“Hey, Sam,” Micah greets him. “Good party, huh?”
I’m amazed. Micah doesn’t seem the least bit fazed about making out with me in front of my uncle. But then Sam doesn’t act like he’s bothered by it either, and I begin to think that I’m the only one who’s rattled by the situation.
“You kids having a good time?” Sam says.
“For sure,” Micah replies.
Sam nods. “That’s good. Real good. You gotta love these potluck suppers. Nothin’ like a little chicken pot pie and macaroni salad to do a body good.”
Even though he’s looking up at the night stars as he speaks, I know Sam is talking to me, and my cheeks turn to fire. Thank god, it’s dark.
Chapter Twelve
I can’t sleep. At first, it’s because I don’t want to. My head is swimming with thoughts of Micah, and I revisit the day again and again, committing every magical moment to memory. The knowledge that I’m going to have to leave Webb’s River and return to Vancouver niggles its way into my head too, but there’s still a month before that happens, so I push the thought away.
I don’t know how long I lie smiling in the dark — hours I’m sure — but eventually I become aware of something other than Micah competing for my attention. I prop myself on one elbow and listen. A cough. Footsteps. Then an outside door opens and closes. Another cough.
Clearly, Sam isn’t sleeping either, though I doubt it’s for the same reason as me. He was popular with the ladies at the potluck supper — there’s no doubt about that — but he didn’t appear to be spending time with anyone in particular, so it’s unlikely that happy thoughts about some woman are what’s keeping him awake.
I feel around on the TV table for my watch and peer at the luminous face. It’s almost two thirty.
Climbing from my bed, I pad to the living room and peek out the window. I see Sam right away. Well, not him actually — it’s pitch-black out there — but I catch the red glow of his cigarette. He’s standing by the fire pit. He takes another drag and follows it with a fit of coughing. I frown. Smoking is so not good for Sam. I have to get him to quit. He can call me a nag if he wants to, but since he doesn’t have the sense to kick the habit on his own, he leaves me no choice.
I squint harder into the darkness, but now I can’t even see Sam’s cigarette. He must have put it out. I’m just about to head back to bed, when a light appears in the shed. It’s too bright to be coming from Sam’s lighter, so it has to be a lantern. Whatever is keeping Sam from sleeping, it looks like he’s gone to talk it over with Jasmine.
———
Lying awake half the night takes its toll, and I sleep late. Sam isn’t there when I get up, but the coffee is on and there’s a note.
Gone to Kamloops. Didn’t want to wake you. May be away most of the day. Stay out of trouble.
Sam
PS. Jasmine could use some exercise.
“You knew I was going to get on your case about smoking, didn’t you?” I mutter as I scowl at the note. I rip it up and chuck it in the garbage. “That’s why you’ve taken off for the day, you coward.”
Still grumbling, I pour myself a coffee and take it outside. It’s another gorgeous morning — it hasn’t rained once since I’ve come to Webb’s River. The sun’s warmth makes me want to curl up on the steps like a contented cat. Except I’m not content. I can’t stop wondering why Sam has gone to Kamloops, and why he didn’t tell me he was going. And why he didn’t take me with him. For some reason I can’t explain, I have the uncomfortable feeling that whatever it is, it has something to do with his middle of the night visit to Jasmine.
Unfortunately, all the thinking in the world doesn’t give me any answers. I’m just going to have to ask Sam when he gets back.
In the meantime, I have to figure out what to do with myself all day — besides take Jasmine for a ride. Without a vehicle, I’m stranded. Still there must be something.
“Oh, damn!” Too late I realize I’ve leaned against the trailer, and now I must have dirt all down the back of my T-shirt. “Darn you anyway, Sam!” I fume as I set down my coffee mug and try to dust myself off. “This trailer is filthy. Why don’t you wash it?” Sam may not be around, but I give him a piece of my mind anyway and hope his ears are burning.
“Why don’t you wash it?” a voice inside my head retorts. I want to pretend it’s Sam, but I know it’s me. I stop flailing at my back and ponder the idea.
