Wrath of the Sister

by Shannon Heuston

  Sam smirked as he inserted his key in the ignition. “All my life,” he said. “How long have you known Laurel?”

  I relaxed. “All my life,” I said, smiling back.

  “What a coincidence,” Sam said, as he steered his truck onto the road in front of Laurel’s apartment complex. “So, tell me about yourself.”

  “I’m sure you already know all you need to know.”

  “Humor me,” he said, eyes on the road.

  “Let’s see,” I said, ticking things off on my fingers. “My name is Melody Ripple.”

  “Still?” he replied. “No marriage or divorce under your belt?”

  “Just an Arabian prince,” I said. “But don’t worry, he has thirty other wives.”

  Sam nodded. “Ah. Terrific. What else?”

  “I’m a secretary slash receptionist at a law firm,” I said, making quote marks in the air. “I’ve been there about ten years. I’ll probably be there until I retire. My mom died a few months ago, but you already knew that. Um. That’s all. I’m kind of boring.” I folded my hands in my lap after this speech, feeling dull.

  Sam shrugged. “The best baggage is no baggage at all,” he said. “Can I tell you a secret, Melody Ripple?”

  “Shoot,” I said, keeping my eyes centered on the road unspooling in front of us, not able to bear the intensity of his gaze.

  “I think your sister’s a real bitch,” he said.

  “Agreed. And I think your brother’s a moron.”

  Sam snorted. “Agreed.”

  He turned off the highway onto a two-lane road before pulling into the parking lot of a tiny Italian restaurant with a red, green, and white awning. It was the kind of place that boasts about ten tables covered with real tablecloths and candles in bottles. “This is the French place?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Sam shrugged. “French, Italian, it’s all the same to me. Good food!”

  “I’m not complaining,” I said. Truth be told, I was relieved. I never had French cuisine before and all I knew about it was people ate snails. Italian seemed a lot less scary.

  The interior of the restaurant was dim, lit by candles. Sam snapped his fingers at the host, and I nearly sank through the floor in embarrassment. Then I saw the man’s wolfish grin and realized they knew each other. Thank God. For a split second, I worried Sam was an asshole. That would be dreadful, since I was already half in love with him.

  Sam flipped the menu open. “How about an appetizer? They make pretty good wings here. They also got garlic bread, clams casino…” he looked over at me.

  I hesitated. Garlic bread on a date? Messy wings? Neither were a good option as far as I was concerned.

  Sam made a face. “Don’t be like that,” he pleaded.

  “Like what?” I asked.

  He affected a falsetto and put a hand on his hip. “I can’t eat that, I’m on a diet.” He rolled his eyes. “No. Order what you want. Food is meant to be enjoyed. I like a girl who eats.”

  Protest was futile. “Okay, if you insist,” I said. My stomach growled in response. I hope Sam didn’t hear it. “Mozzarella sticks, please.” That was within reason. I wasn’t sitting across from Sam with my mouth smeared with buffalo sauce and my breath reeking of garlic, no sir.

  Although the minute the words left my mouth, I second guessed them. Mozzarella sticks was something a teenager ordered on a date, not a grown woman. Not the most sophisticated choice, but Sam didn’t seem to care.

  I watched as he studied the menu, wondering if he was real. Was this really happening? Was an attractive man like Sam really interested in me? I had to be dreaming. Just a few short days ago I thought my life was over, that I was heading for a life of Banquet meals eaten in front of game shows. Now the future seemed bright and shining, filled with endless possibility.

  Sam closed his menu and waved it toward our waiter. “I’m having the shrimp fettucine,” he announced. “You?”

  “I’m thinking baked ziti,” I said.

  “Cool. We can share. It’s a whole lotta cheese, but different kinds of cheese, so it’s all good.”

  After the waiter took our order, Sam leaned forward. “Where have you been for the last,” he checked his watch, “twenty-six years?”

  I laughed. “You’re laying it on a bit thick.”

