“Ben…” For the second occasion that day, she didn't have a word in her cheek. Her mother's head swiveled to look at her through the kitchen doorway and Veronica frowned.
“I wasn't sure you would be there. I called to wish you all a Merry Christmas and to see how Henry is doing.”
“Merry Christmas,” she said. “Henry is great.” Zero thanks to you, she almost added.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
If you bothered to take part in his life, you'd already know it, she thought. This Cherise creature must be monopolizing all of his precious time.
“Is Veronica there too?”
“Yes. Hold on, I'll get her.”
“Wait. Before you do…how are you?”
“I'm alright, and you?” She swallowed hard, leaning her hip against the counter for support. As disillusioned as she'd become about him, his deep voice still had the power to rattle her. As if she were sixteen again.
“Much better. Still going to art school?”
“Uh huh.”
An uncomfortable silence yawned between them. Samantha had so many questions, about his rehabilitation after the car accident, about his personal life, but she struggled with a way to frame them. Her family within earshot didn't help matters.
Finally, Ben broke the dead air. “Could you put Veronica on now?”
“Yeah, hang on a minute.” She put the receiver down on the counter and went back to the dining room. “Ben wants to talk to you, Ronnie.” She eyed her generous helping of dessert. Her appetite for the sweet mound of trifle had vanished.
Veronica pushed back her chair. “This won't take long,” she said firmly. She went into the kitchen and closed the door.
Darlene shook her head. “I believe somebody's got a case of the guilts for Christmas.”
“Is it true he still isn’t providing for his son, Momma?” Samantha whispered, glancing at Henry. The boy paid the adults no heed while he demolished his dessert, his chin a mess of whipped cream, cherry juice, and custard.
“From what I could pry out of his momma, I’m afraid he isn’t,” Darlene said. “And when I tell her she has a right to go after it, she shuts me down every time.”
“She's got too much pride for that,” Cash added. “Shameful of Ben's father, too. You’d think he would try to lend a hand. I mean, we do what we can to help out, and we enjoy doing so, but—”
“Shh!” Darlene silenced him as Veronica opened the door and returned to her seat at the table.
Her expression a tight mask, it concealed any emotion as she reached for her water glass.
“How did that go?” her mother ventured, sounding casual.
“Fine, Momma. Enough about the interruption; let's get back to dessert. I put the kettle on again. Anyone for seconds?”
***
Samantha’s little problem did indeed turn out to be an infection, the doctor at the clinic told her, and she already felt much better since taking the antibiotics prescribed for her. Along with the relief from the nasty experience, she now possessed more confidence concerning another area of protection. While she sat on her bed and read over the tiny information insert from her first prescription of birth control pills, Veronica barged in.
“What-cha got there? No way! You’re on the Pill now, too?”
“Yep.” Samantha slipped the thin compact of medication into her shoulder bag. “And what Momma doesn’t know won’t hurt her, alright?”
“For real? Guess this means you and the rock star are serious. Jeez.” Veronica’s frown changed into a sneer. “And how’s the burning bush?”
Samantha laughed. “All taken care of.” She opened the small box on her dresser and took out the birthstone earrings Veronica had given her. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she put them in and studied her reflection briefly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to finish getting ready for a date.”
“Never thought in a million years you two would hook up. I know I said it before, but be careful, Sam.”
She found it hard to believe how quickly Christmas break had flown by. Here it was, the second day of the New Year, and already time to get ready to head back to Corner Brook and her classes at Grenfell. She didn't relish saying goodbye to her new boyfriend. At all.
“You look kind of down, Sam.”
She peeked up at Kalen's ruddy, whiskered face and forced a smile. “That obvious, is it?”
They had spent an hour ice-skating at the local rink and were on their way for coffee to warm themselves up. The nearest coffee shop overflowed with customers when they got there, a long line-up snaking back from the entrance.
“We'll freeze and die of thirst waiting here,” he said. “Hey, how about we go to my place instead? I promise to thaw you out good and proper.”
