Autumn Getaway (Seasons of Love)

by Gracen, Jennifer

  “I’m very glad that Matt is now my ex-husband; I’m glad the divorce went through and that it’s finally over. But I’ve spent the last year dealing with a lot: him moving out, finding a new place for Andy and me to live, selling the house, the almost custody battle and all the other battles with Matt, getting my son adjusted to everything, getting myself adjusted to it. And I went back to work in September, for the first time in almost four years, and Andy started preschool, and it’s just been overwhelming. I’ve done what I’ve had to, I’m doing a lot by myself, and I’m… drained.”

  Lydia paused, trying to get back on track with her original intent, her original point; but she couldn’t exactly remember what that intent had been. She still felt more intoxicated than she wanted to be, realized she was rambling, and instantly got frustrated with herself. She spat out, “Sometimes, lately, maybe I’m a little defensive, or even just walking around in a fog, but I’m definitely not at my best… and then tonight, I’ve also been drinking, which doesn’t help. Sometimes I’m a fun drunk, but usually I’m an emotional drunk, which is not so fun, and why I usually don’t drink enough to get drunk… dammit, I’m so much sharper when my head is clear.”

  She shook her head at herself, still struggling to find the right words instead of what was unexpectedly pouring out of her mouth. “Anyway. That guy in the bar was a total jerk, and he caught me off guard, and I’d just been through Paige’s little jabfest, so I was already on edge, and I… well, I didn’t like how he made me feel. I felt like he was purposely being… I don't know, lecherous? Or trying to intimidate me, belittle me into submission, and I resented it. It pissed me off, that he was just so lewd. I mean, come on, who does that?”

  Sam frowned. “Paige's what?”

  Lydia just went on, caught up in the throes of her rant. “And then there were… witnesses. And a scene. And you were ready to… I couldn’t even believe it happened in the first place. Trust me when I tell you that I’ve never been the kind of woman that men fight over!” She tried to laugh, but it died in her throat. “Ugh. I’m totally rambling, I apologize. I don’t even know what I was trying to get across here… I’ve had too much wine tonight, and I’m just really tired, I guess. But, no, I’m not upset with you, let me at least make that clear. You were the nicest thing about tonight, actually. By a mile.” She looked away from him again, off into the distance, her cheeks burning and her eyes flat.

  Sam had let her talk without saying a word, hadn’t taken his eyes off her face for even a second. But when she was finished, he leaned over and, with utmost care, took her hand in his.

  “I’m sorry you’ve had such a hard time,” he said in a voice so gentle, so compassionate, that Lydia felt hot tears instantly spring to her eyes. Horrified at herself, she averted her gaze to the floor. He gave her soft hand a gentle squeeze before he released it and watched her, waiting patiently for her to recompose herself.

  She didn’t move, just blinked back the unwanted tears until they were gone. She drew a shallow breath and grimaced at him. “Like I said. Emotional drunk. Not fun. God, I'm sorry.”

  “You’re fine. Really. But can we back track a minute?” Sam asked. “You said ‘Paige’s jabfest’? What are you talking about? Did something happen at the lounge, did she say something to you?”

  She closed her eyes, instantly regretful she’d let that slip. Damned wine. Dammit. “Ugh… yeah, but it was no big deal,” she assured him. “She was very subtle, but she just made it clear that she, um… well, I guess she disapproves of me. Or, at the very least, of you paying attention to a newly divorced woman.”

  Sam scowled and shook his head in disdain. “What I do, who I pay attention to, is none of her business.”

  “Yeah, well, all the same, I’d appreciate if you didn’t tell her I mentioned it,” Lydia said. “If I wasn’t so buzzed, I never would have told you. Wine makes loose lips, blah blah blah. It doesn’t matter, really. I was surprised at her brazenness, but whatever. You're in her family. She was just being protective, I guess?”

  “Actually, in her objectionable way, she is,” Sam agreed, sounding resigned. “Her, Alec, my parents… they’re all a little… yeah, protective of me. I don’t like it, but I understand it, and I appreciate that they care about me. I just wish it didn’t sometimes borderline on obtrusive—especially tonight, with you. I’m sorry if she offended you or pissed you off. If she says anything else like that to you, just ignore her, okay?”

