Chapter Thirty-Six
Lori
“Do you and Marshall have any plans tonight?” asked Sam as she swept the kitchen.
I shook my head. “All I know is that he’s flying in at around five or six. Beyond that, we haven’t talked much about it.”
“Shame. You must really miss him.”
“Is it that obvious?”
It was Monday morning, one of those warm, humid spring mornings that herald the approach of summer in South Carolina. The shop hadn’t yet opened, and neither of us felt particularly motivated; Sam was nursing a hangover, and I had only come to work out of obligation. It was the moment at the end of a mystery show when the case has been solved, and the murderer put away, when the hero returns home exhausted. Marshall had bested his opponent, and now our adventure was ending. We were living in the aftermath.
Sam put on one of Grieg’s piano concertos and began lightly dusting the stovetops. Once I had finished cleaning the windows, I left and returned a moment later carrying two cans of fizzy lemonade. I handed one to her.
“It’s almost the end of the school year,” said Sam. “I don’t even hardly pay attention to the semesters anymore. I used to measure my life by when the school year began and ended, even after I graduated. But at this point, I wouldn’t even notice if it weren’t for the annual influx of college students coming in here looking for summer jobs.”
“Same,” I said sadly. “I almost wish we could live our lives in semesters, not just when we were in school. Then again, I’ve always sort of wished I could be in school for the rest of my life.”
I sat down at the counter with a heavy feeling. Although the air conditioning was on its highest setting, sweat clung to my neck and face. I missed the mildness of summers in Pennsylvania, which were hardly summers at all by the standards of the South. In Pittsburgh, I could go jogging during the summer months without having to worry about heat stroke.
I peered through the window as if half-hoping that Marshall might have returned early and not told me. Next door, a gardener in overalls was scooping dirt into a basket. Painters were painting; it felt like the entire strip mall was undergoing a renovation.
“Everything changes,” said Sam with a shake of her head. “It really is the end of a season.”
“It feels like the end of a chapter in our lives,” I replied. “Especially after what happened last night.”
“Yeah, your life is going to be dramatically different.”
Sam had been making comments to this effect since last night, and it was starting to get on my nerves a little. “You know I’m not entitled to his money just because we’re dating, right? The fact that he’s suddenly ridiculously wealthy doesn’t change our relationship one iota.”
“Perhaps not yet,” she said. “But it will.”
I sipped my drink with a feeling of frustration. I wish there was a way of getting her to understand that I wasn’t acting out of self-interest. She had a hard time conceiving of a relationship that wasn’t driven by lust or greed.
I watched as a fly settled on the ledge outside the window as if wanting to come in. It was the time of year where we had to carry fly-swatters on our person at all times; and no matter how many we killed, more would sneak in whenever the doors opened.
“Think about what we could do with some of that cash, though,” said Sam. Throwing down the washcloth, she sat down at the bar next to me. “We could really clean up this place.”
“If Marshall offers to help us, that’s his right. I’m not getting my hopes up. But it does feel like we’re making progress, wouldn’t you agree? Things have improved for us drastically since Marshall and I started dating, and I don’t even mean all the ways he’s helped us. They’re just—better. Life is better. Before he showed up, it felt like I was stuck in a rut, doing the same thing day after day. Now it feels like life has direction again.”
“It’s true,” said Sam. She reached into the display case and pulled out a glazed muffin. “That’s probably the thing I love best about being in a relationship: you realize how much more there is to life than just books. Not that there’s anything wrong with books, of course.”
“No, they’re lovely, but there’s more. A lot more.” I drew a deep breath. “When did you realize you and Jamal were in it until the end? When did you know it wasn’t just a fling?”
Sam thought about it for a moment. “I suppose it was the night when I had to cancel our plans because I was sick. I texted him and told him I couldn’t come over. An hour later, he showed up at my door carrying a giant baguette and all the ingredients for chicken soup. He went into the kitchen and made the soup from scratch and served it to me in bed. And that was how I knew.”
“That’s lovely.”
“Yeah.” Sam smiled a weak smile. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m just thinking. Marshall and I have so little in common, and at first, that gave me pause. But then I think, he’s been so good to me and so faithful, and he’s never given me a reason to distrust him. I could do a lot worse than Marshall.”
Sam glared at me as if she couldn’t believe we were having this conversation. “I swear to God, Lor,” she growled softly, “if you don’t marry that man, I’m going to divorce you from being my sister.”
“No promises,” I said cheerfully, and rose from the stool, humming to myself, while Sam continued to stare in disbelief.