Yeah. Why don’t I? It would give me something to do, and it might be kind of fun, not to mention a great surprise for Sam. The prospect of doing something to please him is so appealing, I temporarily forget I’m ticked at him.
I dump the remainder of my coffee onto the grass and head off in pursuit of cleaning supplies. With what’s stowed beneath the trailer and in the shed, as well as what’s under the kitchen sink, I find everything I need, and in a matter of minutes I’m up to my elbows in soapy water, scrubbing the trailer back to whiteness.
When I’m done, half the dirt that was on the trailer is now on me, but I don’t care. I step back to check out my work. In some places the sun has discoloured the metal siding, while in other spots rust has taken over, but the trailer still looks a million percent better than it did before. Sam can’t help but notice.
Now I’m inspired, and I set out to do a number on the inside, too. I scrub the kitchen and bathroom until they sparkle. I wash the floors and vacuum the carpets. Sam doesn’t have furniture polish, but glass cleaner works just fine on fake wood, and when I set a Mason jar of wildflowers on the coffee table, the place actually looks pretty good.
Except for the stacks of books. They’re still an eyesore. I can tidy the piles, but that’s not going to fix the problem. I need to get rid of some of the books themselves. I look around for a place to stash the ones I know Sam has read. The shelves in my room are already bursting; I can’t put them there. I could stick a few under the couch, but they’d still show, and that would look just as awful as having them in stacks.
The only cabinet is the one beneath Sam’s giant television. It’s low but fairly long. Maybe I can store some of the books in there. Dropping down onto the floor, I slide open one of the doors and am pleasantly surprised to discover the bottom shelf empty except for a few scattered sheets of paper. Easy enough to put those somewhere else.
I shut that door and open the other one. Both shelves on this side are taken up with boxes. I pull one out and look inside. It’s half-full with what look like ledgers. I haul out another box. It too is only partially filled, this time with bunches of bank statements and other business stuff held together with elastic bands. These will easily fit in the box with the ledgers, and that will clear up more space for the books. I pull out the third box. It’s heavy. I can tell it’s full without even opening the flaps. Just one box left. As I drag it from the shelf, I’m hopeful because it’s pretty light. I quickly flip back the flaps and look inside.
The box contains photographs. Lots of them. I feel myself smile, and for the moment I forget about stashing the books. Despite numerous attempts to get Sam to open up about his past, I’ve learned next to nothing about him. I’m thinking maybe these pictures will tell me stuff he won’t. I dump them onto the floor and start picking through them. A teeny part of me feels guilty about snooping — but not enough to make me stop.
The first few that I look at are rodeo shots: Sam on a horse, Sam roping a calf, Sam with a couple of other cowboys. The date stamps on the pictures indicate they were taken ten to fifteen years ago. There’s no mistaking it’s Sam though. He’s younger — no silver in his hair and the laugh-lines aren’t carved into his face yet — but I can still tell it’s him.
“Whoa!” I pull out a picture that makes me do a double take. It’s Sam and my mom, but they can’t be much older than I am now. They have their arms around each other’s waists, and they’re smiling big-time for the camera. And they’re wearing their turquoise gemstones. I flip the photo over to look for the date, but there isn’t one. It doe
sn’t matter. The picture has to have been taken after Sam’s trip to New Mexico, and that was before I was born, which would make Sam about twenty-two. That means Mom couldn’t be more than twenty.
I study the photograph more closely — first Sam and then Mom. If it weren’t for her crazy clothing and hairstyle, I might think I was looking at myself. I know people are always saying how much alike we are, but I’ve never really seen it before. Talk about spooky.
I dig through the rest of the photos. There are no more of Mom, and only a few of Sam. To my surprise, the rest are of me, and on the back of each, there’s a note in my mother’s handwriting — Dani on her first birthday, Dani on her tricycle, Dani in her grade four play, Dani’s first date. Every major event of my life is chronicled by these photos. Wow! Mom really did keep in touch with Sam all those years. She did want him to know me — just like she said.
