“Hey, everybody,” Susie said taking charge, “I think Sam needs a little room, okay? She’s still in shock from the accident.”
In less than a minute the curious onlookers gave Sam their well-wishes and moved away. Even Abby and Rachel moved to another table. Susie and Ronnie were the only ones left. Ronnie’s hand still rested on her forearm. Sam didn’t mind. Somehow it was comforting.
Once the crowd dispersed, Sam turned to Ronnie. “Can you tell Mrs. Dickens I won’t be at rehearsal this afternoon?”
“Sure,” Ronnie said. He gave her forearm a squeeze and then sat back. “Should I text you later and let you know what we worked on?”
Sam nodded and pulled out her phone. “Let me text you now, so you’ll have my number.” He rattled off his cell phone number, and she texted him a smiley face. She then saved his number in her contact list. “You can’t give my number out to anyone. Okay, Ronnie? My father will kill me.”
He nodded, and for once in his life, looked serious.
“Are you going to the hospital right after school?” Susie asked.
Sam thought about Helene laying in the hospital all by herself without family or anyone to care about her. She stood up abruptly. “No, I’m going right now.”
“Right now?” Susie looked confused. “You’re cutting classes?”
“I guess so.” Sam turned to Ronnie again. “Can you tell Mr. Auerbach why I’m missing Strings?”
“You got it.” Ronnie nodded.
“Aay, I don’t know, Sam,” Susie teased. “Are you sure you want to miss AP Enviro? We’re learning about the demise of Easter Island today.”
Sam smiled, knowing Susie was trying to cheer her up. “You’ll get the notes for me, right?”
“Sí, claro.”
Sam nodded and took a deep breath. “Thanks guys. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She headed toward the back door of the cafeteria, the one that led directly to the senior parking lot.
SAM PULLED INTO the hospital lot and found a spot near the entrance. She sat in her car, the engine still idling, unable to move. Memories raced through her mind. Memories of Helene teaching her how to ride a bike in the circular driveway, fixing her soup and a sandwich after her mother made her pick at her dinner, listening to Sam complain about her parents.
“Parents,” Sam said. “I have three parents.” Daddy is my father. Helene is my mother. “Helene is my mother,” she said out loud testing to see how it sounded. Her brain still couldn’t make sense of it.
Sam wondered about the woman she’d been calling Mother for eighteen years. “Mother didn’t give birth to me,” she said. Who is Mother? Panic rose in her chest. She took several deep breaths and focused on the hood ornament of the Cadillac parked directly in front of her. After a moment, she was back under control. She had almost mastered the Payton ability to deny all emotion, but this recent twist in her life was proving too big to deny.
She looked up at the hospital building toward Helene’s window. She couldn’t do it. Knowing what she knew, she couldn’t face Helene. Not yet. Feeling lost, she closed her eyes for a moment and then pulled her cell phone out of her pocket.
Someone, presumably one of the nurses at the desk in Helene’s wing, answered on the second ring.
“Hi, this is Samantha Rose Payton. I wanted to check up on Helene Bouchard in room 305.”
“Ah, yes,” the cheery voice answered. “This is Naomi. Are you feeling better today?”
“Much better. Thanks for the smelling salts yesterday.”
“Not a problem. You gave everyone quite a scare.”
“I know. I just needed a good night’s sleep.” Sam’s shoulders tensed up at the lie. “How’s Helene today?”
“She’s making an excellent recovery. She ate most of her soup with good appetite.”
“Excellent,” Sam said. “Please tell her that I, uh, that I’m pleased.”
“Should I tell her you’re coming to visit?”
“Uh,” Sam hesitated, “I’ll surprise her later.” Sam wasn’t sure when later would be. “Thanks for your help, Naomi.”
“You’re welcome, Samantha Rose. Oops, that’s someone’s call bell. I gotta go.”
“Okay, thank you.” Sam clicked off her phone and slid it back in her pocket.
Not sure where she was headed, she pulled out of the parking space and exited the lot on a side street instead of heading directly back onto CR 62. She drove without paying much attention to where she was going. It was like she was sleepwalking. More like sleepdriving, she thought with a chuckle. She wasn’t asleep, but she wasn’t awake, either. She was nothing.
