Leave it to my father to block whatever he didn’t like with a tangle of legal mumbo jumbo and fear. One of his worst qualities was his uncanny and paranoid ability to see everything through the prism of how it would affect him, and how he could make things swing the way he wanted. I saw him do this time and again growing up, and it disgusted me that it still reverberated into my adult life.
But I was determined to keep it from affecting my relationship with Samantha. I could make a change there, and I would.
“I figure we can think of a better idea than The Hamburger Stand,” I told her, relieved she had once again agreed to spend time with me. Maybe this trip to Palm Beach wouldn’t end with questions and regrets after all.
“Good, because that’s the kind of place you go if you want a milkshake, and I can’t imagine having one of those right now.”
“What about Ranchero Tacos on Clematis?” The faint rumbling in my stomach reminded me that, while the party had plenty of appetizers, I still hadn’t eaten much since lunch. “They’re open late.”
“Perfect.” She glanced at her car. “Do you want me to drive, or—”
“No, I’ll drive. I’m parked about a block down the street.”
“Why didn’t you valet?”
“Sometimes, I like to walk,” I replied. “It’s good exercise.”
“You don’t need it.”
I smiled at her. “Thanks. I’ll tell my personal trainer the grueling workouts he forced on me over the last year have been working.” I gestured down the street. “Come on, it’s not far.”
We walked in silence toward my car, and it gave me a chance to remember how quiet and still Palm Beach could get late at night, even during the height of the social season and the weeks leading to the new year. It was such a contrast to the rest of South Florida, and something I used to dislike as a teenager.
Now, though, it seemed different. But, so did everything. In fact, everything simply seemed better.
I helped Samantha into the Mercedes, and we made the quick drive across the bridge to West Palm Beach, still alive so late at night. A few hundred people milled around Flagler Park, sitting on the benches, fishing, and exploring the pier that extended into the waterway on the far side of downtown. Most of the bars and restaurants still had large crowds, and many people had seats at outdoor tables that lined Clematis Street.
“I can’t remember the last time I’ve actually been out for a regular night,” Samantha muttered as I parked the car in one of the garages that rimmed the district.
“Really?”
She shook her head. “Not with working two jobs. I don’t have a lot of time off, and when I do, I’m usually too exhausted to do anything but go home and collapse.”
I shut down the engine and turned to her. “Well, for one evening, let’s just have fun. It’s only ten thirty. We have plenty of time until the clock strikes midnight.”
“You’re right,” she said and reached for the door handle.
We exited the parking garage and traveled down the street, which was a mix of bright lights, tourists, and South Floridians. I led us in the direction of the taco spot, and the hostess sat us at one of the tables with a street view.
“Order whatever you want,” I said as we perused the menus. “It’s on me, and I insist.”
“Hmm.” I glanced up in time to see a mischievous smile cross her face as she looked at the myriad of taco combinations, and the endless margarita flavors. “In that case, maybe I should order the entire menu.”
“Fine by me, but if you’re planning on doing that, we should probably start with a round of margaritas, unless you prefer to take your tequila straight.”
“Are you trying to get me drunk?”
“Maybe. How many shots would that take?”
“Too few.” She wrinkled her nose. “Last time I did tequila straight, I ended up in the dorm bathroom at Florida State, vomiting my guts out. I fell asleep by the toilet and woke up on the tile floor the next morning. Not my finest hour.”
“Hey, that stuff can sneak up on you.”
“It can.” Her face fell. “You know, I never finished at Florida State. Twenty-four credits shy of graduation.”
“What? So close?”
She nodded. “Halfway there but a world away.”
“I’m…I’m sorry.”
She gave me a sad smile. “Don’t be. It’s just the way my life turned out.”
We fell silent. I took a moment to admire the way the city street lights and the hub of activity fanned out around her, illuminating her features and causing her chestnut hair to shimmer. Even in the drab uniform of Haute Holidays, she looked beautiful. She was just as soft as she’d always been; the old Samantha was still there. And wow, how refreshing this all was. Normal. Real.
She might have been through a lot but thank God the kindness in her eyes hasn’t faded.
“We won’t drink bad tequila tonight,” I finally said, trying to lighten the mood. “Only the best kind they have. It does make a different, I promise you.”
“I wouldn’t have taken you for a tequila connoisseur.”
“I got more into it after I went to a tasting last year. We had an expert come in and explain the finer points, along with how to pair it with various dishes, etc.”
She raised her eyebrow. “And where was the tasting?”
I blanched. “The Hamptons.”
She chuckled. “Of course, it was. Wouldn’t have expected any less from you, Davis Armstrong.”
“Well, in my defense, the host did bring in one of the best tequila sommeliers in the world. And, I mean—” I suddenly felt embarrassed about how it all sounded, how privileged and out of touch I must have seemed. “It’s not my fault I was in the Hamptons.”
“No, but that’s your life. Your whole life, Davis. You don’t know anything about what regular people do, or how life really is for people who aren’t able to access millions at the snap of a finger. It’s not your fault, but it’s how it is.”
