “What’d you major in?”

The question that sinks my soul into the floorboards. I wish it were something else…chemistry or biology, maybe. But I changed my major too many times, got too lost and uninterested when Noah left.

“General studies,” I answer, the guilt settling in.

“We get that a lot,” Asher says. “Lots of people go on to do some real interesting things with that degree.”

“Oh, are you in college?” I ask, but I immediately think it’s a far stretch. He looks about Harry’s age. If I were to imagine this man in school, it would be for a master’s program.

“I’m an English department head at the community college nearby.”

“Smart one,” Tom says with a wink. I smile back.

“Another thing we get a lot are nomads,” Asher continues. “People who come, don’t know what they want to do, then leave. I get that feeling about you. So, once again, what are you doing here?”

“What’s with the inquisition?”

“We’re curious folk out here,” Asher says. “Plus, we don’t see new faces that often.”

He doesn’t smile or wink like Tom does. He’s so serious. A real cowboy, I’d imagine, but then again, I don’t know what the heck else is out here. Are cowboys professors?

“I’m gaining independence,” I say. The words have no meaning to me now. They’re dull and empty and full of regret. For ten hours, I’ve been driving, and the only face I’ve seen is Harry’s, drenched in rain and sad. So unbelievably sad. “Seeing the world, I guess.”

“You don’t seem too happy about seeing the world,” Tom says, lifting an eyebrow.

I don’t realize my face has fallen until he and Asher look at me with the same expression I get time and time again from Harry: concern.

Harry. Sweet, Harry.

“I think I made a mistake,” I say. The second the sentence leaves my lips, all the chill and tension gathering between my ears feels drained.

A mistake. I’ve made a huge mistake.

Mercury ruffles his feathers on my shoulder and flies off. I watch him perch on the lip of the wood hanging over us on the bar.

“He’s a wanderer,” I say, cringing.

“He’s fine,” Tom says, twisting his torso to reach behind him, grabbing three shot glasses and pouring out some dark liquid in each. He divvies them up between us. Asher and Tom grab theirs, clinking them together and looking at me. I grab mine as well, we all three toast, and then I slam that sucker back.

More relief. More relaxation. More of something I didn’t know I needed.

“So tell us more about this mistake,” Asher says.

It all starts to come out. One hour passes, maybe two… I’m not sure how long I talk, but they let me, only getting words in to ask more questions that lead me down more winding paths.

I tell them about Noah, how he was everything to me. He has been the catalyst for my life and all the changes I’ve made—good and bad. He’s why I stopped trying at school. He’s why I stayed, just waiting for him to come back into town for me. To choose me.

I bring up the wedding, how the person I’ve admired for years turned out to be his fiancée. That got a good gasp from Tom, which I appreciate. I tell them how it was supposed to be me with that ring on my finger, me with the white engagement dress.

Then I mention Harry, and suddenly everything feels right. The rest of it is just history and nonsense. Who cares about wedding dresses and parties and Noah? Memories with Harry are the good ones, the things I could talk about all night, and I believe I do. Harry, the golden-haired man with strong arms and even stronger convictions. Harry, the man who took on a daughter from a woman he’d just met and rocks the parenting game more than anyone I know. Harry, the man I made love to for the very first time.

“You know what I noticed?” Tom says after I lean my head in the palm of my hand, feeling the weight of the past few months—heck, of my life drifting away. “You haven’t stopped smiling since the second you mentioned that boy, Harry.”

“Seems like he brought out the good in you,” Asher says. “That’s not an easy find.”

“Took me forty years to find my woman,” Tom says, lifting his eyebrows and sighing.

Asher twirls his pint. I’m not even sure what number he’s on now.

“I’m still waiting,” he says.

My chest feels tight again. I look down at his hand and see no wedding ring. I’m surprised. I figured he would make some woman very happy, but then again, why is he in an empty bar on a Thursday?

“When you think of your ideal life, what do you think of?” Asher asks. “Quick. Think fast.”

“What?”

“Close your eyes and just say the first things that come to mind,” he says. “Go on.”

I smirk, slowly closing my eyes and trying to relax and let a fantasy flow by. I see myself in scrubs holding a clipboard, reaching down to pet a puppy.

“I’d be a vet,” I blurt out.

“Go to school,” Asher says without skipping a beat.

I peek one eye open. “Are we trying to fix my problem?”

“We’re providing solutions,” Tom says.

“It’s not that easy.” I laugh.

Asher tilts his chin down to me before nodding. “Keep going.”

“Fine.” I close my eyes again.

I try to think more. I imagine the area outside Harry’s auto shop. It’s so barren and stale.

“A garden,” I say.

“Buy some plants,” Tom grunts, making himself laugh.

“I can do that,” I say.

“Okay, what else?” Asher asks.

I imagine a kitchen…Harry’s kitchen. Cara is older, maybe a preteen. We’re eating cereal and she’s chatting to me about boys. And then the apartment door opens and there’s Harry. He’s coming in from the garage. He’s in his white t-shirt so classically covered in grease, his jeans fit in that perfect way that they do, and he has that half-smile curling up his face with the beautiful laugh lines. His hand runs through his blond, thick locks. And there’s that look in his eyes—the same one he gave me the night we made love in front of the city lights.

“Harry,” I say, my voice choked. “I want Harry. I love Harry.”

After a few moments of silence, I open my eyes again.

“What?”

“You got something there,” Asher says, his mouth twitching a bit—the hint of a smile.

Tom slides a square napkin to me and points to my cheek.

I dab it and pull it back to find that it’s wet.

“I cried thinking about my future with him,” I say.

I look to Asher. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s his reassurance I want—a silent, solemn kind of agreement that would confirm my own thoughts. For some reason, his opinion makes sense to me, like an older brother’s might.

He nods like some wise sage, and I smile.

“So, are you gonna go stop that wedding?” he asks.

“No!” I say with a laugh. “God no. I’m going to fix my life, and repair my shitty van. But mostly my life.”

“I’m just testing you,” he says. Then he does smile. A nice, solid smile.

“So, what do you know about vet school, professor?” I ask.

And he laughs.