My throat gets tight, and my eyes well up. How hard that must have been, for both Mom and Sam, not being able to see each other. And Mom couldn’t even talk about him. She had no one to share her feelings with. In a way, it was probably easier for Sam. Though he was away from family, he didn’t have to worry about keeping the situation secret. I blink back my tears and smile. Yeah, right! Sam is the most private person I have ever met. He probably never said a word to anyone either.
Now I really do feel guilty about snooping through his pictures, and I sure don’t want him to know I’ve been doing it. Afraid that Lizzie will come rumbling into sight at any second, I shove the photographs back into the box and return it to the shelf. I slide the other boxes back into their places too. Then I glance around at the piles of books and sigh. Maybe they’ll look better if I dust them.
Chapter Thirteen
My cellphone rings while Jasmine and I are coming back from our ride. As I dig it out of my jeans, I’m hoping it’s Micah, though I know he has no time to call during the day. More than likely, it’s Sam, and I’m all set to give him a piece of my mind, but when I check the call display screen, I see it’s my mother.
“Hey, Mom!” I answer. “How’s it going?”
“Well, aren’t you cheerful this evening,” she says.
“Actually, it’s afternoon here.” I correct her. “Time difference, remember? But, yeah, I am in a good mood.”
“And why is that?”
“Well, let me see.” I heave a happy sigh. “The sun is shining, the sky is blue, and I’m on the back of a beautiful horse in the middle of a field of wildflowers. What’s not to be in a good mood about?”
“Hmmph,” Mom snorts. “Sounds to me like you’re in love. What’s his name?”
“Mother!”
“Don’t mother me. I’ve been married five times. You think I don’t recognize lovesick when I hear it?”
“Where are you?” I ask in an attempt to side-track her.
“Italy. Venice, to be precise. Just came back from a gondola ride. Reed is such a romantic.” Then her voice becomes steel once more. “But don’t try to change the subject. What’s the name of this fellow who has you riding rainbows?”
“Mother!” I complain again.
“Dani!” she comes right back. Clearly, she isn’t going to be deterred, so I don’t even bother arguing.
“His name is Micah,” I say.
“Micah? Let me guess. Tall and handsome. And he’s a cowboy.”
I’m surprised. “How did you know?”
She chuckles. “A — you’re my daughter, and the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, so tall and handsome are givens, and B — you’re in the Cariboo — cowboys are all they grow there. Does Sam know about him?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And he likes him. Micah and Sam get along really well. Oh, Mom!” I gush. Now that my secret is out, I want to tell her everything. “You’ll like him too. He’s so wonderful. Handsome — for sure, but he’s also smart, and funny, and a real gentleman.”
“Uh-huh. How old?”
“He’s nineteen. He just finished his first year at the University of Calgary. He’s a science major.”
“And when he’s done his degree, he plans to come back and work at the family business. I’m guessing they’re ranchers.”
I catch my breath. How can my mother possibly know all this? “Do you have someone spying on me?” I say.
She laughs. “No need.”
“Have you been talking to Sam?”
Her laugh fades away. “No, I haven’t. How is he?”
“He’s AWOL,” I say.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean he went to Kamloops today before I got up, and unless he’s come back while I’ve been riding, he’s still there.”
Mom is so quiet I wonder if the line has gone dead.
“Hello?”
“I’m still here,” she says. “Why did Sam go to Kamloops?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t tell me. He just left me a note. But don’t worry. I’m going to give him an earful when he gets back. I mean, why couldn’t he have taken me with him? I could use a change of scenery.”
“It sounds to me like you’re enjoying the scenery just fine,” Mom says sarcastically. “But aside from finding yourself a cowboy, what have you been doing?”