  “It’s not your job to apologize for her. But don’t worry, I’ll ignore her if she does it again. Gladly.” She looked at him, puzzled. “Um… I don’t mean to sound snarky, but… you’re thirty-five years old. Aren’t you a little big for them to still be overprotective? Or am I missing something here?”

  He smiled softly, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes; it was a somber, yielding expression. “I can explain it easily, if you really want me to.”

  “Yes, please. I’m interested.”

  “Alright,” he said. “I was married once.”

  She looked at him, taken aback. “Huh. You were?”

  “I was.”

  “Okay. For how long?”

  “A little more than two years.”

  “Okay.” Now she was the one doing the scrutinizing and trying to figure someone out. “Only two years and you split up? That was fast. So, what—it ended badly, and your family was mad?”

  “We didn’t get divorced,” he said calmly. “She died.”

  Lydia felt the color drain from her face. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”

  “No, don’t be, you had no idea,” he said, his voice even and steady.

  “I’m an idiot,” she sputtered. “Sam, I am so sorry.”

  He took her hand again, squeezed it, and gave her a genial grin. “It’s fine, stop it. Seriously. Okay?” He sighed. “I wish there was a different way to tell people that, so I didn’t always get this kind of reaction, but there just isn’t. It’s kind of a shocking thing to hear.”

  She just nodded, afraid of what other gems would fall out of her mouth. “What happened?” she managed to ask.

  “It was a long time ago, we were really young,” Sam said. He seemed calm and composed, not at all bothered or upset. She sensed he’d told this story enough times that he’d gotten to a point of acceptance, where it didn’t hurt as much as it once must have. “Chelsea and I met at college. We were together for the last two years of school. And we actually weren’t really sure what we were going to do after graduation—should I move to Virginia to be with her, should she move to Chicago to be with me, did we want to get married or not… and a month after we graduated, she was diagnosed with stage three breast cancer.”

  “Oh my God,” Lydia breathed. “How old was she, twenty-two?”

  “Just turned twenty-two, yeah.” Sam nodded slowly. “So I did what I thought was right: I put her on a plane, took her to Vegas, and we got married.”

  Lydia smiled at him, a mixture of kindness and sadness, as she pictured it in her mind.

  “I moved to Virginia, where she’d grown up, so she could be near her family. We got an apartment five minutes away from her parents and she started chemo and radiation and all that fun stuff.” He shrugged. “Chelsea had an aggressive form of cancer, and although she put up a good fight, she didn’t win.”

  “God, I’m so sorry,” Lydia whispered. Her skin prickled with a chill. “I can’t begin to imagine what you went through, what you both went through.”

  “Thank you,” Sam said. There was no trace of self-pity, sadness, or anything remotely sorrowful in his tone or his expression—just simple clarity and acceptance. “I, uh… well. It wasn’t just losing someone I loved that changed me, although I won’t deny how awful that was. Wouldn’t even try to. But for me, the worst part was watching someone I loved just wither away; someone so young, who had been so vibrant and so full of life… deteriorate slowly, in front of my eyes, for twenty-seven painful months. Watching that firsthand…” Something flickered in his
eyes. “That stays with you. It changes you.”

  Lydia nodded. “Of course it would,” she murmured.

  “Yeah, but you know what? Pain transforms anyone who goes through it. I guess that’s what I’m talking about now, why I even brought any of my past up to you, beyond explaining why my family feels protective of me—which they are because they saw me go through hell, and they don't want me to ever get hurt again. Like that's even possible, or realistic. Whatever. But that's not even what I'm getting at now.”

  Sam rubbed his jaw, momentarily lost in thought. “That fog you mentioned—I stumbled through a fog like that for a long time after Chelsea died. Been there, done that. So I understand what you mean.”

  “Sam.” Lydia’s voice was hushed, deferential. “I would never, ever compare what I’m going through to what you must have gone through.”

