“See what?”
“Why she’s into you. I keep hearing about this fantastic, fabulous Claire, but I don’t see what she sees in you. I mean you’re not big on planning, own maybe one suit and I bet it’s not even a three-piece. All the while you’re working here, you really like working with your hands while she’s a high-class business consultant that probably doesn’t cut her own food. I don’t see where your lives intersect.”
“First of all.” I rose an accusatory finger at her. My follow up was cut off by the jingling bell of the door opening. I leaned over the table at her, stole a french twist off her plate and dropped my voice. “This isn’t over, Sam.”
A young couple walked in smiling and laughing. After they ordered there was another couple and a steady drip of people that came in just frequently enough that I was trapped behind the counter until nearly seven when Sam decided she was going to take off.
Apparently, the conversation was over.
I checked my phone a few times between then and closing but still nothing. I was starting to get worried something might have happened, but I tried to leave it be.
Claire was a big girl. If she needed help she’d let me know. The best thing I could do for her now was to be there for her and go about my day taking care of things.
So, that’s exactly what I did.
I was starting to get into the swing of things by now, developing a new routine that balanced the business and my personal life. Though Sam had reminded me of one thing that I needed to fix.
According to Sam, I didn’t get out enough. Which, I suppose is true. When I got down to thinking about it most of my life lately consisted of about a three hundred square yard section of town.
I went to the grocers down the street, sometimes the hardware down a block, and back to my apartment and the bakery. Outside of those areas - barring my nightly jogging routine - I rarely did much else.
Having a car would make that easier but that really wasn’t much of an excuse and I knew it.
As I finished up for the night and dragged myself up the stairs to my apartment I couldn’t help but feel like perhaps I was scared of what was out there. Had I unintentionally turned into a shut-in?
The apartment was dark when I got in. That’s odd. It was a stark reminder of how my life used to be. Before Claire came back this was the view that greeted me when I came home.
No dog, loving pet, or adoring girlfriend who was engrossed in her work on the sofa, laptop nestled in her folded legs tapping away until I came up from behind and kissed her hair.
It’s nothing, I tried to tell myself.
All the time I was changing into my running outfit the lack of communication bothered me. It was getting under my skin, and while I wanted to wait up for Claire I decided I needed to clear my head more.
If she wanted to make sure I waited up for her, she’d have texted or called.
I was out the door in record time, earbuds in and alone for the first time in a lifetime.
It felt like I’d traveled back in time to a period - a rather long one at that if I’m being honest - where Claire didn’t exist. Oh, she was out there somewhere. Doing something wonderfully incandescent with her life while I wiled away my time at a failing bakery. Spending more time with her dad than she did.
Since when did I become so bitter?
I picked up the pace, pushing the thoughts out of my head by focusing solely on my stride. One foot in front of the other, breathe in, two more footfalls, breathe out, repeat.
It helped to focus on something other than my circling thoughts of worry and reflection. Halfway through my run as I went through the dark crowded space that bordered the forest, I saw a distant light spark to life.
If this was a horror movie, right about now would be the part that the movie would begin. One guy, all alone noticing something strange out in the woods goes to check it out. Cue dramatic music.
The forest was particularly thick, forcing me to weave through the trees and mind my feet on the uneven ground.
I took out my earbuds, suddenly on high alert. The light had vanished but I was certain I had seen it just ahead as the trees spread apart into something that wasn’t quite a clearing but wasn’t densely wooded either.
At this point in the movie is when the monster would come out and kill the too-curious jogger. Probably throw in a jump scare to set the tone for the rest of the movie.
We really needed to stop watching horror movies.
Since I had an excessively overactive imagination I stopped just before the trees thinned out entirely and tried in vain to peer into the gloom. Because we were in a valley, the forest - which would already be dark normally - was pitch black at this hour.
I heard something ahead and when the cloud cover moved aside to shine some moonlight on the scene I struggled to understand what I was looking at. A…shell? Something roundish and turned over like a bowl lying wrong-side down.
Then it hit me, and I realized I was an idiot for not realizing it sooner.
It was a tent. I was about to turn around when I caught sight of the light again. A young woman with blonde hair. My heart seized in my chest.
It was Sam.
What is she doing out here? But I knew.
She ducked back inside the tent and I came out after her, my mind racing with worry. How long had she been out here? Was this why she waited until later in the day, so nobody would see where she went?
My heart ached for her. I wished she’d told me. I would have opened my home to her in an instant. Nobody deserved to live without a home unless they expressly wanted to. And there were very few people who chose that life.
I doubted Sam was one of them.
“Sam.” My voice carried in the dark of the sparsely wooded area.
No motion. If I strained my ears, I heard a soft rustle. The familiar sound of fabric on nylon from my own “camping trips.”
“Sam, come on. I know you’re in there.” If she didn’t come out soon I was going to go after her. And I hope there wasn’t another blonde girl of similar height and build to Sam that was camping out here.
If there was, I was probably scaring the shit out of her. A strange man in the dark comes to your tent yelling at you? I’d be lucky if she only pepper-sprayed me.