She couldn’t face Helene. Not yet. Helene didn’t know she knew. Her parents didn’t know she knew. How had they kept such an enormous secret for eighteen years? Thank God she had been able to avoid eye contact with her parents when she got home from the hospital the night before. She had sprinted up the stairs to her wing of the house, yelling, “Goodnight” as she went. She closed the door to her room, and in a rare move, locked both the outside door to her suite and the inside door to her bedroom. She wasn’t sure if she was trying to lock everyone and everything out or if she was trying to lock herself in. She lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling in her dark room for hours. She had obviously fallen asleep at some point during the night because her alarm woke her up for school. She had slept in her clothes.
Sam drove along in the intense quiet of the neighborhoods near the hospital. She drove until she found herself on the street where Lisa’s bio-dad William and his wife Evelyn lived. Am I going to be calling Daddy my bio-dad from now on? Is Helene my bio-mom? Sam groaned.
Not knowing why, she pulled into William and Evelyn’s driveway and parked her car. She headed to the front door. After one ring of the bell, Evelyn opened the door.
“Samantha Rose,” Evelyn said with surprise, “what brings you here? C’mon in.” She stepped aside to let Sam in the house. “Oh, honey, what happened to your eye?” She grimaced at Sam’s stitches.
“Car accident. I’m okay. I’m sorry to bother you, Evelyn,” Sam started. She swallowed against the lump forming in her throat. The tears she thought she had under control eased down her cheeks. She didn’t bother wiping them away.
“Oh, dear,” Evelyn said. “You’re upset. Come in, come in. Sit down.” She led the way toward the kitchen table.
Sam took one step toward the kitchen and stopped. In the car, she had ignored the familiar pressure in her neck and shoulders that signaled an impending migraine. The pressure was becoming much more insistent. “Evelyn, I’m sorry. Can I lie down for a minute? I don’t feel well.”
“Of course, dear. C’mon.” Evelyn led the way down a hallway to a sunny back bedroom. “This is the guest room. You can lie down here.” She motioned to the queen-sized bed.
As Sam sat on the bed, the pressure in her head increased. With a grunt she tried to take off her shoes. She didn’t want to ruin Evelyn’s pretty comforter.
“Here,” Evelyn said, “let me help you, poor thing.”
Sam nodded once. The energy drained out of her as the pounding in her head increased. “Do you have something for migraines?”
“I have aspirin. That’s about it.”
Sam groaned. “That won’t touch it.”
“Okay,” Evelyn said, “let me get you settled, and I’ll see what else we have.”
Sam lay on her side and let Evelyn, a woman she’d only met a few times, place a thin crocheted blanket over her. Sam closed her eyes against the pain exploding in her head with each beat of her heart. She tried to relax her tense neck and shoulders, with little success.
After forever, Evelyn came back. “I’m sorry, Samantha Rose. All I have is the aspirin. Should I call someone to come get you?”
“No,” Sam said quickly. “I’ll be okay.” The last thing she wanted was to see her parents.
“I’ll call William then. I’ll see if he can leave work and can get something for your migraine at Kinney’s. Okay?”
>
“Okay.”
“Can I get you some water?”
“No,” Sam blurted so fast it made her nauseous. “Bucket.” She took a couple of shallow breaths. “Hurry.”
“Oh, gosh,” Evelyn scurried around the room and finally came up with a plastic trash can. She held it near Sam’s head.
Sam raised her head slightly and grabbed the can with both hands. “Sorry.” She dry heaved into the trash can. Nothing more than spittle came out. Her head pounded. She heaved again and again, but had nothing to give despite her stomach’s best efforts. Sam closed her eyes and held her breath as another wave of nausea hit. That time she rode the wave but didn’t heave. She took that as a good sign and laid her head back down on the pillow. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay, dear. You’re obviously sick.” Evelyn yanked several tissues from the box on the bedside stand and wiped at Sam’s mouth. Sam sensed Evelyn’s rising panic. “The trash can’s right here on the floor if you need it. Let me call William.”
“Dark,” Sam muttered. “Please.” The bright cheery room was more than she could bear.