Samantha crossed the slushy street with him and got into his car. “I just bet you will, you stud muffin.”
On the drive there, she studied him in profile. She loved his long hair and the way his lopsided grin made her go all warm and squishy inside. How would she manage without him until next break? February 23rd loomed such a long, long way off. And how would she prevent herself from thinking of all those girls, those fans who so brazenly vied for his attention, clamouring to take her place at every opportunity?
At the New Year's Eve party at the Cosmopolitan two nights ago, Samantha had grown more and more uneasy with each song the band played for the jam-packed crowd. All around the club, pretty girls and young women had cheered, whistled and called out Kalen’s name, becoming more daring as the night wore on and their alcohol-blunted inhibitions disappeared. She'd seen more than one of them waving their phone numbers and throwing themselves at him during the band's breaks. She’d tried to hide her jealousy, but it proved difficult, though she knew the scene was all a part of the “dating a gorgeous rocker dude” terrain.
Her resolve to hide any display of possessiveness reached its breaking point near midnight. Gerry gave the floor to Kalen to sing a selection by Matchbox 20 he had practised. Samantha smiled, warmed by his attentiveness as he sang to her and played his guitar; for the entire song, he looked only in her direction. She sat at a table with a group of friends of the band. They were strangers to her, but they each made her feel welcome (“Hey, sweet-cheeks, any friend of Kalen is a friend of ours!”).
Then it happened. Sipping her Coors Light, she glanced over at one point during the next song, a Tragically Hip tune, and her mouth dropped open, horrified. A particularly buxom brunette rushed the stage and lifted the front of her top, exposing her braless chest to Kalen. Naturally, she distracted him with that move, until a couple of friends of the tipsy girl rushed up and dragged her back down into the crowd.
When the song ended, the applause died away and the countdown to the New Year began. Every patron in the club joined their voices together, chanting down the seconds to midnight and the advent of 1998. Kalen held up his hand, beckoning to Samantha over the heads on the dance floor to come up and join him on the stage.
But scores of revelers jammed the floor space. She tried to worm her way through the wall of bodies first, then decided to go around the lot of them by skirting the room via the far-left wall. By the time she got close to the stage and had Kalen in her sight, the clock had struck twelve. All around her, partiers shouted, laughed and blew on their noisemakers. One heavy-set male carouser with a ponytail blocked her way, waving a glow stick and a noisemaker over his head. He stepped backward and trod squarely on her big toe, sending her into howls of agony, which nobody heard above the din anyway.
When she reached Kalen, she found him surrounded by a gaggle of pushy females, swarming around him on stage. One of them, the persistent, busty brunette, had returned for another round of excessive fandom. Shamelessly, she ground her voluptuous body against his hip, leering up at him like a love-starved beagle pup. To Samantha's assessment of the situation, Kalen had forgotten all about her, grinning like an idiot amid all those female hormones. She pivoted on her heel and escaped to the ladies’ room, fightin
g to hold in her angry tears.
Five minutes later, she re-emerged from her brief cry in one of the toilet stalls. She’d wiped away the tears and regained enough of her composure to brave the world again. While applying fresh lipstick in front of the mirror, one of the older women from her table entered, eyeing her with hesitation.
“You doin’ okay, sweet-cheeks?” she asked. “We all wondered where you disappeared to.”
Samantha nodded, faking a quick smile. “On my way back.”
The woman pushed open the door to one of the stalls and entered, letting it bang shut behind her. “Yeesh, I thought they were gonna need a fire hose to drive away the goddamn groupies!” she called out.
“Tell me about it,” Samantha muttered. “I'll see you out there.” Squaring her shoulders, she left the ladies’ room, returned to her chair and squinted at the noisy mob. The band was still on break, and the room buzzed with laughter and conversation.
“Samantha!” Kalen came striding toward her. Pulling her to her feet, he wrapped his arms around her.