  “Melody Ripple,” he said, shaking his head. “Melody. Laurel. I must say, your parents had exceptional taste in names. The names in my family are rather uninspired in comparison.”

  “Sam’s okay. It suits you.”

  “John suits my brother, he’s always been full of shit,” he joked. “Anyway, spill. What’s your story?”

  “My story?” I repeated.

  “You know. Why are you still single?”

  I sighed. I underwent the torture known as online dating a couple of times a year, and I always ran into that guy. The one who insisted I justify my single status, as if there might be something wrong with me. Like not having a partner was a sign of mental illness or criminal leanings. That guy always had a legitimate excuse why he was single, but was unwilling to accept anyone else’s. There was never a second date.

  “Why are you still single?” I asked back. Two could play at this game.

  Sam fell silent and shifted position. I took a quick sip of water to cover my discomfort. I sensed I hit a nerve, but I didn’t know how to fix it, so I just waited, hoping I hadn’t fucked things up.

  “You know why I’m still single,” he said, his voice low. “You know full well why. Don’t pretend you don’t.”

  I nearly choked. I was fucking things up. I took a deep breath, praying for calm. I needed to find the words to diffuse this situation. “That happened decades ago, though. You never found anyone else in all that time? A hot guy like you?”

  Before he could reply, the waiter appeared, ready to pour our wine. It provided a well needed distraction. By the time he left, Sam had regained his composure. “I’ve had girlfriends here and there,” he said. “None of them ever measured up to my Lucy.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring back bad memories.”

  Sam tasted the wine, smacking his lips. He dropped his voice, his pink tongue trailing along his upper lip, his words an intimate caress. “I’ll tell you the real reason I’m still single.” His eyes bored into mine. “I was waiting for you.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Our food arrived, lightening the mood. Sam and I smiled into each other’s eyes in the candlelight as the waiter grated fresh parmesan onto our plates. It was turning out to be a perfect night. Even the food was superb. My stomach was happy for the first time in eons. It seemed I’d been eating noodles, soup, and peanut butter forever. I hoped there would be plenty of leftovers.

  As we ate, Sam told me about his work as a fireman. “I saved a baby’s life once,” he said, his voice swelling with pride. “He was thirteen months old, just starting to walk, and his mom left the sliding glass door to the patio open. He toddled out there and fell into their inground pool. I gave him CPR and got him breathing again. He didn’t even get brain damage. Kids are so resilient. Nothing will ever compare to the moment his mom realized her son was okay, that her mistake didn’t cost him his life.”

  “It was very careless of her to leave the door open like that.”

  Sam shook his head. “That’s what people always say when I tell that story. But I don’t judge. The kid just started walking. A few steps here, a few steps there, holding onto things. Never in a million years did she imagine he could walk that far.”

  I lowered my eyes, feeling ashamed. I was petty and mean, judging people, and had I ever saved a life? No. Not even Agnes, as she struggled to breathe on the kitchen floor, despite my best efforts.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “You’re right, I’m being judgmental. I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know what I’m talking about. I’ve never saved a life. Nothing I’ve done even comes close.”

  Sam waved a dismissive hand. “Just doing my job. You would have done th
e same, I’m sure.”

  I’m sure I would have panicked and done nothing but get on everyone’s nerves, but I didn’t voice that out loud. “What about going into burning buildings? That has to be terrifying.”

  “I’m a thrill seeker,” Sam confessed. “I’m addicted to the surge of adrenaline I get when things are going down. It’s such a rush! They practically have to hold me back.”

  “Makes me glad you’re retiring soon,” I said without thinking. I blushed, horrified. It was a bit soon for me to be making comments like that.

  Then I looked at Sam. He was beaming at me. Happiness filled me with a warm glow, an alien feeling to a miserable creature like me. The connection I felt to this man wasn’t in my head, or a fantasy, or a delusion. It was reality. Sam was the one, just like in the movies. Someone once said, when you know, you know and I knew. I always knew. I just lacked faith. Love always seemed just out of reach for a girl like me, something bestowed on better people. Luckier people. But now it was happening, and it was better than I imagined.

