Redeem

by Rachel Schurig

  Her eyes widen as I approach and I think she might grimace a little. I try not to think about that, think instead of the pretty blush on her cheeks and the way her breathing has picked up a little.

  “Hi, Sam.”

  “Cash.” Her voice sounds like a squeak and she clears her throat. “How are you?”

  Terrible. Heart broken. Missing you every day.

  “I’m fine. How are you?”

  She laughs and it sounds false. “I’m busy. This has been much more work than I anticipated.”

  “It’s amazing, Sam. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  She smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Thank you. I actually need to go check in with the caterer—”

  “I was hoping I could talk to you.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Cash.” She looks uncomfortable, edging away from me. “There’s so much to do.”

  I feel that familiar rush of panic that she might leave and reach out to grab her hand without thinking. That rush of sparks from her skin burns me, the way it had that first night. And all the times I was lucky enough to touch her since. “Later, then?” I ask, the plea clear in my voice.

  She nods once, her eyes still wide, before pulling away and leaving.

  Reed finds me a moment later, still staring after her. “You’re supposed to be mingling.” I don’t know what my face is like but I figure it’s pretty bad when he grimaces. “Come on, man. She’s worked hard for this. You need to do your part to help her make it a success.”

  “I hate it when you’re right,” I grumble, and he slaps me on the back, leading me out into the crowd.

  Daltrey acts as the emcee for the night, which sends all the teenage girls in the room into a frenzy every time he touches the microphone. A good touch, I think, knowing that there’s no more persuasive force in the universe when it comes to helping a parent part with their well-earned money. And there are lots of opportunities to part with their money, from the silent auction to a raffle. Sam must be raising a fortune for the charity.

  The catering staff passes amazing food, the drinks are flowing, the DJ spinning tunes in the corner. I walk through the room, a fake smile on my face, taking pictures and signing autographs. I make frequent trips to the bathroom just to get away, splashing water on my face, trying to keep from freaking out that I still haven’t talked to her and time is running out.

  On my way back from one such trip I pass a pile of programs I had missed before. Not quite ready to talk to strangers yet, I pick one up, flipping through the pages. On the back cover is a picture of Sam, smiling, her arms around Wyatt. A brief bio tells of the loss of Doug and her subsequent motivation to work to help better the lives of veterans and their family. Samantha has been chosen to participate in the internship program at Hero’s Hero Foundation in the fall.

  I set the program down, a single tremor rushing through my fingers. She got the internship, then. She actually did it. I’m not surprised—her efforts tonight make it obvious that there’s no one better for the job. I just wish that I could have been there to congratulate her.

  When I walk through the door into the ballroom I run smack into Wyatt and the Warners. “Cash!” He throws himself at my legs. “Where have you been?”

  I bend down so I can hug him, feeling my stomach clench at the contact. The last time I saw him was at the memorial, when he asked me if I wanted to see his room. I hate myself for walking away from him that day. Would it have all turned out differently if I had just found the courage to stay? “I’m sorry, buddy,” I tell him. “We finished the album so we left the cabin.”

  He looks up at me, frowning. “So you’re gone, then?”

  I shake my head, wishing I could give him a better answer. “Things are a little crazy right now, kid. But I promise I’ll see you, okay?”

  It’s probably stupid to make a promise like that, without Sam’s permission, but I tell myself that she wouldn’t keep me from seeing Wyatt at some point, no matter what she might feel toward me.

  There’s that rush of panic again but I push it away so I can shake hands with the Warners. “This event is something, huh?”

  “We’re very proud of her,” Bruce tells me.

  “We hear you’re playing tonight,” Alice adds, her voice overly polite. I wonder how much she knows.

  “We are. The first band starts in just a few minutes, actually.”

  “Then we won’t keep you.” Her meaning couldn’t be more obvious. Move along.

  I ruffle Wyatt’s hair. “See you later, kid.”

