Sam laughed. Then he stopped. “For real, or—”
“I was joking.” She gave him a playful slap on the arm.
“So, are you okay?” he asked. “You’ve been really quiet ever since—”
“Quiet?” Ali laughed this time. “You couldn’t shut me up for the first hour while we were snuggled up in the cab.” Her eyes went to his seat.
Sam smiled at the memory—the best memory he owned at this point in his life. “I guess. I’m just worried, that’s all.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know. That maybe you felt bad. Maybe you changed your mind. Maybe you only liked me until we had sex and then all the feelings went away.”
Ali laughed again, shaking her head dismissively as she dug through his CD collection. To her, a laugh like that said it all. It was ludicrous for him to think that way.
For Sam, it had been eleven years since he’d been with a woman and he had no idea how to read them. All he knew was what he wanted, and that was as simple as being with this girl for as long as she’d let him, so her silence on the drive petrified him, and her laughing at him didn’t help.
Ali’s mouth popped and a breath hitched in her throat then. She reached in to the pocket under the CDs and drew out an old ticket stub from the local theatre. “A movie ticket.”
Sam snatched it and threw it back in the glove compartment, closing the door. “It’s… just something I used to collect.”
“No kidding.” She opened it again and had a look through the deep pile of stubs. “How many are there?”
“I don’t know. Can you get out of there please?”
“I thought you didn’t watch movies.”
“I don’t,” he said, locking his lips before adding, “Anymore.”
“Oh.” Ali froze, the ticket stubs in her hand suddenly feeling like the ashes of his wife. “Not for about fifteen years, right?”
“Right.” He reached over and closed the door again. If he thought she was too quiet before, it was like a soundproof room now. Sam wasn’t sure if she was offended, and Ali wasn’t sure now if Sam had moved past his wife’s death enough to be dating her. Fifteen years without seeing a movie, when he obviously loved movies—based on how many ticket stubs there were. He stayed in a house with Sarah's ghost and gave up anything in life that had mattered to them as a couple.
To Ali, that didn't sound like moving on.
“I’m sorry.” Sam reached over and wrapped his hand firmly around her wrist, glancing between her and the road until she looked at his apologetic eyes.
“Why are you sorry?”
“You probably think I’m weird for collecting those—for keeping them.”
“No. I understand why you kept them,” Ali said, likening his situation to hers, even if she didn’t understand why he’d stopped watching movies.
“You do?”
She nodded. “I collect leaves.”
“Leaves?”
“Mm-hm. My mom was this crazy library lady—worked at a school her whole life. She loved books and crafts and anything to do with story worlds, and she brought that home to me and my big sister Melissa. We used to go searching in the forest or just on the ground where we lived for leaves that were perfectly shaped like a fairy’s wings, then we’d take them home and glue them onto little twigs and things and make up little backstories for each fairy we made.”
“That sounds nice.”
Ali nodded. “It was. But then she died.” It hurt Ali deeply to remember her mother that way. “And a lot of the magic died with her.”
“How old did you say you were?”
“Five.”
Sam felt his heart grow. “I’m sorry.”
“I don't remember much about her other than the stories and the fairies, but… even now, I still look on the ground for leaves to make wings out of.”
“Yeah?” Sam liked that—the idea that someone could live on in a sweet memory.
“Yeah. I collect them sometimes, put them away as though I might one day use them, but I never do.” Ali shrugged. “Who knows, maybe I’ll make them with my own daughter if I ever have one.”
Sam almost choked on an unexpected breath, clearing his throat then to play it cool. No matter what he felt for this girl, after hearing that little confession, he knew the time would come sooner than later that he would have to push her away—for her own good. He couldn’t give her that life, and after losing his first baby the way he did, he would never again get his hopes up either.
“You’re the quiet one now,” Ali said, trying to catch his eye. As he averted his gaze it sunk in. Ali realized what she’d just said—and what it might have meant to a man that told her only a few hours ago that he can never get her pregnant. And then she wondered how it was possible for him to have gotten Sarah pregnant. Maybe it was a fluke. Maybe it was a one-in-a-million chance and maybe Sarah did have an abortion. Maybe he was so mad at her that he killed her. Not one bone in Ali’s body believed that of Sam, but some small tendril of empathy could understand it if that had been the case.
Ali scrambled for something to say, but there wasn’t anything. She truly did want a child one day, but with Sam that might not be possible. They could adopt, or foster, and Ali would be happy with that, but it wasn’t right to bring it up now. This relationship was new and talk of kids so early could scare him off.
What Ali didn't realize is that talk of kids this early, of ever wanting them, would make him push her away in order to protect her.
As they pulled into the driveway back home, Ali couldn’t take it any longer. What happened between them tonight was so perfect and beautiful. She didn’t want it all ruined in one stupid conversation.
“Sam?”
“Yeah,” he hummed softly, his voice barely above a whisper in the dark.
Ali just wanted to tell him that she cared about him and loved what was growing between them but that she didn't want it all tainted by what might or might not be in their future, and yet she couldn’t get those words out.
“It’s okay,” Sam said, smiling to reassure her.
