by Monica James
“Of course it will. I think we all need some fun after the past few weeks.”
She’s absolutely right. We all need some fun. God knows I do. With that decided, we say our goodbyes, me promising to call her the moment Saxon arrives.
Feeling a little more like me after speaking to Piper, I decide to put on a DVD and wait for Sam to wake up. Nothing catches my eye until I run my finger over the spine of a case marked ‘Memories.’ This is probably not the best thing to watch as it’ll probably just make me miss Sam more, but realizing that’s not possible, I slip it from the rack and place it into the player.
The quality is awful, considering it was converted onto DVD from VHS, but that doesn’t matter. I can remember each moment like it just happened yesterday. The first home movie is of Sam’s basketball final—senior year. I’m perched on the edge of the sofa, watching Sam as his father proudly films his son tearing up the court like the skilled basketballer that he is.
His orange jersey highlights his tanned, taut skin and draws out the blond strands in his shaggy hair. When he bypasses two opponents and slams the ball into the hoop, the crowd roars in delight—me included. The seventeen-year-old me sounds completely smitten by her new beau. Sam runs backward, his eagle eyes landing on me as he points and winks cockily. I swoon now, just as I did then.
I continue watching, unable to tear my eyes away from the eighteen-year-old Sam, running circles around his opponents. He’s fast, cocky, and skilled—no wonder he got offered a scholarship to Montana State. A scholarship he turned down because Greg’s plan was for his boys to help him run the farm.
With a minute to go, Greg pans the camera sideways, bringing into view Kellie, Saxon, and I. I cringe when I see the adolescent Lucy because she looks like a complete geek. I have no idea what Sam saw in me—I was flat chested, not that that’s changed, had a mouth full of braces, wore ridiculously huge glasses, and my clothes weren’t exactly girly. But he never made me feel anything but beautiful.
Kellie hasn’t aged a bit; she looks youthful, spirited, and fashionable in the latest threads. Her blonde hair sits in a side bun, her face painted in natural undertones, complementing her organic beauty. The camera then zooms in on Saxon.
“Are you excited, Sax? Your baby brother has won the finals for his team,” Greg asks, the excitement evident in his tone.
Sax looks up for the briefest of moments, pinning the lens with an intense, unenthusiastic stare. I don’t know why, but I unexpectedly have a pitter patter low in my belly. The seventeen-year-old me is oblivious to Saxon sitting beside me, too preoccupied by Sam’s efforts on the court. But the twenty-six-year-old me is completely intrigued.
He looks untroubled, completely relaxed, reading a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird at a basketball game filled with cheerleaders and jocks. His hair is mussed, falling over his left eye, making him appear all the more enigmatic. He’s wearing a ratty Led Zeppelin t-shirt and baggy skater shorts. The look isn’t conventional for kids our age, but it suits him. He is utterly mesmerizing and I don’t know why.
Before I can question myself further, Kellie angrily clicks her fingers in front of the camera, shouting that Greg film Samuel. A second before he complies, he inadvertently captures Saxon’s frown, his expression conveying how Kellie’s cruel words have affected him. But his feelings aren’t anyone’s concerns, not even mine because as the buzzer sounds, we all jump up and celebrate because Sam’s team has won. The image ends on Sam being lifted onto the shoulders of his teammates, them singing his name.
A sinking feeling forms in the pit of my stomach and I suddenly feel like I’m missing something. I just don’t know what.
I don’t have time to delve deeper because the screen flickers and the next home movie is of my prom. The cinematographer this time is my dad. I could close my eyes and recite every moment, every word spoken because I’ve watched this a million times before.
“You look beautiful, sweetheart.”
“Thanks, Daddy,” the past and present me say.
“He’s here! He’s here!” my mom says, rushing over to the hall table to grab her camera.
I didn’t know it then, but hours from this precise moment, I would lose my virginity to my prince charming. It went how any first time after prom was expected to be—rushed, clumsy, and awkward, but it was perfect. I wouldn’t trade the feeling of knowing Samuel that way for anything.
A knock sounds on the door. “Daddy, be nice.”