  We had spumoni for dessert. Sam insisted. “They make it right on the premises. It’s like a little piece of heaven.”

  Forget about the spumoni. Being with Sam was all the heaven I would ever need.

  “Tell me,” Sam said, when we were belted back into his truck, “when Laurel tried to hook you up with me, was it a hell to the no moment?”

  “Only sight unseen,” I confessed. “And only because I’ve never been a fan of John. Although, to be honest, it’s Agnes’s fault I hate him.”

  “Agnes?” Sam asked.

  “Oh, that’s what I call my mother in my head. Called, rather.” My voice broke. Tears threatened.

  Sam undid his seatbelt and then I was in his arms, inhaling his scent, my hot tears dripping onto his neck. “There, there,” he said, rubbing my back in soothing circles. “I’m so sorry. Were you close?”

  I laughed through my tears. “My first reaction is to say no, but I guess we were, in a sick, twisted way. Other than the year and a half I was at school, we lived together all my life. We fought all the time though. Like cats and dogs. She could be a real bitch.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sam said again. “If it makes you feel any better, I had a stormy relationship with my parents too. They wanted kids desperately, because they couldn’t have any of their own. But by the time they had the means to adopt John and I, there were set in their ways. They couldn’t adapt to children in the house, messing up the living room, tracking mud onto the floor.” He sighed. “We had a rough childhood.”

  “Yet another thing we have in common,” I said. “We both have parents who are members of the Shouldn’t Have Had Kids club.” I took a deep breath. “My Mom and Dad weren’t the greatest, but I feel guilty talking about how bad they were at, well, parenting. They did the best they could. I know that. Even Agnes. She was a horrible mother, but she didn’t mean to be that way. She had an awful time growing up. She was the second of ten. Her parents both drank. The older kids had to take care of the younger. And there were never enough resources to go around, she had to fight for food, clothes, attention, you name it. When she met my father, she didn’t marry him for love. She married him to escape. Thinking about it makes me sad. Life didn’t turn out the way she wanted. Disappointment made her bitter.”

  “I understand,” Sam said, pulling back. His eyes glittered with moisture in the dim glow of the overhead streetlight. “You just put my exact feelings into words. My folks weren’t perfect, but they meant well. After all, they adopted John and me. God knows what would have happened if they hadn’t.”

  You would have been adopted by another couple, maybe one better suited to be parents I thought, but didn’t dare say. Instead, I asked, “Did you ever try to find your real parents?”

  “I thought about it,” Sam said. “But it never crossed John’s mind, I can tell you that. He ain’t that bright. But yeah, I considered it. I even researched the steps. It can take years, though. It’s not a priority for the department of social services.” He shrugged. “In the end, I decided against it. What if they don’t want anything to do with me? Better to let it lie.”

  “Do you know anything about them?” I asked.

  “I know that they were of Irish, French, and German descent. My biological mother was in her mid-teens when she gave birth to me at Ellis Hospital in Schenectady. She put me up for adoption immediately. Other than that, I know nothing.”

  I used to wish I was adopted. A common fantasy among abused children. But I couldn’t imagine what it would be like growing up not knowing where you came from or who your people were. Then again, Agnes was always estranged from her siblings, which meant I had an enormous tribe of relatives out there I didn’t even know. Maybe that explained why Laurel and I had such a stormy relationship. We didn’t know what it was like to be part of a loving family.

  As if reading my thoughts, Sam stared into my eyes, and I felt an electric jolt of connection. Fate had intervened to bring us together. That was why no other relationships in our lives had ever worked out, because we were soul mates. We had been through unspeakable pain, but it was over now. We’d made it to the other side. Now we had each other. Neither one of us would ever be alone again.

  “Come back to my place,” Sam urged, grabbing my hands and beseeching me with his eyes. I attempted to pull away, but the magnetism of his gaze held me in thrall.

