Sam snatched up a rogue zucchini and pointed it at them, struggling to keep the grin off her face. Although they couldn’t hear her promise, she mouthed, “Payback, baby.”
Maria winked at her before turning to high-five her brother.
Zucchinis leaning against the windowsills at the front of Eva’s house caught Sam’s eye before she’d even parked her car. The ones in the mailbox were easy enough to find—especially after the mailman’s laughter drew Sam to the front door later that afternoon.
Eva and her nurse had apparently been in on the scheme, granting the troublemaking Sanchez siblings access to the house. When she pulled back her covers to crawl into bed that night, two zucchinis rolled off her pillow and tumbled onto the hardwood floor. In her shower the next morning, she encountered some bizarre modern art sculpture involving zucchinis, a shampoo bottle, and her purple shower pouf. Standing in her bedroom a few minutes later, dripping wet after her shower, Sam pulled open her underwear drawer to discover the biggest one yet, a Sharpie drawing on it depicting a feminine face whose mouth was open in a big “O,” a hand partially covering her lips; Sam would be hard pressed to devise a scheme reaching this level of intricacy for an appropriate payback. She smooched the zucchini-woman on the lips and resolved to concoct some kind of elaborate prank before the year was out.
Two days later, when she got dressed for Maria’s poker party, she excavated what she hoped were the final two malingerers, which had been stuffed in the toe of her left boot.
“Call.”
“Call.”
“Raise.” Brandi, the blonde woman next to Maria tossed in a blue chip casually. Everyone’s attention turned to Maria, whose gaze flitted between her cards and the blonde woman. Sam’s foot twitched impatiently.
“I call,” Maria finally said. The rest of the table instantly folded, leaving only Brandi and Maria. Two pair against three-of-a-kind, and yet again, Maria gathered up a pile of chips and stacked them in front of her.
“More beer, anyone?” Sam asked, rising and heading toward the bar, demonstrating to everyone there that she knew her way around Maria’s basement. She didn’t know why it mattered to her that they knew—it just did. A chorus of “yes” prompted Maria to offer Sam some help. With heads bent together in the cold, gathering Magic Hats and a Guinness, Maria hissed, “Samantha, can’t you at least try? I invited you to make friends, not because of your stellar Esther Greenwood impression.”
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
“Don’t say it if you don’t mean it. Why don’t you just go home?”
Sam straightened and clenched her jaw. It wasn’t as if she had a lot of opportunities to spend a Saturday night somewhere other than Eva’s house.
“I’m staying.” She stormed over to the table, deposited bottles in front of three other women, and flopped into her chair. She’d arrived stressed after a moody Eva refused to take her medicine, and when she met the women she’d be playing poker with, her mood inexplicably plummeted even further. She’d been surly and nonresponsive, and her commitment to stay didn’t put a dent in her steely façade.
“So, Sam, Maria tells us you do medical research?” Brandi said.
The three other women seemed nice enough, but there was something about Brandi; Sam couldn’t really figure out why she was so bothered by her. Maybe it was her name. Or her hair color—bottle blonde. Or the haughty way she played poker. Whatever it was, being civil was nearly impossible. Knowing she couldn’t prevent condescension from creeping into her voice, Sam merely grunted as she snatched up the deck and started shuffling. She was down three dollars already, and she wondered why in the hell she’d agreed to poker in the first place. She couldn’t bluff or, really, mask her emotions in any way—obviously.
She coughed when Maria’s boot collided with her shin, and the cards swam as her eyes watered in pain. Swallowing hard, she cleared her throat and asked, “How do you all know each other?”
“Jamie and I met Maria when we came into the restaurant on a date one night,” said Jenny, the short, slight woman to the left of Maria. “That was what—two years ago, honey?” She turned to the equally short, equally slight woman next to her. They both wore feminine blouses and slacks, and sported pixie cuts. Oh, Jesus, Sam thought— look-alike lesbians. How did her gaydar miss those two? Even their names sounded alike. Jenny’s large hoop earrings sparked in the dim lighting, and a heart with a tiny diamond in the middle of it dangled around Jamie’s neck.
