THE FOLLOWING TWO weeks came and went in a flash. With Thanksgiving only a few days away, the food bank was at its busiest, meaning early mornings and late nights. While I missed being able to spend time with Sam, I didn’t mind working the longer hours. It meant extra money in my pocket and a distraction from everything else I couldn’t control—such as my guilt over Adam’s death or the feelings I’d developed for Sam that seemed to grow stronger and more intense with each passing day. Not to mention the fact his father had already found a reason to dislike me. The latter bothered me the most.
Adam didn’t have a family.
He had been a part of the system his entire life, and although he had foster parents—who were better than most and ones he’d mentioned from time to time—they all but disappeared from his life when he’d left for college. Communication with them had eventually stopped, so there was never that awkward stage of meeting the parents that couples commonly go through. There wasn’t that constant worry about whether they’d like me or if I’d be warmly accepted into their home and lives.
Regardless, I tried not to take it personally when it came to Sam’s father. I related to him on a level some people might not understand, not even Sam. For an outsider looking in, it was easy for people to sit back and judge, to make assumptions about your emotions and what you should be feeling. And I was done trying to explain myself to those who were committed to misunderstanding me. It was the reason why I’d become so defensive the first day Sam and I sat together in the café. If he could take one look at a stranger and assume the worst, what was he possibly thinking of me? Did his thoughts align with everyone else?
Cassi, you should let him go.
Cassi, you shouldn’t feel guilty.
Cassi, you should do this.
Cassi, you should do that.
Cassi, he’d want you to be happy.
That last piece of unsolicited guidance always angered me the most. How did anyone know what Adam would want? The only person who got a say in what Adam wanted was Adam, and Adam was dead. He was dead, and his death would always be an excruciating weight I’d carry around with me—the guilt, the regrets, the things I wish I’d have said or done differently. I imagined Mr. Copeland felt much the same about his wife, yet I couldn’t fault Sam for wanting his father back. I couldn’t fault my own family for wanting the return of their happy and carefree Cassi, who had vanished after the events of one tragic and disastrous evening.
They wanted us normal. Fixed. Not broken.
People may have viewed us as being weak, and perhaps at times we were, but what many failed to see was how strong we’d become—how much strength it took to carry us from one day to the next.
Strength came in all different forms.
Sometimes it was getting yourself out of bed when you had no desire to move. Sometimes it was forcing yourself to be present in a room full of people when all you wanted to do was disappear into the corner. And sometimes … sometimes it was fixing a smile on your face when every part of you was dying inside.
“How are you getting along there, dear?”
I placed the last bag of groceries on the counter and twisted toward Debbie, who stood in a circle of canned goods and packaged food, her hands propped on her hips and an exhausted smile on her face. Endless lines of people filtering in and out of the doors made for a long day, and we were both ready to call it a night.
“Good. That was the last of it for now, so I think that means we’re free to go home.”
She glanced around to inspect our work and nodded. “I believe so. If you’ll make sure the computers are off, I’ll grab our coats from the break room and turn off the lights.”
“You’ve got it.”
We quickly split ways, and when the entire place was set for closing, we grabbed our belongings and headed out of the building. Debbie armed the alarm and locked the door, giving it a small tug to ensure it was locked before we made our journey across the mostly empty and quiet parking lot.
The night was late, cold, and dark. A handful of stars illuminated parts of the night sky, the rest obscured by thick, pillowy clouds as the scent of moisture lingered in the air. All signs pointed to a storm brewing above us, and I was eager to make it home before the first drop of rain fell.
As we headed toward our vehicles, I reached into my purse and grabbed my phone, checking for any missed calls or messages. There was one waiting from Sam, and I couldn’t help the smile that played across my face nor the way my stomach fluttered. He’d been messaging me all week, little messages that at times were completely random, but our recent thread had warmth collecting in my cheeks despite the blustery wind stinging my skin.
Sam: Did you know there are 86,400 seconds in a day?
No. Can’t say I’ve given it much thought.
