by Robyn Neeley
“See? This is why you’re single.” Sam stuffed the soiled baby clothes in a plastic bag to be washed later. He tossed the dirty diaper, wrapped tightly in another plastic bag, onto Riley’s lap. “Be a pal and get rid of that, would ya?”
“I’m just saying, you’ve spent the last twelve years pining for this woman. Now you’ve got her back. Things are good. They’d be better if you were actually sleeping together, but they’re good. Hang on to that.” He rolled off to throw away the garbage.
Sam smiled sadly at the tiny baby he was dressing. She held his gaze, yawning huge. He had to get her back to the house so Wynter could feed her before her nap. He stood up and went looking for Riley, placing Charlotte in his arms so he could wash his hands.
“My conscience won’t let me hold on to her. I don’t expect you to understand that.”
“So you’re saying I don’t have a conscience? Dude, that’s cold.” Riley’s tone suggested he wasn’t actually angry, so perhaps he did understand more than Sam realized.
“I wish there was a plan C. We could move to a small town, something on the coast that reminded Wynter of Scallop Shores. We could get her that book store she wants. I can design software anywhere.” He stared, unseeing, across the room. His imagination started to create a life for the three of them, a life that didn’t involve past mistakes, years of separation or a mountain of guilt.
“I’ve always liked the seashore. Too bad wheelchairs don’t work too well on sand.”
“Oh, quit your whining, Nancy. You know you’re coming with us.” Sam focused his gaze on his friend. Okay, so a Plan C was sounding pretty sweet.
“I get my own room. And it’s got to be on the opposite side of the house from yours. I don’t want to be able to hear you two going at it.”
“Maybe a duplex would be better. I don’t know if I could handle seeing your ugly mug 24/7. Or separate houses. On opposite sides of the street.”
“Then you’d have to teach Charlotte, early, how to cross the street to see her favorite uncle.” Riley lifted the fussing baby to his shoulder, rubbing her back.
“Look at you. The ‘dad’ gene hasn’t skipped you after all.”
“Bite me.”
“Yeah, separate houses would be a must.”
“You know you want me for my mad chili-cooking skills.”
“I can buy a cookbook, teach myself.”
“Not the same, pal. Not the same. Face it. You need me.”
Sam lifted Charlotte from Riley’s shoulder. Her demanding whimpers for her next meal were escalating. He bundled her into a blanket, grabbed the diaper bag he’d come over with and prepared to leave. Dropping a hand on his friend’s shoulder, he squeezed.
“She needs us both. I guess it’s my job to make her see that. Poor Charlotte. Craziest damned put-together family I’ve ever seen.”
“I love you too, man. Now get the hell out of my house.” Riley’s voice was just a tad gruffer than usual.
• • •
Coming home to such a cozy scene, was it any wonder that Sam had the overwhelming urge to cross the kitchen and give Wynter a kiss? She wore her ratty bathrobe, her crazy hair freshly washed and already sticking up at all angles as it dried. Her skin glowed and he longed to wrap her in his arms so he could lean in close and let the scent of her bath soap tease his nostrils.
Charlotte chose that moment to let out a lusty screech, alerting her mom to the fact that they’d just slipped in the back door. Now he had an excuse to approach, not the one he would have chosen, but an excuse nonetheless. Wynter lifted her daughter from his shoulder and Sam felt a moment’s jealousy as she nuzzled the infant close. Oh, to be nuzzled by the woman who was fast occupying nearly every one of his waking thoughts.
“She told me she was done visiting Uncle Riley and would like some lunch—pronto.”
“Oh, she told you that, huh? That’s my smart little girl.”
Wynter headed for the living room and Sam trailed behind. He had some work to do but he could put it off for a bit. He waited until Wynter settled into the corner of the couch and then handed her the baby Boppy so she could nurse. It said a lot about their relationship, the routine they had developed, that she thought nothing of parting her robe to feed her child while he was still in the room. It said a lot more about him that he didn’t lower himself to stare.
“How’s Riley? I should have gone with you two to visit.”