“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Jamie said. “We’ve been Stowe Away regulars ever since. And you’ve been taking our money over cards for, what, six months now, Maria?”
“You’d think you would have gotten better after all this time,” Maria said, taking a sip of beer.
“Or at least learned to stop playing against you,” said the older, athletic woman seated at the end of the table. Sam had forgotten her name, naturally.
Jenny grinned and tossed in her ante. “Kathy would prefer we competed in basketball, softball, soccer, or any other sport. And speaking of sports, how’s the tennis team going to be this year, Kathy?”
Kathy unzipped her fleece and turned the Red Sox cap she wore backwards, briefly revealing her short salt and pepper hair. “Better than last year. Our first doubles team will probably go to state—their net play is outstanding, and their serves are wicked accurate. But we graduated our best singles player last year, and we don’t have anyone promising to replace her.”
“You coach the tennis team?” Sam asked.
“And I’m the gym teacher at Stowe High School,” Kathy said.
That explained the biceps and quads pulling at Kathy’s clothes. Wondering if perhaps there was a theme to Maria’s poker night, she turned to Brandi. “And how do you know everyone?”
“Let’s see. I met Jamie and Jenny at Second Saturday at Machine in Boston.” It sounded like a challenge of some kind, but Sam didn’t know why. “And they brought me to Stowe Away a few months ago and introduced me to the enchanting owner.” She batted her eyes at Maria and Sam wrinkled her nose.
“What’s Second Saturday?” she asked.
Brandi snickered at her. “It’s only the largest lesbian dance party in New England. Wow, Sam, do you live in a cave?”
Sam turned to Maria, who was laughing at her for a different reason. “Sam thought she was a party of one here in Stowe,” she explained to the other lesbians, who smiled at her. Kathy, at least, gave her a look that suggested she too had at one point thought Stowe devoid of lesbians. Ignoring the blush warming her cheeks, Sam dealt the cards. “Five card draw,” she said, and to deflect attention away from herself, asked Kathy, “What’s it like teaching gym?”
“Half the girls don’t want to be there because they are three-sport athletes and can’t believe they’re required to play kickball. The other half of my students don’t want to break a nail. So, you know, every day is an adventure in persuasion.”
While Kathy rambled about the poor quality of the gym equipment, Sam snuck glances at Maria. Gay, then? And although they’d never discussed it, clearly Maria knew Sam dated women. Well, it was a small town—probably everyone knew.
The night was upending her view of Stowe’s residents. Everyone made her initial bets, and Sam matched. “Jamie, how many new cards do you want?” she asked.
She dealt the second round of cards, but her mind was elsewhere. One of the reasons she struggled so much with her relocation back to Stowe had been the loss of a gay community. As it dawned on Sam that not only was there a gay community in Stowe, but she was playing cards with it, she vowed to make a sincere effort to get to know these women.
Maybe while she was at it, she could make more of an effort to get to know some of the straight people in Stowe too.
“I raise a quarter,” Jamie said. Jenny and Kathy called before Maria raised the pot fifty cents. Brandi pouted at Maria and said, “Fold.
”
Sam looked at her cards, surprised by the three eights. She threw in a dollar’s worth of chips. “I’ll raise another quarter,” she said.
“Fold,” Jenny and Jamie said at the same time.
Kathy thought about it minute, and squinted at Sam before shrugging. “Fold.”
Maria grinned at her. “Fold.”
“Well, that’s no fun,” Sam said, but she raked the chips over to her small pile and began stacking them.
It only took four more hands for her to grasp that part of her charm lay in her complete inability to play poker. When the other women at the table chuckled at her irregular and impetuous betting style and the obvious way she always played exactly what she had in her hand, she was happy to laugh along with them. “I have…other talents,” she said.
Jenny clapped her on the back, Kathy winked at her, and Brandi fumed. At the end of the night, as they all hugged good-bye, Jamie grinned at her and said, “I look forward to watching Maria take your money all over again next time.”
