Dear Jen,
I was right, you are the best. I have a little business in Chicago. Nothing too important. See you tonight? I hope so. I can’t wait to have you back in my arms. I miss you already. Hope you feel the same about moi.
XOXO,
Brendan
I clutched the note to my chest as I hurried across three back lawns in last night’s black clothes. Euphoria and Sox greeted me at the top of Sam’s porch stairs, weaving between my legs and complaining that their breakfast was late.
As I made my apologies, a red truck pulled into the parking area. Sam’s gardener spilled out of the cab. I could see that Henry was in a state. Now what?
He called out, “Jennifer, everybody has been trying to find you.”
At the same moment, I could hear the telephone ringing inside. Not Sam, I thought.
“One minute, Henry!” I called to him. “Telephone.”
I threw open the back door and fumbled with the receiver before clapping it to my ear. I knew the caller’s voice immediately—Dr. Max—but he sounded tenuous and strained. Not like himself.
“Sam is awake,” he said. “Come right now.”
Forty-seven
I GUNNED the Jag up Highway 50, tapped the brakes to take a right onto 67, and sped on. All of my thoughts were on Sam, so I didn’t notice that Henry was following me. Not until his pickup truck pulled alongside me in the hospital parking lot and Henry cranked down his window. “She’s been —”
“Sorry, what, Henry?” I yelled back to him. “I didn’t hear you!”
“Sam’s not in the ICU anymore. She’s on the second floor. Twenty-one B.”
“Thanks!” I shouted. Then I had a thought—Could Henry be Doc? He had brought up two children himself. He might even have a doctorate. I thought I remembered something about that.
Then I was too busy running and semipolitely elbowing my way through the milling crowd in the hospital lobby. I took the fire stairs two at a time. I found Sam’s new room at the end of a gleaming linoleum hallway. I pushed open the swinging door. I even had a wisecrack ready: “It’s about time you rejoined the living!” But I never got to say it.
My heart sank. Sam was lying absolutely still in the bed. Her eyes were closed tight. Dr. Max was bent over her, taking her vitals. Oh God, I was too late.
“What’s happened?” I asked. “I got here as fast as I could.”
Max turned and saw me. “Let’s talk outside,” he said. “C’mon with me.”
“She’s gone back into the coma, hasn’t she?”
Max held up a hand to stop me from coming farther into the room. “No, Jennifer. She’s out of the coma. But this is a good time for me to fill you in on some things.”
We went to his office again, a beige square with prefab furnishings and interoffice memos tacked to the walls. As he’d done a couple of weeks before, Max led me to his swivel chair, then sat on the desk ledge, facing me.
“She’s just sleeping,” he finally said. “She was awake earlier. We tried to find you. Nobody answered the phone.”
“But she’s out of the coma?” I asked.
“Coma is not a restful state,” Max continued, as if I hadn’t asked him a question. “Even though they’re unconscious, they still worry about stuff like who’s feeding the dog, watering the houseplants, whether they’ve left the lights on. It’s good for the patient to be reassured—that’s why we stopped the hospital from shipping Sam off to St. Luke’s in Milwaukee. We wanted her friends—especially you—to talk to her.”
“Ship her off? This is the first I’ve heard.”
“I know. Look”—Max waved a dismissive hand—“there was no need to get into it with you. A lot of people around here love Sam.”
As I turned over that piece of news, Max explained that his father was on the hospital board. The two of them had pulled a few strings to keep Sam in Lake Geneva. Dr. Max went on to say that Lakeland Medical wasn’t big enough to give patients long-term care. “Sam is out of her coma, but the trauma might have left her with physical or psychological difficulties.”
“Did it?” I asked. “C’mon, Max, give me something here.”
“She’s talkative, but she doesn’t always make perfect sense. She’s weak. We’ll keep her for a little while longer. Then she’s going to need patience and a lot of care.”
