“Shut up,” he laughed, reaching over to grab her foot. “You would’ve thought it was awesome.”
“So what do we do now? If I don’t get fed, I start to turn evil.”
Sam gave Viola his best poker face. “And that’s different than usual, because…?”
As he’d planned, the taunt made her mouth fall open at his audacity, and she promptly attacked him. It ended much better than the first time at the hospital, though, because there weren’t any surly psych techs around to interrupt them. Also, she was naked.
“Hey,” Sam said, after another half an hour had gone by, and they’d seriously reorganized the inside of his closet. “I have an idea. Let’s grab some food really quick, and then I want to take you somewhere. Did you buy a swimsuit?”
“Actually—yes,” she said, looking at him strangely. “But only because it seemed like a good way to make people think I was leaving the country. Why would I need one here? It’s freezing outside.”
Sam smiled, pushing her hair back from her face as he kissed her again. He would never get tired of the way her lips fit so perfectly against his. Twenty minutes ago, Viola had caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror on the inside of his closet door, and had stopped kissing him to yell at him for not warning her that she looked like a crazy bag lady. He’d kissed her a little more fiercely in answer, and she’d forgotten once again to care what she looked like.
Finally, after weeks of being afraid that he’d somehow broken Viola, Sam was beginning to understand that in her own way, she was already kind of broken—and so was he. So was everyone. Because tragic fate—or twisted luck, or whatever you wanted to call it—had brought them together, they were getting the chance to fit their broken pieces together into something new that felt completely whole and right. Something much better than their original, seperate selves.
And, sweet Jesus, he was starting to wax poetic. He was so totally screwed.
He liked it.
***
On the way to the Y, Sam had driven his car through a McDonald’s for burgers and a chicken nugget Happy Meal, because secretly, he wanted to see if Viola would deign to eat such base, common food. After Viola had gotten offended, and then treated Sam to a ten-minute lecture on the fact that she’d spent her childhood in France—and did he know that they had McDonald’s in Paris? They had one on the Champs-Elysées, for crying out loud!—he’d finally surrendered, apologized, made out with her in the YMCA parking lot for another twenty minutes, and then offered his fries as tribute to further appease her wrath.
When they finally exited the car, Sam was smiling like an idiot, but he couldn’t help it. He’d just experienced the trifecta of male happiness—junk food, his car, and the girl of his dreams—all in one place. Even though he knew it should be medically impossible, his chest felt like it might actually explode with happiness.
Leading Viola into his childhood stomping grounds—really, the only place in his hometown that didn’t seem tainted with bittersweet or painful memories—he checked in with Kim, the lady at the front desk, and then nudged Viola into the women’s locker room.
“Don’t worry,” he told her, smiling at how hard she was trying to hide her unease. “It might be Spring Break, but I promise you there won’t be a ton of people in there. Not this time of year. It’s too cold, and most people don’t like to be seen in their wintery pale state.”
“Except for you, apparently,” she groused, as she walked through the door on her own, head held high like she was walking into a tent at NYC fashion week, instead of the grungy public locker room at the Syracuse YMCA.
“See you in there,” Sam called after her, practically biting off his own tongue when it tried to add a ‘love you’ at the end.
“Simmer down, man,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head as he walked around the corner to enter the men’s locker room.
It just figured that when he finally found the girl he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, she’d be nineteen and recently out of a coma. Even though he was only a few years older, he couldn’t expect her to be in the same place as he was emotionally. Knowing her, she wouldn’t even think of settling down for another five years, at least. Even then, Sam realized, her notion of settling down probably involved a great deal of international travel. Not to mention some very expensive hobbies, like wine tasting and horseback riding, or whatever. As a first year resident, he couldn’t expect to live that kind of lifestyle, at least not for a good ten years. He didn’t have the freedom, or the financial stability.
Stripping quickly down to his Speedo shorts and sandals, Sam left the locker room and went into the main pool area. While he waited for Viola to appear, he tried to push all the uncertainty from his mind. This morning, when he’d been lying in bed with her head against his shoulder, his mind had never felt calmer or less cluttered. He wanted nothing more than to get back to that place, a place where everything seemed simpler and all thoughts of the past—and the distant future—seemed to fade into white noise.
After another five minutes, Viola shyly poked her head around the corner. Her hair was up in a ponytail, and she wore a one-piece swimsuit that looked retro, like the kind girls would wear in old Elvis movies. Somehow, she managed to make even chest-to-hip polka dots seem incredibly sexy.
“Come on,” Sam said, stepping backward easily into the water. He let his knees absorb what little shock there was as the water sucked him in, up to his waist. “You look amazing.”
“I’m not worried about how I look,” Viola answered peevishly, as her eyes darted nervously around the room. “It’s just…it’s kind of crowded, don’t you think? And what if…what if there are germs? What if my scar gets infected or something?”
Sam raised his eyebrows at her. “Crowded?”
There were only a few other people in the six-lane pool—two moms with a couple of small kids between them, and a half-dozen elderly people doing water aerobics—but they were all on the far end, too far away to be annoying.