FALL 2008
“Good morning, Samantha,” purred a rich voice from behind her. She turned to find Maria leaning against the door to the kitchen, observing her while she read at the restaurant counter. “You’re becoming quite the fixture here.”
“Oh, um, you don’t mind, do you?” Sam closed the journal she was reading.
Maria’s soft smile didn’t do much to settle the fluttery feeling she always had when Maria was around.
“I’m glad.” Maria made her way over to the chair next to Sam’s with what could only be described as a sashay, her hips swaying gently.
“Thanks for inviting me to poker last week. I had fun.”
“Did you?” Maria sat down and broke off a piece of Sam’s scone. “I wasn’t sure.” She leaned back in her chair and nibbled on the stolen bit of food.
“I’m sorry I was a grump when I first arrived. Yes, despite losing the entirety of my ten dollars, I thoroughly enjoyed myself. Kathy is hilarious, and Jenny and Jamie are very sweet.”
The pause that followed was telling.
“Not fond of Brandi, then?”
Sam tried to punt. “Oh. Um. I don’t know. I didn’t feel like I got to know her, really.”
“There’s that poker face that won me so much money. You really are the worst liar I’ve ever seen.”
Sam nodded her agreement. “I can think of worse faults.”
“Me too. You going to answer my question honestly now?”
“She seemed a little, um, overeager.” She picked at a hangnail.
“Yeah, I agree.” Maria sighed. “She’s been asking me out for the past three months. I’ve been toying with the idea of saying ‘yes’ just to shut her up.”
“Oh,” was all Sam could say before she swallowed a sip of tea that went down the wrong pipe. Her coughing made her eyes watery, and she gasped for enough breath to clear her throat properly. Maria gestured to Pauly, who brought over a glass of water while Maria gently rubbed Sam’s back.
“Sorry,” Sam said weakly through her gasps.
Maria tried to look concerned, but failed to suppress a little grin. “True to form.”
“I’m getting quite the track record,” Sam sputtered. “Mom sent me to dance classes when I was a kid to teach me grace. Guess it didn’t stick.”
“We’ll just have to test that some time. How is Eva today?”
“Pretty good, actually. She slept well and is relatively lucid today. We did our exercises this morning, and she’s getting stronger and more patient. She drew some too. Just little sketches, and then she kept forgetting what she was doing. She would peer at the pencil in her hand like she’d never seen one before and then, just as suddenly, return to her drawing, picking up right where she left off.”
“The gaps will grow shorter and less frequent.”
“So the doctors say.”
“You want to be a doctor. What would you say?”
The reminder didn’t sting as much as it had since she’d first withdrawn from Stanford. Maybe she was achieving some kind of peace with her situation. “Probably the same thing,” she admitted.
“Well, you might not be in med school right now, but you’re certainly gaining experience that will be invaluable to you when you’re practicing medicine.”
“I wanted to do research,” she deflected softly.
“Wanted? Past tense?”
“Well, yeah, I don’t imagine it matters much now.”
“Oh, I think you’re selling Eva short.” Maria covered Sam’s hand with her own, and her skin felt so warm and soothing that Sam had to look away. She shrugged noncommittally. “Listen, Sam, I have to go up to Burlington on Thursday to meet with someone about business. I was hoping you’d join me.”
Sam opened her mouth to refuse, but Maria stopped her. “I know Thursday is the nurse’s day with your mom, and I could really use your help.”
“My help? What for?”
Maria waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, this and that. Nothing you can’t handle. So I’ll pick you up at nine a.m.” She stole another corner of scone as she rose and sauntered back toward the bar. “Oh, and Sam, wear something nice,” she called out before pushing the kitchen door open and disappearing.
