Sam snapped the locket shut, opened the bag, and tossed it in. “Nothing.” I can throw things away too, Mom. Her mouth felt like sandpaper, and where was the stinking breeze? It was like breathing in an ashtray around here.
She hauled open the next drawer and shoved clothes in the bag as fast as she could. She wasn’t stopping to look at anything else. She didn’t care anymore. It was all going out the door.
When she filled the bag, she grabbed another and continued. There were cards and junk in the bottom of some of the drawers. She gathered and tossed them without looking.
When they finished the chest, Landon carried the full bags out to the front room to give them space to work in the confined quarters. She slid the last empty drawer of the dresser shut and moved on to the nightstand on her mom’s old side of the bed. With any luck, it would be empty.
Landon knelt on the other side of the bed and opened the nightstand drawer. “There’s a lot of junk in here. Do you want to go through it?”
Sam opened the top drawer and sighed. Emmett hadn’t bothered to get rid of her mom’s things. On top of the pile was an old copy of Ladies’ Home Journal with Nancy Reagan on the cover. “Just pitch everything.”
She snatched a fresh bag and started grabbing things. The magazine, an old Harlequin novel, its pages yellowed by time. Don’t look,Sam; just throw it all away.
A tube of hand lotion went in the bag, followed by a tea light and a lighter. She scooped up the rest of the contents and dumped them in the bag, shutting the drawer.
“Sam?”
The second drawer was as full as the first. She reached in. “What?”
“I think you should see this.”
“Just pitch it.” There was nothing from her past she wanted to see. Not pictures, not memorabilia, not anything. She just wanted to trash everything and get out of this room. Out of this cottage. Off this island.
“It’s a letter.” Landon held up an envelope.
“I don’t care.” She was tired of being pulled down nightmare lane. She refused to go any farther. Her past was bad enough the first time around; she had no desire to repeat it.
“It’s from your mom, Sam.”
All the more reason to get rid of it. “Throw it away.” Her tone was sharp, but she didn’t care at the moment. Why should she pore over an old letter? It was probably one her mom had written Emmett when they were dating. He’d lived on the mainland then.
“When did your mom leave?”
Sam leveled a look at him. Why couldn’t he just drop it? “The summer after fifth grade. You know that.”
He looked at the envelope.
A strange knot started in her throat and worked downward like a braid, twisting tightly.
“It was written after she left.”
An earthquake rumbled inside, shaking her to the core. Sam stared at the letter but saw nothing. Her mom had written Emmett after she left? How come he hadn’t told her? She scratched the last question. Why would he have done anything kind toward her?
“He never told you?” Landon asked.
“No,” she whispered.
He stood and held it out to her.
Sam shook her head. She didn’t want to read it. Not now.
Landon set it on top of the quilt. She wondered that it didn’t burn a hole through the fabric. Her hands shook as she opened the last drawer of the nightstand. She grabbed the whole drawer and pulled it out, then upended it into the bag, banging the bottom so every last scrap of paper fell.
Why had her mom written after she left? Did she regret leaving? Did she ask about Sam? Did she want Sam to come and live with her? The questions haunted her like a merciless ghost. But she was afraid to know the answers.
She heard the floor squeak and wondered when Landon had come to be behind her. He squatted on the floor and leaned against the side of the bed. “You’re upset.”
“I’m fine.” It was her mantra, and she saw no reason to ditch it now. She gathered the ends of the bag in her hands and started to rise to her feet.
Landon put a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s talk.”
“I don’t want to talk.” She wanted to leave, go outside and breathe fresh air again. “We need to clean out the closet.” She stood, and his hand fell away.
Sam set the bag out of the way, then opened the closet door. Clothes and boxes and assorted junk filled the space from top to bottom. Her energy left her at the sight, drained away like someone pulled a plug on the ocean. And the smell. Musty Old Spice and sweat. The stench penetrated her nostrils, filled her lungs, and leaked into every cell of her body.