Max was staring at me, but why? In a flash of clarity, I realized what he was seeing. Smudged mascara under my eyes, sleep-smooshed hair—and I was wearing last night’s rumpled clothes at 10:00 on a weekday morning.
Still, I maintained my dignity. “I want to see Sam,” I told him. “Okay?”
“Absolutely. I just wanted to prepare you.”
Max went with me back to Sam’s room, then he left and I quietly approached her bed. I gently touched her arm. Suddenly Sam’s eyelids flew open, and I jumped back. But her eyes twinkled as she looked me up and down.
“Jennifer,” she said, and then smiled. “My girl is here.”
Forty-eight
I BURST into tears and placed my arms around Sam’s neck. It was so incredible, so unbelievable to feel her arms on me, to hear her voice again. I had almost given up hope that I would ever talk to her again.
She gently patted my back, just the way she’d done from the time I was two years old. I loved Sam so much that it was beyond scary to think of losing her. I’d wanted to see her again, to talk to her, and now it was happening.
I fluffed up Sam’s pillow and sat on the edge of the bed. “Where have you been?” I whispered.
“I’ve been right here. Or so I’ve been told.”
“Tell me,” I said. It was one of our catchphrases. Tell me who you’re seeing in Chicago. Tell me the scoop at the lake.
“Well, it was . . . strange,” she said, pursing her lips. “I didn’t know where I was . . . but I could hear things, Laura.”
Oops. Laura was my mother’s name.
Sam continued, unaware of her mistake. “The damned elephant over there almost drove me mad. But when the nurses came in, they barked about the daughters. I liked that!”
I translated as best I could. The “elephant” had to be the ventilator. Barked about the daughters? Who knew what that was?
“Did I say daughters? I meant . . .”
“Doctors?” I guessed.
“Right. I knew you’d understand. I tried to talk to you, Jennifer. I could hear you, but my voice —” She pointed repeatedly, wordlessly, at her mouth. “Nothing came out.”
I nodded, because my voice felt trapped, too. Then both of us were hugging again. When in doubt, hug. I could count her ribs through her gown, her hands shook, and her words were jumbled—but it was okay. Sam was alive. She was talking to me again. This was what I had wished and prayed for.
Sam wanted me to talk for a while, so I did, and wound up telling her more than I had planned to about Brendan and me. Sam listened, but she didn’t say very much. I wondered if she was following me at all.
Then Sam looked at me with her bright blue eyes and just about broke my heart. She said, “I want to go home before I die.”
Forty-nine
MY RELIEF at seeing and talking to Sam faded some then, and even more as I drove back to Knollwood Road later in the afternoon. I needed to call her friends, but I had begun to worry about Brendan. What was he doing in Chicago? Was his tumor getting worse? Why would he leave Lake Geneva now? Plus I couldn’t wait to tell him what had happened with Sam.
I didn’t like being apart from Brendan, I realized that afternoon. I hated it, actually, and that was a bad sign.
I looped the Jag around at the end of the drive and parked under the oak tree out front. In the past few minutes, my fears had condensed into a headache. It was sitting right behind my left eye.
Once I was inside the house, I gulped down two Advils. Then I walked to Shep’s house to see if Brendan had returned. The house was dark, though. No one was there. Brendan must still be in Chicago. Shoot. Where are you? I really did miss hi
m. And I was worried about him, too. Just general, neurotic, city-girl worry.
I trudged back to Sam’s house, and I didn’t know what to do with myself. Then I did. I took a packet of Sam’s letters out to the porch. More than ever, I wanted to hear her stories.
What happened between her and Doc? Who was he? Would she ever tell me the whole truth? Was John Farley Doc? Was Henry? Or even Brendan’s uncle Shep? Or was it someone I didn’t even know?
I’d just settled into my favorite rocker when the sky darkened over the lake. The air was dense with ozone, and the imminent thunderstorm fueled a feeling of urgency about the letters. The pathetic fallacy strikes again, just like in a Brontë novel.