The served arrived to take our drink orders.
I welcomed the break in what was fast becoming an awkward conversation. Yes, I came from a rich family. No, I’d never wanted for anything. Yes, I vacationed at the world’s best resorts and most prestigious destinations. No, I wasn’t sure what it meant to have a regular life. But it all wasn’t my fault.
Right?
We ordered two margaritas with the best tequila at the bar, and I insisted they come with a large heaping of salt. When the server left our table, I tried switching the conversation to the two dozen or so taco offerings on the left side of the menu.
“Oh, no.” She grinned. “You’re not getting away from this so easily, Mr. Richie Rich.”
“Talking about money makes me uncomfortable,” I admitted. “It’s not something I can change. It’s a means to an end.”
“Hmm.” She cocked her head. “But that’s the best part about it. With your money, you can do a lot of good. It’s not about conquering the world or making the next billion. It’s about being altruistic. And making a difference with the resources you have.”
I grunted. “True.”
It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen it before. Ainsley, for example, had outright sponsored a rec center in Belle Glade she thought people didn’t know about—even though most everyone in Palm Beach did. And a few others we knew well spent a good chunk of their time and money volunteering and giving to causes they cared about.
“I just haven’t found something I really want to rally around,” I added. “But maybe you can help me with that.”
“Maybe.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “I can think of a few dozen good ways to spend it.”
“I’d like that. One other thing I remember about you is how you always seemed to have great ideas. I could probably use them.”’
The server arrived with our drinks. “Have you all decided on your food order?”
“No.” Samantha let out a nervous laugh. “We’ve been spending too much time catching up.”
I scanned the listing. “Whatever you’d like, but I do suggest we get a variety.”
She also looked at her menu. “How about a plate with steak, avocado, chicken, and fish? One of each?”
It sounded fine to me, and we also ordered a round of chips and queso to complement our late-night munchies. When we were alone again, I studied her for a moment.
“Okay.” She raised her glass. “Let’s toast.”
I raised mine. “No day but today.”
Her eyes bulged, and her jaw went slack. “What did you say?”
I smiled. “I think you heard me.”
“So, you said that on purpose.” She threw back a large gulp of cocktail and slammed the glass on the table. “My God.”
“I’m glad you haven’t forgotten.”
“How could I?”
I rubbed my hand on the back of my neck. “Is Rent still your favorite musical?”
An awkward pause passed between us, and a darker shade of pink flushed her cheeks. “Yes. It’s the only one I’ve ever been to.”
“God, that was so long ago. We had tickets, but Dad didn’t want to see it when the national tour came to West Palm. So, I went with you.” I smiled at the memory. “And you loved it so much you cried through the second act.”
“I still have the iPod you gave me too.” She choked back a sound I could have easily mistaken for a sob. “It’s in the closet. I can’t—I haven’t listened to it in years.”
That was good, very good. But it was sad too. She still cared, still felt something, but I didn’t know what. Or if we could ever get back what we had.
“I meant what I said earlier.” I took a long sip of my margarita and decided to change the subject. “If you want to help me figure out how to do some good with the Armstrong name, I’d welcome your ideas.”
“It sounds fun. All I’ve been doing for the last few years is taking care of my mom and working two jobs. I only had twenty-four credits left to my degree when Mom got sick. We couldn’t afford my tuition and her medical bills, so someone had to make a choice.”
“How sick is she?”
“Very. She has emphysema, and the doctors don’t think there is much they can do. Just keep her comfortable, they say.”
“When did she start getting sick?”
“It started my senior year, but by college, it had gotten a lot worse.”
“I’m sorry about that.” A heaviness filled my heart once more. I hadn’t realized all of this and making that decision must have been agony for her. Again, I felt a sharp pang of regret that I hadn’t been around for that part of her life.
“If anyone should have finished college, it’s you.”
“Maybe someday,” she said and drank a long gup of her cocktail. “But until then I’m plugging along and trying my best.”
“Do you still want to be in public relations? I remember how you wanted to work in New York at a fashion magazine.”
She sighed. “That seems like such a faraway dream.”
And she was right. It did to me too. Far away and out of reach in her current situation.
The queso arrived, and the tacos followed not long after. We dug in, savoring the explosion of salt, tomatoes, cilantro, and corn tortillas. The expressions of delight on her face told me she was enjoying it, and I was glad I’d made the spur-of-the-moment suggestion. The dinner parties, galas, balls, and cocktail events I’d attended over the last few months didn’t have the same spontaneous freedom and charm that did. For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t present at some event for my family connections and my name.
I was just Davis. A man. Out with a woman I wanted to spend more time with.
“Let’s take a walk by the waterfront,” I suggested after I paid the bill. It was just after 11:45, but the downtown district felt lively and the night young. I didn’t want it to end, and I was afraid if it did, I’d never seen her again. Something about the night had been too magical and too perfect.
“I’d love to go there,” she said.