The sound of the blinds closing soon followed.
Sam relaxed a micron after the room got dark. Her entire existence consisted of riding each wave of pain in her head and breathing slowly to keep the nausea at bay.
“Sam,” a male voice asked gently, “are you awake?”
Sam groaned. Where was she? She must have fallen asleep. Miraculously, the migraine pounding in her head had downgraded from a category five to a category three. “Yes?”
“It’s William. Are you awake enough to hear me?”
“Yes.” She fluttered her eyes open, but pressed them shut again when her head pounded. “What time is it?”
“A little after two. Evelyn says you’ve been sleeping for over an hour.”
Sam opened her eyes again and took in William’s tall frame in the dark room. “Sorry.”
“I bought Excedrin Migraine. The pharmacist at Kinney’s said it was good. Do you want to take some now?”
“Yes, please.” Sam took a deep breath, grateful she didn’t seem to be as nauseous anymore.
He set a glass of water on the bedside stand and opened the bottle. She held out a shaky hand for the tablets. William put two in her hand.
“Get the bucket ready,” Evelyn said from where she was leaning against the doorjamb. Sam would have laughed if she’d had the strength.
Sam put the pills in her mouth and then took the water glass William handed her. He reached down and picked up the bucket, ready to launch it in her direction if necessary.
Sam sat up and swallowed the pills with minimal water and handed the glass back to him, not having the focus to be able to set the glass on the bedside stand by herself. She kept her head up for a moment to see if the pills were going to stay down. When they did, she lay back down and closed her eyes. “Thanks.” After a quiet moment, she added, “Sorry.”
The doorbell rang, and Evelyn said, “Who could that be?”
After a moment, Evelyn came back in the room. “Samantha Rose, there’s a man in a black suit at the door. He said his name is Rolando.”
Rolando? Sam groaned. How had he found her?
“There’s a black Town Car in the street,” Evelyn added.
“Did you call my father?” Sam heard the weakness in her own voice.
“No,” Evelyn said. “We don’t have your parents’ number. Should I let Rolando in?”
“Yes.”
After a moment, Rolando was in the room. “How are you Miss?”
“Been better. How’d you find me?”
Rolando hesitated for a moment, looking down at the floor. He looked up at her. “I shouldn’t tell you this, Miss, but I think it’s time you knew.” He reached into the pocket of his suit jacket, and showed her his cell phone. “Your father uses the GPS on your phone to track you. He knows when you’re at school, at softball, when you go to that pretty girl’s house in Clarksonville, and when you go to the yacht. He knows where you are at all times.”
Despite the pounding in her head, Sam’s eyes opened wide. Her father had been spying on her. Her father knew her every move.
“He even knows you’ve come here to these nice people’s house. He had them checked out, you know.”
Sam couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Why are you telling me this, Rolando?”
“Like I said, I thought you should know. But, Miss?”
“Yes?”
“I will go to my grave denying I ever told you. I can’t lose this job.” He lowered his gaze.
“Don’t worry, Rolando. The Paytons are amazingly good at keeping secrets.” All kinds of secrets. She took a slow breath, amazed her migraine had downgraded further to a category two.
Rolando cleared his throat. “Your father is waiting for you in the car. He would like you to come home now.”
Sam’s head pulsed. “I can’t. Tell him I have a migraine.” Which is true. “I don’t care. Tell him anything.”
“Yes, Miss.” Rolando turned to leave, but then turned back. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a butterscotch candy. “Feel better,” he said as he handed the candy to her.
Sam smiled at him. “Thank you, Rolando.”
“You’re welcome, miss.” He turned and left the room.
Sam closed her eyes, hoping Rolando would drive her father back home, so she could be left in peace.
No such luck. Within minutes, Sam’s father walked into the back bedroom. She could feel him fuming. William and Evelyn hovered, obviously unsure how to handle the situation.
Her father turned to them. “May I have a moment alone with my daughter, please?”
