Sing it, Sam

by Jennifer Ryder

  A young girl with dark hair in a braid swings around on her chair and smiles. She doesn’t look to be much older than me. “How can I help you?”

  I clear my throat. “Um, yes. I’m here to see Sam Marshall? He’s in room eleven, I think.”

  The smile washes from her face. “Oh, yes.” She stands and motions towards her left. “Eleven is down the far end of the hall on your right.”

  “Thanks.”

  The soles of my boots squeak against the shiny linoleum floor as I stride down the corridor until I reach a maroon-coloured placard sticking out from the wall with number eleven on it. The door is ajar. With hesitant steps, I creep inside.

  If it wasn’t for Ben at his side, I would’ve sworn I was in the wrong room. My feet cement to the spot as I glare at the pale-faced man in the bed. The gravity of the scene before me causes my chest to tighten, as if a weight has been thrust upon me. A clear tube is protruding from Sam’s mouth which is secured in place with white tape across his sullen cheeks. The mouth tube connects to two thicker see-through blue tubes, which hook up to one of the many machines at the head of the bed that beep and whirr in a cruel symphony.

  He barely resembles the Sam that just left Willow Creek.

  Be brave. It just looks bad.

  Tears prick at my eyes as I coax my feet forward until I reach the foot of the bed. “Ben?” I force out, looking between the two brothers.

  Ben looks up. Dark rings hang beneath his eyes, which are splintered with red. He opens his mouth and glances over at Sam. He swipes at his eyes, and motions to the seat positioned on the other side of the bed.

  I sit on the edge of the chair and reach out to touch Sam, but there’s a minefield of round sticky pads with wires stuck across his bare chest. A blood pressure band is secured on one bicep, and an IV line is taped to the top of his hand. I lean over and press a kiss to his forehead, his skin clammy against my lips. Sam’s eyes are shut, but his eyeballs move around beneath the lids. Is he sleeping?

  “I made it, Sam,” I say in a husky voice and kiss his head once more. I place my hand on a bare part of Sam’s chest, avoiding the wires. I gulp down. As much as I want to throw myself on top of him and weep, I have to be strong. For all of us.

  It’s hard to know what to say, but I can’t sit here in silence. I need to talk to Sam. It’s all I’ve wanted to do for the last week.

  “Sorry I’m late. I would’ve been here earlier, but it was pissing down rain and I had to drive so freakin’ slow and then to top it off, I got a flat tyre. Luckily, Wonder Woman has skills. You would’ve been proud.”

  Ben blows his nose, his eyes fixed on the foot of the bed. I stare at Ben until I finally gain eye contact. He doesn’t hold it for long, casting his gaze downward once more.

  “Ben?” I extend my hand to him, across Sam’s waist. The callouses on his palm grate against my skin as he takes my hand. I squeeze tight until he looks up. “Can he hear me?”

  He rakes his fingers back through his unkempt blond curls. “Jane,” he whispers on an exhale.

  “Whatever it is, tell me,” I beg.

  Ben takes in a series of calculated breaths. “The paralysis has spread. The machine with the blue tubes is helping him breathe. They’ve sedated him to manage the pain and keep him relaxed. Even though he can’t move, his brain should still be functioning.”

  “Should?” I squeal.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say right now. Things took a turn for the worse. It’s all happening so fast.”

  A wave of coldness washes over me. I hunch over as my heartrate spikes. “They must be able to do something more,” I bark out. “They know his history. I mean, how did it go from a cold to this?”

  “They assure me they’re doing everything they can.”

  “But are they?” I say with a sweep of my hand towards the machines hooked up to the man I love.

  “Whatever happens, we need to be here for Sam. Just keep talking to him. Let him know you’re here. It might make the whole world of difference.”

  We can only hope.

  ***

  Ben leaves in search of coffee and food. Seated beside Sam, I softly stroke over his shoulder. The bruise from his fall has now faded to a yellowy-green. Even though all I want to do is cry, I talk to Sam about the winding up of the festival. I tell him that our little town has returned to its usual numbers, how stallholders are already planning next year, and that the organisers are set to make the next event the best yet. Which they say every year.

