CHAPTER 24
ABI
Golden
Sam has texted me half a dozen times, and I’ve assured him each time that I’m fine and there’s no need for him to come over. I knew he had to work, so I’ve used that to my advantage, encouraging him to take care of what needs doing.
Truth be told, I’ve wanted him here since he left. Having him around, being held hostage by so many pleasurable feelings, both old and new, is quite addictive. My little cabin felt so empty after he left. So did I. That is why I’ve dissuaded him from coming back. I could get used to it. It feels too good. It’s more than I deserve, and so much less than Sam deserves.
I came outside a couple of hours ago. I’m not sure I consciously chose an Adirondack that has a great view of his shoreline, but that’s the one I ended up in—the one with the very best view.
My eyes have strayed to his yard a million times if they’ve strayed once. I know he’s at work, but I’ve watched that lush triangle of grass and that thin strip of beach for him anyway.
The sun is already dipping down behind the trees when I see a surprising sight. A familiar little blonde head appears first. Noelle is running as fast as she can after something I can’t see, darting this way and that. I’m guessing she’s chasing a butterfly. Her eyes are wide and her lips are parted, and I wonder if she’s laughing or making some other noise of glee that I can’t hear.
Then I see Sara. She’s dressed in what appears to be something like designer pajamas, replete with a matching robe. They’re not nice enough to be worn out in town, but they’re definitely nice enough to be worn out in one’s yard.
A thousand questions flit through my mind, like how is she feeling today, what is she doing outside, and has she kept Noelle all day. The last bothers me the most.
As if sensing my thoughts on her, I see her head turn slightly, more in my direction than in Noelle’s, and she raises an arm to wave. It’s not a robust wave by any means. It’s more that of an older person with a lot more miles on them. Of course, Sara’s got a million miles of a different kind on her.
Regardless, I’m pleased to see the wave, pleased to see her, and happy that she’s having a good day. I wave back and she returns her attention to Noelle, who is now several feet away. Sara’s lips move and, half a second later, Noelle spins in my direction, too. The instant she sees me, she abandons whatever she was chasing to run closer to the lake’s edge and give me an enthusiastic little girl’s greeting. She waves with her whole body—arms flying, curls bouncing, feet dancing.
I smile, waving to her as well. A soft warm glow begins to spread through my chest, sweet affection radiating into my bones. This family…they’ve captivated me.
I watch Sara follow Noelle around the yard with an aching slowness that I can practically feel from over here. It doesn’t seem like she really feels well enough to be out chasing her daughter, but she’s doing it anyway.
I get that.
Any mother would.
But I worry. What if Noelle ran off into the water? What if she fell and got hurt? What if she got stung or bitten and needed some kind of attention? Would Sara be able to respond in any of those situations?
None of those scenarios are likely, but I can’t help that they flitter through my mind. It’s involuntary. A maternal response.
Finally, the two disappear from sight, but not before each can give me another wave, which I happily return. I’ll admit I’m glad they’re going inside. I feel more at ease about Noelle’s safety.
Not that being indoors necessarily equates to safety. I’m living proof of that because my daughter isn’t.
Just a few short minutes later, I hear the slam of a door. I’m instantly on high alert. My pulse jumps, my muscles clench, and my nerves jangle. I glance back toward the cabin just in time to see Sam making his way down toward me. I smile. I can’t seem to help myself.
His lips curve in the cocky grin that used to be such a trademark Sam thing. It fills me with both nostalgia and immense pleasure. He looks lighter, happier today than he’s looked since I’ve been here, and that knowledge sparks a cascade of queries that fall into my mind like dominos.
He doesn’t stop until he’s at my chair, at which point he drops into a squat right in front of me, his knees on either side of mine. For a few seconds, I feel breathless. Breathless and a bit giddy.
I’d forgotten what that feels like. And I’d forgotten how easily Sam could do it to me.
I’ve missed it, too.
Lord help me, I’ve missed him.
His smile widens. “Hi.”
“Hi yourself.”
“What are you thinking about out here all alone?”
At first, I don’t answer. There are so many things in my head at this very moment that I’m too addled to lie. I just blurt out the last thought I had.
“That I’d forgotten a lot of this.”
His brow wrinkles the tiniest bit. “A lot of what?”
“This,” I explain, waving my hand between us. “You and me.”
“I don’t think I ever forgot.”
“I don’t mean that I forgot you. Or us. I just forgot how you could make me feel so much, so fast.”
One side of his mouth tilts as he leans in, propping his elbows on the arms of my chair, scant inches from mine. “What am I making you feel right now?”
