She picked up the phone and called Tootie back. Yes, she assured Tootie, all was well. She’d certainly evolved into a liar, hadn’t she? Put on a cheerful face or a cheery voice and pretend.
“I’m glad.” Tootie sounded unconvinced.
Sam probably hadn’t sold the “all is well” bit with enough faked enthusiasm.
“Everything’s fine here,” Tootie said. “Busier than ever. Must be the weather, you know, everyone wanting something hot to drink.”
Yeah, right. “Thanks for checking in.” Sam disconnected.
She picked up her cereal bowl. As she chewed a spoonful of soggy oats, she blocked the image of a soon-to-be-repaired Alice and instead pictured old ladies who had never before stepped foot in Samantha’s ordering a latte—would they even know what a latte was?—just to check things out, because even if India had been crazy, she’d belonged to the area. Sam was almost a foreigner, she’d been gone so long.
She rinsed her bowl and dressed to go to Daniel’s. If only Cindy’s mother would get over her bout of flu.
Cindy sat propped up in bed today instead of on the couch, which made Sam’s cleaning-lady status more palatable. Daniel had loaded the dishwasher, almost house-trained. And he’d put a load in the washing machine.
Sam added these to the dryer and started on their dinner. She made a pot roast, full of good vitamins. Daniel could make their salad when he got home.
She stuck her head in the bedroom. “You need anything? Herbal tea?”
“I’ve got water,” Cindy said, looking up from her laptop. “Dinner smells divine.”
“I hope it is. Well, I’ll just fold the laundry and then head out.”
“I hope you know how much we appreciate you, Sam.” Emotional as always, Cindy brushed away her tears. “I’m a mess.”
“You’re pregnant. It’s allowed.”
Sam was carrying folded linens to the bathroom closet when her son opened the door. “You’re early,” she said.
“It’s supposed to get nasty out there again this evening. I wanted to get here in time for you to make it home before the mess hits the streets.”
Sam set the towels on their shelves and met Daniel in the kitchen, where he sniffed at the roast. “This smells amazing, Mom.”
“I’m glad.”
When he turned, his eyes narrowed. “You look terrible.”
It’s true he hadn’t seen her in recent days, but he didn’t have to be mean about it. Sam smoothed her hair back and tried to shrug off the hurt.
Grabbing her shoulders, Daniel held her at arm’s length. “I’m worried about you.”
“I’m okay.” She reached out to pat his cheek. “Really.”
He helped her into her jacket, calling out to Cindy that he’d be right back. He stuck his hands in his jeans’ pockets and hunched his shoulders as he walked her to her car, quiet until he saw her settled behind the wheel. Then he leaned in and said, “Is it the whole thing with Jack? You’re not tripping on some guilt thing, are you?”
“No, of course not. Sorry I’ve worried you.”
“I love you, Mom. I just want you to take care of yourself. Maybe get more exercise when the weather’s better?”
Sam nodded. “I am. I will.”
She drove home—no. Erase that. She drove to that place, wondering what Daniel’s question about guilt meant. What did he know—or assume?
See. Even her son expected guilt to be an issue.
As far as exercise went, how could she run in yucky weather and with no energy? And who’d want to run in this neighborhood anyway? She didn’t think it was dangerous, just ugly. Okay, maybe a little dangerous.
Only, not as dangerous as tromping on someone’s heart.
Daniel must have called Stefi, because now Stefi phoned daily. On Saturday, Stefi caught up with her mother while Sam was kicking around the apartment, vegging. “Mom, how come you still won’t talk to Teo?” was Stefi’s first question after they’d exchanged a couple of pleasantries.
Sam slammed shut her eyes and took a couple of deep breaths before saying, “Where did that come from?”
“Well, I called to chat with him about the possibilities for next year with Signora Tascini.”
“Stefi, honey,” she began, her grip on the phone tightening, “I love you, but I don’t think my relationship with Teo is something you need to fret over.”
“Don’t be angry at Teo, Mama. I asked. The thing is, I know you like him and he likes you. Maybe you could use a friend like that. A real one.”
