by Rene Fomby
She rolled over on her side and tried to crawl upright. Every effort made her head pound even harder and her stomach lurch alarmingly. Finally she was able to sit on the edge of the bed facing the window, her head in her hands. She had suffered through her share of raging hangovers in the past, but this wasn’t one of them. This was something else. Not the wine, then. The son of a bitch must have drugged me. After what seemed like an eternity she stood and stumbled to the bathroom. And just in time. When she saw the toilet her stomach gave a final lurch and she sank to her knees, heaving. Most of it made it to the toilet, but right now she really didn’t care. She hung on to the toilet rim for a long time. With her stomach empty, her head began to clear a bit, and finally she was able to push herself up and over to the sink. She grabbed a washcloth and began to wash her face, the cool water helping. Then, looking down, she started rubbing the washcloth across her neck and chest, then her stomach, her abdomen. The inside of her legs. How could one person have produced so much sperm? She threw the washcloth across the room, disgusted. Disgusted at herself. She looked up at her reflection in the mirror. Her makeup was badly smeared, whether from the washcloth or something else, leaving her looking like a grotesque imitation of the Joker from the Batman movies. Not Samantha Goldberg. Not even Samantha Tulley. Someone new. Changed, somehow. Someone broken.
Deep down inside herself she found the resolve to make it to the shower. She ran the water hot at first, then switched to cold, the frigid water cleansing the last of the fog from her body and brain. She climbed out, grabbed a towel from the rack above the toilet, and began to dry off, still rubbing the towel harshly against her skin as if it could finish removing the last trace of him from her body. But the towel couldn’t touch her mind, and that was where the last trace remained.
She staggered slowly back into the bedroom, for the first time seeing her clothes scattered randomly around the room. The image triggered a new feeling inside her. Rage. Rage at him. But mostly … rage at herself. “How could I be so stupid?” she shouted to the empty room. She wanted to run to the bed and bury herself beneath the covers and hide. But then she remembered all too well what was coating those sheets, the filth that was crusted onto them. The filth that was inside of her.
She had to leave. Now. Everything about this room made her want to puke again. Slowly she began to gather up her things and get dressed. She found her purse, and discovered with some relief that nothing was missing. Especially the key to her room. What was the room number, again? The fog was lifting, but it still took an effort. Thirty-six something. Thirty-six oh three. She glanced around to verify that she hadn’t left anything behind, then composed herself and opened the door. She checked quickly to make sure the hall was empty. Nobody would know her, of course, no one would be a witness to what she had done, what he had done. But even the polite hello of a stranger seemed like more than she could handle at this moment. She closed the door behind her, looking back to see what floor she was on. Ten. A sign down the hall pointed to the elevators, so she squared her shoulders, tucked her purse under her right arm and headed that way.
Once safely inside her own room, she took another shower and changed clothes. She started to pack her outfit from the night before, but at the last moment decided to leave it all behind. She didn’t need to carry those memories home. Home, where Maddie was. She picked up her watch and checked it. Almost nine in the morning. Still pretty early. Her flight back to Italy was scheduled for noon, and she had tentatively promised to have breakfast with Harry this morning to talk over his ideas regarding the firm. That wasn’t going to happen, now. And Italy didn’t seem right, either. She wasn’t ready to face home yet. To face Maddie. She knew exactly where she needed to be right now. Home.
Sam picked up the room phone and pressed zero. The phone rang twice, then an operator answered. “How may I help you, Ms. Tulley?”
“Can you please contact my pilot at Millionaire FBO and let him know there’s been a change of plans. I need him to file a flight plan for Fort Worth, Texas, leaving in about an hour.”
“I would be happy to handle that for you. Is there anything else I can help you with this morning?”
Suddenly, Sam remembered. She wasn’t on the pill, not since Luke died. And that man had—she looked down again, thinking about his sperm coating the inside of her womb, and a wave of squalor and shame washed over her again. The thought of becoming pregnant with his child—
“Uh, yes. Can you tell me where the closest pharmacy might be? And call up a driver. I’ll be down in the lobby in ten minutes.”
26
Fort Worth, Texas
Sam’s pilot had somehow known to brew a fresh pot of coffee before the flight. Which she needed desperately right now, uncharacteristically tossing in several packets of real sugar for a rush of extra energy. Fred the bodyguard apparently sensed that something was wrong, something that was troubling her very deeply, so he kept to himself at the opposite end of the plane, giving her as much privacy as possible in the small jet.
A limo was waiting for her at the airfield in Fort Worth, and twenty minutes later she was pulling into the driveway at her parent’s house. She saw that her dad’s Camry was still parked in the garage. The garage door was open, so he had either just arrived home or was about to leave. The minivan was missing, so her mom was probably out running errands. That made everything much, much easier.
She signed the charge slip for the limo driver and hopped out, grabbing her suitcase from him at the rear of the car and wheeling it quickly up the front walkway. Her father had evidently heard the limo drive up and was already at the front door waiting.
“Hey, honey bear, what a welcome surprise!” He threw open the screen door and whisked her up in his arms. “To what do I owe this visit, Sammie?”