“He’s fine and no you shouldn’t have. We gave you some well-deserved down time. You should now feel unbelievably relaxed. You’re welcome.”
Wynter chuckled, amusement creasing the corners of her eyes. Charlotte suckled greedily, the sound bringing a fresh round of laughter. Sam watched mother and daughter, the bond mesmerizing. Wynter stroked the petal soft skin of Charlotte’s cheek, working her finger into the infant’s grasp. Sam sat on his end of the couch, feeling as though he were intruding. They didn’t need him here, but heaven help him, he couldn’t make himself get up and leave.
“I’m writing your grandmother another letter.” Dread twisted its way through Sam’s veins, heavy and ice cold.
“You and Charlotte are welcome to stay as long as you like. I think we’ve got a good thing here. We make a good parenting team.” God, was he wheedling? The thought disgusted him.
“I agree, Sam. It’s just … ” She paused, seeming unsure how to proceed.
“You don’t like Braeden. I get that. It’s too quiet, not enough like Scallop Shores.” He was starting to panic. She was going to make him babble.
“You knew my plans all along. This is nothing new.” Wynter fixed him with a determined stare, held his unwilling gaze. “Come with us, Sam.”
“We’ve talked about this. I can’t go back there.”
“No, actually we haven’t really talked about this. We’ve never talked about that night. We’ve never talked about how you took off, how you cut ties with your grandmother, with Holt and me. It’s time we talk about it, Sam.”
“Now?” The word came out a squawk.
“Is there ever going to be an ideal time?” She quirked an eyebrow.
No. Because they didn’t need to discuss this. Not now, not ever. Sam’s focus flew to the doorway, mentally mapping an escape route. Wynter was in the middle of breastfeeding. She couldn’t get up easily and chase after him. He could cite work obligations.
“I don’t blame you for being scared.”
“I’m not scared. What makes you think I’m scared?” Besides the fact that his voice had gone up several octaves. Geez.
“Sam, we used to be able to tell each other anything. That night we were talking about the future. We talked about how scared we were, how it was only tolerable because we were going to be facing it together.”
And then he’d left her. She was kind enough not to say it out loud, but the fact was still hanging out there, shouting in his ear. ”You left your best friends. You left the girl you loved.” Okay, so she didn’t know that last part, but it weighed on him, nonetheless.
“I’m sorry, Wynter. I’ve never apologized for what I did after that night. I am so sorry I didn’t say goodbye.”
“Not sorry you left. Sorry you didn’t wrap it up neatly, file us away as a done deal.” He could hear the disappointment in her voice, the bitterness that he had caused.
“I couldn’t face you. Not after what I’d done.”
“Samuel Dennis, you did not have anything to do with your parents’ death that night.”
“I know that, Wyn. I’m not saying I caused it. Or that anything I did could have prevented it.”
Sam braced his elbows on his knees. Leaning down, he scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his palms. He couldn’t do this. Why was she making him? Talking about it didn’t change things. His parents were still dead. Nothing would bring them back. He peered between two fingers.
She switched the baby to the other side. Waited for him to continue. Calm as could be. Like she couldn’t see the turmoil he was facing. The expose
d feelings, the raw nerves peeled back and bleeding. Real friends wouldn’t do this to each other. Real friends would be supportive. And what? Encourage him to bury his head in the sand? Tell him it was okay to keep hiding from what happened, from what he was feeling?
He stood up from the couch, pacing to the window, to the bookcase along the side wall, and past the doorway he wished he’d escaped through before they started this conversation. He wiped sweaty palms on the back of his jeans. He worked the kinks out of his neck, wincing at the unusual loudness of the cracks and pops. He shoved a hand through hair that was way overdue for a cut.
This was why he had cut ties with his friends. Not because they were a painful reminder of his life that was, but because he knew, eventually, he’d be having this conversation. Wynter wouldn’t want him to hold on to the hurt, the pain, and the guilt. The guilt he’d held on to for so long it was a part of him, impossible to separate from any other facet of his personality.
