by Ev Bishop
Charlie frowned. Sam braced one of her crutches against the heavily pine-needled forest floor and heaved herself to standing. This time she retained her grip on Dog’s leash, looping it around her uninjured palm and holding it against the foam hand rest.
“Look,” Sam said softly. “Some people say you can never truly lose someone you’ve loved, that relationships just change is all—but you and I both know that’s a load of crap. Of course you can lose someone—by death, by betrayal, by plain old miscommunication and misunderstandings . . . and memories are pretty skimpy consolation.”
Charlie stood up to accompany Sam back, but she shook her head. “I can get back by myself if you want to think for a bit.”
“All right.” He watched Sam hop-march away from him and a flurry of emotions moved through him. What had she just offered him? And was she right, would choosing her cost him his daughter? Surely not. Aisha had always been mature for her age. She’d understand he and Sam hadn’t planned any of this. She’d want him to take a shot at being happy again, wouldn’t she?
A memory of the expression in Aisha’s eyes the night Sam was missing flashed through his mind, however, and her words repeated in his head, Be careful not to make her into something she’s not. Heed your own advice.
Had his advice been wise or not—and was Aisha’s reference to it helpful or the opposite of that? He was suddenly unsure.
Sam’s face appeared before him with such clarity he felt he could reach out and stroke her cheek. Before today, he’d thought she was the one holding back, the one who wasn’t sure she wanted a relationship, but their talk—and her pointed questions—made it all too clear. It wasn’t Sam who was hesitant. He’d just used her as an excuse. Maybe he’d chosen her because an unconscious part of him was sure she was unavailable. How damaged was that? But had he, could he, truly let Maureen go? And would he let himself love someone who might create a barrier between him and his daughter? The idea stunned him. Love. That really was what he felt for Samantha, though they hadn’t known each other long enough and the situation was a mess. Love.
A few years back Charlie would’ve said, “Well, that’s it then. That solves everything.” But now? Well, now, despite his thoughts the other night to Maureen about what he wanted to believe, he knew all too well—and knew Sam knew too—love wasn’t always enough. And it came with so much risk attached. He didn’t know if he was up to it anymore.
“So I’ll just tell her that,” he muttered. That was another good thing about Sam. She had such low opinions of people, she wouldn’t be shocked he was spineless. He smiled as he lumbered to his feet and moved away from the log. She did make him miss the old days when he’d had a backbone—and that was something pretty great.
He walked back toward River’s Sigh, noticing the sweet air, the promise of heat to come, and the richness of life in a way he hadn’t during spring since Maureen’s passing. With every step he took, his optimism grew.
Optimism that crashed at the scene that greeted him just outside Sam’s SUV.
Chapter 26
Aisha was in a rage. Her eyes and face practically sparked with negative energy and she was pointing at Sam and yelling. Sam was flattened against the side of her vehicle, looking little and frail on her crutches—two adjectives he’d never in a million years usually associate with Sam. Dog was nowhere to be seen.
Charlie ran toward the two women.
“I’m sorry,” Sam was saying. “I had no idea—well, obviously it was a big deal, yes. I’m sorry.”
“You had no right. No fucking right at all!”
Charlie was slightly startled to hear the F-word out of Aisha’s mouth, not that he was naïve. He figured she swore occasionally. Just not usually around him. But it was her temper that shocked him. Aisha was impassioned about things, absolutely, and dramatic, but she wasn’t . . . mean.
“You didn’t want to meet and you were right. Not meeting would’ve been best. And ever since we first shook hands, you’ve kept saying you won’t hang around long. Make good on that promise. Get away from me and Mo and stay away. Our lives are none of your business!”
Sam’s face was calm but sad, and she was nodding like Aisha’s rant actually made some sort of sense. She glanced at Charlie as he approached and gave a slight jerk of her chin, telling him “No” about something, but he had no clue about what.
“I’m sorry,” Sam repeated. “It must be really hard for you that Evan has showed up. I—I had no idea this would happen.”
“Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit,” Aisha exploded—then all the bluster went out of her voice like a balloon that’s been let go. She was defeated and tired sounding. “I . . . I just thought you of all people would understand.”
Sam leaned one of her crutches against the SUV and stretched her hand out toward Aisha. “I do and I’m sorry that—”
Aisha jerked away from Sam’s touch, her jaw tight and mouth hard. She seemed to notice Charlie for the first time. “You were right about her, Dad. In every way. I wish we’d never met.” Her furious glare stabbed Sam again. “If you go tonight it’s not too soon.”
“Aisha?” Charlie finally found his voice. “What on earth—”
“What’s going on?” Jo interrupted, coming up behind them. “What’s all the yelling about?” Her voice trailed off as she took in Aisha and Sam’s faces.
Sam gripped her crutch again. “The kid and I were just saying good-bye.”
“What?” Jo said. “Just like that? I thought you were going to stay around, or be closer at least.”
Sam shrugged. Charlie’s heart twanged. How had he ever thought she managed to pull off nonchalance? The masks Sam slipped on were so obviously that—masks. His chest constricted, interrupting his own thoughts as he suddenly realized what must have happened. In the upheaval of the past few days, the rush of his writing going well, and visiting little Mo whenever he could, he’d totally forgotten about Evan’s call. What an idiot he’d been—what a colossal idiot. “Wait a minute. Aisha, it’s not—”
Sam cut him off. “Charlie, don’t. It’s not worth it.”
Jo’s eyebrows rose so high they almost disappeared off her face, and she held up her hand when he tried to respond to Sam. “Not worth it? How can you say that? You’re a grandma now—”
Aisha scoffed. “Biologically maybe. It’s not like she’s a real one.”
“Aisha!” Jo hissed.
“She left me before, thank God. She should leave me in peace now.”
Sam’s mouth fell open slightly and she inhaled like she’d just been slapped, but Charlie seemed to be the only one who saw her hurt.
He was at her side in a blink and went to wrap his arm around her. She shook him off and her voice was cuttingly casual. She even smiled. “Sure thing. No problem. I’ll see you in another decade or two maybe.”
Charlie stared into Sam’s face, then pointed wordlessly at Mo, a sleeping bundle of purple and yellow in the baby carrier, just paces away from the meltdown of her family. Sam’s eyes widened, but her lips compressed. She wouldn’t follow his gesture. “It answers question number two, hey? And it’s okay, Charlie. It’s better this way.”
Aisha turned, scooped up the baby carrier’s handle, and strode away without so much as a backward glance.
Sam’s body wilted beside Charlie and this time she didn’t refuse his arm.
Jo’s sharp words stopped her. “What the hell, Sam?”
“What do you mean?”
Jo rubbed her hands over her face, opened her mouth, then shut it again, and followed Aisha.
Sam lowered her head and didn’t say a word.
Charlie put his hands on Sam’s hips and pulled her to him, then leaned his cheek on the top of her head. She nestled close. “I appreciate what you tried to do there,” he whispered against her silken hair, “but no way. I’m not letting you take the blame for my big mouth. I just thought—”
Sam’s chin rubbed back and forth against his chest as she shook her head. “No,” s
he said, voice muffled. “Aisha’s right. It was her place to tell Evan anything or nothing. He had his chance. He blew it.”
“I know, I know—I kicked myself the minute I gave away her location, but he called the day you were missing and my head was a mess and . . . I just wasn’t thinking. He sounded so sincere. Said he just wanted to talk to her. Said he wanted to step up.”
“Yeah, talk. Step up. Good one. Anyway, it’s a big mess. Let her think it was me. She needs you. And she needs you to be the dad she thinks you are.”
“But I still don’t get it. Why does she think it was you anyway?”
Sam sighed. “It seemed like the easiest thing—no, false. It seemed like it might spare you some heat, and I didn’t actually lie. I just . . . didn’t overtly state that it wasn’t me. She came out, guns blazing, asking who had ‘blabbed’ to Evan. She assumed he called the bed-and-breakfast, and since I took phone duty for a few hours the other day, I guess I was the logical choice.”
