Chapter Seventeen
Sam lay on her stomach, enveloped in warmth. The sheets were soft, the lighting dim, a faint citrus smell drifting through the room. She’d been so anxious to leave after her fight with Austin, and then she remembered. Austin had scheduled her a massage with his friend.
His friend who was apparently an ex, which might have been enough to send Sam screaming except no way was she slinking away with her tail between her legs. She wanted a massage, she had an appointment for a massage, so damn it, she was getting her massage. It wasn’t like she could get away with not showing her face here again, so she’d better start learning to own it.
Sam looked up Claire’s business on her phone and drove over. The woman who greeted her was tall, lithe as a dancer, and everything about her radiated calm. Sam was glad she’d taken the time to dab makeup under her eyes in the car to hide the puffiness from crying. She tried to hold her head high as she shook Austin’s ex’s hand.
But if Claire had any inkling who Sam had briefly been in Austin’s life, or cared one way or another, she didn’t give any indication. “So you’re Austin’s friend,” she said kindly, inviting Sam in. Sam wished she could be as collected. As soon as Claire led her into the massage room and left her to change, she practically collapsed.
Claire warmed oils between her palms and slid her hands down Sam’s back. Her fingers were capable and strong. Sam let out a groan.
“Let me guess,” Claire said. “You sit at a desk all day.”
“Is it that obvious?” Sam asked as Claire’s fingers found the place between her shoulder blades that always hurt.
“You’re completely locked up in here. I barely feel any give.”
Sam grunted. It was ironic to hear herself described as ungiving when the gift of those stupid gloves had played no small role in this mess.
“Too hard?” Claire asked, pausing.
“No,” Sam said quickly. “The harder the better.” No release without pain.
She took deep breaths, exhaling as Claire’s fingers dug in. It was a welcome distraction to focus on the soreness in her body instead of the soreness in her heart, but the silence didn’t last long.
“What brings you to Gold Mountain?” Claire asked as she worked.
“A few days of skiing,” Sam said, trying to keep her voice casual. “Get a little break from Seattle.”
“Give those shoulders a rest.”
“The skiing probably doesn’t help. All that poling.” She didn’t explain exactly why she’d used her ski poles so much, getting across to Austin’s secret shelter. And then—was it just that morning?—she’d strained her arms holding onto the snowmobile for her dear life. She felt tears welling up and was glad her face was down so Claire couldn’t see.
“I’ll work on your legs next,” Claire promised. “I’m sure they’re sore from the slopes.”
“You must see a lot of that around here,” she said, trying not to sniffle.
“That’s what I do for Austin.”
“Uh-huh.” A simple comment, no emotion involved. No indication that he’d just had her bent over a snowmobile, or on his couch, or in an old mining shelter in the middle of the mountains. No sign that she’d spent all night wrapped in his arms. And certainly no hint at what they’d just yelled at each other before he kicked her out.
Sam hoped that would be it for chitchat about Austin. Weren’t these things more relaxing when they were quiet? But clearly Claire could work and talk, because as she folded the top sheet down to draw her palms along the muscles hugging Sam’s spine, she asked, “So how long have you known Austin? I never heard him mention a Seattle friend.”
Sam nearly choked as Claire pressed into her lower back.
“Water?” Claire asked, concerned.
“No, I’m fine. Um, Austin and I just met, actually. Up here. I don’t really know him that well.” That was certainly the truth.
“Oh,” Claire said, a long sound to accompany the slide of her hands. “I’m sorry, I just assumed.”
“We met skiing, and then ran into each other again at Mack Daddy’s.”
Claire laughed. “Nice, I see you’ve got the lingo down.”
“When in Rome.”
“I’m glad he recommended you come. I’m just surprised—he made it sound on the phone like he’d known you for longer.” Claire tucked the sheet up over Sam’s shoulders and helped her roll over under it, so she was lying on her back. With quick precision Claire folded the bottom of the sheet up to her thighs and walked around the table to work on her legs. “He said to be sure you got the best.”
“Yeah, I don’t know,” Sam said absently, her eyes on the ceiling, trying to take those big, long breaths that were supposed to be calming but always made her feel like she wasn’t getting enough air.
“Oh,” Claire said, standing over her. And then, “I’m so sorry, I’m being an idiot. I didn’t mean to…” She ducked her head and began working on Sam’s legs. Her hands were strong, the massage finely calibrated to knead the fibers where Sam was sorest.