“I was supposed to die that night. Is that what you want? You want me to admit it? Okay. I cheated death.”
Sam stopped treading the carpet, faced Wynter head on. The look in his eyes dared her to contradict him. Her jaw dropped. The look in her eyes was utter disbelief. Oh, come on! This was no big surprise.
“Is that what you think, Sam?” She shook her head vehemently. “No. There was a reason you fell asleep in my bed that night. God had other plans for you. It wasn’t your time. Your life was spared.”
“I was supposed to be there. If I hadn’t snuck out of the house, I would have died in my sleep, the same as them. I was supposed to die that night.”
In his head he was back there, that early summer day, so long ago. He’d woken up, completely disoriented. Where was he? Shit! He’d only meant to watch Wynter as she slept. He’d never meant to fall asleep beside her.
Home. He had to get home. He had to slip out of Wynter’s window and down the tree, before his parents found him missing. Sam didn’t want to make them angry. He’d just graduated. They were so proud. His dad told him to expect a big gift the next morning, but not to go snooping. He’d seen the look his parents had exchanged. They’d decided on this together and it was going to be huge. They were so happy. But if he disappointed them, if they found out that he’d snuck up to see Wynter, they might decide not to give it to him. He had to hurry home.
Breath coming in short pants, he turned, confused. Had to find the window.
Then suddenly Wynter was with him, wrapping her arms around him. He cupped her head in his big hand. Her hair. What had happened to her long, curly hair? She kept saying she was sorry. No. Everything would be okay if he could just get home.
“Sammy, come back to me. Please. You’re scaring me.”
“Have to get home. They’re gonna be mad.”
“They’re at peace now, Sam. They are so happy. They love you. They will always love you.”
He gripped her so tight he was afraid he’d leave bruises. He buried his head against her shoulder as the rest of the memories came flooding back.
It was far later than he’d realized. Dawn had turned the sky a hazy gray by the time he’d made it home. The house was so quiet. They hadn’t heard him slip back inside.
That was when the alarm had gone off in his parent’s bedroom. His dad had always been an early riser. Rain or shine, he ran five miles every morning. He always set his alarm for 5:30 am. Only this time, the alarm continued to blare and no one was bothering to turn it off.
Why weren’t they waking up? Why were they letting the alarm clock just clamber away like a screeching banshee? Unsettled, Sam slunk down the hallway toward the last room on the end. They were sleeping so peacefully, too peacefully.
He could still see their faces, in sweet repose. If he reached out, shook their shoulders. He just had to wake them up. If only they’d wake up.
“Sam, I’m so sorry.”
Wynter’s voice. It grounded him in reality. It brought him back, made him realize that it was too late to save his parents. The past was in the past.
He lifted his head from her shoulder, mortified to discover that her bathrobe was soaked in his tears. He slapped at his wet eyes, turning away so Wynter wouldn’t see a grown man cry. He flinched at the touch of her hand on his back. He didn’t want her to see him like this. He needed to be alone.
“Yeah, so it was great reminiscing and all, but I’ve got to get some work done.”
He swept past her on his way out of the room. Her lips were pressed tightly together, like it was taking all the strength she had not to try to continue this horribly painful conversation. Tears rolled down her cheeks.
No. He couldn’t deal with this right now. Lock it away, down deep where it can’t hurt. That’s what you did with memories like this. He practically ran for his office, locking the door before sliding down it to crumple on the floor, where he wept for the boy who had lost both his parents to such a stupid, senseless tragedy.
Chapter 14
Sam was avoiding her. Wynter lifted a hand to knock on the closed office door and let it fall back to her side. She didn’t blame him. She’d pushed him to reveal feelings that she guessed he didn’t realize he had. She wasn’t sorry. He couldn’t avoid talking about that night forever. But he deserved a chance to retreat, time to think about his revelations.
The last of the snow was now a muddy wasteland. The white stuff had lost its charm long ago, anyway. It was time to get out of the house, explore Sam’s town and actively look for signs of spring to help raise her spirits.