  ***

  An hour and a half later I’m standing on stage, the lights in the ballroom dimmed. We’re the last act, following two short sets by up-and-coming bands on our label. We’re scheduled for an acoustic set, only forty-five minutes long, but I’m more nervous to perform than I’ve been in a long time. I try to concentrate on my guitar as Daltrey starts the opening notes of Sunshine Girl on piano, try not to let my eyes search for her in the crowd.

  I wanted to talk to her before we performed, wanted to tell her what I was going to do. But she’d remained elusive, talking to everyone but me, it seemed, rushing around the room as she handled whatever last minute crises popped up during the event. And now here we are, almost at the end, and I still haven’t done more than greet her.

  When it’s finally time for the last song, Daltrey meets my eyes across the stage, his eyebrows raised in a question. I nod. If she won’t talk to me, won’t answer my letters, maybe it’s time to communicate in a different way. I pull my mic closer to my lips and the spotlight shines in my face.

  “Hey, everyone,” I say. “My name’s Cash.”

  There’s an eruption of applause and screaming and I pause, searching the crowd even though it’s impossible to see with the spot in my eyes. She must be in here, right? She wouldn’t leave the event. I take a deep breath. “This is a brand new song off of our upcoming album. I wrote it here in Seattle for a very special person. Someone who helped me to understand who I am a whole lot better.” I want to say more, want to say her name, want to make sure she knows it’s for her, but I don’t want to press too hard. If she’s listening, she won’t really be able to doubt what the song means. “It’s called Redeem.” I draw in another breath, my next words soft, directed at Sam, wherever she is. “This is for you.”

  I pluck out the opening chords, the same ones she heard me playing on the balcony all those weeks ago. And then I’m singing the words I wrote for her, words about love and faith and finding wisdom.

  I need redemption, I’m unworthy.

  Too many mistakes, lost for so long.

  But you understand when the world turns its back.

  Redemption in your love is all I need.

  When we’re finished the crowd cheers and I listen for her voice, wishing I could see her beyond the light in my face, praying that she heard, that she understood.

  We’re surrounded by people after the set, everyone wanting to talk about the new songs and when the album is coming out. I do my best to stay polite, remembering Reed’s advice about doing my part to make the event a success. But when I catch sight of her a few feet away, thanking Daltrey and Daisy for all of their help, I make a beeline for her, not caring if I’m disappointing the well-paying fans.

  “Hey.” I feel breathless and a little out of control. She looks away immediately, her face reddening.

  Daisy shoots me a sympathetic look. “We were just telling Sam that some of the other musicians are planning an after party at that club down the street.”

  I feel a rush of hope. This is exactly what I need—an informal setting, away from the fans, away from her responsibilities, away from the Warners. “Are you coming?” Daltrey winces at me—too eager.

  “I don’t think I’ll be able to.” My heart sinks. She still won’t look at me. “I have to oversee all the cleanup.”

  “I’m sure we’ll be there late.” I can hear the pleading note in my voice but I don’t care. I have to get her to at least tal
k to me. “Maybe you can come after?”

  She shrugs and Daisy seems to take pity on me. “You should come out,” she says, touching Sam’s shoulder lightly. “You deserve a little fun after all this work.”

  Sam smiles at her weakly. “I’ll see how it goes.”

  And then she’s turning to go, walking away from me, not even acknowledging the song.

  Oh, hell no.

  “Sam.”

  She doesn’t turn until I reach for her arm. Finally she looks at me, her expression weary. “What, Cash?”

  “Are we seriously not going to talk?”

  “I’m working.”

  “I understand that. I’m not asking for…” I trail off, frustrated. “Are you seriously going to pretend you didn’t hear that song?”

  Her face crumples. “That song was…it was beautiful. Thank you.”

  “I meant every word.”

  She takes a deep breath. “I’m not angry with you anymore. You don’t need to worry, okay?”

  “This isn’t about worrying, Sam. It’s about—”

  She holds up a hand. “Please, don’t.”