Thankfully, Sam came out with her lantern raised. “Thomas?” She looked around the area, seeing who else saw her like this. I knew the feeling of indignation and shame that showed on her face well.
I came closer, walking into the pool of light her lantern provided. “Come on, let’s go.”
“What do you mean?” She edged away from me. I tried not to sigh. I was not feeling up to doing this sort of dance. I’d been in her exact shoes before and I knew what was going on.
Shouldn’t she have known she could come to me?
“Don’t dissemble, Sam. You know I’ve been in this exact situation before. Leave anything that’s not valuable and we’ll get it tomorrow. Tonight you’re staying at my place.” She opened her mouth to protest and I raised a warning finger. I had to be firm, provide her with no other alternative. Else it would feel too much like charity. “I swear to God, Sam. If I have to carry you there over my shoulder like a sack of flour I will.”
Emotions warred on her face, her eyes welled up with tears. She ducked back into the tent without another word of protest and just to be sure I came up to the entry flap and looked inside.
What I saw nearly drove me to tears.
Aside from a few odds and ends, mostly cans, she had three boxes of pastries from the bakery stacked up to make a cardboard table beside her sleeping bag. Her whole life was shoved unceremoniously into painfully familiar black trash bags.
Sam was a whirlwind of motion, shuffling things from one bag to another. One of them spilled over with rumpled clothes. How had I missed this? The warning signs had been right in front of me.
The recalcitrance of leaving a safe, warm place. Constantly taking food from the bakery - which I had arrogantly att
ributed to the food being good - and coming in early all the time. The wrinkled clothes, hair kept in braids instead of let loose so it didn’t show the lack of showering.
With all her things gathered I took two of her bags and slung them over each shoulder, surprised at the weight of them as they hit my back. “That everything important?”
Sam wouldn’t look me in the eye, but she nodded.
I nudged her with my elbow, she barely seemed aware of it. “It’ll be all right, Sam. You’ll see.” My attempt at levity fell on deaf ears, as I thought it would. However, that wasn’t important. What was important, was that she knew I was there for her. That it was said out loud.
The moment we got through the door into my apartment Sam rushed ahead to the bathroom. She knew the layout of it well enough. I checked my phone. Still no message from Claire and it was nearly ten o’clock. I dropped her a quick text, just to check in with her. I hoped she was okay.
I was worried about her, deeply worried. But there was nothing I could for her from here. Sam was here, and there was something I could do about her.
Dragging the trash bags behind me, I went to the small closeted area in the hall next to the guest room where the washer and dryer were sandwiched. I turned it on and threw in her clothes by the handful.
I knew how important it was to feel clean, to wear proper clothes that fit and didn’t have holes or smelled like day-old sweat.
As far as dirty clothes went, they weren’t nearly as bad as some of mine were. Then again it was cool out now. In a month the snow would start and I couldn’t help but worry even more for Sam.
Would she have stayed out there even through the winter? The tent she had wasn’t meant for the blizzards and freezing rain we got here in Sunrise Valley.
Chastising myself all over again for missing the signs, for being so fucking caught up in my own happiness that I had ignored the silent pleas for help from my best friend, I made up the couch for her.
Had I known, I could have cleared out the guest bedroom. In the urgency of the situation, I had completely forgotten about it being unusable. After Richard’s death and then Jemma moving into his apartment we had kept his things in the guest room.
We’d both been so busy that neither of us had time to deal with it. It didn’t feel right leaving her on the couch, but it was a far sight better than sleeping out in the cold night.
I had just finished by the time she got out, her hair lank and wet trailing down her shoulders. She stood in the hallway with just a white fluffy bath towel around her chest. I did my best to ignore the tanned swell of her breasts, looking anywhere but at her.
She looked so vulnerable, so sad that I immediately wanted to hold her. But I also saw something else in her eyes, something I had only seen once or twice before and never again.
It held me back. I didn’t want to lead her on or give her ideas. I gave her the slightest shake of my head, hoping she understood.
She deserved better, and this was me giving it to her. I loved her like a sister, and it broke my fucking heart to see her so out of sorts.
Her lips twitched and she bit down on her bottom lip. It happened in the blink of an eye, her strong façade dropped and she sprinted the short distance between the bathroom and the couch.
Sam collided into me with more force than I expected, her small arms latched around me, clutching with desperation. She shook with painful wracking sobs that devolved into wails of anguish.
Gently, I wrapped my arms around her and guided her to the couch. She nestled in my lap and I slid a pillow under her head petting her hair as she bawled her eyes out. It was like a dam had broken in her and now it was all coming out. Every heartache, every sorrow.
I knew that she had more than her fair share of each. It was one of the things that drew me to her, she understood what rock bottom truly was.
It wasn’t having the second-best phone, or having a used car instead of brand new. And it wasn’t skipping a meal because your parents made a healthy meal that tasted like rubber.
