“Well, I don’t think anything is wrong with you. But I think something is bothering you.”
Parker hunched one shoulders in a defensive gesture. “It’s just…I get that everyone’s family is different. I know I’m not supposed to want it to be one way or the other. But I do. I wish you were really my dad, and not my uncle. I wish you were going to live with us forever.”
Parker’s voice had trailed off till Sam could barely make out his words above the traffic. Sam felt his heart crack. Somehow this was worse than anything he’d imagined. It wouldn’t have surprised him to hear that Parker wanted a dad around; it was natural to have questions, natural to want “typical” even in as diverse and tolerant an environment as artsy Broad Ripple. But to find that his own transient uncertainty about his future was weighing down his nephew even more heavily cut deeply. It hadn’t occurred to Sam that he was creating yet another potential for what Parker could only see as abandonment.
And what certainty could Sam offer him in its place? He didn’t even know what he was going to do for employment long-term, much less where he would be living. His newfound determination to let Melanie go didn’t mean he wouldn’t move Heaven and Earth if there was even the slightest chance he could win her back. And he couldn’t do that and be his sister’s boarder forever.
He looked down at the bony shoulders marching steadfastly alongside him and swallowed hard.
Sam stopped on the sidewalk, dropped to one knee, and turned Parker toward him.
“Uncle Sam! What are you doing?” Parker’s eyes darted around to see who might be watching, but the city rumbled on unregarding. Sam’s lips twisted ruefully.
“Parker, I’m going to be as straight with you as I can.” Sam looked directly into those eyes that were so much like Dani’s and so much not, so much softer and more scared than he thought hers had ever been.
“I don’t know all the answers for my life. I’ve made some big mistakes, and it’s taking me a while to figure out how to fix them or if I even can. Not all mistakes can be fixed. Sometimes we just have to walk around them and keep moving. But this one thing I do know: I love you. I’m so lucky to have you as my nephew. I couldn’t possibly be prouder of you or love you any more if you were my own son. Your biological father may not realize it, but he lost the best thing in his life when he walked away from you and your mom. And I would never do that. No matter where I live or what I’m doing, you and I will always be part of each other.”
Sam could hear the words falling flat even as he said them out loud. Parker didn’t want a sometimes here, sometimes gone uncle who loved him no matter what. He wanted a dad who would always be there. And there was nothing Sam could do or say that would magically make that happen.
Parker tightened his lips into his best effort at a reassuring smile. Since when had the seven-year-old decided it was his job to reassure the grown-ups? Sam wondered grimly.
“Thanks, Uncle Sam. I love you, too.” Parker tucked his hand into Sam’s and tugged him to his feet, half-pulling him down the sidewalk. It was clear the first-grade version of male bonding had reached its conclusion.
Chapter Twenty
Dani groaned, throwing what Sam considered an unnecessary amount of violence into chopping vegetables for tomorrow’s sandwiches and soups.
“Are you serious?” she groaned. “Why couldn’t it be something I could fix?”
“I’m pretty sure at least 75% of parenting is coming to terms with things you can’t fix.”
“Blithely declared the non-parent. Gee, thanks for that, Solomon.”
“Are you sure you’re pronouncing that word right? I thought it sounded like blith.”
“So my pronunciation is the important part of this conversation?”
“I’m just saying, as a bookstore owner, it seems like words should be fairly important to you.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, for your information, avid readers often mispronounce words because they’ve read them far more often than they’ve heard them spoken aloud.”
“So you’re pronouncing it wrong on purpose to sound like you’ve read a lot?”
“Sam!”
He recoiled in shock as a red pepper bounced off his head. Okay, okay. Too far. He bent over and retrieved the pepper, holding it gingerly toward her.
“Wash it off and use it or throw it away?”
“Throw it away! It’s a miracle I don’t throw you away with it! There you go. I was wrong. There is a god. Proven by the fact that I consistently allow you to exist.”
“So we can talk about God now?”
“Sam.” Warningly.
He held up his hands. “I relent! Back to Parker. What can we do?”
“Do? Do to persuade a seven-year-old that he has a terrific father who loves him and will never leave him? Short of hypnosis and outright lying, I’m at a loss here.”
Sam sighed. “Maybe you should talk to him about his dad.”
“I’ve never deliberately not talked to him about his dad. He just doesn’t come up. Mostly because he never came around.”
