“I know that, but he doesn’t. You know our Samuel doesn’t think with his brain. But that’s not the reason at all, at least not entirely. He’s here because this is his tiny worthless little pond, and he likes being the big fish in it.”
“We’re in Lake Superior. It’s the biggest pond in North America.” Where did that come from? Sam had never talked back to his father before. He felt slightly nauseous.
His father sighed deeply. “That’s an idiom, Samuel. I wish you had gone to college. I’m aware of the size of the actual lake. What I’m saying is that you like being here because you like the way these hicks out here treat you.”
Arguing with his father always proved fruitless. In Sam’s entire life, he had never won an argument with the man, even about established and easily proven facts. He took a deep breath. “I understood what you meant. And I’m actually here because I enjoy the work. I like running my own kitchen, I’m successful, and it pays well.”
“To be fair, it’s not your kitchen. It belongs to that Irishman who owns the inn,” Linda corrected. “And I don’t understand why you can’t do the same thing somewhere else. Somewhere less . . . remote.”
“If this place is so remote, how did you find it? I never told you I lived here.” Sam was rather impressed with himself. He never spoke like that to his parents. If he were a child, he’d be bleeding already.
“We know how to use the Internet, Samuel,” his father said. “You might not use computers the way the rest of the civilized world does, but you still come up on searches. Someone wrote a terrible article about the things you like to do here, which apparently involves getting massages and having intercourse, so everyone knows you’re still living like a homeless gigolo. I suppose we should be grateful you’re employed, at least temporarily.”
“I don’t think that’s quite what Amy’s post said,” Sam informed him. There was a moment of complete silence while his father stared at him, and, as always, Sam dropped his gaze first.
“It appears you haven’t changed at all. You’re still so disrespectful.”
“If I’m so disrespectful, why are you here? You clearly have no interest in visiting this island, so why come at all?” Did they just come here to torment him? He hadn’t seen them in years, why would they travel all the way across the country just to harass him? It didn’t make any sense.
“I had a conference in Duluth, of all places,” William replied. “Since we were forced to fly all the way out to the middle of nowhere, we decided we’d travel a little farther and see what our youngest son traded his future for. Well, we’ve seen it.”
That explained everything. Sam didn’t want to admit it, even to himself, but there had been a tiny kernel of hope that they came to visit because they felt sorry for the way they had treated him, or maybe even because they missed him and were interested in his life. But, of course, his hope was unfounded. His parents had not changed. They never would.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Cara was still awake when Amy entered their room. She listened to her cousin brush her teeth and a few minutes later climb into bed. “Amy?” she asked hesitantly. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“You’re still up? Yeah, we can talk, unless it’s work related. I’m off the clock.”
“No, it’s not that. I want to tell you the truth about Phil. There are some things I never told you . . .” And it all spilled out—the violence, the fear, the manipulation. Somehow, having talked about it earlier, the words came easier this time. She had barely gotten started when Amy crossed the room, sat down on her mattress and held her tight.
Tears splashed from Amy’s eyes on to Cara’s face. “Oh, Cara, Cara, Cara, why didn’t you tell me before? I could have done something, I could have helped you.”
“You were so far away when most of it was happening, and I thought I could handle it. And then when it continued, I guess I was just embarrassed and I didn’t think you’d understand,” Cara said. “I thought I was saving him . . .”
Amy cupped Cara’s cheek with her hand. “Look at me. You’re my cousin. I don’t need to understand in order to support you. I would have sent you a ticket to join me, or no, better, I would have flown back and killed Phil.”
“Good thing he did it on his own,” Cara said.
“Yeah, that was lucky for him. Believe me, it would have hurt a lot more the way I would have done it,” Amy replied, and somehow, that brought a smile to Cara’s face.
They slept curled up together in Cara’s bed that night, the way they used to when they were small children. The next morning, Cara woke up cold because Amy stole all the blankets and wrapped herself up tightly in them. Some things never changed.
....................
When Cara walked out into the staff house kitchen, she was mildly surprised to see Sam there before her. After his abrupt departure from their conversation, she was afraid he was going to avoid her like he had last summer. She was even more surprised at the smell filling the room and the amount of food on the counter.
“I prepared a special breakfast for you,” he said. “Remember that diner in Albuquerque you and Amy always talk about? The one you always went to in college?”
“The one we’d stumble into drunk because greasy eggs and spicy chilies are the best hangover prevention? Yeah, I remember. I still fantasize about it.” When her mother died, her dreams of going far away for school died as well because she didn’t want to leave her father alone. The University of New Mexico was a compromise; she got to move out of state, but stayed close enough to come home for visits easily. Amy gave up her admission to UCLA to come with her, and they later both agreed they had made the right decision.
“That’s the one. I’ve replicated your favorite dish. Corn tortillas, hash browns, fried eggs, carne adovaba, and of course, chile sauce. You like green, Amy likes red, right? I put some in the fridge for her.”
