Sing it, Sam

by Jennifer Ryder

  In two days? “So soon?” I say in a high-pitched voice.

  “Yeah, well these things usually happen pretty quickly.”

  “Yeah, I guess they do.” Just like Sam leaving us.

  Am I ready to do this? To see him lowered into the ground forever?

  “There’s a plot beside Mum. I can’t believe he’ll be there next to her. Six feet under.” Ben scrapes his hand through his hair. “God, I’m sorry. You probably don’t wanna hear this.”

  “Don’t apologise. No, it’s not easy to hear, but it is what it is.” As much as it feels like a thousand knives cutting me on the inside.

  Ben takes in a few deeps breaths and clears his throat. “There’s something I’m having trouble with. Maybe you could help?”

  This must be so difficult for him. With the absence of his mother, and his father being deployed goodness knows where, he’s doing this on his own. Burying his only brother. “I’ll do my best.”

  Ben uncovers a notepad from the pile of paperwork, and huffs as he flicks through its pages. “I have no idea what song to play at the funeral. Any ideas? Music was such a big part of his life. I want it to be perfect. I want it to be the way he would have wanted. We never talked about making these plans because I never thought it’d come to this. I never thought he’d die.”

  And isn’t that the kicker. No one saw this coming. “‘Forever Young’,” I say and nod repeatedly. “It has to be.”

  Shock mars his face. He sits back down, his brows knitted together. “What did you say?”

  “‘Forever Young’—you know by Bob Dylan? He told me if he could’ve written any song in history, that’d be the one.”

  “Jesus,” he says under his breath. “Sam sang it at Mum’s funeral. I’ll never forget it. It was her favourite song. I guess it’s fitting to play it at his service, too.”

  Tears brim in my eyes as I imagine Sam being reunited with his mother. In my eyes, Sam will be forever young.

  “What about getting together afterwards? I can organise food and drinks.”

  Ben’s shoulders sag. “Yeah, I haven’t quite got to that either. I don’t wanna ask for help from people I barely know.”

  “Leave that part to me, okay?” I finish up the last of my coffee and stand. “I think I need to go home. I’ll be able to do more from there.” And fresh clothes are a must.

  “Yeah. I’ll probably head up to the falls in the morning. I need to meet with the minister.”

  Eek. I straighten my spine and take in a deep breath. “Well, there’s an uncomfortable couch with your name on it, ’kay?”

  Ben holds out both hands. I take them in mine. “Between now and then, if you need to talk, you have my number.”

  “Thanks.”

  My heart breaks all over again when I have to pack my things. The problem is, I want to take half of Sam’s wardrobe with me. I compromise and take his black Counting Crows T-shirt.

  ***

  On the drive home, I ring Kathleen on speaker and ask her to send me a few contacts so that I can get the catering for the wake organised. She takes the job off my hands and refuses to let me get involved.

  I call Britt and tell her the news. Somehow, I get the feeling she knew this was coming. I ask her to let the rest of the group know and tell them that maybe in a few weeks, I’ll be ready to come back. She promises that they’ll all be there for me on Friday, which brings me to tears.

  When I call my mum, it goes straight to voicemail. Her message tells me she’ll be out of service for the next two weeks. I don’t leave a message. I try Dad’s phone and receive a similar message. My heart sinks. I wouldn’t have expected them to abandon their travels and come home to support me, but it would’ve been nice to at least talk to them, hear their voices.

  Butch is beside himself when I let myself into Kathleen’s backyard to pick him up. When we get home and settled, I tell him about Sam. As I cry, Butch whines and licks at my face, my little fella doing what he always does when my life is in emotional turmoil. But it’s never been like this.

  “It was meant to be the four of us,” I tell Butch. It leads me to think about Ed. If Kim is still willing to give him up, I will happily take him. Sam would like that.

  I make myself a jumbo hot chocolate and sit down at my desk and turn on my laptop. In that moment, I steel my resolve and commit myself to one thing.