“We didn't get to kiss at midnight,” he said into her hair. He drew back a bit, tipping up her chin. “Is it too late?”
“I didn't want to interrupt the fanfare, where you were so distracted and all.”
“Come 'ere,” he said with tenderness, touching his lips to hers.
The muscles in her thighs and around her knees weakened when he increased his pressure, his hand pressing the small of her back into him. She let him plunder her mouth, trying to act calm and unruffled at first.
The attempt lasted about three seconds. She’d almost forgotten where they were, until she heard Gerry's voice behind them.
“Break's over, lovebirds! Time for the last set.”
Now she was in his apartment, and his arms, once again. Later, in his bed, she allowed him to drive all anxiety from her mind, consoling herself she was the girl Kalen wanted to be with. She needed to forget about all those ridiculous groupies.
But was their relationship strong enough to survive the miles she’d be putting between them tomorrow?
Chapter Seven
On the morning before her art presentation for midterm evaluation, the drawing studio Samantha worked in hummed with activity. Her schoolmates were scattered around the large, well-lit room, all of them working on their practical projects, their canvases propped on easels or against walls and their sketchbooks open around them. Toolboxes filled with graphite pencils, brushes, palette knives and whatnot lay open on tables, and a mixture of smells from paint, linseed oil, varnish and glue permeated the air.
“Much left, Samantha?” asked a student sitting across from her. Michael also worked on figure drawing today. A mere slip of a young man, he wore a red plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up, torn, faded Levi’s, and a pencil propped behind his ear. Craning his neck from behind his easel, he viewed her work with interest.
“Nope, just about done. You?”
“I’m thinking of starting over. Not happy with mine at all.”
“Oh? Come take a gander at my sketch. Think it’s good enough?” She stepped back to allow him a better view.
“I’d say you nailed it,” he said with a tone of admiration. “I like the muscles. They’re more realistic.”
“We each have our areas. The watercolour you did last week was gorgeous, and that can be a difficult medium.”
“Thanks. I think it’s too late to start fresh now. Gonna grab some lunch first. Coming?”
“You go on. I might catch up with you later.”
He threw his supplies in his knapsack and gave her a quick wave as he left the studio.
Samantha put the finishing touches on her charcoal sketch and stretched her arms overhead to relieve the cramped muscles around her spine and shoulders. Standing three feet from the easel, she surveyed her completed work and nodded with satisfaction. Started from a drawing class with a live model a couple of days prior, the posterior nude male stared at her from over his right shoulder, the attitude of the detailed pose soulful and hypnotic. Michael was right; her figure drawing had improved considerably over the last two years. This one had to be her best yet. The sketch stood ready for submission, as did the rest of her assignments for the essential presentation to members of her faculty.
For Samantha, this was the hardest part of her studies: the presentation component. She could count on those mammoth butterflies of anxiety to emerge from their cocoons, unfurling and flapping their giant wings inside her stomach, and this occurred merely at the thought of the upcoming faculty critique. Not because she thought her skills were wanting; she had reasonable confidence in her talent and training, but the introverted aspect of her hated the showing-off and evaluation stage. And it wasn’t as if she hadn't endured these critiques before, either. Each semester ended the same way, with the same requirements, to graduate to the next level.
At the beginning of her studies, she’d thought she would grow accustomed to the critiques after a couple of them, but no. No such luck.
“Hey Sam.” Ivy, one of her student friends, entered the studio, carrying a sketchbook and a canvas bag. After tying her long hair up in a tidy knot on top of her head, she set up her materials in the workspace next to Samantha’s. “Finish that one yet?”
“Yeah, what do you think?”
Ivy moved over to see her drawing. “Wicked job, girl. Can I have it for my room?” she asked with a giggle. “By the way, I meant to ask you: did you apply for the Harlow program again?”
Samantha nodded. Ivy referred to the optional twelve-week summer semester at Memorial University’s international campus in Harlow, England. The Visual Arts program offered the immersion program every second year, and as a graduate level course. “Worth a shot, I suppose. Did you?”
