Chapter 31
Outside the judge’s chambers, Gary Russo shook Sam’s hand. The judge’s decision signaled a new beginning. With guardianship over his father’s affairs, he was finally free to do whatever he wished with the property.
A week had passed since the night at the Chehalem bed and breakfast, a glorious week in which Sam and Red spent every free moment together. In public, at Poppy’s Café, the bar at his consortium, the Radish Rose, and in private in his modest bedroom, it didn’t matter. There was no more hiding his feelings for Dr. Red McDonald.
Sam still harbored considerable anxiety. But while the house was still legally in limbo, he could ignore it.
But now, on the drive back to Clarkston, there was no more ignoring it. His anxiety grew and grew until he felt like it filled the whole van.
In a stab at normalcy, he called Keval to see how things were going at the consortium.
“Quiet,” said Keval. “Now that the website’s running smoothly, we’re getting orders at a regular pace.”
“I’m headed in soon,” said Sam.
When he arrived, his pulse ratcheted sky-high when he found Red in the reception area talking to Keval, looking more beautiful than ever.
“Surprise!” she said, holding two brown bags aloft. “I brought us lunch.”
He nodded. “C’mon back.”
She followed him to his office, chattering nonstop about paint colors, furnishings and gardening ideas.
* * * *
Red had spent the past week telling anyone who would listen about the saltbox. She’d stocked up on glossy decorating magazines and begun feverishly pinning pictures to her house board on the internet. She couldn’t wait to finally claim the house and start transforming it.
“No clients?” asked Sam.
Red deposited his brown bag in front of him and started unfolding the top of her own. “I had a cancellation, so I thought I’d get us some soup. Now, before you get too excited, it’s not homemade,” she said, carefully withdrawing a takeaway container and a spoon and setting it down on his desk in front of him. “But once I have my very own kitchen, look out, because I’m planning on cooking up a…”
Ignoring his bag, Sam picked up a pencil and beat out a staccato tempo on the desk.
“Sam? Is something wrong?”
He met her eyes for the first time since he’d arrived.
“Where were you this morning?” she asked, suspicion creeping into her voice.
* * * *
Sam’s first instinct was to lie. It would be so easy. He was in and out of the consortium all the time. There was any number of places where he could have legitimately been. Crisscrossing the county, visiting his growers and vintners was part of his job.
But he didn’t want to be the old Sam anymore, the Sam with dirty socks stuffing his chest cavity like bread in a Thanksgiving turkey.
“I just came from the courthouse.”
Her face lit up with hope. “And? Did you get it? Did you get the power of attorney?”
He swallowed and scratched his ear, putting off the inevitable. Out in the reception area, Keval still answered tourists’ phone calls. Annoying ads still popped up on his computer screen.
“I changed my mind about the house.”
Red’s mouth dropped open. “What do you mean, you changed your mind?”
“I can’t sell it to you.”
“Why not?”
“I made that offer to you in a moment of weakness.”
She stared hard at him. “Is that what you call our beautiful night together? A moment of weakness?”
“No. You know what I mean. A moment of...” Desperately he sought the words that would make her understand. “Vulnerability. You made me feel vulnerable.”
“How did I do that?”
“By being so, damn, nice!”
Pain filled her eyes.
“When you apologized for rushing me to talk about things. For using that stupid sex technique.”
“So I’m not supposed to be nice to you?”
“Yes! No! I don’t know.”
“Well,” she huffed, rising, her arms at her sides, “thanks for making that perfectly clear.”
“I offered you the house in a moment of weakness, and it’s been bothering me all week and I didn’t say anything, thinking I’d figure out how to deal with it when the time came and not wanting to mess things up between us. And now I realize I can’t do it. It’s like I said back in the beginning. I hate it there. I don’t want to back go there any more. And if you’re there, I won’t have any choice.”
Red looked around the room. She opened her mouth to speak, then thought the better of it and closed it. Then she paced a few feet and stopped. “I don’t know what to say, Sam. You got me so excited. I’ve told everybody. I’m going to feel like such a fool when I tell them it’s not happening.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I just . . . I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.
“What happened there that you can’t get over? Whatever it is, it’s in the past. We can talk it through. I’ll help you. I’ll help you get past it.”
“It’s my house,” he said, his voice cracking like an adolescent choirboy’s, “and I can do what I want with it. You want a relationship? This is the only way.”
In a flat voice, she said, “I’ll never understand you, Sam Owens.”
Sam mitigated his guilt by snapping at her.“Get in line.”
For a long moment, Red just stood there and stared at him, dry-eyed.
Then she threw up her hands. “You know what? This too hard. I’m through.”
And with that, she turned and walked out of his office and out of his life, leaving behind nothing but two bowls of tomato soup.