  The machines continue to beep and do their job. Sam remains still.

  One-sided conversations are so shit.

  This whole situation is shit, but I have to stay positive.

  “So, I hinted the other day that I had news,” I say in as chipper a voice as I can muster. I link my fingers between Sam’s, careful not to nudge the IV. Simply holding his hand, I choke up. I stare at Sam’s face, and run my fingers over the pale stubble on his jaw. This isn’t quite how I imagined I was going to tell him, but I have to do it. Talking is the only thing I can do right now. “I’ve spoken with Kim. You know, the lady who adopted Ed?”

  The mention of his dog’s name seems to drive movement behind his eyelids, but no other physical response. He can hear me. I know it.

  “Kim said she’ll take good care of Ed until you’re back in town. You’re getting your boy back, Sam. So, hurry up and get your arse better.”

  A set of heavy boots plods in the background, growing louder with each step. Ben approaches with a giant-sized paper cup with a black lid.

  “Thanks. I need this.” I let the hot drink warm my hands. “I was just telling Sam that when he moves out to Willow Creek, he can get Ed back.”

  Ben takes a sip of his coffee and hands me a cut sandwich in a cardboard triangle-shaped box. “Jane,” he says, a warning in his tone.

  “What? He’ll get through this, Ben. He beat it before. We have to stay positive.”

  “It’s not easy,” he admits. “This is serious.”

  “I won’t give up.”

  As I nibble on my sandwich I update Sam on the residents at the home and upcoming events. When I start talking more in depth about my writing, an alarm beeps from one of the machines. Another blares with a series of flashing red lights and numbers.

  I bolt upright and stare at Ben. “What do we do?”

  He halts mid-chew and presses a red button on the wall beside the bed.

  A flurry of medical staff enters, checking monitors and machines. A man picks up the phone handset on the wall and says “Dr Burgess is needed in W-ten-eleven.”

  “If you wouldn’t mind waiting outside for a moment, we need to attend to a few things,” a short lady dressed in blue scrubs says, gripping my elbow and guiding me to the doorway. I peer in from the hall. My eyes glue to a forlorn-looking Ben.

  A tall grey-haired man in a white coat whooshes past me and into the room. He disappears from view for a minute or so, and then appears and takes Ben aside. As Ben listens, arms crossed and eyes fixed to the floor, I catch the doctor say that Sam’s ‘blood pressure is fluctuating’ and something that sounds like ‘arrhythmia’.

  Ben looks up and motions for me to come inside. My feet have never felt heavier as I walk towards the men.

  “Dr Burgess. This is Jane, Sam’s girlfriend.”

  The man extends his arm. My hand trembles as we shake.

  “Jane,” he simply says. The doctor’s lips form a thin line. His nose whistles as he draws in a deep breath. “Sam is going downhill fast. As I said before, we’re doing all we can, but it might not be enough. You should think about saying goodbye.”

  I choke on a scream as I curl into Ben’s side. Strong arms wrap around me. The force of his hold has the tips of his fingers clawing into the meaty part of my shoulder. The doctor mumbles something about contacting any other family.

  “How long?” Ben asks in a gruff tone.

  The doctor looks between the two of us. “As long as his heart ho
lds out.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Old people die—people who’ve had a chance to truly live. Not Sam. Not someone as young as him. There’s no sense in it.

  It’s been hours since we spoke to Dr Burgess and now it’s just Ben, Sam and me, and our thoughts.

  “I’m not saying goodbye, Sam. If I do it means I’ve given up, and I won’t do that.” Hot tears barrel down my face as the machines continue to breathe for him. “Keep fighting,” I whisper as I hold his hand, which fails to react to my touch. “Please.”

  “Come on, mate,” Ben says, his voice thick with emotion. His words are soon interrupted by a machine which makes a long high-pitched tone. It sets off another alarm. Medical staff descend into the room in numbers.

  “Stand back please,” someone says and tugs at the back of my chair.

  A cart is wheeled closer to the bed, and a man places paddles on Sam’s chest.

  This isn’t happening.

  “Sam!” I cry out and lunge forward.

  A woman pushes me away from him.

  “Clear!” the man hovering over Sam’s body booms.