Sam did not want to have this conversation. Why couldn’t everyone just leave her alone? Besides, hadn’t they already talked about this?
“Mama?”
Sam sighed. “Remember how you felt about Guido when you first met him, the excitement of something new in a romantic setting?”
“Sure.”
“Well, I think that’s what happened between Teo and me. Now that I’m back here, it doesn’t seem real.”
“But it might be, if you gave it a chance. I think he’s perfect for you.”
Daniel wanted to fix her eating and exercise habits. Now Stefi was interested in her love life. “And you know him so well?” She couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of her voice.
“Enough to see that he’s fun and nice and likes you. A lot. Besides,” —and here Stefi’s voice waxed enthusiastic— “he’s been awfully good to me. And to you.”
Good? Good like old Jack had been, helping the twins find a motorboat, helping Daniel with a good-paying job so he and Cindy could marry and stay in school? But Jack hadn’t been good for their mother at all.
“I’m glad Teo’s been able to help you.” The conversation exhausted her, but she couldn’t hang up. This was her daughter. “Okay, yes, Teo was very good to me, too. But things like the Venice trip aren’t real life.”
“They could be. I think you sell yourself short.”
“Sweetie, it’s not a question of selling myself one way or the other. I appreciate your concern, but right now I just need time to get over all that’s happened. Okay? Maybe not so many phone calls.”
“I just want you to be happy.” Stefi’s hurt tone made her feel terrible, but she didn’t have the energy to fix things just then.
She did her best with, “I know. I love you.”
And then she sat back and imagined Stefi closing her cell phone, calling to the other girls in her apartment, asking if one of them wanted to go out with her. Because that’s how Stefi dealt with hurt and disappointment. Or at least, that’s how she always had. Go out, have fun. Stefi would smile that bright smile and charm the world. She’d certainly charmed Teo. And obviously been charmed by him.
Sam let the thought of Teo linger. She allowed herself to imagine, just for a moment, what he was doing on that Saturday afternoon. Was he still in Reggio? Or had he gone traveling, hunting up new ideas for another of Sophrina’s adventures?
She hung a clean towel in the bathroom and got out the liquid cleanser to scrub the ancient tub. As she rubbed at scum lines (were there any, or was that just where the finish had been denuded?), she wondered how long it would take Teo to shrug her off, decide she wasn’t worth worrying about.
She wasn’t. But the thought etched at her, like a burnishing tool on a metal plate. She poured on more cleanser and rubbed harder on the rust stains underneath the drippy faucet. They wouldn’t come out, no matter how much bleaching agent she used.
She got off her knees and went after the week’s accumulation in the sink. When she finished the bathroom, she’d give the kitchen floor a good mopping.
If only she could scrub her soul clean while she was at it.
38
Samantha
I picked up shells and hid them well,
Collecting pails of woe.
It overflowed and bent my back,
Buckling my knees to the sand.
Sam was still in her sweat clothes when the knock came on Sunday afternoon. She hadn’t taken a shower or washed the breakfast dishes—or
maybe they should be considered lunch dishes. The last thing she wanted was company.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me, Sam. Open up.”
No mistaking that voice. Sam should have known the only one left to hound her was Rhea. She finger-brushed her hair and opened the door. Rhea breezed past, stopping in the middle of the living room and letting her eyes roam over the drab space. “So, this is where you’ve been hiding.” Her friend’s voice hummed disapproval. Rhea slipped out of her coat and flung it on the couch. “Girl, go get yourself ready. I’ve come to take you out. Becky’s off with friends, and I decided I needed some Sam time.”
Sam swiped at the wet that overflowed onto her cheeks. “I’m a mess.”
“So, go get un-messy. We’ll find ourselves something delicious to eat. Maybe go have sushi at that new place downtown. I know you like sushi, and I can have the scallop dish.”
“I need a shower.”
“Then have one. I can wait.”
Sam hurried into the bathroom and turned on the water. While it was heating up, she snatched a pair of jeans, a silk turtleneck, and clean underwear from her room. She smiled as she soaped down, rinsed, and dried herself. She was still smiling while she dressed.