“I don’t think you need to worry about germs,” he told her. “There’s so much chlorine in this pool, it could kill almost anything. And your surgery was almost two months ago.”
“Oh.” She bit her lip. “Okay, well, shouldn’t we maybe wait a little longer? I mean, we just ate, and they say you should wait at least an hour before swimming, right?”
“Viola, the water is only going to come up to your chest.” Sam backed up a step, holding his hand out to her. “But if you’re scared of getting a cramp and drowning, I promise to hold onto you the entire time.” He laughed at the indignant look on her face, knowing there was nothing she hated more than being talked to in a condescending tone.
Maybe that was the only way to overcome her nerves, he realized. By challenging her, the same way she’d taunted him into giving up his reservations earlier that morning.
“You’re not scared of the water, are you?” he joked.
The moment the words left his lips, Sam knew he’d made a mistake. Something dark passed across her face, and she took a step back from the edge of the pool, folding her arms protectively across her abdomen. Immediately, Sam went to her, pulling himself out of the water and wrapping his arms around her.
“You’re all wet,” she complained. But there wasn’t any real fight in her voice, and she wouldn’t meet his eyes until Sam put his hand under her chin and raised her face to his.
“I’m so sorry,” he told her. “It hadn’t even crossed my mind that you’d remember being in the water. That must have been terrifying.”
“It was,” she said. Her eyes were full of tears, and it was obvious that she was horrified by their appearance. “Let’s not talk about it anymore, okay?”
“Okay,” Sam said.
Taking her face between his hands, he kissed her. In front of the little kids and their moms, in front of the grandparents doing water ballet—for the first time that he could remember, he actually wanted to show off his feelings instead of hiding them. I
nstead of worrying about whether or not people would think he was too eager, or too intense.
“Listen,” he told her, when they finally came up for air. “I don’t want to pressure you into doing anything you don’t want to do. If you’re not ready, that’s okay. But if you decide you’re ready, I want you to know that you can trust me. I’m not going to let you go until you tell me to. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, okay?”
Mid-speech, Sam realized he had stopped talking about swimming and started talking about something much more important. But when he looked into Viola’s eyes to see if she’d noticed, if she’d understood what he wasn’t quite able to say, she was staring past him toward the water.
“You’re right,” she said. “It’s all in my head. I just need to face it, and get it over with.”
“Okay.” Feeling slightly disappointed, Sam took Viola’s hand and led her toward the water. He went in first, and then lifted her down after him. When the water crested her chest, she gasped and went rigid. Her eyes were still open, but she seemed to have very little grasp of her surroundings. Her breathing was shallow, and her hands shook. He was losing her, Sam realized.
“Viola, baby. Listen. Put your arms around me. I’ve got you. You’re all right. You’re safe.”
After a few seconds of panic, Viola closed her eyes and pressed her forehead into his chest. Her grip on his arms was unyielding. For a few seconds, they just stood there like that, letting the water lap around them.
“Am I safe, Sam?” When she spoke, her voice seemed to come from far away—echoing against the water’s surface even as his chest muffled its volume.
“Of course you are.”
When she looked up at him, there was something in her face that reminded him of the first time he’d ever seen her. She looked so far away, so…haunted. So lonely.
“No, I’m not. Not yet.”
Feeling suddenly helpless, Sam ran a hand down her back underneath the water. With his fingers, he started making small circles against her spine. He hoped that the gesture would soothe her in the absence of yet another promise that he couldn’t afford to make. Not when he honestly didn’t know what in the world was going to happen next.
“I’ll make you a deal,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “If we spend ten more minutes in the water, and you’re still scared, I’ll take you home and cook dinner for you. Anything you want.”
After looking at him with that same deadpan expression for another moment, she shook her head.
“No deal.”
“Okay, what do you want?”
She smiled, distantly at first, but then the corners of her mouth tilted into the mischievous smile that was already famous for stopping his heart.
“I think we should spend another thirty minutes in the water, and then we’ll go back. You will make me forget that I was ever afraid of anything, at least once. If you can do that, then I’ll make you dinner.”
Suddenly, Sam’s swim trunks seemed uncomfortably tight. Or, he thought, they could go back right now, skip dinner and spend the rest of the evening making each other forget…everything. But instead of letting her know how hopelessly under her spell he was, Sam smiled teasingly.
“Wait—you can cook?”
With a look of righteous indignation, Viola splashed him. “Of course I can cook. I was schooled by gourmet nuns!”
Sam laughed. Against all odds, he’d done it. He’d made her irate enough to forget her fear. But that didn’t mean he was going to stop—he liked pushing her buttons. A lot.
For the next half an hour, they floated and circled around their little section of the pool, doing their best to make the synchronized swimmers blush.
On the way home, Viola made him stop at Good Foods—one of those organic markets, where a sack of frozen peas fetched nearly twelve dollars—so she could pick up ingredients for her extra-special, fancy-sounding dinner.
But once the groceries had been put away, Sam decided that he wasn’t really all that hungry—at least not for food—and Viola agreed that a late supper would be much better. After taking a very long and steamy shower, they ended up back in his bedroom, where the bookcase, which was now one of the last few pieces of furniture standing, sadly didn’t make it.