Sam: Me neither. I googled it while I was drinking my coffee at Addy’s this morning.
I chuckled out loud, not missing the way Debbie’s eyes flicked to my face or the nonchalant smirk that lit up on hers as I messaged him back.
Googled it, huh? And was there a purpose for all this hard and extensive research? ;)
His response was immediate.
Sam: Absolutely. Thought you should know that I’ve been missing you for every single one.
The goon-like smile on my face grew wider as warmth wrapped around my entire being. I felt like a young girl whose longtime crush just admitted he liked her, too, and I became all too aware of how much I missed him—how much I craved his everything. Loneliness had been my only companion before I’d met Sam, and now—without him—I felt so much lonelier than I’d ever been.
Sam: When can I see you? I need to see you.
I was in the middle of typing out a reply when Debbie’s voice grabbed me, my head snapping to the side to meet her twinkling gaze.
“I take it things are going well between you and your gentleman friend?”
There was no hiding the blush on my cheeks or the way he made me feel—even to my coworker it was obvious. My lungs expanded on a deep inhale, and I nodded my head slowly. “Yeah. More than well, actually. I really like him.”
“That’s great, sweetheart. It’s wonderful to see you happy and smiling again.”
I was preparing my response when Debbie’s arm shot out in front of my chest, preventing me from taking another step. Curious as to what caused our sudden halt, I lifted my head.
The figure of a man stood beside my car, the darkness of the parking lot and the faint glow of the overhead streetlamps casting a shadow on his face, making it impossible to see clearly.
My pulse quickened as a rush of panic and fear pumped hot through my veins. I gripped my phone tighter, my thumb sliding across the screen, ready to press the emergency services call button when the man stepped toward us.
“Cassi?”
My brows narrowed at the familiar voice, and my lungs deflated on a sharp whoosh of relief. “Mr. Copeland? Is that you?”
“My apologies, ladies. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I debated on coming inside but realized you were on your way to closing soon and decided I’d wait by your car instead.” He looked straight at me. “I was hoping I might be able to have a word with you.”
Debbie looked at him warily before flicking her attention to me.
“It’s okay,” I assured her. “This is Sam’s father.”
“Would you like for me to wait for you?” she asked, still uncomfortable with the idea of leaving me alone.
“No, thank you. You can go. I’ll give you a call once I’m home.”
She gave me an understanding nod. “Very well. I will see you tomorrow then. Have a good night, sweetheart.”
I glanced around the parking lot and then gestured toward my car. “It’s a bit cold out. Would you mind if we sit and talk in the car?”
“Oh, right. No, of course not.”
As I pressed the unlock button on my key fob, he yanked on the handle, holding the door open for me while I slid onto the seat. He quickly rounded the front of my car and joined me on the passenger side.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Copeland?”
“It’s Robert, please, and it’s not what you can do for me; it’s what I owe you.” He took off his baseball cap and squeezed it in his hands, remorseful eyes roaming over every inch of my face. “I owe you an apology. What I’d said to you—the way I’d treated you—it was uncalled for.”
My mouth fell open to speak, but he held up his hand, shushing me.
“Let me finish. Please.” He pressed his lips together and continued. “I may not have been the best role model to my son over the last nineteen years, but I’ve always tried to raise him as his mother would have: to be a kind and respectful human being. I’m confident I’ve succeeded in that regard, but I certainly failed at being everything else he needed me to be.”
“He loves you.”
Mr. Copeland made a sound from the back of his throat that said he begged to differ, but I was determined to convince him of the truth. From the very beginning, Sam had been open with me about his relationship with his father, and every time we talked, I saw the mix of longing and despair in his eyes, the hope that one day things would work itself out between them.
He wanted that.
And I wanted that for him.
“He does. Despite what you might believe, I know in my heart, he loves you very much. Why do you think he continues to show up every Sunday? If you believe it’s only to help manage your finances, you’re wrong. He’s there because he wants to be a part of your life. He wants to feel close to you. He wants you to be the person he can rely on. He needs you to be that person.”
