Pleasures of Promise Lake

by Marti Shane

  “Jake, Otis. Otis, Jake.” Sam made the introduction brief. Everyone knew Otis Smithfield, and not just from the league. Yeah, he’s a hell of an athlete, the kind no one compared themselves to. He was just that good, but he was impressive off the field, too. His charities raised millions of dollars for after-school programs, camps and even college scholarships. Jake couldn’t help the envy, knowing Sam had personal access to him.

  “You can’t stay out here all day,” Otis told Sam. “Your mother’s been seated on the other side of the room.”

  “She’s not my mother.”

  “Put this aside today, please. For your Grandmother.”

  “Does she smell like an ashtray?”

  Otis tilted his head, contemplating the question. Sam’s hand lifted to her face, resting over her nose and mouth.

  “I could barely bring myself to speak, I didn’t smell her.” He pulled her hand from her nose, bending at the waist to meet her eye to eye. “Be the bigger person,” Otis instructed, the same advice Jake was working up to. Both women were burying their mother today.

  “Aren’t I always?”

  “That’s what I’m counting on.” His big finger tapped her nose. Checking his watch, he dropped another kiss on her head. “I’m meeting the other pallbearers. You need to get inside. Your brother’s in no shape to stand in the receiving line. Jake?” He looked pointedly, an order instead of a request.

  “I’ve got her,” Jake nodded.

  The front room was filling fast, Mick and her parents greeting guests as they filtered in. Jake stayed close to Sam, slipping back into the viewing room where the service would be held. Sam’s mother stood over the casket, her hands swiping at her face. Travis sat with Nick in the first row of covered chairs. Curtis sat behind them, all three men bristling with tension. Nick broke his hostile glare on the woman’s back, turning his focus to Sam.

  Sam stopped, leaving plenty of real estate between them. After several minutes, the woman turned her small frame. Bloodshot eyes widened on Sam, who stiffened next to Jake. She threw up her defenses, wearing a cloak of sophistication and class. She seemed three feet taller than her mother, her mother shrinking into her skeletal frame. Her gaze went to Jake, looking for any friendlies in the room. He nodded in greeting but didn’t speak. Sloane deserved to have her here.

  “Sit down, Margaret,” Nick growled from his seat. Margaret ignored him, intent on finding words for Sam.

  “You’re so grown up.” Her voice scratched through years of cigarette use, hands wringing the tissue in her hands. Her expression was expectant, the tension building by the second.

  “Move.” Sam’s response was clipped and in warning.

  “That’s all you have to say?” Margaret scorned.

  “No.”

  Jake expected Sam to remind Margaret she wasn’t her mother, like she had Otis. The one word served more condescension he realized, leaving Margaret vulnerable to the damaging and painful memories Sam could comment on. What had she expected Sam to say? He thought of everything Sam could say. She stood silently, her disdain thickening the air. Margaret cowered, taking a seat in the adjacent rows.

  Later, they’d debrief the confrontation and he’d tell Sam how proud he was of her. He regretted she had to face her past today, but even when provoked she handled it with grace. She didn’t need anyone to fight her battles, but he wanted to be the one she talked to and confided in.

  Jake stood with Sam, exchanging polite pleasantries with strangers she called by first name. She thanked people for the thoughtful cards she’d gone through last night, her eyes dry as she consoled those who mourned. Otis was last in line, the five men ahead of him dressed the same. Atlanta Braves kerchiefs topped the breast pockets of their matching black suits and Sloan’s Sluggers tie tacks tacked their ties.

  “That’s sharp,” he whispered to Sam. He didn’t recognize all of them, but two he knew played with Otis.

  “Braves in black,” she joked quietly before greeting each of the men. The music quieted, chatter hanging in suspense as they took their seats.

  Sam let tears flow unchecked during the service as the congregation sniffed and sobbed. Jake held her hand as she sat perfectly still, never once wiping a tear or delicately dabbing under her eyes. When it was all said and done, she was the last to view the casket before leaving her grandmother in Otis’s hands. They were filed into waiting cars, everyone patient as Nick climbed in slower than the day before.

  Jake sat between Mick and Sam. Curtis and Travis flanked Nick on either side. Sam’s mother was in the car behind them with Red and Kay.