  To write.

  To pour my heart out and bleed every thought and emotion into my words. I hope more than anything that this will help me grieve, to process what’s happened. I have to feel everything, even if it stings like a blade being sliced right to my core as I do it. I refuse to forget a single moment we shared. Putting it on paper means our love will live forever. His life will be held sacred in print.

  As my fingers dance over the keyboard, page after page is filled with the ramblings of my broken heart. This can be a part of Sam’s legacy. You’ll never be forgotten, Sam.

  I need a title for my work. Until now, I hadn’t thought about it. When I mull over the stock-standard titles with ‘love’ or ‘heart’ in the title, I know it has to ring true. It has to embody the man and the musician he aspired to be.

  Then, three words come to mind. Three words that encapsulate that feeling he described as he prepared to gift a crowd with his voice and his words. Three words that capture the way his eyes lit up, and how something sparked inside of him when I uttered them to him.

  Sing it, Sam.

  That’s it.

  Chapter Fifty

  On the coldest day in May on record in the falls, family and friends come together to farewell twenty-seven-year old Sam Dylan Marshall.

  I bawl my eyes out during the service, and again at the cemetery. Each breath I take without him physically hurts, stings right to my core.

  Ben guides me from the cemetery and ushers me into his car. I stare out the window until we arrive at the Willow Creek town hall.

  “I need a minute,” I tell Ben as he opens his car door.

  “Sure. I’ll just be inside.”

  I blow my nose and re-do my hair before heading inside the old hall. Trestle tables are covered with lace tablecloths, with various platters of cut sandwiches and sweets, including a plate of my favourite Nutella cheesecake, on top. And I will need you, today, my sweet friend. Tubs are filled with ice and cans of soft drink, with bottles of beer to one side. Some faces I recognise and others I don’t talk in small groups, and soft music is playing in the background.

  I look out onto the street as a bus pulls up to the curb. Kathleen is first to exit, followed by Paige, Mrs Cassidy and Mrs Jones. One by one, the residents from the home enter the hall, each wearing their best clothes and a comforting smile. I don’t believe it.

  When Frederick stands before me with watery eyes, I rush into his embrace.

  “Oh, love,” he croons, as his frail arms wrap around me. “My heart is broken for you.”

  “Thank you for coming,” is all I can say in reply.

  He rests his hands on my shoulders and holds me at arm’s length. “A few of us wanted to come to the service, but we didn’t want to impose.”

  Such a gentleman. “You would’ve been more than welcome, but I’m glad you’re here now. All of you.”

  I greet and hug each of them, biting back tears with every hello and short conversation.

  When Britt, Hannah, Janice, and Leonie approach me as a group, I’m so overwhelmed by their support that I start fanning my face with my hands.

  “Oh my god, you girls,” I cry out, and then cover my mouth. Together, they surround me and hug me until my ribs begin to ache.

  “So sorry,” Hannah says in a quiet voice and kisses my cheek.

  Janice places a hand on my shoulder and bows her head. “Even a wordsmith can’t put into words a suitable way to comfort someone’s sorrow on an occasion like this.”

  “Thanks,” I choke out.

  “We’re here for you, babe,” Leonie says, and pulls me into a one-on-one hug, her
black fedora hat tipping off her head on to the floor.

  “Thanks,” I mumble as Britt reaches for my hand.

  I turn to face her. “Thank you, Britt.”

  Her brows pull together. “What for?”

  “If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have had as much time with Sam as I did.”

  A hint of a smile tickles at her lips as she takes my face in her hands. “Rejoice in the good times, Jane. They’ll keep you going.” She places a soft kiss on my cheek.

  “I will,” I say and nod.

  “Of course, we want you back whenever you’re up to it,” Hannah says.

  “I’ve been writing,” I blurt out. Each of them smiles. “It’s helping.”

  “Good on you,” Leonie says. “Whenever you’re ready, or if you want to meet up for coffee or whatever, give us a call.”