“Well, I’m telling her the truth immediately. And on that note, I was coming here to say I don’t need to think. I want to see what we have. I want to pursue—”
Sam pulled back and looked up at him. “You have so much, and you’ll have love again too. Pick someone better suited to you and your family.”
“But I want you. And you said you wanted me—and that it’s not like you to not go for what you want.”
Sam laughed but as she did the wind picked up and the sound was lost in the shaking of bare, desolate branches that had yet to bud. “I also know when to cut my losses. Ask Jo. She’ll tell you. But you already knew that. And whatever else you said when you warned Aisha about me was probably true, too.”
“No.”
Sam rubbed the stubble along his jaw, then rested her fingertips on his mouth. “Don’t feel bad. It’s just not our time. We helped each other, though. Now you know you’re ready to let someone else into your life—”
“Not someone, no. You.”
Sam bit her lip and a small, choked sound escaped her before she continued. “And you’ve shown me that I want more, or different things, at least, than I’ve had before.”
“No,” Charlie repeated for the umpteenth time. “We can’t end this way. We can’t.”
“Silly, Charlie, of course we can. We hadn’t even really started yet.”
Charlie hated how Sam’s saucy smile made his blood thrum even while the heart pumping it was breaking. She was already rebuilding the wall between them, and there wasn’t a single thing he could do about it.
Charlie opened his mouth to argue and just a hint of the softness he’d learned to recognize in Sam showed in her face, but her voice and words were firm as stone. “Go.” She jerked her chin in the direction of the cabin. “Help our—your daughter. The little dirt bag Evan made noises about trying to get custody.”
Charlie jolted and turned away from Sam despite himself. He took three hesitant steps toward Minnow, then faltered. The end of Sam’s crutch pressed against his lower back, giving permission for him to move on, nudging him to do so, in fact.
Chapter 27
Sam watched Charlie leave and held her tongue though every part of her body practically screamed for him not to go. She marveled at this connection they seemed to have forged and hoped not seeing it through, not seeing what they might have had, wouldn’t set either of them back too badly. Chickening out and choosing the path of least resistance was a loser move, no doubt about it, especially in light of her freshly forged vow to be brave and to go after what she wanted even if it scared the crap out of her.
How long had it taken her to go back on her own promise to herself? An hour? Awesome. Ah, well. It didn’t matter. Deep down she knew—she’d always known—she wasn’t someone who’d get the sweet, easy home life portrayed in TV sitcoms and cleaning commercials. Really, nobody did. Look at what she’d planned for Aisha all those years ago and how her life had turned out. Motherless as Sam had always felt. Raising a kid alone if she was lucky, or with a deadbeat dad in the picture if she wasn’t. A good brain, but no formal education plans. She’d have to grovel her way out of scraping ends together just the way Sam had—
No. Sam pushed the false impressions away, gripped her crutches and started moving. Aisha had a great life, or the potential for one anyway. She made her choices, and had the strength of conviction to see those choices through. Maureen, by all accounts, had been a loving mom who’d raised a take-no-shit kid, and Sam was happy for that. Aisha was strong. She got angry and motivated when hurt; she didn’t roll up into a corner and wait for other people to help her or tell her what to do. And as for Aisha being motherless. Well, she really couldn’t hold Maureen responsible for dying, even if she wanted to—and apparently Charlie kind of did, too. Charlie.
She sighed heavily and continued her lurching march toward Silver. She’d pack and leave tonight. Aisha was right. Why put off what was inevitable? Charlie would clear up the misunderstanding sooner or later. It wasn’t his nature to lie. He was an open book with all his emotions. One of the things she loved about him. Love! What a useless, tiresome, hurtful emotion that was. But even when it was cleared up and Aisha knew it was Charlie who had inadvertently informed Evan of Aisha and Mo’s whereabouts, it wouldn’t change the fact that Aisha was right. Who was Sam to them, really? Why should she get to be in their life?
Sam was on the porch now. Behind the door Dog was making high-pitched you’re-finally-home noises, even though she’d only been locked up for what, thirty minutes? Sam was about to turn the key in the locked handle when Jo approached.