  “She spoke to you?” Mick asked the minute the door slammed.

  “How far is it?” Sam asked, sliding the moonroof panel overhead to let some light in. Jake slid toward his door, giving her space.

  “What’d she say?” Mick insisted, getting a glare from Nick. “Your looks don’t scare me, Nicholas. Sam’s a grown up.”

  “That’s what Margaret said,” Sam cut in. “She said I was all grown up.” Sam sounded short of breath as she fiddled with the buttons overhead.

  “We’ll open it when we start moving,” Nick reassured her. “Ten minutes, tops.” She fanned herself with the eulogy she’d collected on her way out.

  “She looks strung out,” Mick continued.

  “Jesus,” Nick groaned. “Fucking drop it, Mick.”

  “It’s fine,” Sam said, her hand resting on Mick’s thigh. “No use pretending she’s not here.”

  “She’s in remission.” Nick said. “I wouldn’t have let her stay if she was high.”

  “You knew she was coming?” Sam asked.

  “I figured it was fifty-fifty.” He shrugged. “At least she’s alone.”

  “Thank fuck for small miracles,” Mick muttered, sliding the moonroof open as the car set in motion. Jake hadn’t considered Sam’s father didn’t attend. If her mother was clean, she hadn’t been for long by the looks of it. Maybe her father was still using. Could someone use for almost two decades? Sam said she ingested heroin, which was the heavy shit. “The pallbearers were sharp as hell.” Mick switched the conversation, the next ten minutes becoming bearable.

  The graveside service was just the nine of them with Otis and the pallbearers as the minister gave a final prayer. Relief washed over Jake when they were back in the car, the vision of the casket hovering over the grave not setting well. Sam held Nick’s hand through the ceremony and even still as he struggled walking to the car.

  “Why don’t you lay down when we get to the reception?” Sam suggested. “I swear you’re worse than last night.”

  “I’m fine,” he said, even though he winced getting in the car.

  “You’re so stubborn,” she grumbled.

  “Don’t start or I’ll make you ride in the other car.” She laughed, along with everyone else as they piled inside.

  Sam leaned into Jake’s side this time, relaxed and not bothered by the confined space. The group fell into idle chatter, spirits lifting with the service behind them. Jake sat among Sam’s inner circle, all of them strangers less than a week ago. They were important now because they were connected to Sam. He wondered if she’d feel the same about his.

  The car pulled under The Royal, avoiding the front circle. The garage was dark and temporarily deserted except for a few security guards. Nick rested his head against the seat, mustering the strength to crawl out one more time.

  “Last time.” Curtis encouraged him. “I booked you a suite.”

  “Smart.” Sam agreed, taking Jake’s hand when he offered it. The second car pulled up behind them, Sam’s nerves visibly going on edge. They congregated around the door, Travis trailing behind with Nick.

  “You can’t smoke here.” one of the security guards warned. Margaret was flicking her Bic, a cigarette clamped between her lips. “Ma’am, you can’t light that,” the man repeated.

  “It’s a funeral.” Margaret took a long pull, exhaling in the man’s face. “Make an exception.”
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br />   Sam’s hand dove into his pocket, pulling out his money clip as she charged the scene. She hailed the town car pulling off by waving the cash in her hand. The car braked, the driver climbing out and around to get the door. Snatching the lit cigarette from Margaret’s hand, Sam opened the rear car door.

  “Leave,” she demanded, gesturing for her to get in the car. Margaret reared back, the big bag on her arm slowing her swing.

  “You’re a little cunt.” She slammed the car door closed. “Poor Sam,” she whined dramatically. “Everybody take care of Sam.” Her arms flew wild making a production, then poking herself in the chest. “She was my mother!” she shouted. Sam stood seemingly unaffected, like she expected nothing less.

  “Go the fuck home, Margaret,” Nick gritted through his teeth, a good six feet still to go. Margaret spewed profanity, echoing in the concrete space. Her bag flew from her arm. Curtis batted it away as it collided with Nick’s chest.

  “Fuck.” Nick and Travis cursed in unison as he dropped to his knees, eyes bulging in pain.

  “Get her out of here, now,” Curtis barked, more security coming from nowhere. They grabbed Margaret by her arms, someone else collecting her bag.