  “Pain is pain, Lydia,” Sam said evenly. “You feel yours as acutely as I felt mine, as anyone feels theirs. You don’t have to minimize yours to me just because nobody died. You’re hurting, you feel your pain, and that’s it. And I’m just trying to say that I’ve been in that fog too, so I get it.” He shrugged. “You just feel… lost. Right? You isolate yourself. You feel numb. But then, when you do feel something—anything, good or bad—it can sneak up on you, and maybe feel more intense than it would have, and it can throw you for a loop, because you’re already on shaky ground. Then that makes you edgy. Because you’re sick of fighting, and it drains you, makes you tired, like you said. And you don’t really want anyone to help you, because it just makes you feel as vulnerable as you did before, and you don’t want to feel that way again.”

  She sat very still as his words penetrated and took hold. He reached for her hand once more, held it lightly, and caressed the back of it with his thumb. Although the look in his eyes was wistful, he shot her a deliberate half grin. “I guess I’m just trying to tell you that I hear what you’re telling me, and I understand. And I'm glad you told me what was in your head. And maybe now I’m the one who’s rambling.”

  She just stared at him. “No, I appreciate all of that, what you said. Really. I mean, I still don’t think our situations are remotely comparable… but I do appreciate your feeling like you want to reach out to me right now, to help me somehow.”

  “I was just trying to help you back there too,” he said. “I’m sorry that it turned into an ugly, stupid scene and made you feel like a character in a Lifetime movie. But that guy was just, like, on you, and I could see from across the room how uncomfortable you were.” Sam chuckled. “Alec’s always accused me of having something of a ‘white knight’ complex. You know, sweeping in and running to the rescue of a damsel in distress. Anyone in distress, actually. He says I throw myself into it sometimes without even thinking. Guess I proved him right tonight.”

  Lydia stiffened. “I don’t need to be rescued,” she told him in a cool voice.

  The smile faded from Sam’s face. “I never said that you did. That’s not what I was implying.” He gently released her hand. “I know you would’ve been fine if I hadn’t gotten involved. I just… forget it. I’ll stop talking now.”

  She felt her stomach churn miserably. “No, no! You—you’re very sweet. God, I am just an idiot tonight.”

  “No. Not at all.” He smiled gently. “Maybe we should just—”

  “Thank you for coming over and wanting to step up for me,” she interrupted him, her tone firm. “I appreciated it. I did. You’re right, I didn’t like feeling like a spotlight got thrown on me, or feeling… like I needed to be rescued. But it was nice all the same, because it was you. You’re a seriously decent guy. You're very sweet. Thank you.”

  He smiled again, warmer than before. “You’re welcome.”

  They sat there, gazing at each other in silence for a powerful half minute. She wondered if he was thinking about kissing her and her heart skipped a beat. But then he slowly rose from the bench, took her hands in his, and pulled her up to stand with him. “Let me walk you to your room. You look wiped out. I mean that in the kindest possible way, of course.”

  She smiled at his jest. But once he’d pointed it out, she suddenly felt completely depleted of energy, and just wanted to fall into her bed. “C’mon. This way.”

  They walked together to the end of the hall; her room was the second to last door on the right. He waited as she searched through her handbag for the keycard to her room. When she found it, she held it up to show him. “Well, this is it then,” she said, suddenly feeling a bit awkward. She looked up into his face and smirked gently. “So. Is this the part where I say, ‘well, nice to meet you today’? What a day.”

  He smiled the knockout, megawatt smile that she found herself marveling at each time he flashed it at her. “Hey. We left before I got to hear your sixth and final song selection. Tell me what you chose?”

  She let out a short laugh; she’d totally forgotten about that. “It was ‘Wild Horses’ by The Rolling Stones.”

  He nodded in approval. “Wow. Great closer. You really picked good songs from what was there. I’m impressed. Well done.”

  “Glad you are appropriately appreciative of my superior and eclectic tastes in music,” she joked.

  “I am,” he nodded, smiling again. “And to show you just how much, would you consider meeting me for lunch tomorrow?”

