“What’d you have a fight with the Hunk?”
So much for boundaries. The word wasn’t even in Stacy’s lexicon. “Not exactly.”
“Whoa. Wait a minute, here. ‘Not exactly’?”
Sam bit her lip, fiddled with a detail at the base of the cake drawing. “All right. We had a disagreement. Let’s just leave it at that.”
Stacy left the tins half filled and plopped down at the desk next to Sam. “Jeez.”
“What?”
“You had a fight with the Hottie? Is that crazy or what? Half the women in town say a prayer every night that you two will split up. Believe me, they’re waiting in the wings.”
Sam didn’t doubt that for one second. “Not a fight. Okay? A disagreement.”
“Whatever.” Stacy paused. “Let’s see. He’s what? A Sagittarius, right?”
“I guess. December fifteenth.”
“Fire sign.”
In spite of herself, Sam’s interest was captured. “Which means what?”
“Slow to anger.” That was Lee all right. “And idealistic.”
“So where’s the bad part?”
“Carried to an extreme, Sagittarians can be condescending or dogmatic.”
Try self-righteous, Sam thought.
“So what happened?”
“It’s ridiculous, really.” Sam pushed aside the sketch and fought back the tears that suddenly threatened.
Stacy gave her a quick look and rose. “Wait a minute. This is serious.”
“Let’s forget it.” Sam focused again on the sketch. “I’m okay. Really.”
“Really, you’re not,” Stacy said. “Believe me. I know the signs, and I’m not talking zodiac.”
“What signs?”
“The trouble-in-paradise signs. God knows I’ve been there often enough.”
“We’ve had a disagreement, that’s all. We’ll work it out.” Sam prayed this was true.
Stacy crossed the kitchen and rooted through the cupboard.
“What are you looking for?”
“Coffee. This conversation definitely calls for coffee.”
What it called for, in Sam’s mind, was a reestablishment of boundaries. “I think there’s some on the bottom shelf.”
“I opened that last week.”
“Then I’m out.”
“No prob. I’ll just hop over to the General Store and get us fresh-brewed to go.”
“Please, don’t bother. Really, there’s no need.”
“Regular or Irish cream?”
Sam surrendered. “Hazelnut. If they have it. If not, regular. Tall. With skim.” As if problems could be resolved with a jolt of caffeine. “Take some money out of the drawer.”
“This one’s on me. Anything else? Bagel or Danish?”
“Just coffee’s fine.”
“Be back in twenty.”
Sam left the desk and finished up with the cake tins Stacy had left half filled. She put them in the convection oven and set the timer. We’ll work it out. She wanted to believe this, but her heart felt stone-heavy. She pictured the hurt look on Lee’s face, the stubborn set of his mouth when he left. She would have given her left foot to be able to retract some of the words she’d flung at him.
“After you came home and found them, what did she say?” Lee had asked. They were lying on her bed.
“I don’t know. I never spoke to her again,” she said.
“You didn’t give her a chance to explain?”
Sam looked at him. “Explain? How could you explain something like that? I never wanted to see her again.”
“I can understand that. But didn’t she want to talk to you?”
“I wouldn’t take her calls.”
“Jesus, Sam.”
He raised himself on one elbow and looked down at her. “You have to call her, Sam.”
“No way. Forget it.”
“Why?”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I just can’t, that’s all.”
He fell back against the pillow. “Just tell me what’s so difficult about picking up the phone.”
“Look, Lee. I don’t want to talk about this.”
“My God, Sam, it’s been six years. When will you want to talk about it?”
Try never.
“She’s your sister. Your only sister.”
When she didn’t respond, he stared at the ceiling, considering. “Is it about punishing Libby?” he said after a few minutes.
She could not believe he was asking her that. “Wrong question, Lee. The question here is, why are you acting like it’s my fault? I’m not the one in the wrong.”
He reached over and stroked her cheek. “It’s not about who’s at fault, hon.”
She pushed his hand away. “The hell it isn’t. That’s exactly what it’s about.”
“No, it isn’t, Sam.”