  “Why? Why can’t I tell you how I’m feeling?”

  “Cash, this night is important to me. I don’t want to fight.”

  I’m so frustrated I could scream. “I don’t want to fight, either. I want to talk to you.”

  “It’s not a good time.”

  “The after party then—say you’ll come.”

  Her hands clench into fists. “I can’t do this, okay? I’m sorry if you’re feeling bad about what happened, I really am. But I’ve moved on.”

  “Sam—”

  “I got that internship, Cash. I’m moving to Seattle in the fall.”

  “That’s fantastic.”

  She goes on as if I haven’t spoken. “And I’ve worked out a new visitation schedule with Alice and Bruce. I get Wyatt all weekend now, every weekend.”

  The entire time she’s been talking her voice has been flat, detached. Until she mentions Wyatt and I can hear the joy, the relief. She got her son back. Maybe not full time, not yet, but it’s a start.

  “You did it,” I say. “God, Sam. Congratulations.”

  She nods, looking away. “My life is very full right now, Cash. And…it was hard, after that party. I’m not going to pretend I wasn’t hurt.” My stomach clenches, but then she locks eyes with mine. “But I got through it. And I’m doing better now than I ever have—”

  “I’m glad, Sam. I really am.”

  She nods. “Well, I don’t really have time to…go backwards.”

  “It wouldn’t be like that.”

  “It would. It would be exactly like that for me.”

  “Sam, please. I know I messed up, I know I don’t deserve forgiveness. I’m sorry.”

  She’s shaking her head before I’m finished speaking. “This isn’t about punishment, Cash. I told you that I wasn’t angry anymore.”

  “Then what—”

  “I just don’t trust you. I’m sorry.”

  There it is. The heart of all of my problems—I have proven myself to be someone not worth trusting. Someone who hurts people. Someone who can’t be counted on.

  Six weeks ago I would have bowed my head, agreeing with her. I would have felt like shit but I would have let her go, knowing she was right. Knowing I didn’t deserve any better. But a lot has changed in six weeks. And I’m not going to give up—on her or myself—quite so easily.

  “You know, there was a time when you didn’t believe you could change,” I say, my voice soft. “When you thought your mistakes were too big to overcome. When you thought you deserved whatever bad things happened to you.” She draws in a ragged breath and I pray I’m not going too far. “But you changed, Sam. You gave yourself another chance and look at you now—the internship. This event.” My voice cracks a little bit as the kid’s face flashes through my mind. “Wyatt. Look at how far you’ve come, Sam.” I reach out and brush my fingers across the top of her hand, a fleeting touch. “I’m just asking for that same chance. That’s all.”

  She stands as if frozen, not looking at me, and I have no idea what she’s thinking.

  And then someone calls her name and she shakes herself. “I have to go.” Her voice is flat again, emotionless. “I’m sorry, I have work to do.”

  She turns away and I panic, blurting out the first thing I can think of. “What about the letter?”

  She stills. “Wh…what?”

  “The last letter. Do you…what did you think about it?”

  She shakes her head and there might be a touch of guilt on her face. “I didn’t read it.”

  I swallow. I had been sure she’d get it today. “What about the others? Do you—”

  “I haven’t read any of them.”

  I draw in a sharp breath. All those words. All of that hope that I might reach her. It had been the only thing to get me through these awful weeks. And she hadn’t read any of it.

  She must see on my face how hard these words hit me because she flinches. “I’m sorry, Cash. I just…I didn’t feel like I could handle it. It’s like I told you—I don’t have time to go backwards.”

  I nod, trying to push down the hopelessness that is rising inside of me. She didn’t read them. For the first time since I wrote the first letter I actually let myself consider the possibility that I might never get her back. The resulting terror makes it hard to breathe, to keep a straight face, to talk to her calmly.

  “I understand,” I say, my voice shaking slightly despite my best efforts. “Can you, uh, do me a favor though?”

  She nods, not meeting my eyes.

