The Samantha Project
Page 6
“Um, okay, why? Do I need a babysitter?”
“Well, in a way, yes.” Dave hung up his sopping-wet coat and put his boots on the rubber mat by the door. “Come here,” he said, guiding me back to the sofa to sit down. “When I was at the station today, the police reminded me that you’re still a minor, so an adult needs to stay here with you. I know it sounds ridiculous, Sam, since you’re almost 18, but it’s the law. Of course, we could move to my place, but I was pretty sure you’d want to stay here.”
It’s not like this was bad news, having Dave live at the house, but it was another change I wasn’t prepared for. Dave was a lifelong bachelor. His house was a mess and he lived on takeout. I could take care of him better than he could take care of me.
“So what do you think, Sam? Are you okay with this?”
“Yeah. I understand,” I muttered.
“Well, I’m not the best housekeeper and I’m definitely not a good cook. But I promise you, Sam, I’ll do my best to help out and be here whenever you need me.” His eyes started to tear up. He took me in his arms so I couldn’t see his face as he composed himself.
“Um, maybe I should get going now.” Colin was at the door, looking unsure of his place now that Dave was back. “Are you okay if I leave, Sam?”
“Yeah. Thanks, Colin. For everything.”
Dave got up and went to the kitchen to give Colin a chance to say goodbye.
I got up and met Colin at the door. “Sorry to ruin your whole Saturday.”
He gave me another hug. “Don’t say stuff like that. You didn’t ruin anything. I told you I’m gonna be here for you, whether you like it or not.” He gave me a quick kiss, then squeezed me tight once more. “Call me anytime, any hour. I mean it. I’ll stop by tomorrow,” he said, closing the door behind him.
“I really like him,” Dave said, peeking his head out from the kitchen. “He’s such a nice guy. And mature, like you. I was never that mature at his age.”
I followed Dave into the kitchen. He opened the fridge, looking completely clueless as to how to make a meal. “So I’m guessing you haven’t eaten all day. You must be starving. Let me make you something.”
“I’m not hungry. I want to know what happened today. What did the police say?”
Dave shook his head in a gesture of frustration. “Really, Sam, the police didn’t say much. And I don’t think it’s the right time to talk about it.”
“I want to know. Please. Just tell me.”
Dave sighed. “Well, I guess there was some night construction going on at Stevens Point Road. Your Dad must not have seen that the one lane was closed.” Dave’s voice drifted off, as if he were imagining the scene in his head.
I tried to imagine it, too, but it didn’t make sense. My dad was a super cautious driver and he was always aware of road construction.
“But Dad checks that stuff all the time.”
“I know, I know. He kept that state DOT site bookmarked on his computer. He was always so worried about you driving.”
“What else did they say?”
“Well, apparently the car slammed into a telephone pole and then rolled down the ravine that’s there. You know that area right after Woody’s garage? It’s kind of a sharp curve.”
“Yeah, I know the area.” His description was bringing the scene to life for me in a way that was far too vivid. I quickly changed the subject, wishing I had never asked about the accident. “So what else did you do there? At the station?”
“I had to identify . . . you know, just to be sure. I didn’t want to have to talk about this Sam, but I know . . .” Dave took a deep breath, tears forming in his eyes again. I felt numb, like he was talking about someone else. “Basically, the car was pretty much in pieces and part of it was on fire, so you can imagine—” His voice was shaking, so he stopped to breathe again. “Well, it was bad. I don’t want you to ever have that image of them.”
We stood in silence, the image forming in my head despite Dave’s warning.
Dave could see my mind working, so he continued on, trying to change the subject, but the next topic wasn’t much better. “I don’t know if you knew this, Sam, but your parents wanted to be cremated. Their ashes will be in urns at their memorial service, which I’ve tentatively scheduled for Wednesday at First Street Church. But I wanted to talk to you before I confirmed it.”
“That’s so—it’s so soon! Can’t it wait? This just happened. I’m not ready.”
“I know. Believe me, Sam, I know. It all seems rushed, but that’s how it works. And I know it’s not fair. It seems like the whole world should come to a stop and give us time to grieve. But it doesn’t.” He sat down at the kitchen table, looking hopeless and overwhelmed.
“So it has to be Wednesday?”
“No, of course not. It can be any day next week, but the minister came down to the station and he suggested doing it sooner rather than later. It doesn’t get any easier, Sam, the longer you wait.”
“Fine. Then do it whenever you want!” I shouted at him. “You seem to have already made the decision anyway!”
Dave wasn’t sure how to respond. “I, I didn’t mean to take over, Sam. I was just trying to take the burden off of you. I know you don’t think so, but you’re still so young and this whole situation is too much for you to handle by yourself. I’m sorry if you feel excluded. The day of the service can be changed. You can have as much input as you want.”
But he was right. I wasn’t able to take on planning a funeral. I needed him to do it. I had never even thought about my parents’ funeral before then. Why would I? They were in their forties. People didn’t die in their forties. Well, sure some did, but not many. And my parents were in perfect health. They worked out, ate right, didn’t smoke. Why would I ever think about their deaths?