“It’s okay,” Sam assured her. Claire continued to work in silence, obviously embarrassed. The pressure from her fingers was pure bliss, and Sam relaxed into it. Everything in her was loosening, her shoulders and neck having given up the tension they’d been holding onto. Maybe that was why the next words slipped out before she could stop them. “It seemed like we might have had a thing, but it looks like not.”
She wondered if she sensed a tightening in Claire’s hands or if she was making it up. “What happened?” Claire asked.
Sam snorted. “It started when I bought him a pair of gloves.”
She thought Claire would laugh, or at least require more explanation, but instead she stopped her work on Sam’s calf and stared at her. “You’ve known him for how long and were going to get him to give up that ratty pair?”
“Apparently everyone but me knows they’re a thing.”
“What did he say when you gave them to him?” Claire went back to work.
“That he couldn’t take them.”
Claire made a sound like mmm-hmm between her teeth. And since Sam was spread out on the table, her limbs loose as jelly, she said, “The first time. The second time I told him to take them he said I didn’t understand anything and thought I was better than him.”
“I’m impressed you got as far as that. Austin is the hardest person to do anything for. It freaks him out, like he might actually wind up getting close to someone.”
“He certainly didn’t make it sound like he was in danger of getting too close to me,” Sam grumbled.
Claire smiled. “That’s how you know you got under his skin.”
“What is this, middle school?” She tried to put some bite into her voice, but it didn’t work. Another tear streaked down her cheek. Everything she’d told herself about one night with Austin seemed so foolish now. How could she have kidded herself that she’d be able to get her fix and then be done, back to business as usual as though nothing had changed?
Claire got up and passed her a tissue. Gently she said, “I wondered if everything was okay when you came in.”
So she’d known Sam had been crying. It sent a stab through Sam’s chest to be so vulnerable in front of a stranger, but this wasn’t the office, there wasn’t some kind of strength test she had to pass. No one here was expecting her to be anyone other than some woman on vacation, tired, sore, here for a few days and then gone. The next time they saw her she’d be in a suit with a barrage of publicists managing her every move. That she’d once cried on a massage table wouldn’t mean a thing.
“I feel so stupid,” Sam said, blowing her nose. “I thought it was just some accident and then—”
“Wait,” Claire interrupted her. “He told you that? I thought this was just about the gloves.”
“‘Told’ may be the wrong word. There was quite a bit of yelling involved. It was the most awful thing I’ve ever heard, but it wasn’t even the hammer. Believe it or not, I can handle the hammer. I just didn’t expect him to get so mad at me.” Suddenly she thought of something and winced. “Please tell me you knew that already. Please tell me I didn’t just say something else I shouldn’t have.”
“Don’t worry,” Claire said. “I knew. But can you believe I worked on Austin for four years before he finally stopped talking vaguely about ‘the accident’ and finally came out with the truth? That’s four years he came in once a week, every Monday, for me to work on his knee. It was always a puzzle to me how he’d managed to get scar tissue where he has it. I’m not saying Austin’s right, just that it took him forever to open up to me. And that was on top of me complaining that I couldn’t help him get over an injury if I didn’t know what the injury was.”
She bent Sam’s leg up, rotated it in her hip socket, and placed it down again, repeating with the other leg. The simple motion, loosening her hips, felt so good Sam asked her to do it again.
“I’m not sure what happened counted as opening up,” she said.
“Still, I’m impressed he said anything at all.”
“It doesn’t matter. He hates me now. He thinks I’m, I don’t know, naive.”
“It’s not hate.”
“Trust me, it is.” Sam sighed. And then, because it was time to stop playing the game that had gotten her nowhere, she told Claire the rest of the story—the part where Austin wasn’t to blame, but her.
“What I just said—the gloves, the accident—that all happened. And you’re right, if it had just been that, I might believe there’d still be a chance. But I’m not being fair, the way I’m describing it. It’s not the only thing that happened.”
“Tell me,” Claire said gently. “I’m not going to judge.”
Sam let out a long exhale. “You should. Austin has every right to.”
Claire brought her legs back down and began pushing on the tops of her ankles. The pressure was strange, but when she let up, Sam could feel it. The line down the front of her legs felt open, stretched.
She wasn’t pushing Sam to say anything. She was simply giving her the space to get there on her own. When Steven called, Sam had been forced to confess. This time, it was up to her.
“Austin didn’t tell you my full name when he booked the appointment. I didn’t put it on the intake sheet, either.” Her voice was barely a whisper, but in the quiet room it felt too loud. You don’t have to do this, she reminded herself.