  “Can you just promise me that you’ll read the last letter? If you don’t want to read the others, that’s fine. I…I get that. You certainly don’t owe me anything. But please, Sam.” My voice shakes again and she looks up at me, her eyes searching my face. Can she see how desperate I am? “Please read the last one, okay?”

  There’s a long pause before she nods. “Okay.”

  ***

  There have been several times during the last six weeks that I would classify as my worst moment. Times where my guilt and my self-loathing got so bad that I thought they would crush me.

  But none of those moments could compare to this. Standing next to my brothers at the after party, watching the minutes tick by, the night growing later and later, and no sign of Sam.

  She’s not coming, I think, trying to wrap my mind around it. She’s not coming. She read the letter and even that isn’t enough to change her mind.

  It’s over.

  It would be so easy to make this all go away. There’s a bottle of whiskey on our table and I could take it right now, finish it myself, check the hell out. I can remember exactly how it would feel, the fire lighting through my blood, burning away the panicky, desperate feeling in my chest. Eventually I would forget. Eventually, it would all go away.

  I clench my fists in my pockets, trying to convince myself to avoid that path. You’re supposed to have changed, I think bleakly. Even if that change doesn’t get you what you want, that doesn’t mean you go back.

  “You doing okay?” Daisy asks.

  I shake my head and she doesn’t press—but she does squeeze my hand as she passes.

  As we inch closer and closer to last call my desperation grows. Finally, Lennon approaches me, his eyes full of pity and worry. “We should probably get going, man.”

  I shake my head roughly. “I’m staying.”

  “Cash—don’t torture yourself, man. Let’s go home.”

  Home. There’s a part of me that wants to agree, to crawl home where I can nurse my pride and try to figure out what in the hell I’m going to do now. Anything would be better than this slow countdown towards the end. But another part of me realizes that this is exactly what I deserve. One last act of self-punishment, watching the clock tick away the last of my hope. Home would be too merciful. “You can leave if you want, Len. I’m staying.”

  He watches my
face for a long moment before nodding. “Then we’ll stay, too.”

  Across the room a flash of blue catches my eye. I can feel my entire body tense. There’s a girl there, a girl with her hair pulled up on the top of her head, making her way through the club, looking for someone. I can’t make out her face from here, but her height is right, and the hair…but then I realize that she’s not in the dress Sam had on tonight and I deflate—until I realize the girl isn’t wearing a dress at all. She’s wearing pajamas—yoga pants and a dark blue West Wood High t-shirt. Exactly what Sam wears to bed.

  I don’t realize that I’ve walked away from Lennon until I’m standing in front of the girl. Sam stares back, a white envelope wrinkled in her hand.

  “What is this?” she asks, her voice shaking.

  I’m torn between relief so strong it makes me light-headed—she’s here!—and deep fear—she doesn’t look particularly happy to see me. I clear my throat, trying to focus on the question. She raises the envelope so I can see it. “What is this?”

  I had only written three lines on the last letter. “That’s my address.”

  Her hands are shaking. “This is a Seattle address.”

  I nod. “That’s where I live now.”

  She shakes her head, confused and maybe a little angry. “You’re renting a house in Seattle?”

  “No. I bought a house in Seattle.”

  Her eyes widen and she doesn’t speak for what feels like a long time. “Why?”

  I shrug. “Because it’s the only place I’ve been happy for a very long time. And I thought it was time to find a place to call home.” I take a deep breath. “I was really unhappy in the place I was in before. It’s time for a change.”

  For a moment I think maybe she’ll hit me, or throw the letter in my face. So I’m more than a little surprised when she throws herself into my arms instead, pulling my face down to hers, kissing me with a desperation that takes my breath away.

  I’m confused and caught off guard but my body doesn’t care—I pull her to me as tightly as I can, one hand behind her head, another on the small of her back. Her lips are insistent on mine and I’m pretty sure I whimper a little, not caring one bit how lame that makes me.