She shut the door and spun on her heels. The living room passed in a blur, then she was outside. She leaned against the screen and filled her lungs with the night air. The door clacked shut behind her.
She heard Landon’s footsteps and closed her eyes. The wind whistled through the tree branches, swishing the leaves together. She listened to the sound of a wave colliding with the shore, waiting for the ocean’s music to soothe her. Somewhere in the distance, a car’s tires squealed.
Just another week. You’re almost done. You can make it that long.
But she pictured that letter on the bed, waiting to be read. Part of her wanted to burn it. Another part—the insecure eleven-year-old with a hundred ever-present questions—begged to tear open the envelope and get her answers.
Landon’s hands settled on her shoulders, squeezing gently.
“I don’t want to talk,” she said, just to clarify.
He kneaded her shoulders. “I know.”
She relaxed a bit, letting him soothe muscles she hadn’t known ached until he touched her. She remembered the day her mom had left and the way Landon was there. He didn’t talk or make her talk. He was just there.
He was always there, comforting in a way no one else ever had. She leaned back against him, wanting to soak in his presence for just a little while. She was tired of being independent. So tired. What would it hurt to lean on him for a while? To fully surrender? If she couldn’t trust Landon, who could she trust?
His arms came around her, wrapped around her middle, and his head rested on hers. His musky cologne filled her senses. Sweet peace enveloped her, and she imagined it was how a baby chick felt under her mother’s wing. Safe. Sheltered. Loved.
“You don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s okay to feel,” he whispered against her hair.
She knew it was true. But she’d lost the ability somehow. She was like a wick clipped too short to hold a flame.
He pressed a tender kiss to the top of her head, and she melted. Why can’t life be like this? Why can’t I stay here forever and let him loveme? Only when he held her did she realize she was a starving beggar, and he was the bread she so desperately needed.
She clutched his arms, hoping he wouldn’t let her go. Her fingers intertwined with his.
He pulled her into him, holding her tightly. His flesh was warm against the chill of the night, his breath moist against her temple.
“You deserve so much, Sam.”
The knot inside her loosened. And a different kind of ache began. One that quickened her heart and stole her breath. It was better than the high of alcohol, more real, more . . . everything.
She turned into him, wrapping her arms around his waist. His heart thudded against her ear. He was warm and solid. Her hands moved against the ripples of his strong back.
His arms cradled her head, the same way he’d held her when he released her from the shed. He saved her then, like he’d saved her from childhood bullies, like he was saving her now. From loneliness. She was dying of it, but here he was, like always, giving her what she needed.
Sam leaned back and looked at him. She allowed herself to touch his jaw, feeling the rough stubble against the pads of her fingers. She explored the planes of his face, angles so familiar she saw them in her sleep.
The line of his upper lip was a sharp edge, and she let her finger trail down to the fullness of his lower lip, th
en to the tiny cleft in his chin.
Their eyes met and clung. His palm cupped her chin, and her heart forgot to beat. He leaned down, and she arched toward him, aching to feel his lips on hers. They touched her gently, no more than a whisper, testing the waters. But she felt it down to her toes. His lips moved over hers again, slowly, giving, not taking.
He was Landon, her trusted friend, but in that moment he was so much more. He was passion, he was affection, he was mercy. She wanted it all, and she wouldn’t stop until she had it.
She leaned into him, her hands sliding around his back. He deepened the kiss, and her world was a kaleidoscope of color and light. All of it beautiful.
“Sam.”
She felt her name on his lips and relished it. But she didn’t want to talk. She wanted to feel. It had been so long since she was able to.
He pulled back a fraction of an inch, until only their noses touched. Their breath mingled in an intimate dance. His hands framed her face. “Sam,” he said again. His lips brushed hers. “I love you.” He kissed her again. “So much.”
She let the words sink in. Soothe her. But instead of settling in a deep sea of pleasure, they begged an answer. Did she love him?