“Then what is it about?”
He drew her to him, held her. She could feel his heart beat against her skin.
“I’d say it’s about being hurt,” he said. “It’s about pride.”
“Pride?” She pulled away. “How can you even say that? Shit, I just finished telling you what she did to me and you think I’m not calling her because my pride is hurt? Jesus. I can’t believe you think that. She betrayed me, Lee.”
“Sam?” He cupped her face in his palms. “Listen to me. It’s true. She did betray you.”
“In the worst way.”
“Okay, okay. But sometimes people who love each other do that.”
“Well, they shouldn’t.”
“Maybe so, but they do.”
“Oh, please.”
“They do, Sam. It’s called being human.”
“Spare me the platitudes.”
He fell silent, then, after a moment, stood up and started to dress. “What are you doing?” Fingers of panic brushed her chest.
He buttoned his shirt, found his shoes. “Just tell me this, Sam. Don’t you think you’ve punished her enough?”
She sat upright, her back rigid. “You think that’s what it’s about? Punishing her? Christ, whose side are you on?”
“I’m not taking sides here.”
“The hell you’re not.”
He sat on the edge of the mattress. “Forgive her, Sam,” he said.
“I can’t.”
“You can. Forgiveness is a choice we make. You won’t. That’s the choice you’ve made. So don’t say you can’t.”
“Don’t you understand, Lee? There are some things you can’t forgive.”
His brown eyes were steady on hers. “There’s nothing that can’t be forgiven.”
“Well, thank you, Mother Teresa.”
“Jesus, Sam. Don’t let’s do this.”
“Do what?”
“I don’t want to fight with you, Sam. I just want you to call your sister. It’s been too long. You know I’m right.”
“You’re not right. You’re self-righteous.”
“Sam—” Lee’s voice was low and it held a warning she was too angry to heed.
“You’re self-righteous and smug and just because you found it so goddamn easy to forgive the father who walked out on you, that doesn’t make you the authority on forgiveness. For sure, it doesn’t give you the right to tell me what I should or shouldn’t be doing.”
“Okay,” Lee said. “I’m getting the message.” He crossed the room, turned to her at the door.
“Where are you going?”
“I’ll be at the yard. Call me when you’re ready.”
“Ready for what?” she said.
“To grow up.”
Her hands clutched the pillow, but by the time she threw it, he had left the room.
“Here we go.” Stacy set the bag on the counter. “Two hazelnuts, one skim regular and one with the works.” She passed a coffee to Sam.
“Thanks.” Sam pried the lid off her cup.
Stacy reached back into the bag and took out a paper-wrapped pastry. �
��And one Danish. Cream cheese and cherry. To split.”
“I’ll pass.”
“Oh, come on. How bad can half be?” Stacy broke the pastry in two and handed Sam one half. “So I was thinking,” she said. “I don’t know what happened with you and the Hunk, but I think you should just pick up the phone and call him.” She took a bite of the Danish.
“Wait a minute. Why should I call Lee?”
“To apologize.” Stacy finished the pastry, licked her fingers.
“I should apologize? You don’t even know what we argued about.”
“Listen, you’re both stubborn. Right? So the question is, do you love him?” Stacy plowed right on without waiting for Sam to answer. “Of course you do. Anyone who’s been around the two of you can see that. You’re crazy about him and he’s mad for you. So don’t screw it up. Are you going to eat that or not?”
Sam slid her Danish across the counter.
Stacy took a bite. “Or go over and see him.”
Sam sipped her coffee. “I think we need some cooling-off time.”
The telephone cut off Stacy’s response. “Want me to get that?”
Sam nodded. She hoped it was Lee.
“Golliwog’s Cakewalk,” Stacy said. “Yes. May I tell her who’s calling?”
Sam blew out a breath of disappointment.
“Sure,” Stacy said to the caller. She held the phone toward Sam. “It’s for you.”
“Who is it?” Sam mouthed the words.
Stacy cupped her hand over the receiver. “Cynthia,” she said. “She says she’s your sister-in-law.”