“Are you kidding me?” Cara was shocked. “How did you even remember all those details? And adovaba takes hours. How long have you been up?” She watched as he started frying eggs. There were already two plates on the counter piled high with the rest of the meal. This was so absurd it almost frightened her.
“I remember everything you tell me, especially if it involves food. Besides, the meat isn’t difficult. It only takes four hours, and most of that is just letting it simmer.” Sam crackled with an intense energy. “Luckily, I had all the spices. It was something I planned to try eventually anyway. This morning seemed like as good a time as any.”
“Sam, this is crazy; you know that, right? Were you up all night?” She started to get genuinely concerned. Their conversation yesterday made her worry he was going to be depressed throughout his parents visit, but instead he seemed almost manic.
“Yeah, but, I couldn’t sleep anyway, so I thought I’d use my time productively and make something different. A nice big meal. I’ll leave a note for the others to check the refrigerator. The hash browns won’t be great reheated, but I’m sure they won’t mind. I’m not doing their eggs though. I don’t think they’d hold until they’re awake.”
“Sam, stop. Seriously, what’s wrong with you?”
He turned from the stove to look at her. “I stayed up all last night thinking about my parents and the things I want to say to them. They have no right to show up here after all this time, and they have no right to judge me for what I’m doing. They come here, they insult me, they talk down to my friends—”
“Sam, please listen to me.” Cara walked over to him and put her hands flat on his chest and felt the racing of his heart. “Your parents don’t matter. In fact, they don’t even deserve the title. They are nothing more than rude inn guests, and we get those all the time. Who cares? They’re just some assholes who are passing through, and you will never see them again. I already put them on the blacklist, so they aren’t welcome here. They are nothing. Don’t let their presence hurt you.”
They stood together, staring into each other’s eyes, and for a
tiny moment she saw a look of tender sadness. He was remembering everything they shared yesterday, she just knew it. Did he regret running away? Could she forgive him if he did?
Sam placed his hands over hers and swallowed audibly. “You’re so right. And you were right yesterday. I’m stronger than I know. I can face them today. I’ve been thinking about it all night, and I’m ready. Now sit, I’ll bring you your plate.”
Cara smiled as she took her seat at the kitchen table. She was still feeling a bit thrown off by his running away, but perhaps making her a thoughtful breakfast was his first step toward apologizing.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Sam waited patiently at the omelet station. His parents were always early risers, and they would definitely come to breakfast. He wished he could avoid them, but he reminded himself of what Cara told him. Her last words before work had been a promise: Don’t worry, I won’t fire you if you tell them off. He was ready. He could handle this. They were just rude guests.
“Good morning, Samuel,” his father greeted him.
Sam said the same and started counting in his head, one, two, three . . .
And then it came: “I didn’t expect to see you out here. I thought you said you were a chef, not a caterer. I’m surprised your boss doesn’t make you wear one of those oversized white hats like you see in the cartoons.”
“Those hats are actually called toques,” Sam informed him, smiling politely and pretending his father was merely a rude customer and not the man who tormented him all his life. He put his hand on his chest where Cara’s had rested earlier and drew strength from the memory of that contact. “And this isn’t catering. I’m the executive chef, this is my restaurant, and this is a service I like to provide. Here on Whispering Pines, we find that our visitors appreciate the personal touch.” He managed to meet his father’s eyes, and held his gaze. His father’s fingers twitched, and Sam knew he was imagining holding a switch.
His mother’s hands twitched too, and he knew she was imagining rearranging his station. He kept everything neat and orderly, but she was a perfectionist, and she held to the firm belief that her way was the only way. Growing up, she kept their house perfectly spotless and organized, never a single item out of place. Neither dust nor dirt nor clutter was permitted on any surface, ever. He and his brother were raised knowing that anything left anywhere outside of their bedrooms overnight would be thrown away. Once, in middle school, he had spent days working on a model for his science class. Without thinking about it, he left the project on the kitchen table while the glue dried, and the next morning, he found it smashed to pieces in the trashcan, and she reminded him he should have known better than to leave clutter in her clean house.
“Most restaurants that we go to give us menus, and there are waiters who bring the food to your table. I suppose we’re not used to how they do things in quaint rural places like this.” Linda got the words out in a pleasant enough manner, but Sam could hear the acid behind them. How much longer did they plan to stay here?
“Well, some people can’t handle trying new things. Different is scary, especially after you reach a certain age. If you’d like to take a seat, I’ll ask my colleague Sato to bring you some food.” He maintained a calm, professional tone and stood as still as possible so they wouldn’t see him shaking. He had never talked back to his parents like this in his life, and it was terrifying and empowering at the same time. Amazingly, they did sit at a table, and Sato did take them plates of food, which of course, they rejected. They finally walked out, having nothing but coffee and croissants.
After breakfast service, he went straight to Cara at the reception desk. “I stood up to my parents and their passive-aggressive bullshit,” he told her. He was inordinately proud of himself. His whole body felt charged with a powerful energy. He could do anything!