She’d finished her letter to Sam’s grandmother and slipped in a recent photo of Charlotte for good measure. Ruby Dennis had long been on a one-person crusade to make sure that letter writing did not go the way of the dinosaurs. Emails and phone calls would have been more convenient, but Wynter treasured their correspondence and enjoyed partaking in the old-fashioned tradition.
Dropping the letter in the mailbox would have been easier, but running it all the way to the post office meant the chance to borrow Sam’s car and take a little field trip into town, such as it was. Wynter bundled the baby in her car seat and headed for the barn that had been converted to a garage. She winced with each squelch of her sneakers, slowly getting covered in slime.
Backing out of the driveway, she hoped she could remember her way to town. Was it a straightaway? Didn’t she have to take a left at the signpost? She sort of recalled how to get to the hospital, but that was a couple of towns over. And there was lots of farmland in between. She shrugged, sparing a quick glance at the gas gauge and geared up for an adventure.
Four houses. She’d counted. That was exactly how many residences Wynter spied on the way to town. And she’d managed to find her way, avoiding the turnoffs to the myriad farm lanes that meandered through fields of cows. Seriously, she wondered if the cow population exceeded the humans in the state of Vermont. She’d have to look that one up.
To say the town was a disappointment would be an understatement. Brick shoeboxes were arranged side by side. Every building looked exactly like the one beside it, across from it. The sleepy little town looked cold and industrial. So much potential wasted. Where they could have built window boxes to dress up the facades, there were none. Where they could have brightly colored awnings that welcomed guests, they had stark, naked doorways.
Wynter couldn’t find a single bench for townsfolk to stop and rest while running their errands. Perhaps they were not encouraged to linger. Just because it was a small town did not mean it was a close town. Maybe people had no desire to stop and catch up with each other.
Pulling into the empty parking lot beside the post office, Wynter reminded herself that she was unfairly comparing Braeden to her hometown. She resolved to withhold judgment until she’d had a chance to do a little exploring. Maybe she’d find a hidden gem that made the bleak little town worth visiting.
Lucky thing she could drop her letter off in the big blue mailbox outside the door, because the post office did not open until 10a
m. Wynter pondered whether lugging around a heavy car seat, only to browse if no one was open yet, was worth it. She peered at the windows, trying to make out the lettering on the nondescript signage across the street.
An old plastic Coors logo was lit up in the window of a building on the corner. Hopefully it was a restaurant and not a bar. Looking both ways before crossing the street, Wynter scoffed at the wasted effort. There wasn’t a car in sight, save for Sam’s SUV.
Yes. Red Formica tables and sticky vinyl booths. No bar stools. Not sure where these patrons were hiding their vehicles, Wynter was surprised to find the place half full. There was no bell over the door to announce her arrival, yet every pair of eyes turned to watch her shuffle uncomfortably to the hostess station.
“You want a table?” An older, tired looking waitress appeared at her elbow, holding a menu in one hand and a carafe of coffee in the other.
A table, a booth, anything to get her out of the spotlight. “Yes, please.”
The waitress walked her to a table in the back. Wynter tried smiling at the first few staring faces, but gave up when they only scowled back. Tough crowd. She set the car seat on the floor, taking a moment to tuck the fuzzy pink blanket beneath Charlotte’s chin. The waitress’ eyes lingered on the baby, her lips puckering in what could have been an attempt at a genuine smile but then she huffed and broke her gaze.
“Coffee?”
“I’d love some, thank you.”
She shouldn’t be here, on Sam’s dime, as it were. She’d eaten breakfast at home so this was just wasteful. Only she needed an excuse to explore the town. Flipping open the menu, Wynter searched out the side items. Surely Sam wouldn’t begrudge her an English muffin and a cup of coffee? Of course he wouldn’t. Any guilt was solely on her.
“Just passing through town?” The older woman set a chipped coffee mug down in front of her with a nod in the direction of the sugar dispenser and the little bowl of non-dairy creamers.