His eyes are luminous. The color of bright, silvery cumulus clouds on a hot summer day. They hold only happiness right now, and they steal one more piece of my heart.
My answer comes out in a whoosh, unbidden. “Breathless.”
Sam’s answer to this is a wink.
A wink, for God’s sake, and my stomach does a flip, just like it did at seventeen.
The tips of his fingers are brushing the bare skin of my thighs, sending chills shooting both north and south. “It’s a start.”
I scoot back, attempting to escape his touch. Thankfully, he backs away, pushing into a stand. He offers me his hand and, with only a hint of hesitation, I take it.
Tenderly, he helps me to my feet. “Want me to carry you to the truck? Or do you need something from inside?”
I have the urge to shake my head to clear it. Sam’s presence, his attentiveness is heady, and I feel intoxicated. Off balance. Buzzed.
“Where am I going?”
“To my house. I’m fixing dinner. Something I think you’ll appreciate.”
“Sam, I can’t—”
His expression quickly devolves into unease. “Why? Are you hurting? Did you have another flare?”
“No, I’m fine, but I shouldn’t—”
He sags in relief. “Thank God. So you’re coming.”
“No, I said I was fine, but I didn’t say I’m going to your house.”
“Why not?”
“I just don’t think—”
“You think too much.”
“Maybe, but that’s not the point. I don’t think—”
“See? There you go again. Overthinking. Don’t think. Just say, ‘Why, yes, Sam, I’d love to come to your house for dinner. You’re such a fabulous cook and amazing host. And your ass looks so damn good in those pants. And—’”
I snort. “Let me stop you right there.”
“My ass doesn’t look good in these pants?”
He reaches around to pat the ass that would be absolutely stunning in anything. I roll my eyes derisively.
“Your ass has nothing to do with this.”
“Then come with me.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve been trying to tell you that I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Because. Sara hasn’t been feeling well and…and…”
“Sara is having a very good day today. What else you got?”
“I don’t think it’s good for me to be over there right now.”
“Why not?”
“God, you sound like a parrot.”
“A parrot with a great ass, though, right?”
“Sam, I’m trying to be serious here,” I snap in exasperation.
“I know you are. That’s why you should come with me. I don’t want you to be serious. I want you to smile. I want you to laugh. I want you to be happy. I want you to be with me.”
The last words, spoken more softly and more sincerely than all his other playful ones, are my undoing. I feel my insides, my outsides, and my every-other-sides melt right along with my resistance.
“You don’t play fair,” I whisper.
Sam grins again, mischief written all over his face. “Do you really want me to?”
“Sometimes,” is my honest response.
“The last time I played fair, I lost you.” Sam shrugs and shakes his head, his expression turning pensive. “Can’t see me doing that again.”
I relent. “Fine.” I notice that my belly is warm no matter how much I wish it wasn’t. “Let me change clothes.”
Sam bends and scoops me up, his face once more happy and relaxed, like my response switched the light back on. “Okay.” And he starts off toward the house.
I let him carry me to my bedroom and drop me off. When he sets me on my feet, we stand staring at each other for a few seconds. Our chests are nearly touching, and attraction charges the air between us like static.
Reluctantly, he breaks the silence. “I guess you don’t need my help for this part.”
I smile a little. “No. And, just so you know, I could’ve walked in here just fine on my own.”
“I’ve missed twenty years with you. Can you blame me for wanting to touch you and be close to you?”
I don’t respond, mainly because I know exactly what he means. A huge part of me craves Sam’s touch, from the smallest brush of his fingers to the kiss of his lips and more. My flesh practically sings when he’s near. So, no, I can’t blame him. But I don’t have to tell him that.
I playfully evade answering, opting for a lighthearted banter instead. I poke my finger at his chest. “Well, you’d better try, mister. Now wait for me outside. I won’t be long.” I add a smile for softness and take a few steps back.
Distance.
That’s what I need to keep a cool head—distance. The closer he is, the more I tend to focus solely on him and what he’s making me feel. It’s like we’ve fallen back in time to a place where nothing matters but what’s between us. There are no other people to consider, no priorities, no consequences. Only the love we share.
Only we aren’t at that place in time. There are other people to consider. There are other priorities. And there are consequences for getting carried away. And they would all fall on Sam. So yes, distance is good. Distance is imperative.
Sam lets out a playful growl and cups my face in his hands. For a few seconds, my heart stops. I think he’s going to kiss me.
Oh, God, how I want him to kiss me.
But I also don’t.
He shouldn’t.
He can’t.
And, in the end, he doesn’t.