  Sam’s chest jerks upwards and then collapses back on the bed.

  The man repeats the action. The flatline sound continues to ring in my ears like a freight train speeding out of control.

  I can’t see this …

  I step back towards the door. If I stay and watch him slip from this world, everything Mr Blandford said is going to rush back. Sam’s skin will tighten and turn a different colour. His brain will surge and then stop. All this will happen, and then he won’t be my Sam anymore. He’ll simply be a shell of the man who slowly stole my heart. He’ll be the remains of the man who dared me to dream, who challenged me to love, and who instilled hope in me for a future. Sam, me, Butch, and Ed. His song-writing. My novels. A team.

  Ben reaches out a shaking hand to me, his eyes filled with terror. His broad frame now seems weak as his shoulders curl in, and all hope fades from his face. Whilst this moment is tearing me apart, I can’t leave Ben alone. I can’t turn my back on Sam’s brother.

  I take Ben’s hand and throw myself into his arms.

  We watch on, wrapped up together as the man with the paddles continues to try and bring Sam back. When he finally gives up and steps aside, my heart shatters as I’m hit with the harsh recoil of reality.

  He’s gone.

  My Sam.

  My legs collapse beneath me, but strong arms prop me up.

  The staff make way for us, heads hanging low. Ben helps me to his chair beside his brother. I fumble for Sam’s hand and bring it to my mouth, kissing it over and over.

  “Don’t go, Sam. Please.” Sob. “I’m here.” Sob. “I’m not leaving. Please.”

  Please.

  Together, Ben and I sit either side of Sam, each holding one of Sam’s hands, and then our hands meet and rest on his chest. A chest that no longer rises and falls … A beautiful heart that no longer beats.

  Together, we farewell a brother, a man, and a musician.

  I say a chilling goodbye to my first real love.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  At some dark hour, we make it back to the apartment. In a daze, I kick off my shoes and run to Sam’s room. Fully clothed, I crawl onto his unmade bed and pull the covers over me. His aftershave soon surrounds me. It’s a reminder that is both comforting and cruel. Tears flow as my heart is wrung out of emotion.

  They took him away.

  “Jane,” a deep voice says on the other side of the covers.

  I peek my head out and swipe the wetness from my cheeks.

  Ben sits on the corner of the bed and rests his elbows on his knees. He stares at the wall in front of him, which holds his focus for the longest time. After a while, he rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands and growls. “Goddamn it, Sam.”

  I crawl to the end of the bed and perch beside him. “I’m sorry, Ben.” I place my flattened hand between his shoulder blades and rub in small circles. His shoulders drop a little. “I know saying that doesn’t help. I don’t know what will.”

  “Yeah. I hear you.” Ben shakes his head, stands, and swipes beneath each eye with his thumb.

  I stand and wrap my arms around his middle. “I think we both need some rest.”

  “Yeah,” Ben says, his voice thick.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket. I want to ignore it, but I should at least check it. I take a step back from Ben and open the message.

  Kathleen: How is Sam?

  Air is forced out of my lungs as I stare at the device. Oh God. I have to tell her. As if she doesn’t have enough death to deal with, someone who left her care fit and on the road to recovery has lost his battle with life.

  “What is it?” Ben asks.

  I cough to clear my throat. “It’s Kathleen. She’s asking after Sam. I should ring her. Tell her. I don’t know when I’ll be home. She has Butch. And there’s work.” I take a few deep breaths in quick succession and shake my head. “I don’t know what’s next.”

  “You can stay here as long as you like. If you’re not in a hurry, that is.”

  “Ben, you just lost your brother. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Thanks,” he whispers and heads for the door, shutting it behind him.

  I sit back on the bed and psych myself up for the call. With a trembling hand, I pull up her contact. After the third ring, the call is connected.

  “Hi, Jane.”

  “Sam’s gone,” I choke out.

  The line goes silent.

  “Kathleen?”

  A series of sniffles echoes through the phone. “Oh, Jane. I’m so, so sorry. Are you okay?”

  “Don’t know.” A sob bursts from my mouth without warning. “I need some time.”