“Of course,” William said. “We’ll be in the kitchen.” William ushered Evelyn out of the room and then closed the bedroom door behind him.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Sam’s father advanced. He placed both hands on his hips. “Samantha Rose, do you mind telling me what‘s going on?” His voice boomed. “Why are you lying in the back bedroom in a house owned by a used-car salesman and a dental hygienist? Why are you not in school? Did you know that Madeleine Baxter called me directly? I must say, young lady, I’m unaccustomed to the school principal calling to tell me my daughter is AWOL from school.”
Sam desperately wanted to close her eyes, but didn’t dare. Not when her father was on a rant. “I have a migraine,” she said weakly. Her migraine was escalating back up to a category three. She had no choice, she had to close her eyes for a moment or she would be sick again.
“You could have driven home. You could have gone to the school nurse. Hell, you were at the hospital, why didn’t you see a doctor there?”
Sam’s eyes flew open. “How did you know I was at the hospital?” She wanted to see if her father would admit to spying on her.
“That, young lady, is beside the point.”
Sam wanted to laugh, but couldn’t muster up the courage or the energy. God, it was all so tragic. If only her father realized she knew the whole sordid truth about the birth certificate, maybe then he would leave her alone. Maybe the whole world would leave her alone. Maybe she should open her mouth and tell everyone the deep dark Payton Family secret. Surely the postmaster already knew, because he had to examine her birth certificate. Her father had bought him off. Who else knew? Dr. Boyle. He had to know, didn’t he? Rolando? Mrs. Tardelli their cook? Her mother’s gardening committee? Did they all know? Sam groaned.
“Kitten, look.” Her father’s voice softened from forte to mezzo-forte, but was still commanding. “I know you’re upset, but you’re going to be fine. You can talk to Helene on the phone any time you want.” Sam didn’t understand what her father meant by calling Helene, but she didn’t have a chance to process it when he added, “I want you to get up right now and come home with me. I’ll send someone for your car later.”
Sam stayed silent, trying to gather her thoughts. Anger churned deep in her gut, displacing the numbness she’d lived
with for the past twenty four hours. She wished she had the nerve to look her father dead in the eye and say, Daddy, I read my birth certificate, or Daddy, I know Helene is my real mother, but she didn’t do either of those things. With a sigh, she sat up in the bed, put her shoes on, and followed him out the door like the good little girl she’d been trained to be.
Chapter Twenty-Two
April Fools
SAM BOLTED OUT of the Town Car and ran into the house, refusing to let her father see her cry. Her mother looked stunned as Sam ran by and up the stairs to her suite. She slammed the door to her rooms, opened it, and slammed it again. Not that anyone cared. All they cared about was themselves and their secrets. That’s why she hadn’t bothered talking to her father as Rolando drove them the fifteen minutes home from William and Evelyn’s. That was plenty of time to say nothing to each other. Her father didn’t even seem to notice. It was as if she was something to be dealt with and, once handled, he could get back to more important things.
Sam grabbed the remote control lying on the arm of the couch and heaved it against the wall. The splintering plastic wasn’t as satisfying as she’d hoped. She headed to her bedroom and slammed that door, too. Tears of frustration poured out of her as she flung herself onto the bed, her head pounding.
“No,” she grunted to no one and pounded the bedspread once with her fist. I will not cry. She didn’t want to give in to her emotions. If she did, her father would win. Win what, she didn’t know. Who was he anyway? Was he really her father or was he just the man who provided the sperm? And who was Helene? Did she have an affair with her father and accidentally get pregnant? Did Helene become something that needed to be dealt with, too? Had she threatened to sue? Is that why she was being sent away? Was I an inconvenience? An accident? Oh, God, Sam thought. Mother. Where does she fit into all of this? She must have resented me all these years. Raising Helene’s bastard child in her own house.
A wave of nausea spiked through her. She bolted off the bed to the bathroom, but luckily the feeling passed. Ignoring the stitches above her eye, she checked out her reflection in the mirror. Her skin was pale which made the dark circles under her eyes stand out more. She looked at her gray-blue eyes. Yup, she definitely had her father’s eyes. Everyone said so. She turned her head and examined her profile. She gasped when she saw it. It was so obvious. She had Helene’s profile, her nose, her chin. She even had Helene’s dirty blond hair. Why had she never noticed before?
Stealing Second: Sam's Story: Book 4 in the Clarksonville Series Page 19