  “Get off of me,” she screeched, trying to tug her frail limbs from their hold. “This is my mother’s funeral. You can’t tell me to leave.” The soles of her cheap flats scuffed against the concrete floor as security dragged her to the car. Jake was on their heels, the men warning him to stay back. Like hell. Sam had a concussion, and this bitch was enraged.

  He made it just in time, pulling Sam back as Margaret kicked at her stomach. Security wrangled Margaret, her slight weight giving a chemically induced fight. Sam held out her hand for the bag one of security collected from the floor. She tossed it in the back seat and held up Jake’s cash. Margaret’s fight slowed, her crazed eyes narrowed on Sam, who stepped too close. Sam tossed the cash in the back seat, like persuading a dog with a treat.

  “Shoot that in your arm and go straight to hell.”

  “Sloane Anna Marie,” Otis scolded from behind, his car pulling up during the chaos. Sam didn’t move, her hands balled into fist at her sides. Margaret stepped voluntarily, one guard still at each side. After closing enough distance, she spit. Sam hardly flinched, the spit spraying across her cheek. Jake put himself between them, Margaret ripping her arms free from the guards as she got in the car. Otis reached in, collecting the cash before he closed the door. “That would’ve been on your conscious.” He handed the cash to Sam, giving some of his own to the driver.

  “I’m okay with that,” Sam said, eyes in a distant stare.

  “No sweetheart, you’re not.” Otis pulled his handkerchief out, Sam oblivious to him offering it. Jake took the cloth, swiping gently at her cheek.

  “I hope I never see her again.” Her hand shook as she stilled his at her cheek. Jake’s compassion for Margaret slipped away, seeing the permanent stain she made on Sam. He was uncomfortable with the hate harbored in Sam, “I can feel you judging me.” She swatted his hand from her face. Cold rushed over him in the muggy space as she turned her back to him. His eyes followed her to where Nick was getting to his feet. Otis stopped him when he tried to follow.

  “That was a long time coming,” he said. “Let her process.” Jake looked on as she and Nick walked inside, the others silently gathered to give them their space in Margaret’s aftermath. How had Margaret come from Sloane? How had Sam come from Margaret? “I’ll buy you a drink,” Otis offered. Damn good idea he thought. He needed to do some processing of his own.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sam helped Nick into the bed of his suite, a sigh of relief when his head hit the pillow. His color was non-existent and sweat beaded his brow. The swarm inside her angered knowing this was by Margaret’s hand. He shooed Travis with a weak gesture of his hand, the other tightly wrapped on Sam’s wrist.

  “I’ll be next door if he quits breathing,” Travis said, in no rush as he left the door cracked between the two rooms. Glass bottles tinked together as he plundered the mini-bar fridge, making her want a drink. She’d never been drunk or high in her life, a way to separate her from her sad excuse for a mother. Now, she was no different.

  “Don’t torture yourself,” Nick said between shallow breaths. “She’s not worth it.” She wasn’t sure he’d heard what she’d told Margaret, considering he was flat on his ass.

  “I meant it,” she admitted. “She could kill herself and I wouldn’t care.”

  “You’re allowed.” Nick pulled her wrist, and she sat gently on the bed. Cigarette smoke lingered on her clothes, and she pulled his discarded shirt to her nose to escape the smell. “Gram expected too much of you.” Nick’s tone grew gruff. Sam caught his gaze, his eyes flickering between anger and regret. He reached up slowly, pulling the shirt from her face. Knowing the disgusting smell was a trigger, he kept her gaze as she took her first breath. “They were going to let you die, Sam. You were a helpless child and they weren’t going to call for help.” Her pulse raced, terrifying jolts of adrenaline shocking her chest. She tugged her wrist, but Nick clamped with everything he had. “You don’t have to forgive her and it’s okay to let her be dead to you.”

  A sob burst from her throat, resentment she hadn’t realized she held rising to the surface. All the years that passed, her parents had never once tried to see her or apologize for what they did.

  “Gram expected too much,” Nick repeated sternly. “She couldn’t accept what Margaret did. That’s what makes her such a good Mom. She wanted to believe Margaret loved you, like she loved her. You were never allowed to let her go from your life even if you didn’t have to see her.”