But she did.
“That’s okay,” Claire said, marching a sweet-sore line of pressure up her shins.
“He didn’t tell you because he didn’t know it.”
Claire took her hands off Sam. Sam felt the absence immediately and regretted what she’d said. She wasn’t thinking properly. She was going to make everything worse.
Claire was friends with Austin. She’d probably spent countless nights hanging out with Mack and Connor at the Dipper, downing beers and going on about those awful Kanes. Claire wasn’t going to tell her this wasn’t her fault. Claire was going to throw Sam’s clothes at her and tell her to get out.
“So, what’s your name?” Claire asked. She said it like she was asking a new patient where they’d grown up, or what they did for a living—just a way of making conversation. But she wasn’t touching Sam. It was clear the massage had stopped.
Sam took a deep breath and forced out the answer. “Samantha Kane,” she said, only it didn’t come out the way she usually said it, strong and proud. For the first time in her life, she was ashamed of the person she’d become.
Claire didn’t say anything. Sam stared at the ceiling, a tear trickling down her temple. When she dared to tilt her head to look over, Claire was staring at her. “Seriously?”
“The one and only.” Sam sighed and went back to her ceiling view. “Only I managed to keep that minor detail from Austin until this afternoon.”
“Well, shit.” Claire used a towel to wipe massage oils off her fingers.
“I can go,” Sam said, starting to shift. “I’m sorry, I know I’m not welcome here. I shouldn’t have wasted your time. Or his.”
“Lie down, Sam. I still have to do your head. I’m afraid if I let you out of here carrying this much tension, you’re going to explode.”
Sam did as she was told. As Claire pressed her fingertips to Sam’s temples, Sam told her everything. About how she’d come to Gold Mountain wanting one thing, only to find something else altogether.
“But now it’s too late. I know we’d never be able to make it work anyway. But I made it so much worse by pretending. I should have been up front from the beginning. Even if it meant I couldn’t have him at all.”
Claire sighed and handed Sam another tissue. “I don’t know if Austin told you this, but he and I dated for two and a half seconds, ages ago. Don’t worry,” she added quickly. “I think he’s wonderful, but we’re better as friends. I have a daughter, Maya, and I love her to pieces, but having a four-year-old isn’t great for my social life. Trust me when I say you have nothing to worry about.”
“Thanks, I believe you. But the real reason I have nothing to worry about is because there is no me and Austin. It’s been three days. I live in Seattle. He hates me. I hate me. It’s really not a thing.”
“What I was going to say is that I know Austin pretty well. I know how tight-lipped and impossible he can be.” She laughed wryly. “The fact that you’ve been to his house, that you know things he barely shares with anyone—you may have started this thinking there’d be no strings attached, but it’s clear that wasn’t true.”
“If only that meant anything,” Sam said. She closed her eyes, trying to let the feeling of Claire’s hands transport her, but it was hard to feel relaxed anymore when all she wanted was to curl up and cry.
“Of course it does. Things changed for you. No matter what happens with Austin, you can’t deny that you’re leaving Gold Mountain different than when you came.”
The evidence that Claire was right was there in the quickly mounting pile of tissues balled in Sam’s fist. But even though Sam had to admit that yes, she had changed, no one could do a complete 360. She was still her. Samantha Kane.
What was more, she still wanted to be her. Sam had pretended she could divide herself into two parts, the one she was with Austin and the one coming for his land. But they were the same Samantha Kane, just as he was the Austin she’d known in person and the Mr. Reede who’d once been nothing to her but a name on a page.
“I just can’t imagine going back to Seattle as though none of this happened,” Sam said with a sigh.
“So don’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t go back to Seattle as though nothing happened. Just because it didn’t work—because you’re too different, or can’t be the people you need, or you’ve simply hurt each other too much—doesn’t mean you don’t have a choice. We always have a choice. You don’t have to pretend nothing happened here. Who knows,” she added. “It may make you feel better if you have to come back for work some time.”
Sam lay on the table in the dark for a long time after Claire left, feeling the quiet, floating sensation of her body after the massage. She felt slippery, soft, like her limbs were no longer attached. The massage hurt but in a good way, the pain pushing out the underlying soreness, leaving her tender and new.
She wasn’t exactly sure what Claire had meant by saying Sam had a choice. It wasn’t like there was anything left she could do. But the words stayed with her as she went back to her car and asked herself, what next?