We set off toward Flagler Park, and when we arrived at the waterfront, we turned and walked past the slips. Hundreds of boats and yachts fanned up and down the Intracoastal, and the walkway gave us a wonderful vantage point. If it wasn’t so late, and she wasn’t wearing a uniform, I might have been able to mistake this for a date.
I certainly wanted that. I always had.
No other woman had interested me like Sam. Not the girls at boarding school or the gang of friends I had in the city. Not the women in my classes at MIT or Harvard. Not any of the other women in Palm Beach.
Only her. Samantha Green.
I’d come to this clarity of thought when she received a phone call. She hesitated to take it, because it was an unknown number, but I encouraged her to answer.
“Hello? Can I—” She stopped walked along the waterfront. “What? She’s…oh my God. I…okay…okay…Right, I will be right there. JFK, you said?” Her eyes widened, and her shoulders pulled tighter. “I’m on my way. Thank you. No, I really appreciate it.” She ended the call.
“What’s going on?”
“It’s—it’s my mom. Oh my God, I—” She looked stricken, and she began to walk back toward Clematis Street and my car. “She’s at the hospital. She’s had an emphysema flare-up.”
“What? How bad?”
“This is her second trip to the emergency room in a year.” Samantha increased the pace of her walk, and her next words tumbled out of her mouth. “She felt ill and called a taxi to take her to the hospital. That was our neighbor. Mom collapsed in the stairwell, and she found her and called 9-1-1.” She glanced at me as we reached the edge of Flagler Park.
“What? That sounds serious.”
“It is. She’s…she’s…” She looked at me. “Any missteps for her can be a big deal.”
We crossed Clematis Street, heading toward the parking lot. Samantha was moving so fast, she was almost running.
“I shouldn’t have come out tonight,” she muttered to herself when we reached the final block before the lot. “I knew she wasn’t feeling well. I should have been there. I could have prevented this.”
“It’s not your fault,” I said. “Don’t blame yourself for this.”
“And why shouldn’t I?” She turned to me and narrowed her eyes. “She relies on me. I’m the only support she has. We don’t have a safety net, Davis. We don’t get breaks in life. And she’s…she—”
“We’ll get there. I’ll take you to JFK. Just try not to think about it. You’re taking this out on yourself.”
“We’re drowning,” she grumbled as we arrived at the parking lot. “Fast.”
“But I’ve got you,” I replied. “You have to trust me.”
We hustled to my car without saying much else. She didn’t need to elaborate; she was stressed out, upset, and worried. Anyone would have been.
JFK Medical Center had a large emergency room, and a full parking lot—it was busy for a weekend night. I dropped her off at the front entrance then located a spot at the far end of the parking garage. When I turned off my car, I pushed down the distaste bubbling from my stomach. I hated the creepy, sterile feeling of hospitals, and I avoided them.
But I wouldn’t avoid it now. Not when Samantha needed me.
I found her at the registration desk.
“She’s probably going to need to be admitted,” she said, half to me and half to the woman behind the desk. “Her emphysema is a major obstacle, and she has other health problems as a result. Swelling, migraines, chronic pain.” She sighed. “A lot of things.”
“That’s something you will need to discuss with ER doctor,” the registrar said. “For now, you can go back there. She’s in room 5A. Through those double doors. Left-hand side. Here’s your badge.” She blinked at me. “Do you need a second one?”
“Um.” I looked at Samantha. “Do I?”
She hesitated. “I—I know you said the contract was null and void tonight, and I appreciate that. It means a lot. But I don’t think now is the right time to reintroduce you to my mom.” She glanced at the large steel doors dividing the emergency waiting room with the examination area. “It’s…it’s just too much.”
“That’s fine.” And it was. “Let me know what I can do, okay? I can come back and get you both when she’s released.”
She looked deeply into my eyes. “Thanks, Davis. I really appreciate it.”
Something charged the air for me at that moment. I would do anything for this girl. And that would never change.
“I’ll text you when I have an update,” Samantha said after a quick glance in the registrar’s direction.
“I’ll be waiting for it. Goodnight, Samantha.”
Then I reluctantly released my grip and walked away from her.
It didn’t take long for me to find my way out of the emergency room and back to the car. I hardly noticed that I did. I was too concerned about what Samantha would find when she walked into her mother’s room. I didn’t know much about emphysema, except the prognosis could be long and complicated.
It sounded like Samantha and her mother had been granted nothing but bad luck since her mother left my family’s employment. I marveled at the unfairness of that, how some people seemed to slip through life with little to no issues, while others were attacked by the twists and turns of humanity every time they breathed. Life hadn’t been kind to me in losing my mom and then my dad, but I’d never known that level of fear. That level of worry for someone I’d loved so fiercely. Or that level of worry about the dollars it took to care for them.
How would I cope under that sort of pressure? Maybe not as well as Samantha, that’s for sure.
When I reached my car, I slid into the driver’s seat and drove home with barely a thought of what I needed to do to get there. Once home, I made my way to my room and collapsed on top of the bed.