His “place,” it turns out, is a gorgeous contemporary home with distinct Scandinavian influences, full of clean lines and light streaming through his modern lakeview windows. Intentional pops of color surprise me.
I would have figured Sawyer for a more traditional, rustic guy, but I’ve only known him in a summer camp setting. He’s managed to integrate his own style with the natural landscape, and I like what I see. It’s telling me more about him than all the conversations we’d ever had in our counselor days.
“This is beautiful.” Clean, disciplined, and peaceful because of it.
“Thanks. I stayed at a house like this in Norway, and I’d never been in a place that felt more like me. I tried to recreate it here.”
“Is this your primary place? Home base or whatever between all your trips?”
“No. This was the place I promised I’d build myself when I hit certain business milestones.” He gives a small grimace. “That sounded more pretentious than I meant it to.”
“No, I get it.”
“Did you do anything like that? Any big splurges when you hit it big?”
“Not really.” The money had been needed elsewhere.
“Not even a trip or anything?”
I have no regrets about where the money went, but the explanation is heavy for the day we’re having. I consider glossing over it, but as I look around his deeply personal space, Iwantto tell him the truth.
“My dad got sick a couple of years ago. Lymphoma. He’s self-employed, and his insurance wouldn’t cover a drug trial his doctor wanted to enroll him in. So I did.”
His eyebrows draw together. “I’m sorry, Tab. Is he…?”
I wave away the worry in his voice. “He’s fine. Full remission for almost a year now. The trial worked. Best present I ever bought myself.”
“Now I feel shallow for loving this house.”
“Don’t. If it makes you feel any better, when I renegotiate my next contract with the network, I’m going to get a big enough increase to buy myself a racehorse. An expensive one.”
“You want a pony?” There’s a laugh in his tone.
“Sure. You can’t grow up in rural Virginia without wanting a pony of your own. Feel better about your practical house now?”
“Yeah, actually.”
“I aim to please.” I wander over to study the framed photograph over the fireplace.
“That’s the house in Norway.”
I can see it, how the place in the photo served as a starting point for this one. “Have you been back?”
“No, but I’d like to.” For a second, I imagine it, wandering in the crisp Nordic air beside Sawyer, listening as he points out everything he loves about the house.
No. That’s exactly what I don’t want to do: stray into times and spaces that extend past Saturday and the gala. Sawyer and I have only existed in here and now. When I was young and immature, it wasn’t enough.
But I’ve had enough life experience since then to recognize that some magic exists only in a certain time and place, and there’s a wisdom in embracing it fully for where and when it is.
Now to figure out that embrace…
I turn toward the open doorway. “Want to show me to the kitchen? I have a cheater fish to cook.”
“Sticks and stones,” he says.
“I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings, just stating facts.”
“I wasn’t talking about that rhyme. I was listing all the things you could have used and still not caught a bigger fish than I did.”