“Just forget it. Wednesday is fine.” I looked up at Dave who now seemed afraid to say anything. “So who do we, um, invite?” I regretted the question the second I said it. You don’t “invite” people to a funeral. It’s not a party! I suddenly felt guilty, like I had disrespected the two people I loved most in this world.
“Now don’t get mad, Sam, but I actually contacted everyone already. Your mom gave me a list of their friends last year when we had that surprise party for your dad. And of course I know all of their colleagues at the university. I can give you the list if you want.”
“No, I don’t need to see it.” I was more relieved than angry that Dave had taken care of calling people. I couldn’t say the words aloud myself, let alone tell anyone else what happened.
“So what did people say?” I asked, not sure if I wanted the answer. “What did they say when you told them?”
“Oh, Sam, they were devastated. People loved your folks. They had so many good things to say. Many people offered to speak at the service, but I wanted to talk to you first. Everyone said how kind and generous your folks were and—well, everyone asked how you were doing. You may not know all these people, Sam, but they all know you. Your parents talked about you constantly. They were so proud.” Dave looked up at the ceiling, trying not to cry.
A lump formed in my throat. I’d had more than I could handle in one day. My parents, the funeral, Dave moving in. It was too much, too fast.
“I’m really tired, Dave. I’m gonna go to my room.”
Dave let me go, unsure what else he could possibly say or do to help me. He was not equipped to be thrown into the father role. As I went upstairs, I could hear him quietly sobbing and then felt my own tears start to roll down my face.
The next day came and went without me ever leaving my room. I didn’t want to see anyone or talk to anyone. I heard Colin downstairs in the morning. Dave sent him away, knowing I wanted to be alone. The phone rang constantly and people kept coming to the door. I could hear Colin’s parents, and then Allie and her parents, and Josh, my boss, and even a few of my teachers. I heard other people I didn’t recognize coming and going and I guessed they were people Mom and Dad used to work with.
“Sam, can I come in?” Dave asked.
“Yeah, okay.”
He came in holding a stack of sympathy cards. “Guess you’re not hungry. I can get you something else.”
“No thanks.”
“Some people brought these over for you.” He held out the cards.
“Just set them on the desk.”
Dave put the cards down and came over to sit on my bed. “Do you want to come out for a little bit? A lot of people want to see you. They’re worried about you.”
“I don’t want to see anyone.”
“What about Colin? He’s been by twice now.”
“Tell him I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”
“Allie came by. And that girl you work with at the coffee shop.”
“I said I don’t want to see anyone!” I yelled at him. “Just leave me alone!”
He tried giving me a hug, but I pushed him away. “Okay, Sam. I’ll let you sleep.”
Dave didn’t come back the rest of the day. I spent the afternoon and evening in bed, tossing and turning. I kept imagining my parents’ car going off the road, with me watching from afar, unable to help.
Eventually I drifted into a deep sleep and saw vivid images of the accident scene. It was like I was right there watching it. I could see a couple of tow truck guys trying to get my parents’ car out of the ravine. It was daylight and I could see the car, but it was so twisted and burned that I barely recognized it. The doors had been torn completely off in an attempt to get my parents out, even though the impact of the crash had already taken their lives.
“I ain’t no detective, Joe, but I can tell you, that was no accident,” the scruffy old tow truck guy said, shaking his head in disbelief. “That car was messed with—no lie. Someone didn’t want those two around.” He cocked his head to the side as if trying to imagine how the car ended up in its current condition.
“Think we should say something to the cops?” asked Joe, a younger version of the old man.
“Course not. Have I taught you nothin’ all these years? Cops bring trouble. And we don’t need no trouble. Play stupid and pretend you know nothin’. That’s how you survive.”
“You’re smarter than you look, Mr. McComb.” A man in a dark suit came out from the trees holding a gun at the old man. “But your son’s not too bright. And that’s too bad. For both of you.”
A shot fired and the son fell to the ground. The old man rushed to his son’s side. “What did you do?! Joe!” Another shot rang out. The old man collapsed over his son.
I woke up sweating and short of breath. It’s only a dream, I said to myself. Just another dream.
Over the past few months, my dreams had become more and more lifelike and I often woke up confused, wondering if I was in the dream or real life. I looked around and found myself still safely in bed.
As my breathing returned to normal, the images from the dream continued to fill my head. Something about the dream seemed oddly familiar. I pictured the scene again. The man with the gun. It was like I knew him. But how? I thought hard, then instantly I knew. It was the man from the coffee shop. The guy that came in the day before Thanksgiving, right before we closed, when I was all alone.
I felt sick to my stomach. It can’t be, I thought. It was just a dream. And the car crash? It was an accident, I told myself. It was night. It was dark. It was just an accident.
After an hour or so of telling myself that, I finally fell asleep again around 2:30 a.m.
Unfortunately the dream picked up right where it had left off.
“I’ll take it from here.” The man in the dark suit grabbed a file from a young police officer and pushed him aside.
“What are you doing? I have to finish that report.” The young officer yelled, but then lowered his voice upon seeing the police chief walk in.