I needed to know how Sam and Doc’s story turned out. I guess I wanted a happy ending. Who doesn’t? But I had noticed lately that happy endings can be hard to come by.
I started to read anyway.
Fifty
Jennifer dear,
The longing I felt for Doc was unbearable at times. You can imagine. Sometimes it lasted for months. Here’s what happened next. There were ten days every summer that were more torturous than all the rest. It was when Charles traipsed off to Ireland to play golf with his buddies and I don’t know what else they did over there, though I’d heard rumors. While he was gone, all I thought about was Doc. I couldn’t help it, and maybe I didn’t really want to.
I remember one particular Saturday morning, in August of 1972. Charles was in Kilkenny and I was in downtown Lake Geneva.
All alone, as usual.
The back of my Jeepster was loaded with deer fencing when I stopped off for gas. Young Johnny Masterson was the gasoline jockey that summer, and he’d just filled up my tank when Doc’s car pulled in on the other side of the pumps.
My heart started booming as soon as I saw him. This always happened, maybe partly because we had so many secrets but mostly because we were deeply in love. I gave Johnny a ten-dollar bill, and while he was getting the change, Doc stepped out of his car. He walked up to the Jeep. God, he was so handsome, Jen, with a smile that could warm anybody’s heart. And those eyes of his.
“Do me a favor, Sammy,” he said. “Don’t fight me on this. Just follow me out of here when I leave.”
I followed Doc for ten miles down Route 50, then he turned off onto the main highway. When we got to the Alpine Valley Resort, I parked my car next to his, then got into the passenger seat beside him. Was this what Doc wanted? Well, I did, too.
I went straight into his arms. “I’ve missed you. God, I don’t know how much more of this I can stand,” I confessed.
When Doc spoke, his voice made every cell in my body sing. “I know we’ve talked it to death, Samantha. Maybe it’s wrong, but I just don’t care anymore. I’m fifty years old. I love you more than I love anything in this world. I want to be alone with you. Please say you’ll come away with me. Now, Samantha.”
Jennifer, it was like exhaling after holding my breath for years. Suddenly the moment was there. All I had to do was grab it. What I’d dreamed about but hadn’t dared believe could happen.
“Yes,” I whispered against Doc’s cheek. “I’ll go away with you. Let’s do it right now. Before I can even think about changing my mind.”
Fifty-one
Jennifer,
No one else knows about this—only you.
Doc and I held each other for a long time in that parking lot. We were probably trying to keep up our nerve. I had no idea where we were going, but a few moments later we were on our way.
We held each other for the entire trip, and a hundred different, crazy thoughts were racing through my mind. What if we were caught? What would it mean to our lives? Could Doc and I make it through a whole weekend together?
We had been traveling for eight hours when a WELCOME TO COPPER HARBOR, MICHIGAN sign appeared in the headlights.
“This is it,” Doc said. I squeezed his hand tightly, then scooched up and kissed him. This was it, all right. For the record, Copper Harbor is at the tip of Michigan’s Keweenaw Peninsula, surrounded on three sides by Lake Superior. It’s a staggeringly beautiful place. The air was cool in August, and I was wearing only shorts and a sleeveless shirt. Doc took off his jacket and draped it around my shoulders.
“It’s called Raptor Lodge, and it’s very small, very special,” he told me. “I’ve wanted to bring you here for a long time.”
I laughed. “And I’ve wanted to come with you, anywhere at all. But this is beautiful.”
We walked into the main building and registered. I’m certain that we looked very much in love, and, Jennifer, we were. I generally don’t like couples who are all over each other, but I couldn’t help myself, and neither could Doc.
We walked to our room from the main lodge, and I couldn’t let go of him. The night was alive with hoots and whistles and a light crackle as animals stepped through the underbrush. Nothing mattered to me but Doc and being close to him and what was going to happen next. In my whole life, I had been with only Charles, and look how that had worked out.