Eyes locked on mine for an eternity, Sam’s face gets closer and closer until it departs upward and he presses his lips to my forehead. Against my skin, I hear him faintly mutter, “Later.”
With that, he turns and walks out of the room, closing the door behind him without looking back at me.
Later.
I know just what that means. It’s a promise, to both of us. It’s a reward, for both of us. It’s respect for his wife and consideration for his child. As easy as it would be to get caught up in the moment, he won’t allow it, even if I would. Because Sam is better than that, even if I weren’t.
As I peel off my shorts and tank, replacing them with capris and a blouse, I think back to seeing Sam again for the first time at the grocery store. I suppose I wondered what kind of man he’d become, although the answer seemed fairly obvious since he became a doctor. Choosing a profession where one is basically helping others for a living speaks volumes. But even that doesn’t begin to hint at what kind of man he really became. This entire situation is impossibly horrific, and yet he seems only to shine more and more as things get hairier and hairier. Sam is good. All the way to the very deepest parts of him. More good than I deserve. More good than I’ve ever deserved.
A sense of rightness, of pure providence swells within me, causing me to catch my breath.
This is why I’m in Molly’s Knob.
This is why I came home.
God knew I wanted, no needed redemption, and He knew Sam needed someone to lean on in this dark and awful time. We can be that for each other.
I didn’t think it would be much sacrifice to spend this time with him, and in a way it isn’t, but it will be in the end. Sam is going to destroy me. He’s going to break the only parts of me that are still whole. That’s the only way this can go. I know it. But I’m still going to go boldly forward, and not just for me and my need for redemption, but for Sam.
My Sam.
The one I left because I couldn’t abandon my mother. The one that time and distance couldn’t make me forget. The one and only true love I’ve ever had.
I realize now that I’d do anything for Sam.
Even if it kills me.
I remember from Sunday school lessons a million years ago that somewhere in the Bible it says there’s no greater love than to lay down one’s life for a friend. While Sam might not kill my body, he will kill what’s left of me, but I gladly hand it over to him for the killing. This is the most poetic kind of redemption I can think of. Even if I weren’t seeking it, though, I’d still give my life for Sam’s.
Because he’s my Sam. He always was and he always will be. Nothing else needs to be said.
I grab my purse on the way out the door and, as I step off the porch, I let the pleasure of seeing Sam smiling at me from behind the wheel of his truck wash over me like a wave. I let it run into all the empty places. I let it fill in all the crevices. I’m going to enjoy as much of him as I can, while I can, because nothing lasts forever. I’ve only got a short few weeks left of this summer. I need to make the most of them.
********
At his house, Sam goes immediately to the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves as he goes and instructing me to join the girls out on the patio.
I protest. “Surely there’s something I can help with. You don’t need to do this all by yourself.”
His lips curve into a small smile and his eyes shine. “You are helping. More than you know.”
I feel the ache in my chest. I feel the breathlessness of being with him like this, of being on the receiving end of his tender looks and meaningful words. I feel it and I relish it. For just a few seconds, I soak it in, a dry sponge in need of moisture. Then, with a nod, I turn away from him because I have to, because it’s the right thing to do. Instead, I go join his wife and child on the patio, as he suggested.
For nearly two hours, I chat with Sara. We laugh and talk as Noelle plays in the sand. Periodically, one of us will get up to chase her when she runs or seek her when she hides, but most of those hours are spent in pleasant chatter as Noelle happily builds her sandcastles.
“She loves to build castles then tear them down and start all over. She could do it for hours. Literally. Over and over and over.”
“Why does she do that?”
“I told her a year or so ago that I loved to watch her build castles. Since then, she builds and builds and builds.”
My throat squeezes tight. “She does it for you.”
Sara nods. “She’s so like Sam in that way, doing things to make others happy.” She turns to look at me, her expression open, her eyes tired but happy. I notice that she even has some mascara and lipstick on, the first time I’ve seen her in makeup. It’s as though she’s revived somehow. She really is having a good day. “He is tireless when it comes to those he loves. It’s like he never gives up. Even now, even though he knows it’s useless, he won’t give up on me.”
“It’s a good trait to have.” I don’t know what else to say. My heart is hammering painfully against my ribs.
“He won’t give up on you either.”
I look away as hot tears sting my eyes.
“Please don’t be angry, but he told me about your situation.”
I’m stunned. And not in a pleasant way.
Don’t be angry.
Don’t be angry?
Easier said than done.
Not only is what happened incredibly painful to me, still, but it’s very personal, too. I didn’t even want to tell Sam, but I did. He cornered me. However, it was my story to tell, not his, so it’s hard not to feel angry. Angry and betrayed.