“That explains a lot,” she replied. “They just came down here, complaining about how disrespectful my staff is. They’ve canceled the rest of their reservation and are leaving on the next ferry. They didn’t even object when I charged them a cancellation fee. I think you’ve won the battle.”
“First time I’ve won anything,” he said. He needed to call Nathan and tell him about this. His brother would be extremely impressed. This was the first success either brother achieved throughout the very long war.
“You should celebrate.”
“We should celebrate,” he corrected her. “You helped. Listen, about yesterday . . .” He was going to ask her about the weird way people treated him at the diner.
“Yesterday when I confided my darkest secret in you, and you got up and ran away?” she asked, and from the look on her face he realized he had really screwed up. Shit. He honestly hadn’t thought about how it might have appeared from her perspective.
“Ummm, yeah, about that,” he said slowly. He glanced around to make sure the lobby was empty. “I didn’t react well, did I? I don’t always know what to say, and I was kind of angry and sometimes when I don’t know how to deal with things I run away.”
She didn’t say anything, just folded her arms and looked across the desk at him. She seemed to be waiting for something, and he couldn’t figure out what—and then it hit him. He was such an idiot. He owed her a real apology.
“Cara, I’m sorry. I’m really, truly sorry. I think I got caught up in my own stress, and I didn’t know what to say to you. My reaction was stupid. You’re my best friend, and I want to be there for you, and I am so, so sorry that I wasn’t.”
That sounded good to him, true and heartfelt. But she still didn’t smile.
“Sam, you keep saying you want to be my friend, but you ran away. You can’t do that, literally or figuratively. Friends take care of each other.”
He could see she was still hurting, and he felt a pang in his chest. He knew this was an important moment, and he needed to man up. Fortunately, he was still buzzing from the high of standing up to his parents, and it made him strong enough to be completely honest.
“You’re right. I’m selfish, Cara. I didn’t think about you and how you would feel. All I could think about was how mad I was at my parents and at Phil. Running away from you was probably the worst thing I have ever done, and I am sorry. I swear to you Cara, next time you need me, I will be there. Next time you confide in me, I will stay and listen until you’re finished talking. I . . . I really do care about you.” And I love you, he wanted to add, but this was not the appropriate time for that.
They looked at each other for a long moment, and then he saw a change in her eyes, a relaxation. She had forgiven him, he hoped.
“Work on it, Sam,” she told him. And her smile, though tentative, was real.
“I will,” he promised. “Oh, but while we’re on the subject of yesterday, what exactly did you tell people about my folks that made them treat me like some kind of celebrity?”
Cara laughed. “That was awesome, right? I called Wayne and told him your parents were terrible snobs who acted as though they were horribly embarrassed by having their son work as a cook on this godforsaken island. Wayne was like, ‘What? Have they tried his food? It’s magic!’ Then he made me promise not to tell you he said that. I thought maybe if they saw you as a respected member of this community they might be a little impressed. So, no?”
“My dad said it was obvious I like being a big fish in a small pond and these hicks don’t know what they’re talking about.”
“That’s unreasonably harsh.”
“It’s better than his original theory.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, that I stick around for the hot twins who work the desk here.”
“But there aren’t any . . . oh. Well, that cements it. Your dad is an irredeemable asshole.”
“True, but he might be half right.” Sam winked at her and walked away, feeling proud of himself. He hoped Cara interpreted his remark the way he wanted.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Email from Amy O’Connell to Fabio Basile:
I can’t st
op crying.
Last night I had an extraordinarily disturbing conversation with Cara. She told me Phil used to beat her (and it goes without saying that you will never repeat this to anyone, right? You know I trust you.). He used to hit her, actually hit her, not just playing around, and she never told me about it.
My cousin, my very best friend in the whole world, was being abused, and I had no idea. None. I knew about how he would threaten suicide to keep her from leaving him, but I didn’t know he physically abused her too. She told me some horrifying stories she’s kept hidden from me.
I’m devastated.
Why didn’t she tell me before? Didn’t she trust me? I could have helped her. I could have gotten her out. I could have murdered Phil for her.
I could have done something. Anything.
And this awful revelation has made me realize something else: that night when Phil killed himself, he tried to kill her too. He thought she was home, and he texted her asking her to come downstairs, but he knew she wouldn’t. She would stay upstairs, hiding from him, and that’s exactly what he wanted. He thought she’d die there.
See, I wondered why he didn’t do the thing where people connect a hose to the exhaust pipe and put it directly in the vehicle. But he didn’t do that because he was trying to fill the house too. I told you the police wouldn’t let us in there until the air was cleared, right? Cara’s old bedroom is above the garage. If she had been in her room, if she was hiding or sleeping in there, she would have died too. The engine would have kept running until the car ran out of gas, and it would have poisoned her. I thought he was just trying to make it take longer, you know, expecting Cara to show up and save him. I knew he was suicidal; I didn’t know he was murderous too.
My cousin could have died.
I wish you were here. I kind of need a shoulder to lean on right now.
That Last Summer (Whispering Pines Island Book 1) Page 23