  “Whatever you need, dear. My goodness. This is something a young person should never have to go through. I saw the way you two were together. It was a joy to see love bloom in a place where loneliness roams free. Such sad news.”

  Another heart-wrenching sob breaks free. I’m not ready to talk about this yet. He’s gone. He’s not coming back. Sam was the first person I know with certainty that I loved. I was loved dearly in return, which makes this so much harder to bear. We didn’t get our time.

  “I need to go,” I blurt out. I just can’t right now.

  “Jane, please don’t worry about work. My sister’s been bugging me to come out of retirement. I’ll sort out the leave side of things.”

  “Are you sure?” I’ve probably only accrued a week’s annual leave at the most.

  “Again, don’t worry. The grieving process … you need to take time, Jane. If you don’t do it now, things will fester. Just take this advice from someone who knows.”

  I wipe my runny nose on the sleeve of my shirt. “Thanks.”

  “Have any arrangements been made for the funeral?” she asks in a softer voice.

  The funeral. Bile rises up my throat.

  Coffins. Flowers. Mourners. Sam.

  I rub my palm over my chest as the ache inside intensifies. “No. I’m going to stay with Ben for a bit. We’ll let you know.”

  “If there’s anything I can do, anything, call me. And Butch is fine.”

  “Uh-huh,” I mumble as a sob wracks my body. “Bye.”

  I flop myself down on to the bed. As tears course down my face, I clutch at my necklace and draw my knees up. The ache in my chest deepens. It stings when I breathe, when I move.

  What now, Sam? What now?

  ***

  For two days, I lock myself away in Sam’s room. Ben regularly brings food, but I can’t eat. He tries to nudge me in the shower, but I can’t function. I can’t focus on anything except Sam. I see him everywhere, especially in my dreams. There he’s alive and well, but when I wake in his room, alone in the bed where we first made love, my emotions take me hostage once more.

  I’ve heard Ben out there. Talking on the phone. Meeting with people who’ve come by. I’ve tried to block it out, but I know w
hat he’s doing. He’s making arrangements. Funeral arrangements.

  Sometimes I find myself staring at the ceiling as emptiness creeps into the place in my heart that Sam occupied. Then I remember how hard I fought Sam to get him to engage, to not shut himself out. It would crush Sam to see me like this.

  As much as moving forward is going to be like a betrayal, I know I have to take that first step.

  I know Sam would want that.

  ***

  After a solid night’s sleep, I will myself out of bed and to the shower. The smell of bacon draws me by the nostrils to the kitchen, where I find Ben shovelling scrambled eggs onto two white plates.

  He jumps as I come into his vision. “Hey, you’re up.” A smile curls at his lips, but then fades. “Made you some breaky. Hungry?”

  “Yeah,” I say on an exhale. “I’m starving. Want me to make us some coffees?”

  “Please.”

  I busy myself with our drinks, while Ben takes the bacon from the pan, butters the freshly cooked toast and spoons the eggs on top. He then takes our meals over to the dining table, shuffles paperwork to the side, and takes three empty coffee cups back to the kitchen sink.

  I place our mugs on the table and sit opposite him. “I’m sorry.”

  “What for?” he asks and devours a mouthful of eggs.

  “I should’ve been helping you. I just don’t know that I can. I want to try, though.”

  He reaches across the table, grips my hand, and gives it a quick squeeze before returning to his meal. “I know this is hard, Jane. It’s okay. I understand.”

  “Do you wanna talk about stuff now?” I don’t want to, but if listening helps you, I’ll do it.

  “How about you eat first? It’s been three days.”

  I nod and pick up a sliver of crispy bacon. “’Kay. Strange request, but do you have any Nutella?”

  He nods. “Always.”

  “Cool.” I’ll be attacking it later.

  In a very unladylike fashion, I finish my breakfast in a few minutes flat. And now I might puke.

  Ben takes our dishes, rinses them in the sink, and returns to his seat. He smooths his hands down the front of his jean-clad thighs and then rubs at the back of his neck. “So, um,” he mumbles and stands, tucks in his chair and grips the top of it. “I’ve organised for a small service at the chapel on the hill at Logan Falls on Friday.”