We finally saw our cabin in a moonlit clearing carpeted with pine needles. My mouth was suddenly dry as Doc fumbled with the key. My legs were shaking, too. Then he swung open the door and pulled me into his arms.
“Finally,” Doc said, and smiled.
We kissed and started to pull at each other’s clothes. Doc was kissing and touching me in ways I’d never experienced before. If this bothers you, go to the next letter, but it was so good for me. I was melting in his arms, and all my doubts about myself were dissolving, too. I felt sexy and wanted, beautiful, and even pretty good in bed. I had never known it could be like that, because it had never been even close to that good for me. I felt alive and free and desirable. I felt like a woman, and I loved every second of it.
Finally, Doc cupped my face in his hands and stared deeply into my eyes.
“You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?” he asked, and seemed amazed at my naïveté.
“No,” I told him, “no idea at all. Not until I met you.”
Fifty-two
Jennifer,
I do have a few juicy details that I won’t share with you, but that night with Doc was everything I had wanted it to be and so much more. I woke up in his arms and for the first time I could remember, I felt I was where I belonged. “Morning, Samantha,” he whispered. “You’re still as beautiful as I remember from last night.”
I was Samantha to Doc—only to him.
We stayed in our cabin for most of the next two days. The truth is, we didn’t want to be anywhere else. Everything was so new for us, and the exploration was, well, so much fun. On the second night, a ringing telephone jarred us awake.
I held on to Doc’s arm and I started to shake a little. No one knew we were there. Had Charles found us?
“Very good. Thanks,” Doc spoke into the receiver. Now I was even more mystified. I didn’t understand why he was smiling about being woken up from a sound sleep at quarter to two.
“Get dressed, Samantha,” he said, grabbing for his clothes. “You’re going to like this. It’s part of the reason we’re here.”
Jennifer, imagine this. Just try to imagine what we did that night.
We took a short ride in the car, then walked, and ended up sitting on a huge boulder looking out over Lake Superior. I was hugging my knees. Doc had an arm around me, and the only thing between us and Canada was the vast glassy expanse of the lake. It was a little before three in the morning.
As we watched, as our eyes went wide, a glowing ribbon of green light stretched across the horizon and then drifted lazily upward, until it became a transparent curtain shimmering above the water. The hem of the curtain brightened with a reddish gleam, then veils of purple and blue flared, and the sky seemed to shiver and sway.
“Someone spiked the water,” I managed to gasp. “Or I’m hallucinating.”
Doc laughed. “This is the aurora borealis. Most people know the name, but they have no idea what it is. Now we
do, Samantha. Isn’t this amazing?”
It was an unforgettable moment. The entire sky was in motion, and as the undulating curtain passed right over us, bright points of light swirled like pinwheels. Doc said that the aurora was actually a stream of electrons powered by the solar wind, colliding with atoms of gas. “The impact causes the gas to emit light. The color of the light depends on the type of gas. The green and red lights are oxygen, blue and purple are hydrogen and helium. Sodium is yellow. It’s like neon lighting without the tubes,” Doc said. “It’s neon in the wild.”
I hugged him and whispered, “Thank you for this.”
Doc shrugged. “I just arranged for us to be awake to see it.”
“Don’t let this end,” I whispered against his cheek. And it didn’t. Doc and I made love that night on a boulder under starry skies. Jennifer, it was an out-of-body, out-of-this-world experience, and I highly recommend “neon in the wild” to anybody with a little romance left in their souls.
Even if they’re not quite sure if it’s still there.
Fifty-three
Dear Jen,
Sunday morning came, and I woke up feeling sad and afraid. I wanted to leave Charles. Studying his face, I watched Doc sleep, his full head of blond hair, just lightly touched with silver. I memorized everything about how Doc looked, hating that it had to come to this. Time to collect my memories.
“I’m awake,” he whispered. “I was just thinking with my eyes shut.”
“About?”
“Oh, everything we did this weekend. You. You’re even better than the aurora borealis.”
Sam's Letters to Jennifer Page 8