Thursday dawned, overcast and forlorn, and the skies threatened rain. Unlike some years when the temperature spiked in September, summer was already declining in central Vermont. Truth be told, Sam adored this weather, finding the electricity vibrating in the air before the skies opened up utterly thrilling. She woke early, her subconscious perhaps recognizing that overcast mornings were the perfect atmosphere for writing, and before she toted her steno pad into the backyard, she left a note on Eva’s nightstand instructing her to call out her window if she woke up and needed something. In the past week, Eva had made a huge leap in progress, and Sam felt comfortable leaving her alone for brief periods of time. She hoped with all her might that this change was permanent, silencing any fears about setbacks by focusing on the strides they had made.
Leaning against a tree, she placed the tip of her pencil to the paper on her lap and tried to empty her mind of the static that drowned her writing voice. More often than not in the past five years, the alto timbre of her writing voice spoke of Natalie and true love and overpowering desire. Natalie e-mailed her weekly, always asking about Eva and expressing how sorry she was that she wasn’t able to come to Stowe that summer. Lately, her presence in Sam’s subconscious seemed to have dimmed. Emptying her mind revealed not the blue longing and black torment Sam was accustomed to, but instead, a purple hope, a red fire, a white satisfaction. Forcing herself not to overanalyze, Sam began writing.
An hour and forty-two lines later, three sonnets extolling the charm of rural America and reveling in the possibilities of a life outside one’s expectations covered the pages in front of her. She reread them, deciding that the first and third were good enough to read at the next salon she attended. It was more than she usually wrote in one sitting, but she still felt there was more to purge.
The light gray clouds rolled by, moving quickly across the September sky, replaced by more ominous collections of dark moisture. A few errant drops fell here and there, heralding the coming onslaught. Bent over her notebook, shielding the paper from the water, Sam continued to write. Two more sonnets appeared, one comparing brown eyes to the images of Sam’s tree-covered backyard, and one relating the complicated relationships between words and form to the sophisticated way a woman could sneak up on you and claim your heart. The rain fell in earnest, denying Sam the opportunity to reflect on her newest creations. Stuffing her notepad under her sweatshirt, she scampered to the back door, fat drops of water falling from drenched tendrils of hair and sliding in rivulets down the sliding glass door to the house. She deposited the writing on her bed before heading to the bathroom to get ready for her trip to Burlington wit
h Maria.
As she showered, she wondered what Maria looked like when she got caught in the rain.
Twenty minutes later, Sam answered the doorbell and admitted the nurse. She reviewed Eva’s new medication schedule with him while drying her hair and, in between bites of cereal, briefed him on Eva’s physical therapy progress. When Maria pulled into her driveway, Sam quickly kissed Eva on the cheek, bid farewell to the nurse, and trotted out the door. Maria shifted the manual transmission of her 1973 red Mustang into reverse and their little road trip was underway.
The houses grew farther apart as they made their way out of town and into the expanse of hills and valleys that dominated the Vermont countryside. Sam stole glances at Maria, who drove like a teenage boy and took curves so fast that Sam held onto the handle above her head. In between her surreptitious gazes, she reflected that Maria was beautiful. And funny and thoughtful. They didn’t say much for a half-hour as they drove out of the rain; Sam was too distracted to say anything, and Maria seemed content to hum along with the Beatles. If she noticed Sam’s furtive glances, she gave no indication.
They were halfway there when Sam asked, “So, who are we meeting in Burlington?”
“Uh-uh. Not yet. Tell me what med school was like.”
Sam leaned her seat back a bit, settling in to answer Maria’s question. She also reasoned that if she wasn’t staring at the road, maybe Maria’s driving wouldn’t make her as dizzy.
“Stanford is on the quarter system, so we take more classes than most, but they’re shorter. Fall quarter was Applied Biochemistry, Genetics, Cells and Tissues, and Gross Anatomy. In the winter, we took The Nervous System, Development of Diseases, Immunology, and Organ Systems. I was really looking forward to taking Pulmonary and Cardiovascular Systems when I got the call about my mom. So, I was beginning with M.D. curriculum and would have moved on to more individuated Ph.D. study after completing this first year. The week I got back here, I was supposed to have met with my advisors there to establish a schedule for stem cell research, which has grown a lot more controversial than when I started as an undergraduate.”
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