  “Thanks, girls.”

  A man in a dark grey suit appears beside me. He looks to be in his forties by the spattering of grey through his brown hair. “Jane, is it?” he asks, and raises his eyebrows expectantly.

  “Yes,” I say.

  He extends his arm and gives me a firm handshake. “I’m Stan Nolan, Sam’s manager. Sam told me a lot about you. You were a great source of inspiration. My deepest condolences for your loss.”

  I grit my teeth and nod as the word ‘loss’ swirls around in my head. “Thank you,” I bite out.

  “I know we barely know each other, but if you need anything, anything at all”—he hands me a black business card with raised white lettering on it—“please call.”

  “That’s very kind of you. Thank you for coming. Sam would’ve appreciated it.” I slip the card in my black jacket pocket and excuse myself, knowing I’m seconds away from blubbering my eyes out.

  Kathleen appears beside me. As if she knew. She rubs at my shoulders and mouths “breathe”. I do just that, until I feel a little calmer.

  “It was a touching service,” she says with a soft smile.

  “I think Sam would’ve like it.” I take in a stuttered breath. Time to change the subject. “Anyway, how are things at work? Everyone seems to be doing okay?”

  “They’re fine. When I shared the news, they all wanted to come. For you and for Sam.”

  My heart constricts. Such kind souls.

  “I’m so grateful they did.” I look around to the group who are seated at a table near the back, some of them nursing small plates of food. “I miss them.” Tears stream down my face and snot starts to dribble from my nose.

  “Here,” Kathleen says, and hands me a soft pack of tissues.

  “Ta.” I blow my nose. “Sorry—every little thing is setting me off today. I’m sure I’ll snap out of it.”

  “Don’t apologise. Today was never going to be easy.” Kathleen places her hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “Don’t feel like you have to rush back to work, okay? My sister has things pretty well under control.”

  “Thank you so much. Please tell her thanks. I’m sorry I don’t know when I’ll be ready to come back. My brain is mush. I’m mush. Does that even make sense?”

  “Like I said, take the time. You need it, and besides, Judy is happy to cover you for the next month. There’s just one condition.” Kathleen sighs.

  “What’s that?”

  “That you continue to get paid while she works.”

  Say that again? My brows draw together in disbelief. “B-but—”

  “But nothing.”

  “I can’t let her do that,” I say, and gasp. Who would do such a thing for a total stranger? Work for free?

  “Well, I can.” Kathleen places her hand on my shoulder. “If you need more time, just ask and I’ll see what I can do, but for now, Judy is happy to help.”

  Wow. “She’s an angel.”

  “She hasn’t always been, but when it comes to this, I agree with you.”

  I pull Kathleen into a hug and squeeze her tight. Her arms weave around my waist. I wish my mother was here right now to squish me like this, but thankfully, I have my surrogate mum.

  “Time to make yourself a priority. Rest. Write, whatever you need to do.”

  Hold on. How does she know I’m writing? “I didn’t tell you I was a writer.”

  “No, you didn’t,” she says, and smiles. “Sam did when I called to check in on him after the festival. And he was so proud of you. He said you were writing about the two of you. That’s one story I can’t wait to read.”

  ***

  At the end of the evening, once everyone has left, I find Ben sitting alone in the corner, beer bottle in hand. I sit beside him and huff as the weight is taken off my feet. “You okay?” I say with a soft nudge to his elbow.

  He finishes off the last of the drink and sets the bottle at his feet. “I did this,” he says, his voice rough.

  “Did what?”

  “It’s my fault we’re here today.”

  My chest tightens. He blames himself? I shake my head from side to side, trying to work out how he could. “No,” I whisper and clutch his wrist. “It’s not.”

  “I should’ve noticed the signs. I should’ve hauled his arse in the car and taken him to the hospital sooner.”

  “You did everything you could.”

  Ben turns to me, his face pale. “Do you really think that?”