Sam’s hand rose to her throat and she automatically noted the time. Eleven o’clock. Nine o’clock in Denver. Even now, after all these years, whenever Cynthia called, Sam’s first reaction was to check the time. It had been Cynthia, not Josh, who had phoned with the news about the plane crash and her parents’ deaths.
“Hi,” Cynthia said.
“Hi,” Sam said. “What’s happening? How are the kids?”
“They’re fine. Both on varsity again,” Cynthia said. “Jeffrey’s playing goalie this year. Robert’s still at center.”
“That’s great.” Would she even recognize her nephews? Cynthia sent a picture every Christmas, but Sam hadn’t actually seen them since her parents’ funeral. She did a quick calculation. They were eight and nine then, so they had to be sixteen and seventeen now. “How’s Josh?” It had been weeks and weeks since she’d spoken with her brother.
“Crazy,” Cynthia said. “Training like a madman.”
“Another marathon?” Josh had started running after their parents died. He’d done Boston four years ago and Sam had been in the crowd at Chestnut Hill to cheer him on for the final miles.
“No. He’s training for an Ironman. I wrote about it in our Christmas letter. Remember?”
Ah, yes. Cynthia’s annual letter detailing her family’s many successes. “That’s right,” Sam said. “Hawaii, is it? The one in Maui?”
“San Diego,” Cynthia said. “Next August.”
“Good for him,” Sam said. She took a sip of coffee, wondered if it was the difference in their ages or geography that distanced her from her brother and his family.
“He’s training twenty to twenty-five hours a week. This competition is very important to him.”
“I can imagine,” Sam said. She drank more coffee and rolled her eyes at Stacy, a just-get-me-off-the-phone look.
“That’s why I think it’s so unfair of Libby.”
The name shot through Sam. “Libby?”
“Naturally, I feel sorry for her,” Cynthia said. “You know I do. But I don’t think she has any right to keep after Josh like this. He’s already told her he can’t do it, but she keeps at him. Then he feels guilty for saying no. She called again yesterday. This time she said all she wants is for him to be tested, to see if he is a match, but then what? I mean, why even be tested if you’re not going to be a donor?”
Sam had to sit down. A donor?
“And what if the disease is inherited?” Cynthia went on. “She says it isn’t, but how can they be certain? And God forbid, what if Jeffrey or Robert ever needed a kidney? What then?”
“A kidney?” Sam said. Stacy looked over at her.
“Exactly. Josh would want to be able to give one to his own sons. Besides, it’s not like it’s a huge emergency. They’ve got her on dialysis. From what I understand, people can stay on that for years.”
Sam swallowed against the coffee that rose to her throat. She felt suddenly light-headed.
“I mean, if she wanted money, that would be one thing, although with Richard’s trust money they have more than God. But body parts are quite something else. Anyway,” Cynthia went on, “I thought maybe you could give Josh a call. Support him in his decision.” She drew a breath. “Wait a minute. Wait a minute. You’re not going to be tested, are you? She hasn’t guilted you into it, has she?”
“No,” Sam said, barely able to get the words out. “I’m not getting tested.”
“Well, give Josh a call, will you? You two need to stick together on this.”
“Bad news?” Stacy said after Sam hung up.
Sam nodded, unable to speak. She stared up at the bulletin board over her workstation, stared at the dozens of couples posed by their cakes, preparing for the ritual cutting.
“Are you all right?” Stacy said. “You’re as white as a cup of Crisco.”
Libby needs a kidney. The photos on the board blurred and she blinked away tears, stared at the cakes. They were four and five layers, their height a tradition from the middle ages. Libby needs a kidney. A couple would kiss over a tower of cakes, trying not to knock them down. If they succeeded, it meant a lifetime of prosperity.
“Sam?”
Why would anyone believe it was possible to protect against the future?
Stacy crossed to Sam. “You’re shaking,” she said. “What’s happened?”
Sam looked away from the bridal couples, so certain of the happiness that awaited them. “It’s my sister.” She remembered the message Libby had left on her machine. Please, Libby had said. Please call me.