“Parker’s probably afraid to bring him up. He might think it will upset you. If you offered to tell him about what’s-his-butt, answer any questions, he might get it off his chest. You know, as opposed to tearing up schoolrooms and stomping up stairs.”
Dani shoved her too-short-to-pull-back-but-still-falling-in-her-eyes hair behind her ears, and it promptly fell forward again. She huffed.
“You’re right. Now that we at least know what’s bothering him, I’m sure that will help. But Sam, you’ve got to make your peace with one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Kids are miserable all the time. I bet even those perfect pony-tailed princesses I hated in the third grade were more miserable than they let on. People who romanticize childhood clearly don’t remember it at all. It’s a kaleidoscope of awkwardness, loneliness, and quiet desperation falling in and out of each other over and over.”
“That may be saddest thing I’ve ever heard in my life. Why in the world would you want to be a parent and watch that play out for eighteen years?”
“I didn’t,” Dani said succinctly. “But life is a relentless bitch who usually gets her way.”
“You had options.”
“Being an atheist doesn’t make me heartless and irresponsible. I may not have planned on my little spawn, but I couldn’t squish him or force him to face that nasty kaleidoscope of human pain without me. If he’s in this thing, he’s in it with me. No ifs, ands, or buts.”
“And that’s why I love you, Dani.” Sam unfolded his legs and came around to plant a kiss on his sister’s head before grabbing his duffel bag and starting for the door. “I’m heading to the gym.”
“Yeah. Gotta buff up for all those jailbirds you hang out with these days.”
A laugh escaped Sam’s lips. “You know me so well.”
The cool dark of the autumn night was a balm to Sam’s restlessness. Dani teased him because teasing came as naturally to her as breathing, but she knew that Sam needed this near-nightly expulsion of energy. It wasn’t just the sexual frustration, although, God knew, that had become an all-but-incessant thrumming just under the skin. It was the hopelessness, the confusion, the complete lack of purpose. Where was he going to go from here? Sure, he had a handful of clients who were willing to accommodate his no-Internet oddity, but that was only almost enough to live on because of Dani’s charity. He needed to get out there and find a job, something that wouldn’t require an email address or a social media presence, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to trade his hands and heart for something with no soul.
It wasn’t that he had any contempt for simple labor, which was likely his only option from here. He’d just been spoiled up till now. He’d been able to pursue work that had some higher purpose, some grander design than making enough money to pay the bills. But maybe that was some sort of pride in itself. Maybe paying the bills, taking care of himself and his own, should be enough of a higher purpose for him. Afte
r all, why should he assume that being a preacher served more good than being a janitor? The more he thought about it, the more disgusted he became with himself, which was not the direction he needed to be moving in. Maybe he’d been an egotist all along and hadn’t realized it.
This sort of self-defeating, endless self-loathing was exactly why he needed the gym. It just wasn’t possible to conduct existential arguments with yourself while trying to lift ten pounds more than what was physically possible.
Cotton looked to be waiting for him, hunched in a ball against a brick wall around the corner from the gym. Sam was surprised: it was cool out, but not as cold as it usually had to be for Cotton to crave a few minutes indoors. The old guy might have a few screws loose, but he was canny enough not to loiter in sight of the upscale gym’s front door and CCTV security system. He unrolled as Sam approached and jogged alongside him so that they appeared to be coming in together.
Well, there was no appearance about it, Sam thought. They were coming in together. His workout buddy was a homeless drunk. So be it. He’d probably be lucky to live as long as Cotton. Neither of his parents had. Maybe Sam should be taking fitness tips from him.
Cotton headed straight for the water dispenser and poured three paper cups down his gullet right away. By the time Sam returned from the locker room, the grizzled old man had pushed a weight bench against the wall and was busily reading a tattered People magazine. He waved at Sam without looking up.
“’Night, Preacher.”
Sam couldn’t even remember how Cotton had found out he’d been a preacher.
“’Night, Cotton,” he returned. “How’ve the streets been treating you?”
Cotton shrugged. “Winter’s coming on.”
“Have you ever thought about heading south?” Sam didn’t ask if Cotton had ever thought about getting off the streets. He didn’t know the man’s story, but he had the idea that some untreated mental illness was at work.
Or maybe just an untreated broken heart. Some days, Sam didn’t think he was that far removed from Cotton, himself.
Cotton shook his head. “Don’t know nobody down there. World’s a lonely enough place as it is.”