“Good job,” Rhea said as she turned from the kitchen sink and looked her over.
“I didn’t mean for you to do the dishes.”
“Didn’t take a minute. Get your coat, and let’s go.”
They drove into the city and parked in a garage across from the harbor. The cold bit Sam’s cheeks on the walk to the restaurant. She ordered a mixed plate of sushi rolls, Rhea, her scallops, and then Rhea got down to business.
“You been worrying me, Sam. Now I see that apartment of yours—honey, I’m scared.”
“You don’t need to be. I’m okay.”
“No, ma’am, you’re not. Look at you. You talk to me from Italy, you’re happy and enthusiastic. You get back, and you fall off the edge again. What happened this time?”
Sam squeezed lemon into her hot tea, then added a packet of sugar. She concentrated on stirring, watching the miniature whirlpool her spoon created, waiting for it to settle. Little pieces of lemon pulp rose to the surface and floated. She sipped and felt them slip into her mouth. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
Rhea waited. The waitress came, delivered their order. Rhea thanked her, said, “Bow your head and let’s get this going.” Rhea thanked God, and, oh, Sam missed her, missed this, with a mighty tug on her heart.
She reached across the table and squeezed Rhea’s hand. “Thank you.”
“Eat,” Rhea said, taking a bite, waiting.
Sam picked up her chopsticks, but couldn’t bring herself to do more than dunk a piece in her small bowl of soy sauce. Rhea would probably sit there all day if she didn’t say something. “Has Tootie talked to you at all?”
“Hellos a time or two. But since you’ve been back, I haven’t been bothering her. Figured she’d come to you if she needed anything.”
“You remember I told you about Jack being in the hospital.”
“That got you all crazy again?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“His girlfriend shot herself in my boat. I found her.”
Rhea set her sandwich back on the plate. “Whoa.”
Sam shredded her napkin as she spoke, making little distinct piles, and caught herself. When had she picked up that habit? She brushed the piles away and pulled another napkin from the holder. “Yeah, India tried to poison Jack, and then she killed herself.”
Sam saw it again, India’s body, dark red blood starkly outlined against white floorboards. She could still hear Tootie’s voice, as if in another dimension, telling her about some photos and the poison. The photos because of her actions, the poison because of the photos, the suicide because of the poison. No matter what Tootie said, the photos were the catalyst, and she, Sam, had starred in those. She and Jack. The sour rose in her throat again, hard and fast.
“’Scuse me,” she said, barely making it to the restroom.
When she returned to the table, she sat down and tried to focus on Rhea and not the plate of food she’d never be able to eat. “Maybe I ought to go home. I’m not feeling well.”
“You blaming yourself for it all?” Rhea asked, taking another forkful of her rice. “It’s no good holding all this blame, Sam. You need to let it go.”
“Easy to say.” Her voice still shook. So did she.
“It’s a lot to carry if you don’t. You know perfectly well where you’re supposed to take guilt and shame. Better get on those knees of yours and work up some calluses, girl, or this is gonna kill you. Hear?”
Sam forced her lips to spread in the semblance of a smile. “Yeah, well, let’s talk about something else. You came to cheer me up, so let’s get cheerful.” She lifted her chopsticks.
“Amen. Let’s you and me do just that.” Rhea patted her hand. “You tell me about this man you spent all that time with in Italy, the writer. Love his name. Teo.” She let it glide over her lips. “You heard from him?”
“I did, but I can’t. You know? I mean, he’s a great guy, but I’m here, he’s there.” Sam shrugged, clamping the sticks around another piece of roll, but not lifting it off the plate. “I’m recovering. It wouldn’t be fair to him. Probably not fair to me either. Another man, another issue.”
Rhea shook her head. “Sam, honey, much as I love you, I gotta tell you, you’re a mess.”
Her “ha” took the place of laughter. “Thanks so much.”
“It’s time to wise up and get with the program, girl, or you’re going to be moaning through life, looking for more sadness to heap on those shoulders. And, let me tell you, it’ll be happy to find you.”