Before she could explore the thought, Emmett’s words taunted her. “Don’t ever let yourself love, Sam. Just soon as you do, they leaveyou. Love never brings anything but pain.”
The words caught in her mind. Her lips moved mechanically against Landon’s.
Her stomach twisted. The pleasant sensations flowing through her battled with the bitter reality of life. When had love ever worked out for her? What good was love when it ended in pain? She didn’t need Emmett’s words to teach her. She was a capable student in the school of life.
Get away, Sam. Before it’s too late.
Panic bubbled up inside until she thought she’d burst. She broke the kiss, stepping backward until she connected with the screen. Her chest heaved.
Landon’s eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong?”
Sam shook her head. This was wrong. The confusion on his face tugged at her, breaking her. Be strong, Sam. Protect yourself. No oneelse will. Not even Landon.
“What, Sam?” He reached out his hand.
Sam flinched away. She couldn’t let him touch her again. She’d almost lost her head, and she wasn’t sure she could trust herself. She needed to get away.
But she remembered the letter lying on the bed, the smell of Emmett’s presence, the locket her mom had left behind.
She wanted to go someplace far away. She turned and opened the porch’s screen door. “I have to go.” Her feet scrambled down the steps and took her to her bike.
“Wait, Sam.”
She hopped on the bike, straddling the seat.
Landon took her arm. “It’s dark. I’ll leave; you stay here.”
“I have to go.” She didn’t know where, hadn’t thought that far ahead. Her foot fumbled to find the kickstand.
“I can take you. It’s late.”
His presence, so reassuring and peaceful moments before, now felt like a heavy fur coat on a scorching August day.
Sam shook off his hand and glared at him. “Let me go.” She steeled herself against the hurt in his eyes as his hand fell away.
Her feet found the pedals, and she pushed off. The driveway pebbles popped out from under the tires. She turned out on the road, the moonlight guiding her path. Her legs pumped hard, but the wind in her ears wasn’t enough to blow away her thoughts.
What were you thinking, Sam? Where was the distance you’ve learnedto keep? It’s one thing to let a man in your bed, quite another to let himin your heart.
Stupid!
Now Landon knew how she felt. She didn’t have to say the words to speak the truth loud and clear. How would she keep him away until she left? She didn’t know if she had the strength.
Sam pedaled hard, not allowing herself to coast, punishing herself with the pain in her thighs. She took the corner onto the main road fast and headed toward town. Her lungs gulped fresh air. A sheen of sweat broke out on her stomach, but she kept going as if she could outrun her thoughts.
Landon’s words washed over her, but she pushed them away. Her mom once claimed to love her too, but where was she now? Where had she been when Sam needed her?
Needing someone was the act of a fool, and she was done with that.
The road turned to cobblestone, and she slowed her pace. The gears ticked as she coasted behind a Mercedes. A breeze blew in from the ocean, cooling her skin. When she reached the tavern, she pulled into the lot and parked her bike under the bright lamp.
A loud eighties tune floated out the door of the building, beckoning her. Someone laughed inside, a wild, loose laugh induced by too much beer. She entered the dark haven, stepping through the crowd to a seat in the corner. She wasn’t in the mood to socialize. She was in the mood to forget.
A server came over, a young kid with a Coppertone tan and a quick smile. “What’ll it be?” he asked over the music and chatter.
She started to order a beer, but on second thought decided on something stronger. “A shot of whiskey.”
“Sure thing.”
Sam watched him skirt a patron and slip behind the bar. Tully slid a bottle toward a woman. The woman reached into her purse as she stood, pulling out a wad of cash.
Money! You left your purse at home. Sam’s mood plunged even further. Great, Sam, just great.
The server approached with her shot and set it down on her table.
“Thanks.”
Sam looked at Tully and knew she’d have to ask the favor. She downed the shot, feeling the liquid burn its way down her throat, before she approached him. She smoothed her T-shirt and ran her hand through her wind-blown hair.