“He wanted me to know why he went to check on you.”
“I’m sorry he did that, but I didn’t ask him to. And I didn’t need his help.”
“It’s hard to do for yourself when you’re in pain. I get it. I really get it. But so does Sam. He understands pain better than most people.”
When I say nothing for fear of biting off a sick woman’s head out of aggravation at her husband, she asks, “He said you broke your leg. Is that right?”
I glance over at Sara. She isn’t wearing the expression of judgment that I’d expect from a woman, a mother, who found out about what happened with my daughter.
“What, exactly, did Sam tell you?”
“He said you had some kind of condition in your leg and foot. Something that comes and goes. He always spares me the clinical details. He knows I won’t understand them, and these days my brain isn’t very clear half the time anyway, so…”
Sam didn’t tell her the whole story. That explains the lack of judgment. That explains her casualness. He broke it down to the bare bones, gave her just enough to ease her mind. He gave her what she needed, and still managed to give me what I needed, too—his discretion.
I nod, slowly exhaling in relief. “Yeah, it’s complicated.”
Sara reaches over to take my hand, winding her fingers around mine. Her touch is icy, but at the same time, the warmth of friendship seeps from her skin into mine. “He will stand by you, Abi. No matter what. That’s the type of man he is.”
My voice is a raw rasp. “I know.”
I can’t tell her that’s part of the problem. I can’t tell her that it’s because Sam is that type of man that I could never ask that of him. I can’t drag him into sickness. Not again. He’s watched for two years as his wife slips away from him, degree by degree. He’s held it together, held the house and the family and his practice together, all on his own. He is strong, he is determined, and he is loyal. And he deserves better than another woman who will drag him and his daughter down another painful road. That’s why, when I promised Sara that I’d try with Sam, that I’d try to honor her wishes, I felt guilty. I knew it was a lie. I will try, and I will stay as long as I can, but it won’t be forever like Sara wants. I won’t put Sam through this again. Not because I don’t love him enough, but because I do.
“I know it’s probably uncomfortable to have conversations like this with me. I can imagine how I’d feel in your shoes. I guess that’s why I’ve been trying to reassure you that this is what I want and that it’s okay. There was a time when it would’ve broken my heart to know that you and Sam still have feelings for each other, but now I see it only as a blessing. Facing death…it just gives you a different perspective. It gives you different priorities. What probably would’ve hurt or bothered me before brings me a strange kind of peace. It’s hard to explain, and I’m only trying to explain it because I want you to know how much comfort it brings me knowing you’re back in Sam’s life. And that he’s in yours. Under different circumstances, I think we would’ve been good friends.”
“I think so, too,” I offer weakly.
“Be honest. You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”
Her grin is adorable. I can’t help smiling back at her. Her eyes shimmers with mischief, giving me a glimpse into the woman Sara was before illness struck. I can see why Sam fell for her. Sara probably charmed everyone she came into contact with when she was well.
“Maybe a little.”
At my response, she laughs, a breathless tinkling sound, like she doesn’t quite have the energy for a vigorous one. She squeezes my hand, but keeps her fingers twined around mine. I get the feeling she’s holding on for a reason. I just don’t know what that reason is.
Regardless, I’m relieved when Sam comes to tell us that dinner is nearly ready and that I can set the table.
“What are we having?” Sara asks, tipping her head back to look at him. “I’m starving.”
Sam smiles, but somehow the action looks more like worry in the cloudy depths of his eyes. “Chicken cacciatore.”
His eyes flicker to mine only for a second before returning to his wife, but in that one brief instant, a wealth of sentiment is conveyed. The last time I ate here, Sam was fixing Sara’s favorite dish, chicken and broccoli Alfredo.
Tonight, he’s cooking mine.
A half dozen thoughts run through my mind, each conflicting with the one before it, but rather than get lost in the twisting labyrinth of them, I take a piece of advice from Sam and, for now, I don’t think. I choose not to. Instead, I choose to turn off the rationale and the unsettling reasoning, and just feel.
Sam made a special effort to make me feel cared for, comfortable, at home. Loved. He cooked this dish for me at least twenty times in the years we dated, maybe more. He perfected it after his first try, and it was always the best I ever had until he made it the next time, and then that was. But he always did it just for me. No one else we knew liked it. I’m not even sure Sam was that fond of it, but he knew I was. And he did it just for me.
Like he did tonight.
He didn’t have to say it. He didn’t have to make a declaration or give an explanation. He knew I would know. And he knew what it would mean to me.