  “Okay,” I whispered, and he grinned.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Sam lived in a condo in White Plains. His development was of a modern design that resembled the scattered blocks of a giant in the moonlight. My heart was thudding as he parked his Jeep in front of an angled building painted white. I couldn’t believe I was doing this, spending the night with a man after the first date. What would Laurel say?

  I followed Sam up a narrow flight of stairs and into his unit. “It’s a bit messy,” Sam warned, flicking on the light. We were in a pin neat living room. His couch, carpet, and walls were such a pure white I feared soiling them. I slid my shoes off and dropped them in the foyer without being prompted.

  “How do you keep it all so… white?” I asked.

  “I use a professional cleaning service,” Sam admitted. “They come once a month. They’re about due. Hence, the mess.”

  “I don’t see a mess,” I confessed. What would he think of my house if he thought this was messy? Nothing was out of place.

  I took a tentative step into the living room, feeling I was generating clouds of dust, like Pig Pen in the old Peanuts cartoon. There was a bookcase painted white shoved against the wall. On the top shelf was a green spider plant, adding a much-needed splash of color to the room. The rest of the shelves were filled with artfully arranged photographs in wooden frames. No books, which was a disappointment. I longed for a partner to share my passion of reading. Oh, well, can’t have everything. Sam checked off all my other boxes.

  I crossed the room to inspect the photographs with Sam trailing behind me. The first one was of a much younger Sam wearing a tuxedo, his hair a messy blonde mop cut in a style popular in the early nineties. He was posing awkwardly with a skinny brunette with big hair and metal braces on her teeth, wearing a poufy blue dress. It looked like a pre-prom photo. I tapped the glass covering the picture. “Is this her?” I asked. “Is this Lucy, your lost fiancée?”

  Sam’s eyes clouded. “Yes, that’s my Lucy, right before we got engaged. Just a year and a half before her murder.” He pointed at another photo. “This was taken at our engagement party.” Sam sported gel styled bangs, a plaid shirt, and stonewashed jeans. His arm was slung casually around Lucy’s shoulders. Her face was turned towards his, her mouth open, caught laughing at something he’d just said. A moment of mirth frozen forever in time.

  They were so young. Too young to get married, for sure. Definitely too young to die.

  There was love in Sam’s eyes as he gazed at Lucy’s picture. I felt a stab of jealousy. I shoved it away, disgusted with myself. It was pa
thetic to be jealous of a dead girl. Decades had passed, decades Lucy never lived. She dwelled only in blurry, faded photographs.

  “I still love her,” Sam sighed.

  My heart sank. Do you really think this is a good idea? Agnes asked. He’s stuck on a dead girl. You’ll never be able to compete. Hard enough for you to compete with the living.

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at her negative-as-always assessment of the situation. I didn’t need to compete with Lucy. I would occupy a separate place in Sam’s heart. Lucy would remain in hers.

  Sam cleared his throat. “Enough looking at old photos, it’s getting depressing.” He grinned. “I’d rather look at you instead. You look pretty hot tonight.”

  I blushed, the compliment swelling warm within me like wine. Sam lowered his head to brush his soft lips against mine, murmuring, “Melody.” I wrapped my arms around his neck in response, as he pressed his full length against me, surrounding my body with the heat of his full embrace. The universe shifted on its axis. Sparks exploded behind my closed eyelids, as Sam kissed me again, and again, his tongue teasing mine.

  “Melody,” he whispered again in my ear, nibbling on the lobe, making me tingle.

  At least he wasn’t saying her name. Lucy. For that, I was grateful, because I could feel her hovering between us, an uninvited third party.

  Sam rubbed my back, then slid his hands down to squeeze my ass cheeks. My knees turned to liquid. I clutched his shoulders and kissed him back, kissed all the sad, hurting parts of him, kissed the loneliness that was a mirror image of my own.

  “Let’s go to the bedroom,” he suggested in a hoarse voice.

  I nodded, unable to speak. I was so aroused I could barely walk. We stumbled through his bedroom door and collapsed on the bed. Sam’s lips came down on mine again as he carefully rolled on top of me.