  “Of course I do,” I say and nod repeatedly to try and get it through to him.

  He sighs and runs both hands through his hair. “Why didn’t he tell me?” he chokes out.

  My chest heaves as I sigh. “I don’t know.” I wish I knew.

  “I could’ve done something.”

  I think we both know in our hearts that things might’ve been different if Sam had spoken up. Sam did try to talk to me the day of the festival about his physio session and his hands, but then his focus shifted elsewhere. Me. He was determined to dance with me. Without assistance.

  “Sam wouldn’t want you to feel like this, and he definitely wouldn’t want you to blame yourself.”

  Ben sighs. “Yeah. I know.”

  “Come on. Let’s go home.”

  In the dark of night, the sofa bed creaks as Ben tosses and turns. I curl up in my bed wearing Sam’s T-shirt, with Butch at my feet. Tears flow until sleep takes me.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  It’s been a few weeks, and I haven’t yet been able to summon up the courage to go back to work. It’s not that I don’t want to. I miss everyone—it’s just the questions, and the sad faces, and the fact that I cry at the littlest thing holding me back. On the plus side, I’m on the home stretch with my novel, Sing it, Sam. This book has been my healing. My reason to get up in the morning. My tribute to my love. I’m hoping that once I’ve finished it I’ll be in a better headspace and can get my emotions in check.

  As I bash out the last few chapters, I pray that in some way these words will guide me forward. With each page, I write what I think should form the conclusion of the story. I know not everyone will agree with the ending. For one, Janice’s determination rings true. No one is going to tell me how to write my story. My characters know how it’s supposed to wind-up, and that’s something I never thought I’d say.

  One character who plays a significant part is the sheriff. Over the last few weeks, our friendship has grown. Ben was such an important part of Sam’s life, so my book would have a cavernous hole without him. I may have lost Sam, but I’ve gained a new friend. A friend who is thoughtful, considerate, funny and a pillar of strength. But I see his down days too, as much as he tries to hide them. He may never get over losing his brother. I can only hope that I can support him as much as he’s supported me.

  I love Sam. That simple fact has not changed since his passing. Whilst I’d imagined us living together with our fur-babies, maybe even having kids one day, I can’t focus on what might’ve been. What I will do is put a spotlight on my time with Sam. He showed me how the simple things in life should never be taken for granted. To hold someone’s hand. To squeeze your loved one like a vice. To walk beside
your partner.

  Sam has shown me what it is to love. To look past the surface and truly love someone for who they are, and for what they hope and dream of. When people read my work, I want them to feel the same way that Sam made me feel.

  Loved. Completely.

  ***

  After reviewing my story until I can look at it no more, I send it to the Kindle addresses of everyone in the writers’ group. A moment after, I’m out the front of my house, securing my kayak in the back of my ute. Logan Falls, here I come.

  I spend the afternoon kayaking down from the falls, trying not to obsess about how the girls might cut my story to pieces. Cool liquid drips onto my legs as I move the oar from side to side.

  Please let them love it. I don’t think my heart could bear them shredding apart something so personal. This book is mine and Sam’s story, as beautiful and tragic as it is.

  When I reach the part of the creek where I brought Sam that day, an eerie calm cloaks me. Fog rolls silently over the water and seeps through the trees. An image of us snuggled together on the picnic rug flashes before my eyes.

  “I finished it, Sam,” I call out to the sheoaks as if Sam is right there and he’ll answer me with words of praise. I hope you’re proud of me.

  With a slice of the oar, I guide the kayak into the spot where we swam. I stare at the ripples on the water and remember how Sam floated on his back like a starfish, how he smiled at the sky with such adoration in his eyes.

  “Thank you, Sam,” I say to the apparition of a smiling Sam in the water. “For teaching me what love is.”

  ***

  Within two days of sending my manuscript to the girls, each of them responded with a beautiful and supportive message. It’s hard to believe they all read it so fast.