Sam pushed her plate away and wiped her lips. “I appreciate you trying to help, but you’re not. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”
“Seems to me, you get yourself right with God, then you look things square in the face. It’s not like Italy’s at the end of the earth. He’d come, I just bet you. And if he likes you as much as I’m guessing, and you like him...”
“Let it alone, Rhea.” Sam collected her jacket and waved for the bill. “I’m paying,” she said, pushing Rhea’s hand away when she tried to take the slip from the waiter. Dropping a couple of bills on the table, Sam slid her chair back. “I’ll meet you outside.” She left Rhea asking for to-go boxes.
They both seemed focused on the roads—or inside their thoughts—as the car headed back to the apartment. Sam didn’t even mention that Rhea’d been the one to warn Sam away from a new entanglement. A bit hypocritical, wasn’t it, this new line of Rhea’s?
“Take your lunch,” Rhea said, handing over one styrofoam box after she’d stopped the car.
She thanked Rhea and exited the car. Then, without a backward glance, she hurried up the sidewalk, jogged up the stairs, and tried to fit the key in the lock with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking.
The world needed to leave her alone. All her friends, her children. Her head.
She’d be okay. She would. Grief didn’t last forever, even when it felt like it would.
“I’ll be fine. You hear? Fine.”
Never, the walls seemed to scream back at her, louder than her own words, heavier in her mind. They traced tendrils down her body, neck to back to legs, down her front until they grabbed her around the middle and poked like a bully’s taunt. You lie.
Sam woke early Monday, still in Sunday’s jeans. She kicked them off and climbed right back in bed. Dawn hadn’t yet happened. And besides, why should she bother to get up? Cindy’s mother had finally come yesterday, so she was off the hook there.
Yeah, fine. She winced as she thought of how much she’d become the whiner she despised. She hated whiners. She hated wimps.
Samantha Ransom, depression personified. Didn’t she once think people who caved in to blackness weak? What a hypocrite.
Ah, so not only Rhea, but she herself fit that
mold. Double-minded.
Hypocrite, the walls hissed.
She hated this spiral she’d fallen into, this down-the-rabbit-hole-but-not-into-Wonderland place she inhabited. But the on-her-knees thing just wore her out and left her wearier than when she’d started. The door between her and heaven seemed closed and locked.
She groaned and shut her eyes, trying to block out the thoughts that rattled loudly. She wasn’t hungry. If only she were. She needed something to propel her out of bed.
Parents teach children that all actions bring about consequences: touch fire, and you’ll be burned; misbehave, and you’ll be punished; run into the road, and a car could hit you. She remembered her own, “Stefi, no! Hot! The stove burns!” and, “Daniel, no! Stop! There’s a car coming!”
Had she herself been deaf? Or merely a lost fool?
There was no blaming her own childhood, because what good did that do? She was a grown woman. Responsible for her own failings. And her own choices.
And yet. She’d been the sort of wife a man leaves. Why? What had been so terrible about her that Greg couldn’t have kept their marriage?
If that weren’t enough, she’d become the sort of woman who took from another, pushing that other into such pain that death had seemed a better alternative than life. How could she, Sam, atone for such a thing? India would never hear her “I’m sorry.” No matter how loudly Sam shouted it. Or how often.
Sam pulled the sheet over her head, whimpering, her head full of Oh God, oh God, oh God.
She, of the strict moral code. Whoosh. A few hormonal urges, and she’d behaved as if the rules had never existed.
Tossing back the sheet, she drew in a deep breath of stale apartment air. She had to get out, go, do something. She’d suffocate otherwise.
She didn’t bother with a shower, just pulled on sweats, a jacket, and her running shoes. A swig of orange juice for energy and a quick granola bar, and she hit the dry sidewalk, slowly at first to let the granola settle, picking up the pace when she felt able.
Who cared if the neighborhood were ugly? It wasn’t any uglier than this ragged body she inhabited.
Sailing out of Darkness (Carolina Coast Book 4) Page 26