“Oh Daddy! I’ve screwed up. I’ve really messed things up this time!”
27
Fort Worth
Sam’s father grabbed her suitcase and led her gently inside. She headed for a seat on the couch across from his recliner, wondering just how many times the two of them had sat across from each other at that very spot, with her pouring out her heart and him dispensing patient, loving advice. The kind of advice she needed right now.
He sat down on the edge of his chair and reached out to take her hands, rubbing the tops of them softly with his thumbs. “Okay, now, princess. What’s the matter? Just tell me what happened.”
A dam of some sort broke inside of Sam and she bent double, bawling uncontrollably. Her father reached inside his front pocket and pulled out a clean handkerchief, something he had done for her ever since she was a little child. That small, familiar act was comforting to her in a way that very little else could be, and she slowly regained control of herself and began to spill out everything that had happened. When she was finally finished, he leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the forehead. “Tell you what, Sammie. I’ve got a sudden hankering for a root beer float. You want one, too?”
Sam nodded a thankful yes, and, drying her eyes one last time, followed him into the kitchen. She dug a fresh half gallon of Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla ice cream out of the freezer while he worked to open the bottles of root beer. “Hope you don’t mind store brand generic,” he told her, holding up the bottle. “Momma fusses at me when I bring home the good stuff. Says I’m just throwing our retirement money away.”
“Generic is fine, Daddy.” Sam watched as he dropped two scoops of ice cream into each glass, then slowly poured the root beer down the side.
“Guess I didn’t need two bottles after all,” he noted, pouring the last of the first bottle into the second glass. “‘Course, it’s all ready in case we decide to go back for seconds.”
Sam laughed, her first actual laugh in several days. “I think one will do the trick, Daddy,” she said, taking one of the glasses from him and clinking it against his in a small toast. She was already feeling much better.
He spooned out some of the root-be
er-coated ice cream, tasting it thoughtfully, then looked up and caught her eye, wondering just how to start. Just what the right words might be to get her headed down the slow and twisting path to healing. “You know, there are a lot of evil men in this world, Sammiekins. Evil people, actually. Men don’t have a lock on all that, even though some days it seems that they do.” He paused to scoop out another bite of ice cream. “Nothing we can do about evil, I suppose. Just a part of nature, like polecats and cockroaches. No matter how hard you try and avoid ‘em, they always seem to pop up anyway. Just when you least expect it.”
He set his glass down and looked softly into her eyes. “The thing is, I know you feel ashamed about all this, but you’ve got to let that go. That man hurt you. He came at you with the specific intent of hurting you, and there’s really not much anyone can do when that happens. No different than if he came at you on a dark street with a loaded gun. And I know it hurts inside, just like if he’d shot you. It’s a wound, deep in your gut. But it’s not a self-inflicted wound. He shot you—you didn’t shoot yourself. You’re completely innocent in all this.” He paused, thinking. “Did you manage to get his name from the front desk?”
Sam shook her head. “I just wanted out of there as fast as I could run, Daddy.”
He gave her a knowing smile. “Probably for the best, princess. There’s really nothing much we could prove, anyway. Just keep some things stirred up that are best put behind us. By the way,” he added, looking out the kitchen window toward the driveway. “Probably a good idea to keep all this business between us. No use getting your mother all riled up. Momma bear, and all that.”
“Yeah, you’re right, Daddy.” Sam was just getting to her second scoop of ice cream. “And we’d best get these dishes put away before she gets home and catches us in the act. Ice cream for lunch isn’t exactly on your diet. Remember what the doctor said.”
“Oh, pshaw. What the hell does he know, anyway? Just a glorified pill pusher.” But, looking down at his half-finished float, he decided he’d had enough ice cream after all. He lifted up the glass to slurp down the last creamy bit of root beer, then headed to the sink to wash away the evidence. “Now, Sammie, if I’m hearin’ right, there’s something else going on that you’re not talking about. Maybe this is all just a shofar’s blast, meant to wake you up. You’re not one to have a drink with a strange man in a bar, regardless of the circumstances. So there’s obviously something else eating away at you.”
“Guilty as charged, Detective Goldberg,” Sam agreed with a wry grin, getting up to dump the last of her float down the disposal, as well. She paused, uncertain about what her feelings really were on this topic. “Daddy, I told you I was in Vegas for a wedding. Well, it was Harry’s sister, Hailey. And, of course, Harry was there. Couldn’t leave little brother out of all the excitement.”
“Okay. Did something happen between the two of you?” her dad wondered.
“No, not really. More like something didn’t happen.” Sam rinsed out her glass with detergent, then dried it and put it back on the shelf. “Harry had a date.”
Her father picked up the dish cloth and handed it to her to finish drying her hands. “And I take it you had a little visit from the green monster?”
“Yeah. Kind of a big visit, actually. And it really surprised me. I mean, other than one little kiss nine months ago, after the fire and all, there’s really been nothing romantic going on between us at all. We’re just really good friends.”