“I’m always nice.”
I remember wondering if I looked okay, as the strapless blue gown showed off a little more skin than I was accustomed to showing. But when my mom opened the door and Sam’s eyes widened and he gulped, I knew I looked more than okay.
“Mr. and Mrs. Tucker.” Sam looked incredible. The simple black tuxedo clung to every plane of his athletic frame perfectly.
The white corsage he held was so pretty, so feminine, it brought tears to my eyes. I never felt more beautiful than I did that day. As he slipped it onto my wrist, I basked in his fragrance, anxious to get out of here so we could make out in his car.
“Now, son, let’s go over the rules for tonight.”
I laugh at Sam’s horrified expression, although I certainly wasn’t laughing when my dad started grilling Sam about having me home before midnight. Thankfully, Mom convinced him to let me stay out until one a.m.
I looked so nervous, and the same butterflies take flight within. I miss that feeling. That carefree, innocent first love is a love that compares to no other feeling in this world. I want that back. And I want that back with Sam.
The footage ends as Sam and I walk hand in hand to his old pickup, my dad mumbling, “He better take good care of my girl.”
And he did.
He has ever since.
Ten
I wake with a start, convinced someone is watching me.
Jolting upright, my foggy brain takes a moment to process where I am. The familiar surroundings calm my racing heart and I groggily remember falling asleep while watching my home movies. Brushing the hair from my face, I see that it’s peaking on dusk and the room is lit up by the gentle glow coming from the TV.
I rub the sleep from my eyes with the heels of my hands, but screech when the light flicks on, startling me.
“You do realize you snore like a freight train, right?”
“Saxon?” I almost tumble off the couch when I see him leaning against the doorjamb, arms and ankles crossed.
He pushes off the frame with a lopsided smirk. “Don’t look so surprised. I told you I’d be back. I’m starving. What’s for dinner?”
I dig at my eyes one more time just in case they deceive me, but nope, there he is, standing in my living room, all six foot four of him. Taking in his dusty jeans and boots, and windswept hair, I dare say he just rode in.
“It’s okay that I came back, right?” Saxon asks, breaking my impolite gawking.
“Yes, yes, sorry, Saxon.” I leap up, straightening out my clothes sheepishly. “I’m not a morning person.”
Looking down at his watch, he smirks. “It’s 6:07p.m.” I can’t help but smile. It’s good to have him back.
Judging by the large duffle strapped to his back, I dare say he’ll be staying a while. A sense of comfort wraps around me and I suddenly feel more optimistic than I did earlier. I don’t know why, but Saxon, he levels me.
I know how that sounds, considering I barely know him, but he feels so familiar. Even though he annoys the living hell out of me at times, I like that he challenges me and I can be myself around him.
“I haven’t even thought about food. Is there anything you’d like to eat?” I reply, addressing his earlier question as I’m still staring at him from across the room.
“Pizza,” a voice announces from behind Saxon.
Sam.
When he comes into view, bumping Saxon with his shoulder playfully as he walks past. I can’t help but smile at his sleep riddled hair and crumpled clothes. He looks adorable. Sadly, when he fixes his ey
es on the TV and sees footage of us swimming in Bali, he turns from cuddly to killer in seconds.
“What’s this?”
“It’s us on our five year anniversary,” I explain, twisting my hands in front of me as his face falls blank. “We’re in Bali.”
“Bali? Why the hell were we there?” he asks, not hiding his disgust as he watches us frolic happily in the crystal blue waters. Unlike now.
I meet Saxon’s aggravated stare over Sam’s shoulder. He folds his arms over his chest, unimpressed. “I was over there for work, and after I was done, you flew over. It was your idea to celebrate our anniversary over there.”
He scoffs. “I doubt I would ever suggest going over to that poor, filthy shithole.”
I take great offense, as Bali is one of my favorite places in the world. The people over there are so generous, so happy, and yes, it may be a third world country, but it’s a beautiful country nonetheless.
Sam slumps onto the sofa and watches the plasma intently while I repress my anger. He may not remember it, but this did happen—the proof is right in front of him. And he had fun. We both did. We all watch in silence, our eyes fixated on the TV.