“Let him take it, John. This is Mr. Roberts from the federal transportation safety office. That construction company doing the road work out on Stevens Point has been in trouble for years for not following safety procedures. They win government contracts with their cheap bids, then take shortcuts so the owners can pocket the cash. They built that faulty bridge over in Dodge County a year ago and got off with a fine. I got a feeling this latest accident is going to be the end for that company.”
The young officer looked puzzled. “You’re the boss, chief. Let me know if you need me.” He turned and walked away as the senior officer and the man in the suit walked into a side room.
“Don’t worry about him. He’s just a kid. He doesn’t suspect anything,” the senior officer said, looking fearful of the other man.
“I’m trusting you to keep him quiet. And keep him away from the scene. I don’t want any rumors starting. And figure out a story for those tow truck guys.”
“Yes, sir.”
The man walked away as the senior officer slumped into his chair and mumbled, “How the hell am I gonna cover up two more murders?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Alone
I woke up to a loud beeping noise. “Uhhh,” I moaned, seeing the glowing 5:45 flashing on the clock. It was Monday morning. I had forgotten to turn off my alarm.
As I rolled over to shut off the annoying beep, my cell phone rang. I reached over for the phone. It was Colin.
“Hello?”
“Sam, it’s me. Are you up?”
“Barely,” I mumbled.
“I had a feeling you would be. Forgot to shut off your alarm, right?”
“Yep.”
“Sooo, how are you feeling today?” he asked cautiously, sounding even more concerned than the last time I had seen him.
“I’m tired. I keep having these dreams that wake me up.”
“About your parents?”
“Yeah. I don’t really want to talk about it.”
“Hey, I was worried about you yesterday. Dave said you didn’t even leave your room. Did he tell you I came over?”
“I heard you guys talking downstairs.”
“I’m gonna stop by and see you before school.”
“You don’t need to.”
“It’s not about needing to. I want to. I’ll be over in a half hour, okay?”
“No. Really, I get that you’re concerned, Colin, but like you said, it’s just gonna take time.”
“I know. But I want to be there for you. Tell me what I can do. Anything.”
“Just give me some time. That’s what I need from you right now.”
He hesitated. “Well, okay. At least you asked for something.”
“Get to class. And don’t miss basketball practice this afternoon.”
“I wasn’t going.” His voice trailed off as he remembered his recent commitment to me. “Yep, basketball. I’ll be there.” Colin paused for a moment. “You sure you don’t want anything else?”
“Yes, I’m sure. I’ll talk to you later.”
It was still dark outside. But I was sick of being in bed, so I took a long shower, then got dressed. When I went downstairs, Dave was in the kitchen pouring himself some coffee.
My appearance took him by surprise. “Sam, you’re up. And it’s so early. You’re not going to school today. It’s too soon.”
“I know. I just thought it was time to get out of bed.”
“I have to go into the office this morning, but I’ll be back by lunch time.” Dave seemed rushed as gulped down the coffee.
“Can I do something while you’re gone? You said the other day that I could help with Mom and Dad’s service.” I felt weird just saying the words.
“Sure, honey. But only if you feel up to it. When I was talking to the minister, he said it would be nice to play some music that they liked. Could you help with that? Go through and find some songs? And maybe look for some photos to display?”
“Yeah, I can do that.”
He started rinsing out his coffee cup in the sink. “You’re sure you’ll be okay while I’m gone? I could have Jean come over.” Jean was the elderly woman next door. She was very nice and a great baker, but I didn’t need a babysitter.
“No. I’ll be fine. You should get to work.”
Dave left and there I was—alone in the house. I had been alone in that house millions of times, but this was different. It was painfully silent and felt colder than normal.
My mind wandered back to the dream that I’d had. The dream in which my parents were murdered, their crash made to look like an accident. I decided that the dream must have been a form of denial, my inability to believe that my dad could have somehow been careless enough to lose control of the car.
I couldn’t take the deafening silence of the house anymore. I needed to find a distraction from my thoughts. I turned on the TV for background noise. Game show contestants were screaming and jumping up and down in the hopes of winning a car.
I watched a few minutes of the show to see if the woman on stage would win a bright red pickup truck. She had to guess all five numbers in the price of the car. She wrote out the first number, a 2. The audience cheered. Next a 7. The audience turned on her, indicating their disapproval. “More!” they screamed. “Higher!” She quickly erased the 7 and wrote a 9.
“Just pick the numbers already,” I said aloud to the TV. The host seemed impatient as well. “32,416,” I said, talking to the TV. It’s almost like I could see the numbers in the host’s head.
Time was up and the lady finally wrote her numbers, $29,350. “No,” said the host. “You’re incorrect. It’s $32,416.”
32,416. My numbers. How did I know that? I was clueless about car prices, especially pickup trucks. Lucky guess, I thought.
I turned the TV off and opened up the cabinet where Mom and Dad kept their CD collection. On the top of the cabinet was a really old CD player. My parents called it a “boombox,” which I always found funny. Something from “their generation,” they said. They refused to buy an MP3 player, saying music needed to be tangible, something you could hold—not some digital download. They even had old records and some ancient turntable.