“If I had a dollar for every girl I shared just one kiss with—”
“You’d be richer by about two dollars. You’re not exactly the lothario type, Daddy. But nice try, anyway.”
“Yep, I guess you’re right. It was pretty much your mother, and nobody else even came close. But back to Harry. How often do you two Skype together these days?” he asked, noting the embarrassed look on her face. “Don’t worry, I already know the answer to that one. Your mother is lousy at keeping secrets.”
“And, luckily, you aren’t,” Sam added.
“Right. Well, I try. God knows we all need someone we can confess to, to unload our hearts. The Catholics got at least that part down right.”
“They’re also pretty good at guilt trips, just like our people.”
“Well, guilt has its uses, I suppose. But somehow, folks like William Tulley and his daughter never got the memo on all that.” He leaned back against the kitchen counter. “You know, I only saw the feller twice in my life, at the wedding and that little dustup at Luke’s funeral, but I can tell you, that boy is half a bubble out of plumb Any word on what’s happened with them?”
“Yeah, you’re right. There’s something not quite right with him. Something organic,” she agreed, staring down at her hands. “But no, they’ve pretty much disappeared off the face of the Earth. That, of course, was after they stole everything from the trust that wasn’t nailed down. But it’s all looking a little more positive, I think. Between the FBI and the Swiss bankers, we’ve managed to get some of the money back, about a quarter billion or so, and they’re hopeful that eventually, maybe half of the money that was stolen can be recovered over the next six to nine months. But, in the meantime, that has the bank teetering at the brink of bankruptcy, and all of the other businesses are cash strapped as well, so it’s all been a daily emergency for me. Racing from one fire to put out another.”
“Something you are quite obviously pretty experienced with. Fires, that is,” he joked, then pointed a thumb toward the kitchen window. “But look, I see your mother pulling up. So I guess before she gets here, my final advice on all of this is, whatever happened in Vegas needs to stay in Vegas, Sammie. You just gotta let that one go. Put it behind you.” He reached out to grab her hands and pull her close to him, just as he had always done when she was hurting. “It’s like that little ant farm.”
Sam leaned into him and let her father wrap her up tightly in his arms. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it, Dad. You can’t fix what’s in the past. Only what’s in the future.”
“That’s right, Samster,” he murmured, pressing his face gently into the soft curls on the back of her head. “And judging from what you’ve already accomplished, and what a beautiful child you’ve raised, it seems to me that your future is very bright indeed. Once you’ve set your mind on a goal, you always seem to get there. But—you need to always keep in mind that there’s much, much more to life than winning medals and making money. Do you remember that poster you had on your wall when you were in middle school? The Pooh poster where he’s standing beside a creek smelling a flower?”
“Yeah,” Sam answered, pulling back just a touch so she could see his eyes. “It said, ‘Rivers know this: there is no hurry. We shall all get there some day.’”
“And so, my little girl, my little hero, when you’re done saving the world this time, remember to let someone else have a turn in the spotlight. Spend a little more time drifting along on the river, letting its currents take you where they will.”
She smiled, considering that thought, thinking about all the other wisdom Winnie the Pooh had shared with her over the years. “I will, Daddy. I promise you, when this crisis is all over, when I can finally turn the trust over to the day-to-day managers, I will. And, really, I can’t wait until I get that chance to drift along wild and free for a change.” She heard a door open and close behind her. “And now let’s go tell Mommy some sweet lies about why it is I decided to drop in on y’all.”
28
Over the Atlantic
Sam’s dad had been right—she needed to just let go of the past and look to the future if she was ever going to survive the challenges she was facing right now. Seemingly insurmountable challenges that had her all too often reaching for a glass of wine. And then another.
But it wasn’t really the difficulty of saving the trust from bankruptcy that had her all wrapped up in knots. Difficulty was an enemy she had faced all her life. And laughed in its face as she slayed it, time and time again
. No, her real enemy, the enemy that increasingly led her into the tender clutches of the demon rum—and had led her down a very dangerous path back in that bar in Vegas— that enemy was all too easy to identify. Loneliness. Ever since Luke’s accident, Sam had been stranded on an emotional island, and the isolation had taken its toll. Maybe that’s why the flirtation with Harry had been so easy, and the letdown had been so hard when she realized that the feelings she had developed for him were so completely one-sided.
Her dad’s words still echoed softly in her head. Words whispered privately in her ear as she kissed her parents goodbye this morning and headed for the airport. Reach out and find what love you can in the people you trust the most. Not necessarily romantic love. Real love. And these days, Annabelle or not, the one person she trusted and loved with all her heart was Harry. Even if all he saw in her was a good friend.
Glancing out a side window of the jet, Sam’s face lit up with the familiar oranges and pinks lining the cloud tops below her, sunset over the Atlantic Ocean. But it was still early afternoon back in Vegas, and with any luck she could catch him on the ground, instead of en route back to Texas at thirty to forty thousand feet in the air, with his phone off or switched to airplane mode. Sam reached over to pick up the phone on the table in front of her and buzzed for the pilot.
