CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
I fret over what I’m going to say to Amber, but there’s no point. She doesn’t answer her phone; my call goes right into her voice mail. She’s probably over the middle of the ocean or maybe stuck in transit somewhere. I rest my head against the wall in the waiting room, and then it feels like a moment later somebody is touching my shoulder and shaking me gently.
I open my eyes to find Sam standing over me.
“Did you get some sleep?” His smile is weak.
“I don’t know. It feels like I just closed my eyes two seconds ago.” I look at my phone and see that two hours have passed.
“Everything’s over.” Sam jams his hands into his front pockets and folds his shoulders inward. He stares at the toes of his boots. “Madison passed away.”
I get to my feet and hold him tightly. “I’m so sorry, Sam. I know this is really hard for you.”
“Yeah.” His body is stiff, but I don’t let go. We stand there for a long time. Eventually, his shoulders and back soften and his hands come out of his pockets. Then I feel his arms go around me and I slide mine up to be around his neck. I hold him tighter. “You’re going to get through this, I promise.”
He gives me one last squeeze and then releases me. We step away from each other, an awkwardness slipping in to steal the moment away from us. This is a different Sam standing before me. He’s been stripped bare, shy and unsure of himself.
I can’t let this happen to him. I move to stand next to him and lace my arm through his. “Why don’t we go find some breakfast somewhere and then figure out what we’re going to do next?”
“Good idea.”
He lets me guide him out of the hospital and across the street to a café. He gets coffee and I get tea. I order a muffin and he gets a bagel with cream cheese. We take the corner table and sit with our backs to the crowd.
We eat in silence. I’m not going to push for conversation. He looks like he’s been put through a wringer. His eyes are swollen and red rimmed, his shirt wrinkled and stained, his pants barely hanging on to his waist. He slowly chews his bagel, staring at the crumbs it leaves behind on the table.
“Would you like a bite?” I hold up my blueberry muffin.
He reaches up and breaks off a piece of it, popping it into his mouth. This is the first tiny signal I’ve had since we arrived in LA that his will to carry on is still in there somewhere. It gives me hope.
“Is there anything special you want to do first?” I ask. “We can arrange our day by priorities.”
He sounds like a robot when he answers. “I’ve got to contact some people. I have to go get Sadie. And I need to arrange the funeral and memorial.”
I nod. “Let me help. I can do the funeral stuff if you want.”
“Yeah, sure.” He pushes the rest of his bagel away and hunches over his coffee.
“How far away is Sadie from here?”
“About an hour.”
I reach over and brush some crumbs from his beard. “You can go get her while I do the funeral arrangements if you want. Or I could go with you.”
“It’s probably better if you hang back.” He looks up at me with an apology in his eyes. “It’s not that I don’t want to be with you . . .”
I wave away his concerns. “No, I get it. At some point you’re going to have to break the news to Sadie that her mother is . . . gone. I don’t know if you’re going to do that now, but I have a feeling when you see her it’s going to be tough. You’ll probably want to be alone.”
“Yeah. You’ve seen enough crying for one day, huh?”
“No, that’s not what I meant.” I shove him gently, trying to get a smile out of him. “You can cry all you want. I kinda like your eyes when they’re all red and puffy like that.” I point at his face.
A sad little smile lifts the side of his mouth for a second or two. “You’re mean.”
I reach over and put my arm around his shoulders, pulling him over to me. Our heads touch and we stay that way for a little while, decompressing from the sadness. “I’m not mean. I’m just trying to cheer you up, but I know it’s not possible right now.”
“Keep trying. It’ll work eventually.”
I kiss him on the forehead before withdrawing.
He places his hand on my arm, stopping me from gathering up our napkins and other garbage.
“What?” I look at him questioningly.
“Do that again.”
“Do what again?” I feel my cheeks getting warm.
He puts his hand on the back of my head and pulls me to him. “Kiss me.” His face is raw with emotion and there’s a storm in his eyes. There’s no way I can avoid this very public display of affection, and I don’t want to.
My hand goes to his cheek as our lips touch. It’s a gentle kiss, full of longing and sadness. We’re in the middle of a coffee shop that’s busting at the seams with customers, so it doesn’t go too far, but it goes plenty far enough. When we pull apart I’m on fire.
“Well.” That’s all I’ve got: Well. Sam has destroyed my ability to converse with a single kiss.
“That was nice,” he says. “Thanks.”
“Sure.” Butterflies are flitting around in my stomach. I busy myself with cleaning up our mess. It helps take my mind off the fact that what should have been a perfectly innocent kiss has me dreaming of the day that I can have him in my bed. This day will probably never come to be, but I’m not going to let that stop me from fantasizing. Besides . . . stranger things have happened, and life is too short to be afraid of taking risks all the time.
“You ready to go?” he asks, getting to his feet.
I stand and take my purse from the back of the chair, throwing it over my shoulder before gathering up our trash to bring over to the bins. He takes the pile from me and waits for my answer.
“Yes, I’m ready. Where’re we going?”
“My place.”
Sam’s mind is occupied with the tragedy that just occurred in this life, so I know he’s not thinking what I am when he says, “My place,” which is: sex, naked man, sex! I’m picturing his bedroom, his bed, and him in it—no clothes on and ready to rock ’n’ roll . . . and I don’t mean with a guitar either.
My body heats up as we make our way out to the curb and get a ride using an app Sam has on his telephone. I pray this will be the one time that he isn’t able to read my mind, because while I’m ready to throw caution to the wind for the first time in my life, I really don’t want him to think that I don’t care about his sadness or the tragedy that’s befallen him and his daughter. There’s a time and a place for the sexy stuff, and I know this isn’t it. I just wish my libido would get on board with that.