“And what work?” Sam asks a moment later, turning to look at me smugly. “Please don’t tell me you’re a mail order bride. That explains a lot if you are.” He turns back around, an arrogant smirk on his cheeks.
My mouth pops open. “Excuse me?”
“I’m kidding,” he amends, but I don’t actually know if he is.
“Lucy, can you help me unpack?” Saxon says, breaking through the palpable tension. I wordlessly nod, not sure what to do or say.
Saxon huffs angrily, glaring at Samuel before walking out of the room. I stand miserably, looking at the man I love more than life itself. But that man no longer exists. I leave Sam sitting happily alone on the couch as he perches his feet onto the coffee table.
I’m moving on autopilot as I ramble down the hallway and into the guest bedroom. The moment I see Saxon standing by the bed, his hands interlaced behind his neck, I burst into tears. I need to stop crying, I especially need to stop crying in front of Saxon, who no doubt is questioning his decision to return.
He makes a pained face. “Lucy, please don’t cry.”
I hide my tears behind my palms, attempting to mute my sobs. “I’m s-s-sorry.” The action only makes me cry harder. I feel weak, silly, and embarrassed that I can’t hold it together for more than five seconds, but these tears, they’re laced with anger, frustration.
“It’s okay, don’t apologize.” The floorboards creak as he steps towards me and rubs my upper arm. “He’s just lashing out. He used to do it all the time when we were growing up. He’s frustrated and annoyed, that’s all.”
“But he’s b-being such an asshole,” I stutter, choking on my sniffles. “He was never this mean before. It’s like he’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.” The fact Saxon isn’t jumping to his defense makes me think he doesn’t entirely disagree with me.
My ugly sobs eventually die down and silent tears rack my body as I try and pull it together. I need to stop this emotional diarrhea. It isn’t helping the situation one iota and it just makes me feel worse. When I think I can speak without choking, I pull my hands away, embarrassed to face Saxon after yet another breakdown. But what I see surprises me. He looks completely and utterly saddened. I was expecting maybe annoyance, not sadness.
“Are you okay?” he asks, dipping down to meet me at eye level. “I hate seeing you cry.”
“I’m sorry.” I quickly wipe away my tears, not wanting to upset him further. But he reaches out and gently secures my wrist. Looking down at our connection, I feel a strange sense of security seeing his strong fingers fixed firmly around me.
“I meant, I can’t stand to see you cry. It tears me up inside.”
My mouth pops open for the second time tonight.
He lets go of my wrist, shaking his head. “You don’t deserve to be treated this way. It appears Sam’s also forgotten his manners. But that doesn’t surprise me. Decorum was never his strong suit.”
I know Saxon doesn’t want to hear this, considering he’s still bitter towards Sam, but he’s the only person who understands. He’s the only person who can explain to me why Sam is being this way. “What does that say about me? About us? About our entire relationship, if he doesn’t remember who I am?”
He looks torn, appearing to weigh up what to say. “Lucy, I wish I had the answers. At the risk of sounding like a complete asshole, Sam’s behavior doesn’t surprise me.”
I cock a brow, intrigued.
“Samuel has always been a spoiled brat. He always got what he wanted. And now that he’s being told what to do, he’s acting out. I can feel his isolation,” he reveals, pulling at his white t-shirt as if it’s suffocating him. “He feels like he’s drowning, and the old Sam, the Sam that I know, hates not having the upper hand.”
I shake my head, jumping to Sam’s defense. “That’s not true. That’s not Sam. I don’t know what happened between you two, but—”
“That’s right,” he interrupts, angrily. “You don’t know. So don’t start making excuses for him. He may or may not remember, but I do, and I’ll never forget it.”
“He’s your brother, Saxon.” I keep my tone light, not wanting to wave a red flag in front of an already angry bull.
“I know who he is. I don’t need reminding.”
“What did he do that’s so bad?”
“What didn’t he do?” is his bitter reply.
I remain silent, hoping he’ll at least share a small snippet of their past.