“It doesn't feel okay.”
“Look.” He exhaled and bowed his head to get it straight. “I know I was quiet on the drive home, but, I thought about it, and…”
“Thought about what?”
He turned in his seat, shutting off the engine. “Kids.”
“And what about it?”
“This is new,” he said, motioning between them. “And you're fully aware of where I stand on the issue, and what I’m capable of, physically speaking.”
Ali nodded, but she wasn’t entirely sure. All he’d said was that he can’t get her pregnant. What did that mean, though? “And?”
“If you're not running for the hills,” he said, giving her a hopeful smile, “then I think I’d be crazy to chase you there. So let’s not discuss it now, okay?”
Ali grinned, springing forward to wrap her arms around his neck. “Fine with me. Because I really like you, Sam. I wanna see where this goes, kids or none, okay?”
“Okay,” he whispered, gently laying both hands on her ribs before sliding them all the way around and holding her tightly.
The Yellow Envelope
Things changed after that night by the falls. Sam took leave from work and Ali laid her novel aside to spend her days wrapped up in this new love. Every now and then, she’d take to the typewriter and shell out a couple of pages, but despite the story flowing easily, she was too busy sucking up the magic of life to even want to transmogrify it into a story. The muse wouldn’t leave her, she knew that, and she also knew the rewritten novel would open her publisher’s door again. However, she was also certain it could wait. Ali was busy falling in love, and everything had been so perfect in the week following their first night together that she didn't want it to end.
Sam smiled as he lifted her feet and sat down on the sofa under them. While she went back to the book she was reading, he studied her in the heavy-rimmed glasses, her hair tied up but messy
, looking utterly adorable in that red plaid shirt and leggings. There were so many conversations he wanted to have, but one in particular had weighed on him ever since he dared to read a few lines of the work-in-progress she’d forbidden him ever to lay eyes on. It was only a sentence, accidentally, but it made him wonder about things.
Ali heard Sam take in a huge breath through his nose, and she knew he was sucking up the courage to either say something or ask something.
“What did he say about me?” he croaked out.
“Who?”
“That womanizing glob of pond scum you were dating.”
“Grant?” Ali confirmed, hiding her smile in the book she was holding.
“Yes.”
With a heavy sigh, she took off her glasses and put them on top of the book. “What do you mean by what did he say about you?”
“Come on, Ali. That guy hates me—blames me for Sarah's death. I find it hard to believe he dated you without ever warning you about me.”
Ali shifted in her seat, knowing he had a right to know but afraid of hurting him. Afraid of seeing him hurt. “I don't know why that means he said anything bad about you.”
“Ali, please. I’ve been through this with him before.”
“Before?”
“You’re not the first Leaf Peeper I’ve fallen for.”
“Oh, is that right?” she said with an eager grin, readying herself for the juicy tale.
“There was a girl—about four and a half years after Sarah died.”
Ali realized this would be the same girl Di told her about at the charity bake. “And, what happened?”
“We dated. I started letting myself fall in love. But, long story short, she met Grant one day. He wanted her for himself when he knew she was mine, and he started filling her head. She came home to me, we argued, and she left—wouldn’t tell me why.”
“Oh.”
“That’s not the worst of it.” He sat back, rubbing his face. “A few days later I got call from her. She apparently went to stay with Grant after she left me, and she said he’d drugged her—”
“Drugged her?”
He nodded. “Some date rape drug—”
“Oh my god!”
“The cops investigated it and… I don't know. They didn’t find any evidence—not in her blood and not in his house. So he was never charged, and I don't know whether she was lying or…”
“What do you believe?” Ali said, wondering if this was the right moment to tell him what Grant had tried to give to her.
“I think he did it. I think he drugged her with the intention of having sex with her. But without proof, what could anyone do?”
“God, Grant is such a vial man.”
“Yes, he is. And that’s why I’d love to know what first impression you had of me, because I know it was based on his lies.”
“How do you know that?” she challenged, widening her eyes playfully at his somber tone.
“Because I know you. And you hated me to begin with, and it was for more than just my turning you away in the dead of night when you first arrived. So I was curious. I just wanna know what he told you.”
Ali thought long and hard about what to tell Sam. He was a grown man and could handle the truth, deserved the truth, but the words just wouldn't come. “Does it matter? None of it was true.”
“Some of it probably was,” he stated.
“Huh?” Ali’s head whipped up.
“Look”—he turned in his seat to face her, shifting her ankles to readjust and then tucking them under his arm—“whatever embellished stories he told you probably came from grains of truth. What happened here was horrific, and I am responsible for it. But I just wanna know what version of the story he gave you.”
Grains of truth? Ali thought, dumbstruck. Had Grant been right all along? Sam did just admit to being responsible.
“He said that you beat her, and she lost the baby she was carrying at the time.”
Sam nodded, taking it in like a hard fact, no emotion showing on his face, so Ali felt safe to go on.
“He said that you forced her stay with you because she was pregnant, and that when she lost the baby, you killed her because she was going to leave.” Ali watched the masked emotion slip out past Sam’s guard and he sat back, casting his eyes to the fire.