“I’ll help you pack.”
Sam pivoted toward her. “Just like that? You’ll help me pack.”
“Yep.”
Sam faced the door again, opened it a crack so Dog wouldn’t escape, and slipped inside.
It didn’t take long. Sam felt she’d barely had time to blink and Jo had placed the last suitcase into the Mercedes and was slamming the door.
“So . . . ” Sam said.
“So . . . ” Jo echoed, then stretched her arms and looked up at the sky. “There are a few hours of light left, and it’s not raining. No clients are booked for tonight—well, except Charlie and he doesn’t count. Want to hit the creek with me one more time?”
Dog stood perfectly still on her leash, then made an excited whining sound like she understood what Jo was asking and voted yes. Or maybe, Sam rethought her notion, she just wanted to play with Hoover. The mutt, never far from Jo’s side, had just appeared around the edge of the cabin, nose to the ground like he was on the trail of something delicious. Good grief, Sam thought. I just spent time imagining what might or might not be going through my dog’s head. I’ll be as nuts as Jo soon.
And speaking of Jo: her sister was staring at her with a concerned expression. “What is going on with you?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Sam mumbled.
“Try me.”
Sam laughed. “No, but I will go fishing with you one last time. If you think I can manage it without breaking my other leg, that is.”
The blue-green pool was untroubled and still. Just paces away, however, the creek frothed and pulsed. It was funny to Sam how the deep calm and the frenetic rushing were part and parcel of the same stream.
She followed Jo’s steps and rigged her own fishing rod.
“This time you’re using my lucky wedding band,” Jo said like she was doing her an enormous favor.
Sam rolled her eyes, but when she cast her line a minute later—after a few reminder tips from Jo—she was surprised at the delight that rippled through her. It was like her body remembered what to do from last time. The lure and line swished out, then fell in a perfect arc far from the shore.
Jo whistled. “Nicely done.”
Her lure had only been in the water for seconds, literally, when Sam felt a strong tug. “Oh no,” she said. “Oh no.”
“What’s oh no? What’s wrong?”
“I think”—her rod
jerked again, stronger this time—“I think I have a fish on.”
“That’s not an oh no, that’s an oh yay!” Jo reeled in her own line, grabbed a small net, and sprinted over to Sam.
There was a splash and a flash of silver and then another.
“It’s a beautiful little rainbow trout from the looks of it,” Jo said.
The fish danced again, lifting out of the river in a spray of droplets, its sides glinting metallic green and purple with tiny black dots.
Sam winced, then sighed heavily. “It’s so pretty.”
“It is—” Jo darted a glance at Sam. “What’s wrong?”
“I . . . I just thought I’d go fishing with you like last time. Not that I’d actually catch anything.” The fish disappeared beneath the surface and the tension on Sam’s rod eased. “It’s getting tired of fighting.”
“They do that,” Jo said softly.
“Can I let it go? Catch and release? That’s a thing, right?”
“Of course. Reel in hard now, fast—but smooth.”
Sam complied.
And suddenly the fish was at the edge of the bank and Jo was in the water with it, grabbing it firmly and pulling it out.
Held fast in Jo’s iron grip, the trout seemed to stare up at Sam, its glittering sides flexing, its gills heaving but getting no oxygen. “Don’t worry, Sam. It’s a barbless hook.” Jo reached into the gaping mouth and made a small movement Sam couldn’t quite see. “She’ll be fine.”
The fish slipped off the hook as if to prove Jo’s words, but then wallowed, inert, in the shallows.
“Oh no—”
“She’s fine. Just needs a little prompting, that’s all. Grab her tail and swish her lightly.” Sam did as bidden and was shocked when touching the fish wasn’t as disgusting as she’d feared. At her touch, the fish wiggled a little—then strained away. Sam let go. Silver flashed—and the trout disappeared into a deeper, safer place.
She stared at the swirl of silt and bubbles in the disturbed water. “Wow, that was really something,” she said finally.