Rock bottom was carrying around your things in black trash bags because you couldn’t afford a duffel bag. It was hoarding food anywhere you could get it because you didn’t know when your next meal would be. It was camping in the woods and telling your son you were going on an adventurous camping trip for a few weeks.
I felt powerless to do anything except rub her arm comfortingly and pull a blanket up over her. It felt strangely reminiscent of Claire on this very same couch.
I loved them both, but with Sam it was different. I could be close to her and there was no attraction. She was pretty, I wasn’t blind, but there was nothing between us.
We understood each other in ways that few people did. She was family.
For a long while Sam cried. She stayed curled up beside me, her head on a pillow in my lap and let herself be comforted. Which, for Sam was a monumental step. She didn’t like being touched, wasn’t a big hugger, and was more likely to punch me in the arm than give me a handshake.
I scrubbed at a few tears of my own, Sam’s situation brought up painful memories I’d rather stay in the past. I could only guess at what chain of unfortunate events led her to this, but I wouldn’t let her fall any further.
I had the power to do something about her situation now beyond simply giving her a place to stay. And I intended to make sure this never happened to her again.
Why didn’t she come to me? Was the question that kept repeating in my head over and over. I wasn’t sure if I was helping her or not, but it had to be better to let it out. She clearly needed the catharsis, and I hoped that what little physical affection I could give her was helping.
Eventually, she cried herself to sleep. I tucked the blanket up to her chin and told myself I’d give it a few moments before going to bed myself. A cavernous yawn escaped me, and in the hush that descended on the room I must have fallen asleep.
When I woke up, Claire was standing in the living room staring at me with tears in her eyes and fists clenched at her sides.
Fuck me.
17
Claire
My day had been the most emotionally exhausting day of my life. Mom spared no details in her story of sobriety. I understood why she worried at her ten-year chip so fervently now.
It was the one good thing she’d managed completely on her own and it meant a lot to her.
She understood the value of that and knew its importance. It was her talisman, her proof that she had actually achieved something. And if she could achieve that, maybe there was more she could do.
Brunch turned into full-blown lunch, and then she took us to a nature reserve in the mountains. A trail she used to walk as a kid.
Unlike Dad, she grew up in Sunrise Valley. Her family’s lineage could be traced all the way back to its founding. Which, I guess in a way meant I was one of those old blood families with dark secrets and dirt on everybody.
Which totally wasn’t true. The Sigruns were all but gone, though their name was on the original town’s charter as one of the founding members, all that was left of their line was my sister and me. And of course my mom who had long since stopped carrying their name.
She told us about Sunrise Valley’s history, about the Scandinavian families that helped to found it and carve out a place for themselves in the familiar verdant valley that reminded them of home.
Unlike either Jemma’s hair or my own, Mom had brilliant blonde hair in true Scandinavian fashion. It seemed the only thing we did get from her was the willowy frame and green eyes.
It had been an effort to accept her words at face value and to accept her back into my life. I still wasn’t sure about it all but her story had been so gripping and quite frankly horrible, that I found myself giving her a chance despite all the emotional baggage I still carried.
The truth was, I wanted to know what made her tick.
I still wasn’t sure whether I wanted to know so I could hurt her with the knowledge, or so I could decide whether or not she was
worth having in my life. I was still so angry about it all.
Jemma had forgiven her somewhere between emotional outburst five or six when she’d explained how she hitched and backpacked out of the only home she’d ever known because she was convinced she was a monster. Something not even human.
I didn’t have to heart to tell her that I agreed, so I kept quiet. What she had done was reprehensible, that she had thought to sell me just to score some drugs still twisted my stomach with disgust.
But I also knew she was sick. You didn’t blame somebody with a mental illness for being mentally ill, just like you wouldn’t blame an addict for being an addict. It’s a sickness, and she needed to get help.
Unfortunately back then - and even today - there wasn’t a safety net or even a support network for people who needed it. It was considered a lack of willpower, they just had to “try harder” not to be addicted.
Might as well try to lasso the moon and bring it closer.
There was so much heartache and sorrow in Mom’s story. She wandered around America, doing odd jobs and more often than not getting taken advantage of. She’d been beaten, stabbed, and shot. And she showed us the scars to prove it.
While we walked the nature trails that she seemed to know like the back of her hand, she continued her story. We had a snack and took a break at an ancient-looking picnic table that overlooked the valley in all its splendor.
She showed us a carving in the wood, now long faded from weathering, where she and Dad had carved their initials and circled them in a heart.
I didn’t take her for much of a crier but she did so often and freely. Usually around anything that reminded her of Dad. It seemed she never got over him either. Her scarred fingertips traced longingly over the heart-shaped carving in the table.
We had dinner later that night at the same restaurant we had started at. The one thing that made it all believable, besides the scars she bore both physically and emotionally, was the way she told the story.
It wasn’t rehearsed, she wasn’t even a good storyteller. She started and stopped, had to double back to pick up the thread again after a question distracted or totally derailed her in the case of Jemma’s questions. It was an authentic, naked look at her life.
Baking Up Love Page 13