  Sam collapsed to the mattress, sobs shaking the bed as she realized the truth. She loved Gram with all her heart, but she defended what terrified Sam the most. She couldn’t lash out about her mother without feeling guilty because of Gram. Nick laying silently next to her was more comforting than the hundreds of condolences she heard today.

  “I’ve been numb all day.” She broke the silence, knowing she was in a safe space to share her deepest and darkest. “People tell me how sorry they are and all I can think about it is how glad I am it’s over.” She pulled her weight from the mattress, wiping her face with the back of her hands. “That sounded awful.”

  “She’s glad it’s over, too,” he said, unaffected, as she knew he would be. “She was in a lot of pain, and she knew it was hard on you.”

  “People tell me how much they’re going to miss her.” Her throat tightened, fresh tears pricking. “I’ve missed her for months.” Tears washed down her cheeks, her heart tightening in her chest, making it hard to breathe. There was no such thing as a graceful death. Not accepting treatment was Gram’s choice, but she didn’t accept defeat gracefully. She fought every deterioration of her independence, only to finally surrender to the new normal of having Sam do it for her. There were hundreds of small battles all fought inside a few months that felt like centuries.

  “You proved you’re nothing like Margaret,” Nick said. “You weren’t trying to, it just came natural. You never thought twice about taking care of Gram. She loved you.”

  “Then why do I feel so guilty?”

  “I don’t know, because you shouldn’t.”

  “And angry?”

  “At who?”

  “Everyone.”

  “Why?”

  “Because to me, the world stopped. It’s like I’ve been trapped underground, and no one came looking for me,” she confessed, the hurt stain from Mitch raising its ugly head. Not just Mitch, but the hundreds of people that showed up today, including Margaret. “Everyone kept going, except for today, which doesn’t matter. She’s already gone.”

  “I know someone who was looking for you.” Nick said. “If he’d known, he wouldn’t have given you so much space.”

  “I know.” Jake would’ve pushed his way into her inner circle months ago if he’d known. After watching her performance with Margaret, she was
n’t sure how much he still wanted in.

  “Tell him the truth.”

  “He knows.”

  “No. Tell him everything. Tell the world if you want to.” She could never do that to Gram. Her adoption was sealed to protect Margaret, not her. Sam needed to let it all go. It wasn’t fair her parents could have an emotional hold over her.

  Sam slipped into Mick’s suite to freshen up before going back downstairs and leaving Nick to Travis. Freshening up was more like scrubbing up. She showered, including washing her hair and scrubbing the skin off her face. She remembered Jake, wiping the mess from her cheek. In a fresh black dress, compliments of Mick’s collection, she scanned the rows of linen-draped tables for Jake.

  “He’s at the bar,” Mick said, approaching in a casual pace. Great. Her crack-addict mother shows her ass and he bellies up to the bar. “Nice dress.”

  “Someone’s been spoiled,” she accused, knowing the collection in Mick’s room was from Nick.

  “I deserve every thread. He’s the worst patient.” Mick hooked arms, flagging down a server to bring a plate. Knowing it was pointless to argue, she took her seat hating Jake wasn’t in the chair next to hers. She couldn’t blame him after the scene outside. Kay joined them, her mood light but concern high as she sat with her coffee.

  “Nick’s sleeping,” she reported, keeping the focus from her. “Travis is standing watch.”

  “To think you were in that woman’s hands.” Kay’s tone was nothing Sam had heard before, her face tight with disgust. Mick’s hand covered her mom’s, calming her rage. Sam adored their relationship and without it might have never known what normal was. But they were exceptional, she thought. Everyone couldn’t be so lucky. “I thank God for your brother every day.” Kay sniffed back tears. Sam realized then, she wasn’t alone when it came to Margaret. As Gram’s best friend, Kay struggled to hide her disgust for the woman.

  Sam sat as long as she could take it, pushing a piece of chicken through her asparagus spears and eating half a piece of cake. She excused herself, a few guests chatting her up as she made her way to the bar. Social chit chat wasn’t her talent, so she practiced eye contact and an occasional nod. She caught sight of Jake the same time another guest caught her. He was with Otis, the bar lined with past and present Atlanta Braves.