Six years. Sam had thought she was free. But love was never free, she realized now. It bound you.
“Will it hurt?” Sam asks in a baby voice.
Libby does not answer. She concentrates on the match flame at the tip of the safety pin.
“Why are you doing that?” Sam whispers. They are not supposed to have matches. They will be in big trouble if their mother catches them.
“So the pin will be sterile,” Libby says, “and we won’t get infected.” She is eleven and knows a lot more about things than Sam.
“Oh,” Sam says. Her hands are still sticky from the peach they had eaten earlier and she thinks maybe she should have washed before they began.
Libby goes first. Sam watches, mesmerized, as her sister pricks her finger and, immediately, a drop of blood appears. Sam wants to stop now. When Libby told her all about the Three Musketeers and about vows for life, it had sounded exciting, but now she isn’t sure. Libby reaches for her hand.
It does hurt. Tears fill Sam’s eyes, but she does not cry out.
“Good girl,” Libby says. She lifts Sam’s finger to her mouth, licks off the blood. Her tongue is warm on Sam’s skin.
“Now you,” Libby says. She holds her finger for Sam to lick.
Blood always, always makes Sam feel funny in her stomach.
“Go on,” Libby says. “We both have to do it, or it won’t work.”
Sam closes her eyes and licks Libby’s finger.
“Forever and ever,” Libby says, using her grown-up voice. “Me for you and you for me. Now it’s your turn.”
“Forever and ever,” Sam says.
“Me for you and you for me,” Libby says.
“Me for you and you for me,” Sam echoes.
Libby hugs her. “I love you, Sam-I-Am.”
“I love you back,” Sam says. Her tears have dr
ied. She tastes the sweetness of peach juice, the salt of Libby’s blood.
Libby
Libby took the entire drive from the lake to the center at a good ten miles over the limit, risking a stop by the local traffic cops, who were notorious for ticketing speeders. Even so, she was thirty minutes late for her appointment.
Dodi, the receptionist, looked pointedly at the wall clock and then back at Libby. “You’re late,” she said.
“I’m sorry.” Several people in the waiting room looked over at her. Libby’s cheeks flushed. What was this? Grammar school? A reprimand for a rule infraction?
Behind Dodi, in a separate cubicle, several nurses had gathered. They talked softly.
Dodi tapped her pencil on the appointment book. “It’s important that you be on time for your treatment.”
“Yes.” Libby considered excuses. An emergency in the family, car trouble, flat tire.
“Otherwise,” Dodi continued, “you set everything back for the entire day.”
“I understand.” Forget the excuses, Libby decided. She’d be damned if she was going to lie just to avoid this lecture. Maybe she’d just blurt out the truth, how she’d been sitting in a parking lot on the edge of Lake Michigan trying to build up courage to face another session. Did these people understand what it was like, coming here?
Libby was rescued by Kelly. She followed the nurse to an exam room and was weighed, her legs and abdomen checked for fluid retention. The checkup was perfunctory, almost abrupt, performed without Kelly’s usual chatter. Libby assumed the nurse, like Dodi, was upset because she’d been late.
“I’m sorry to set the schedule back,” she said.
“Don’t worry about it,” Kelly said. She led Libby out to the treatment bay.
It took Libby a moment to notice how quiet the area was. Conversation was subdued. The television was nearly inaudible.
Libby barely had time to sit down when Jesse leaned over. “Lord, I’m glad to see you, girl.”
“You had us worried,” Eleanor said from Libby’s other side. “Is everything all right? Did you have car trouble?”
“No. The car’s fine.” The women’s concern took her by surprise. She settled back, unbuttoned her shirt. Kelly slid the tubes into her catheter. The nurse stayed until the machine began pumping blood.
“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about any saline imbalance today,” Kelly said. “Your numbers are textbook, but I’ll keep checking anyway. Right now I’ve got to go get Mr. Waters off his monitor. I’ll be back. Okay?”
The Law of Bound Hearts Page 14