Releasing Sara’s hand, I rise to my feet. “I’ll get the plates.” I hurry from the patio. I don’t want either of them to see how full my heart is at this moment. It doesn’t seem right or fair that I should have such a burst of happiness when Sara is staring death in the face, and Sam is watching her do it. It’s a betrayal to her, to him, and to my own daughter, for whom I should suffer a fate worse than death. Happiness isn’t part of the equation. Happiness is too much to ask for someone like me.
But for this one blip on the radar of time… I take the happy. I take it by the hands and I twirl it around. I dance with it, play with it, and bask in it.
All alone, in another woman’s kitchen, gathering plates that aren’t mine for a family I’m not a part of, I let myself be loved.
And I love in return.
Dinner goes off without a hitch. There is great food, great wine, and great company. We laugh together, like people who have been friends for a lifetime, and we exchange smiles like people who will be friends for a lifetime more. For once, Sara’s sickness, the elephant in the room, is easy to ignore. It’s almost like she isn’t sick at all. It’s a happy, carefree time that I never would’ve expected to take place in the company of Sam and his wife and child.
But it does.
And it’s not one I’ll soon be forgetting.
“You cooked, I’ll clean,” I tell Sam as the evening winds down and he scoots back his chair and grabs his plate. Sara keeps smothering yawns behind her hand and I know it’s approaching the hour when bedtime needs must be addressed. Sam needs to concentrate on his wife and his daughter rather than a kitchen mess. That’s something I can do. “No arguments. You three go about your nightly business.”
For a few seconds, I’m hyper aware of both Sam and Sara’s eyes on me, as well as a bizarre kind of unspoken gratitude permeating the air. I merely smile and nod firmly at them, then stand to begin stacking plates, clearing the outdoor table, and carrying it all inside.
I hear the low tones of Sam and Sara’s voices drift in through the open doors, along with the occasional higher pitch of Noelle’s as she chimes in. I smile, feeling full in ways I didn’t expect.
As I’m wiping down the countertop, the trio comes back inside through the wall of glass, Noelle in one of Sam’s arms, Sara tucked under the other. Sam explains, “We’re off to read bedtime stories. Tell Abi goodnight.”
Both Noelle and Sara give me an obligatory goodnight, and we all laugh since Sam’s instructions weren’t meant for his wife.
“Goodnight,” I return, somehow not surprised when Sara slips out of her husband’s grasp to come and kiss my cheek as she passes.
“You’re beautiful inside and out,” she says to me.
“Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you.”
I wait until they’re out of sight to return to my work. When everything has been returned to its spotless and orderly condition, I take up my glass, still half full of wine, and head back out to the patio. For some reason it feels intrusive to hang around inside, like I’m an interloper in a moment that was deemed family only.
The night air is warm and humid, and it carries with it the scent of a thousand trees and miles of water, a smell peculiar to the lake in summer. I suck deep gulps into my lungs, holding the sweetly familiar air in them until it burns. Only then do I let it out.
I sit down in the chair I once occupied across from Sara when I came to talk to her that first Sunday. So much has happened since then. Or at least it feels like it has. It’s as though time has sped up, as though the formation of relationships has been greatly accelerated. Maybe that’s the way of it when someone is dying. Maybe it’s a form of God’s mercy, so that suffering doesn’t drag on and on and on.
I sip my wine, allowing my head to fall back as I finally relax. The sky is a moonless black, boasting an infinite sprinkling of stars. I focus on the brightest one as I listen to the gentle lap of water against the shore. I’ve always thought it was a hungry sound, that constant lapping. Sam used to say I was crazy, that it was the most soothing sound in the world. I couldn’t disagree with the soothing part, but to me that noise meant hunger, hunger for the shore. The one thing the water always comes back to, as though it can never get enough. Some might say it’s the shore that is consumed by the water, but me? I think it’s the other way around. I think the water is consumed by the shore. It always returns because it can’t stay away. It’s in its very nature to keep coming back, over and over and over again.
As I listen, I think of how this lake has always felt a part of me, and I’ve felt a part of it. Maybe that’s because I know this kind of hunger. I know what it is to feel consumed. I’m so much like this lake, always coming back to the shore, never able to get enough.
Sam is my shore.
He always was.
And I think it must be in my nature to come back to him, always, lapping hungrily like I can’t get enough. Because, in truth, I don’t think I can. I don’t think I ever could.
I drift away on those thoughts, thoughts of hunger and lapping and the always nature of Sam and me. The next thing I’m aware of is being swept into the safe harbor of Sam’s arms, and letting myself be absorbed into the sand.