“Yeah, what harm can it do? Though my marks aren’t nearly as good as yours. But can you imagine such a trip?” Ivy stared off into space, her eyes dreamy. “And to study what we love there! Too bad it costs so darn much. A scholarship would sure come in handy, hey?”
“I'm lucky I'm not racking up student loans like a lot of the undergrads here, thanks to my dad. I don’t dare ask him to fork over still more dough to go to England, of all places.” Since Samantha had enrolled at Grenfell over three years ago, she had applied for each scholarship and bursary for which she was eligible, including the travel awards, but her efforts had come up fruitless. It would have been the only way she could have entertained the idea of attending the semester overseas.
“Doing anything special for midterm break?” she asked Ivy.
“No, staying in Stephenville. I won't even see Jesse.” She pouted as she pulled several pencils from her bag. “He'll be out at sea the whole time I'm off. Sucks to be me.”
“Aw, that’s brutal.”
“What will you be doing?”
“I'm going home as usual.” She couldn’t wait.
Ivy sat back down at her work station. “Cool. I guess you're dying to see your guy.”
Samantha nodded and packed up her supplies. “It feels like forever since I've seen him. To be truthful, I'm getting nervous!”
“You’ll be fine. It's like riding a bicycle.”
“Good to know! See ya later.” With a grin, Samantha left the studio.
Back in her room in the on-campus residence, she was startled to see a message left on her desk from her roommate. It read:
Your mother called. Everything is alright, she said, but she needs to talk to you. Roberta
This was a rarity, a phone call from her mother. Right away, she went to their shared phone and called Darlene and Cash's number collect.
“Momma?” she squeaked out when the operator gave her the go-ahead.
“Hi, honey. Thanks for returning my call. I wanted to tell you something before you came home, so you aren't blindsided.”
“Blindsided? How? What's happened?”
She heard Darlene’s weighty sigh. “Someone else is coming home on his mid-term break.”
&n
bsp; “Who are you talking about?”
“Ben Swift, that's who.”
Samantha clutched the receiver. “How do you know?”
“He called Veronica yesterday and told her he'd be seeing her by the end of the week. She filled me in about it this morning.”
“Did he say why?”
“Well, he wants to see Henry, and he also said he has something to discuss with Ronnie.”
Samantha chewed the inside of her cheek.
“Honey? You still there?”
“Yup. Thanks for letting me know,” she said in a feeble voice.
“I wanted to prepare you. You know, in case you see him too.”
“Thanks, Momma. I'm glad you did. I'll see you on Friday.”
Hours later when she logged off a computer session, Samantha still pondered what it might mean. Ben planned to come and see his young son, at long last. Could it be he wanted to play the daddy card after all this time? And what did Veronica think of it? It could mean financial support was on the way as well.
Her presentation the next day went as planned, with minimal glitches. As far as she could tell, she’d done okay. With so many other issues jockeying for space in her thoughts, she guessed little room remained for unnecessary worry or nerves over her artwork. An unforeseen, though appreciated, bonus.
That evening, Samantha joined Ivy, Michael, Roberta and a handful of other students at Clancy's, a popular restaurant in Corner Brook, to celebrate the beginning of their break. The fully-loaded potato skins and bacon-wrapped scallops were scrumptious, and the beer refreshing and ice-cold, yet she found herself growing more and more rattled, her mind filled with thoughts of going home the next day. She wondered if this Cherise person would be accompanying Ben. She wondered if their paths would intersect at all. There was the chance he would see Henry and Veronica only at Mandy and Gina's and she'd have to wait to hear any news second-hand. Considering the few precious hours she had to spend with Kalen, it was probably just as well.
Then why did the idea of missing an opportunity to see Ben disappoint her so much?
Calmer Secrets: Calmer Girls 2 (Calmer Girls Series) Page 6