His face lit when he saw her, his eyes swinging down her snug shirt, then back up. “Hey, Sam. Good to see you.”
“You too,” she hollered over the music, taking a seat on the only empty stool. She leaned forward, and he came closer. “Listen, I have a little problem. I forgot my purse at home.”
He backed away and waved his hand nonchalantly. “It’s on the house tonight.”
Finally, something was going her way. She smiled her gratitude. “Thanks a lot.”
“Don’t worry about it. What can I get you?”
The whiskey was beginning to warm her insides. “Shot of whiskey?” He flashed a grin before turning to pour the shot.
“How you doing?” The man on the stool beside her wore an expensive shirt and a contagious laugh. He eyed her appreciatively.
“Not bad.” The truth was, she was feeling better already.
“You from around here?”
Sam shook her head as if she could make it true. “Boston.”
“Nice city. I’m from Hartford. Name’s Steven.”
Tully set her whiskey down and went to make a mixed drink.
She introduced herself to Steven, and when she finished her drink, he signaled Tully to bring her another. After her third shot, his conversation amused her, and her limbs were like cooked noodles. Tully stopped and chatted when he was able. Landon was a distant thought, too far away to reach, and the thought made her giddy.
When Steven left, Tully leaned against the bar, staring. “You have the most gorgeous set of eyes. Deep brown, with those amber spokes. Like you’ve got a fire going inside.”
Sam laughed, not sure why she found it funny. “And you have some really great green eyes.” She leaned closer. “I mean blue. Very nice.”
He reached up and touched her hair, tucking it behind her ear. That was funny too. Sam chuckled. She turned her head, and the room spun. She blinked. “Where’d everybody go?”
“Crowd always thins out around now.” He leaned closer. “What do you say we get out of here?” He gave her his Brad Pitt smile. “I can get someone else to cover the bar.”
She liked the idea. “Sure.” She fumbled for her purse on the stool, then remembered she didn’t have one.
“I
t’s on me, remember?” Tully removed his apron and went to talk to a server.
When he came back, she slid off the stool but got her foot tangled in the footrest. Tully caught her with firm hands.
“Steady there.”
She laughed and clung to his arm. His bicep was thick and hard. She squeezed playfully. “Not bad.” She remembered his buff physique from their date. “Goes with your six-pack.”
She kept hold of his arm as they left the tavern. The air was notably fresh after the smoke-filled bar, and she drew in a breath.
Tully led her around back, where he was parked. Sam worked hard to set one foot in front of the other, giggling when she tripped over a gap in the sidewalk.
She felt so good. She spun around in a Mary Tyler Moore move, laughing.
When she lost her balance, Tully caught her body against his. He was solid. His hair fell over his forehead, and his dark skin made his teeth look camera-perfect white. So handsome. “Hey, good-lookin’,” she said.
“Hey, gorgeous.” He held her to him. “I never did get a proper good night kiss.”
“Oh yeah.” She slid her arms up his chest and around his neck. “I suppose I owe you one, huh?” She felt bold and confident and good. In control.
He claimed her lips, and she kissed back. It was nice and easy.
When he pulled back, he took her arm and helped her into his car. Her head swam pleasantly, and she leaned it back against the leather headrest. He got in the driver’s side.
“My place okay?”
Sam closed her eyes, enjoying the swirling sensation. “Sure.”
Nineteen
Landon picked up the copy of the Inquirer and Mirror and scanned the headlines, his eyes unseeing. Where was Sam? He’d watched out the window for the last two hours, waiting for her to ride up on her bike, waiting for the living room light to shine through the curtains.
But nothing.
Maybe he should look for her. What if a driver didn’t see her in the dark and hit her? He snapped the paper shut and tossed it onto the sofa beside him.
Max, his head resting on his front paws, gave a deep sigh.
His mind returned to the kiss for the hundredth time. Why had he moved so fast? He shouldn’t have told Sam he loved her. Should have known it would scare her away.
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