“It’s all the small things, Lucy, that amount to the bigger picture. Like him organizing that party the weekend my parents went away. He used my cell, without me knowing, of course, because if my parents ever found out, all they had to do was check the phone bill and see that it was my phone the calls were made from.”
My mouth pops open. “It was Sam who organized the party that Fourth of July weekend?”
Saxon nods. “Yes. I tried telling my parents it wasn’t me, but like Samuel predicted, they checked the phone bill and then there was no point arguing. I was grounded for a month because Kellie’s precious crystal ornaments got used as bowling balls.”
I always thought it was out of character for Saxon to throw such a huge party. But I never doubted Sam when he told me it was Saxon’s idea.
“Or how about the time Sam thought it would be fun to get a fake I.D. in my name and then go out and buy beer.”
“He didn’t?” I shake my head, incredulous.
“Yes, he did,” he confirms. “He was hanging out with his stoner friends and they had a bright idea to kill even more brain cells by getting wasted. Samuel paid that math nerd, Gordon, twenty bucks to make him a fake I.D. As it turns out, Gordon should have stuck to algebra because the I.D. may as well have come out of a cereal box. The clerk called my parents when Sam ran off, totally busted. I got grounded yet again because Sam was too chicken shit to own up and take the blame.”
“Why didn’t you tell your parents?”
“I did. When I told Kellie what Sam was doing, she would reprimand me for being a tattle tale,” he states. “Not to mention, Sam was smart. He knew how to play my parents. Play the baby of the family card. He had them fooled. These examples are just a few in a long line of many. After a while, I just stopped explaining because they didn’t believe me anyway. Sam transformed into the good kid, while I was the troublemaker. I was the older brother who should know better. Whenever a mess was made, it was always my name they called, not Sam’s.”
“You were only kids.” I know it sounds like I’m making excuses for Sam’s vindictive behavior, but surely Saxon can forgive something that happened years ago.
He indicates this conversation is over with by practically tearing the zipper off his bag. “You sound just like my parents.” He yanks out handfuls of clothes and storms over to the walk-in closet, where he throws whatever he has in his pa
lms onto the shelf.
I still don’t know why he’s so angry at Sam, but I do know now is not the time to ask. He stands in the closet, hands on hips, exhaling deeply. I don’t say a word. I simply stand, chewing my lip, avoiding his annoyed glare.
If I want Saxon to stick around, I’m going to have to attempt to stop making him mad. And that’s all I seem to be doing lately, as it appears we have a love-hate relationship. He presses all my buttons and it seems I do the same to him.
He steps out, taking one final breath. His presence is almost suffocating. “Lucy, I’m…”
But whatever Saxon is, I’ll never know because we both pause when the sound of an engine roars to life. It takes us all of three seconds to realize it’s my Jeep.
“No,” I gasp, shaking my head, eyes wide. “He wouldn’t?”
When the distinct sound of tires skidding over gravel pierces the air, we both know it is what we think it is.
“Motherfucker!” Saxon is out the door in seconds, charging down the hallway, fists clenched by his side. I chase after him because he’s running towards the front door.
When he yanks open the door and bounds down the steps, screaming, “Sam! Stop!” I know it can’t be good.
The cool breeze has goose bumps buttering my skin, but I ignore the bitter weather and spring down the steps, waving for Sam to stop. But he doesn’t. My appearance only makes him drive faster as he fishtails down our driveway, flicking up stones and pebbles in his wake.
“Sam! No!” I scream, my shrill voice sending birds from their perches. “You’re going to get hurt!” My advice falls on deaf ears as he accelerates and takes off faster than a cannonball on steroids.
I run after him, pushing forward with all my might, but as Saxon and I see the taillights grow smaller and smaller, we slow down our dead sprint and finally give up. We’ll never catch up to him on foot.
I’m puffed and winded, but Saxon doesn’t look like he’s broken a sweat as he storms past me and charges into the house. Leaning over and placing my hands on my knees, I attempt to catch my breath, but the moment I hear a holler, adrenalin sings through my veins and I run faster than I ever have before.