  She grew still, but her heart rate increased with delight. “I—I’d like that, I really would. But I’m meeting my two friends for lunch at noon. They’re the other two of the college foursome with Melanie and me. I haven’t seen them in years, and they’ll both be here in the morning.”

  He nodded. “That’s fine. Enjoy your afternoon with your friends. Instead, how about you save me a dance at the wedding tomorrow night? Maybe even allow me to get you a drink?”

  Lydia smiled warmly at him. “That would be lovely.”

  “Great. I’ll look for you, then.”

  Sam continued to stare at her, looked deeply into her eyes. She felt her pulse accelerate. Then he merely gave her a half smile and said, “Good night, Lydia. Sleep well.”

  “Good night.” She smiled again. “And thanks again. I have to admit… you’re pretty good at that white knight thing.”

  Still smiling, he winked at her and slowly turned to walk away.

  Lydia entered her room and leaned back against the door in the quiet darkness. Her head felt light, and not just from the wine. Sam was an appealing, interesting, sweet man. He was really easy on the eyes, he liked good music, he got along with his family, he'd come roaring in to her rescue when she needed it, and despite some light flirting, he had treated her with respect and hadn't made one real move on her. She found herself disappointed that she'd had to turn him down for lunch, and more than a little disappointed that he hadn't tried to kiss her good night.

  She thought back on their intense conversation. They had exchanged a lot of information, shared so much in such a short time… she felt so many conflicting emotions, was thinking over so many things, that she didn’t know how to quiet her brain. Ultimately, exhaustion won out; she never even turned on the light. She slipped out of her boots and undressed in the dark, letting her clothes simply drop to the floor. She felt her way to the dresser, found her cotton pajamas where she’d placed them in the top right drawer, pulled them on wearily, and collapsed into bed.

  SATURDAY

  BRIGHT SUNLIGHT STREAMED through the windows of Lydia’s hotel room, washing over her face and waking her sooner than she wanted. She glanced over at the small digital clock on the dresser: seven-thirty. She took the extra pillow, placed it over most of her face to block out the light, and quickly fell back to sleep. When she awoke again and peered at the clock, it read nine-sixteen. She laid still for a few minutes, easing herself into the morning, something she hadn’t been able to do in several years.

  Andy never let her sleep late, or very well. Although he went to sleep in his own bed every night, he always ended up in hers, crawling in with her like clockwork
, sometime between one and three in the morning. She was used to it. He would utter one of the only words he said regularly in that angel’s voice of his: “Mama. Mama.” She would hold him close and cuddle him as he fell back to sleep, loving the feel of his warm, tiny body curled up against her.

  It had been years since Matt had even held her hand, much less held her in bed. Matt had always protested Andy’s coming into their bed, insisting she put him back into his own room. What was the big deal about having their son with them? She had always refused, continually pointing out that if Andy was coming to her, it was because he needed her, needed something. Matt accused her of being overindulgent and babying Andy. Maybe she was. But she didn’t care. What Andy needed was the most important thing. And, after a while, the affection she got from her little boy, both emotionally and physically, was the only affection she received on a daily basis and it was so pure that she drank it in.

  Lydia lay in the hotel bed, lazy and content, stretching out her arms and savoring the feel of having the whole mattress to herself. Then she realized that last night, at some point, Andy had woken up in a dark, strange room, was probably scared, had probably gone looking for her, and Matt had probably just put him back to bed and told him to go back to sleep. In an urgent instant, her heart felt like someone had put it in a vice and squeezed it. She threw back the covers and practically jumped out of bed. She went immediately to her handbag, found her cell phone, and punched in Matt’s phone number.

  Matt answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

  “Hi, it’s me. How’s Andy? How’d it go last night? Is he okay?” Her words came out in an anxious rush.

  “Whoa, slow down. He’s fine.” Matt’s voice had the subtle traces of annoyance and derisiveness that always came into it when he spoke to her. “He’s watching an Elmo movie right now, I just got out of the shower.”