“Lots of things. For instance, last night Sam and I went to a potluck supper at the community centre. It was really cool. There was so much food, and it was all delicious. There were lots of people too. The place was packed. It’s crazy, Mom. If you’re driving on the highway, Webb’s River doesn’t exist — except for the sign. I mean, there’s no town — just a couple of businesses on the side of the road, and that’s it. Everything else and everyone else is hidden on back roads. At first I thought nobody lived here, but I was so wrong. There were hundreds of people at the potluck.
“Anyway, after supper, they cleared away the tables, a band went up on stage, and then there was dancing.” I laugh. “You should’ve seen Sam. He was the life of the party. The women wouldn’t leave him alone. Has he always been such a ladies’ man?”
Mom chuckles. “Not intentionally, I don’t think. But he’s tall and good-looking, intelligent, and a gentleman. As you well know.…” She pauses meaningfully. “That’s an irresistible combination for any female.”
Tall, handsome, smart, and a gentleman — that’s how I described Micah to my mother. And now she was describing Sam exactly the same way.
“Maybe it’s a cowboy thing,” I say.
Mom snickers again. “Maybe. So what else have you been up to?”
“Well, today — because I was stranded at Sam’s place — I did my ‘Mrs. Clean’ impersonation and scrubbed the trailer inside and out. Sam’s not going to recognize it.” Suddenly, I remember the photos. “While I was tidying up, I found a box of pictures. And most of them were of me. Have you been sending Sam photographs of me my whole life?”
Mom’s voice is barely a whisper when she replies. “It’s all I could do.” Then she goes completely quiet, and I feel her sadness. Finally, she says, “Does Sam know you saw the photos?” Then she clucks her tongue. “No, of course, he doesn’t. You said you just came across them today.”
“Please, don’t tell him,” I say quickly. “The pictures weren’t exactly sitting out in plain sight. I had to open a box to find them. Not that I was looking. I was just trying to make space to store things, and I thought if I could put whatever was in the box with stuff in another box, there’d be more room.” I take a breath. “I know I shouldn’t have looked at them, but —”
“It’s okay. No, you shouldn’t have looked at them, but I won’t tell Sam.”
I relax a little. “Thanks, Mom.” Then, though I know I should probably leave the subject alone, I head right back to it. “There was a picture of you and Sam together,” I tell her.
I wait for my mother to say something, but she doesn’t.
“You guys were really young. And you were wearing the turquoise gemstones Sam got in New Mexico.”
&n
bsp; “He told you about that?” Mom sounds surprised.
“Yeah. He wore that string tie to the potluck supper, and when I said you had a turquoise pendant just like it, he told me where they came from. Why don’t you ever wear yours, Mom?”
“Why?” She laughs, but it sounds forced, and her next words come across the phone line in a rush. “Oh, I don’t know. I never think of it, I guess. You know me. I have so much jewellery, I can’t keep track of it all.” Then she changes the subject. “So how is Sam anyway?”
“You already asked me that,” I remind her.
“I know I did, but you didn’t give me an answer.”
“What do you want to know exactly?”
“Well, for one thing, how does he look? In my mind, he’s still twenty-two.”
“I think you need to update your mental image,” I tell her. “His hair is as much silver as it is black, and his face looks like chiselled stone. But when he smiles, it dissolves into deep laugh-lines. And he smiles a lot.”
“What about his weight?”
“What about it?”
“Does he have any meat on his bones?”
“No. He’s actually pretty skinny.”
“How skinny?”
“Skinny! Jeez, Mom! What’s with the third degree? I’ll take a picture with my phone and send it to you.”
“That would be good,” she mumbles.
Now it’s my turn to ask a question. “Has Sam always smoked?”
Mom sighs. “For as long as I’ve known him.”
“Good one, Mom,” I retort sarcastically. “Are you telling me Sam has been smoking since he was two?”
“No, of course not. Don’t be silly.” Mom tries to make it seem like I’m the one who said something goofy, but she sounds flustered. “You know what I mean. He’s been smoking so long, it seems like forever. Why do you ask?”
Truths I Learned from Sam Page 7