Mr. Copeland inhaled deeply, and I paused, attempting to figure out how to say everything he needed to hear.
“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but he’s lost. He doesn’t know how to experience this life he suddenly gets to live. I know what it’s like to lose someone you love. I know how hard it is to put a smile on your face when it takes less energy to simply succumb to the pain, but Sam needs your help. He needs you to point him in the right direction, Robert. You’ve lost your wife. Don’t lose your son, too.”
Robert looked away, his eyes blinking fast as tears slipped from their corners. A shuddering breath burst from his lips, and I gave him a moment, watching as he mentally worked through years of regret and lost time. He remained quiet for so long I wondered if he’d speak again at all.
Finally, his voice broke through the silence. “I need to ask you something, and I need you to be completely honest with me.”
“Okay.”
“Your intentions with my son, are they sincere?”
His words gave me pause, and I frowned. Had I given him a reason to think otherwise? Granted, I wasn’t sure what Sam had told him about me, about us. And I admit, I’d been hesitant to jump into any kind of relationship with Sam, but that was only because I was still learning how to let someone else in where Adam’s memory resided. It was terrifying to think the love Adam and I had shared could ever be replaced, especially when it was the only love I’d ever truly known. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking.”
Giving his hat another squeeze, he returned his attention to me. An eternity felt like it passed as he stared at me, the sound of him clearing his throat causing a tight, uncomfortable knot to form in my stomach. “He has your ex-lover’s heart, Cassi. We all know this, but what I need to know is when you look at my son, are you seeing him for the person that he is or are you seeing him as the person you wish he was?”
Brick by brick, my defenses shot up but not nearly fast enough.
His unexpected question punched me straight in the center of my chest, and I gasped, nearly choking on my next breath as my brain processed exactly what he’d asked. “Are you asking if I wish he were Adam?” My voice came on a disbelieving whisper, but his loud, deafening silence rang in my ears. A constricting kind of pain squeezed my heart. Heat swept up my nape, finding the tips of my ears, and that knot twisted and twisted, making the bile in my stomach swish. “Sam and Adam are nothing alike, and for you to imply I am only with Sam because I wish he were Adam is not only rude but insulting—not only to me but to your son as well. Now, I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and hopefully assume your last question didn’t come across as you inten—”
“He’s in deep, Cassi.”
“What?”
“Sam. He’s in deep, and I’m worried. Whatever you and he have going on between the two of you, he’s so wrapped up in the possibility of it all I don’t think he even has the ability to save himself from it.”
Why would he need to save himself—
“You think I’m going to hurt him, don’t you? You think I’m going to break his heart?”
His absent response said it all, and I shook my head, saddened and slightly offended by his assumptions but, oddly, understanding why he felt it necessary to ask. He loved his son, and despite the wedge he had driven between them over the years, he still had his best interests at heart.
“How could I possibly hurt the man who’s given me every reason to smile? Maybe from an outsider’s point of view it’s hard to see, but I assure you I’m with your son for the man that he is, not the man he’ll never be.”
“Do you think there’s a chance you could find it in your heart to ever love my son as much as you loved Adam?”
Well, that was a loaded question, wasn’t it?
“I’d like to be given the opportunity to try.”
He nodded. “Very well. That’s all the assurance I needed. I’m sorry to have taken up so much of your evening, but I appreciate your honesty and your time, Cassi.” Grabbing ahold of the door handle, he began to push it open.
“Robert, wait! Thursday. Do you and Sam have plans for Thanksgiving?”
He frowned. “We normally spend it together every year, but he hasn’t mentioned it, and after the way I reacted toward you, I can’t imagine he cares. We haven’t spoken since.”
My heart hurt for him and for Sam knowing they hadn’t spoken. It’d been weeks.
“I’m actually going to be spending it with my sister and her family, and I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if the both of you joined us. I’d love it if you would.”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“Please”—digging through my purse, I pulled out an old grocery receipt and pen and quickly scribbled Jenny’s address on the back, passing it to him—“at least think about it. Dinner is usually served at six.”