“God.” He rubbed his face with both hands.
“Is any of that true?”
Sam didn't answer.
“Sam?”
“That’s… How could he be so damn cruel?” His voice crackled.
Ali touched his back, realizing after a moment that he was actually crying. “Hey, are you okay?”
“You know, it was over fifteen years ago,” he said quietly, his voice husky and deep. “But it still hurts like it was yesterday.”
“Tell me what happened.” Ali tucked her feet under her butt and sat closer, reaching into the wet surrounds of his face to ask for Sam’s hand.
He looked at hers for a breath too long before he closed his fingers over it, inhaling as if to gain strength when, in truth, the smell of her and the simplicity of her touch was all he needed to hold him up.
“I moved to this town twenty years ago after my entire life back home fell apart,” Sam said.
“Where were you from?”
“Poland. But we moved to Minnesota after my mother died.”
“Really?” Her eyes lit up. She would never have guessed that.
“My father bought a ranch out there, and I worked as an EMT, but… I was diagnosed with testicular cancer in my twenties and, after treatment, they told me I was one of the lucky three-out-of-ten men that would most likely never father a child.” His voice wilted away on the end. “This was a year after my mom passed away and…” He took a deep, shaking breath. “All my plans, everything I wanted, everything I was, just crashed to the ground. I survived the surgery, the treatments, the loss of my mom, but when I was told I had a twenty percent chance of fathering my own children, I was heartbroken, Ali. Nothing in the world could fix that.”
Ali nodded to say she understood.
“It took some time, but eventually, after I moved out here, I came to terms with it. I realized there were other options—adoption, fostering—if ever I found the right girl. And then…” He sighed, biting his lips as a momentary gaze flicked across the room to the turret. “I met Sarah. And we got married, but I don't think she was ready.”
“Why?”
“She was so unhappy. She cried all the time, and when I found out she was pregnant”—his eyes shrunk under a beaming smile—“I put the moods down to that. Figured it was just hormones. Until one day I came home and she’d left a note saying she couldn’t do it… that she didn’t want the b…”
“Sam, it’s okay.” Ali sat a little closer as his chest started to shake. She put her hand on it and he took a breath to settle the emotions.
“She’d gone to a clinic outside of town.” He buried his face for a moment and cried again. “By the time I got to her, the baby was…”
“Oh, Sam.” Ali wrapped herself around his him, her cheek on his back.
“I lost my temper.” He sat up, moving her arm to wrap it around his front, holding on tightly as though she might run away too. “I grabbed her and I shook her. Hard. I didn't mean to. But she’d just looked me in the eye, no emotion, and told me she’d killed my baby—”
“Sam, I’m so sorry.” But she wondered if this is how he’d justify her death—if he was leading her up to the part where he said he’d killed Sarah.
He wiped the tears with his square hands and shook his head. “I’m not proud of what I did. I never meant to hurt her—”
“Hurt her?”
“I bruised her when I grabbed her arms.” Sam’s eyes filled with liquid and his face contorted. “And I shoved her back so hard she fell over the bed and hit her chin. She was bleeding, Ali. I made her bleed. And I never even said I was sorry.”
“And what happened after that? Did she leave you?” D
id you kill her? she wanted to say.
He shook his head. “She said I could never understand why she did what she did, and I knew that. I knew it to my core. What could I possibly know about growing a child? What could I possibly understand? All I knew was that since the day we got married, Sarah hadn't been the same. She needed my help, not judgment and anger. And I tried. I tried to get her help, tried to be there for her but… I came home one night and… she’d taken her own life.”
“Sam.” Ali rubbed his back, helping him fight against the past for the words he needed to say.
“It was too late. It was too late. She was gone and it was my fault, Ali.” He looked her right in the eye. “She jumped from the third floor with a rope around her neck, and if I hadn’t worked late that night, she would have been okay. I could have saved her—”
“No—”
“Yes. She didn't die in the fall. She choked to death. She probably changed her mind after she jumped, and no one was there to help her. Ten hours. She was there for ten hours while I sat at work avoiding my crazy wife.” The regrets of that horrible day had etched themselves into Sam’s eyes, forever changing him. “No matter what anyone tries to say, I left an unstable woman at home for ten hours. Alone!”
Ali knew that she couldn't come into this man’s life after fifteen years and, knowing him for only a few months, suddenly know exactly the right thing to say. But maybe a stranger’s opinion might count for something, so she was damn well going to try.
“You’re right,” she said.
“What?” Sam looked up as if it was the first time he’d heard that.
“You’re right. You should never have left her home alone, Sam. But there’s one thing you’re wrong about.”
He waited, eyes large and round, fixed to hers.
“You didn’t throw her off those stairs. You didn’t convince her to take her own life—”
“But I wasn’t here to prevent it—”
“And neither was anyone else, and I bet she planned it that way…”
“She did.” He ran his hands through his hair. “She did it sometime in the early hours—right after I left—and she knew it was an afternoon delivery day. Knew I wouldn’t be home until…” His words trailed off and he stared into space.
Dead and Gone Page 15