Sam had never really liked that bookcase in the first place.
At around eight that evening, Viola finally disentangled herself from Sam’s arms, pulled on one of his old button-up shirts, and marched into the kitchen with a determined look on her face. When Sam tried to follow her, she stopped him with a kiss and a stern hand on his bare chest.
“You’re not allowed to leave this room until I tell you to.”
Holding up his hands in surrender, Sam stepped back and let her close the door in his face. With nothing else to do but wait, he decided it might be a good idea to use the time to try and put his bedroom back together. Hopefully, when his mom came home at the end of the week, she wouldn’t think that someone had burglarized the place.
It took him about an hour to set the furniture and bed sheets back to rights, and by that time he was genuinely starving. Poking his head out of the bedroom, he immediately smelled something delicious. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was—garlic, maybe. and some kind of sweet, baked goods smell. Whatever it was, it smelled exotic and expensive, like something you would get at a four-star restaurant.
“You’re torturing me,” he called, even though he couldn’t see Viola. “I can’t take this anymore. I’m coming out.”
“No!” Viola’s voice warned him. She rounded the dining room table, brandishing a wooden spoon. “It’s not ready yet. Go take a shower.”
Sam gave her his best pleading look.
“Seriously? There’s nothing I can…I don’t know, nibble on a little bit?” Seeing her standing there in nothing but his shirt, Sam couldn’t help leaving his room and snaking his arms around her. “Or better yet, why don’t you join me in the shower?”
Laughing, Viola struggled her way free. “No, you’re upsetting the…timing…it’s a very delicate process!”
“Are you sure?” Without preamble, Sam closed his teeth gently on her trapezius muscle—which he now knew for a fact drove her insane. As he nibbled, he took the opportunity to run his hands down the front of her—well, actually his—shirt, loosening buttons as he went.
“Yes, I’m…ah…kind of…pretty sure. Seriously, stop that….” She rounded on him again, pointing the spoon in self-defense, and her face was borderline murderous.
“Go.” She pointed toward the bathroom at the end of the hallway. “I’m not going to tell you again.”
“Alright,” he held up his hands. “I’m going, I’m going. Heaven forbid I should upset the delicate process.”
She scowled at him, until he turned and speed-walked the rest of the way down the hall.
A few minutes later, Sam was turning off the shower when he heard a loud thump. He poked his head out from behind the curtain, immediately feeling worried.
“Viola, is everything okay?”
There was no answer.
Stepping out of the shower, Sam reached for a towel, but both of the towel rods were empty. They must have used up all the towels earlier during their team shower, and the only clean ones now were down the hall in the linen closet. If Viola was still in the kitchen, she might be a little startled to see him racing naked down the hallway, but if something was wrong, it would be worth the risk of making her blush. Sam kicked himself for not paying more attention, for getting so distracted by all the nudity of the afternoon. Viola had been acting differently since they’d gotten back from the pool. He’d shrugged it off, thinking that it was just budding relationship paranoia. Now, though, his instincts screamed that something was wrong.
“Hey, Viola?” He called out to her again, pushing through the bathroom door into the hallway. The lack of response made him edgy, and he threw his modesty to the wind, charging down the hallway and into the living room.
Where he fo
und himself face to face with Viola, his mother, and Caroline.
Viola stood frozen in the dining room, holding a pair of salad tongs as her mouth hung open in mid-sentence. His mother stood in the doorway, arms laden down with grocery bags, as her mouth moved silently open and shut. Caroline, who was standing behind his mom, looked like she had just walked in, but her purse was on the floor, its contents spilling out over the living room carpet.
“Samuel David Philips,” his mom gasped, when her eyes fell on him. “Where are your clothes?”
Looking down at himself, Sam felt like he was in a nightmare. The kind where you forget you’re naked until you find yourself walking down the hallway of your high school, and you can’t escape. Except this was worse, because even though he was awake, he couldn’t seem to move or run away.
Caroline was the first to bail, stammering out a horrified—but still polite—excuse about leaving something or other in the car.
As the front door slammed shut behind her, there was a blur of motion from the corner of his eye. Sam caught the dish towel in midair right before it hit him in the chest. It seemed Viola’s reflexes were better than his, even post-coma, and so was her social disaster contingency reflex.
“Sam,” she said, smiling graciously as she jumped into her imperious rich-girl persona with both feet. “I’m sure your mother has seen it before, but let’s give her the luxury of pretending, shall we?”
While Sam did his best to cover up, Viola set down the salad tongs and came around the dining room table toward his mother. Smoothing her hands gently over his shirt—which might as well have been an evening gown, with how comfortable and collected she suddenly seemed—she stepped forward and held out her hand to his mom.
“Hello, I’m Viola Bellerose. I apologize for the surprise, but I’m so pleased to meet you, Mrs. Philips. Sam has only the most wonderful things to say about you.”
“Oh, well, thank you.” Casting a slightly perturbed glance in his direction, Sam’s mom shook Viola’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Viola.”
Wake for Me (Life or Death Series) Page 23