Sam stretched out on the mats, willfully forgetting that almost nobody bothered to wipe them down after they used them. He wondered whom Cotton knew here that made this part of the world any less lonely than any other cold street. Whose occasional notice was sufficient to risk freezing to death or losing toes and fingers to the brutal and bitter Midwestern winters.
Silence fell, broken only by the sound of shifting weights and Sam’s grunts. He was startled when Cotton threw the magazine across the room.
“Why is every best-selling book these days written by an actor and not an actual writer?”
Sam barely managed to keep from dropping the weights as he huffed out a laugh. “Well, Cotton, you’re reading People magazine. They’re not exactly pandering to people who read a lot of Nobel Prize-type literature. Or read much of anything, probably.”
“Trash,” Cotton muttered, collecting his various bags and shoving the weight bench back where he had found it. “It’s all trash. No words worth saving.”
The turn of phrase caught and stuck in Sam’s brain for some reason, but before he could look harder at it, something entirely different caught his attention.
Cotton had sucked down three more cups of water before heading out the front door, apparently too disgusted with the state of modern literature to remain indoors any longer, and as he’d stomped out, someone else had slipped in.
Long dark hair, rainbow scrubs, and eyes like a storm over a slate sea. Sam gritted his teeth and carefully returned the weight bar to its rest. He set his hands on his knees so she wouldn’t see them shaking and took a deep breath.
“Melanie.”
Chapter Twenty-One
This is it, Sam thought, swallowing against the hopelessness welling in his throat. This is what the end of a thing looks like. Fluorescent lights, mirrored walls, soulless pop music blaring, CNN silently running on TVs that stared at them like a studio audience waiting for the placards that would tell them whether to laugh or cry.
He’d been putting this off long enough. Ever since the thought had entered his mind—that the only penance he could do for Melanie, the only way he could begin to help her heal, was to cut her free—divorce had been the subtext of all his hours. Even though he’d decided on it, he hadn’t been able to convince himself to call her up and talk to her about it. But now she was here, flesh-and-blood, in front of him. The moment he’d been simultaneously dreading and waiting for. He couldn’t justify another delay.
“How’d you get here?” The parking spaces out front were still empty.
Okay, maybe a few seconds’ delay. Just for courtesy’s sake.
“I rode my bike.” Sure enough, her pale cheeks were flushed, her gray eyes bright. Sam’s body stirred. He knew just how her flesh would taste and smell, warm and damp and soft beneath his hands. How could she look so beautiful in those goofy clothes and big jacket?
“From the hospital? Melanie, that’s dangerous. Indianapolis is not a safe city. Forget rapists—the drivers will kill you before the predators do.”
He spoke without heat. This was an old argument.
She tossed her hair and shrugged. “My safety vest is on my handlebars, and I have flashing lights. Plus I can mostly take the trails.”
She knew he knew this.
“Okay, so it’s just the rapists, then.”
It was like watching a rerun of your favorite show, Sam thought. Unsurprising but weirdly comforting.
How do you tell your wife you want a divorce? Even your long-estranged wife who probably wants nothing more than to be free? Even in his head, it sounded harsh, cruel. Like kicking out the fingers that clung to the edge of the cliff.
No way out but through. Sam took another deep breath and went for it.
“I don’t know why you’re here, Melanie, but I’m glad you are. This…this situation…we’re in. It’s not healthy. It’s not good for anyone. We have to do something.”
Melanie’s face cleared a little and Sam’s heart twisted to think how right he’d been. Even the barest promise of its being over, of breaking that cord, was bringing her relief. Why had he waited so long?
“I agree,” she said. She took a step forward.
“I haven’t been fair to you,” Sam said. “I’m sorry.”
Melanie shook her head, a quick, decisive movement. “There’s no room in love for fair,” she said and Sam’s heart stuttered to a stop along with his tongue. He sat there, his mouth still open on its next word, and struggled for air.
She took another step.
“Sam,” she began and stopped, spreading her hands in a helpless gesture. Sam wanted to tell her to go on, but he couldn’t seem to grasp the edges of the language.
“I had a whole thing prepared,” she finally said, “and now I’ve lost it.”
Sam’s brain roared back to life. “Just say what you’re thinking,” he said hoarsely.
“I’m thinking that I miss my best friend. And yes,” she held up a hand, “yes, my best friend was an asshole. He lied to me, he hurt me, he did things that damaged not only me but himself. And in spite of that, I miss him.”
Sam’s head spun, trying to string connections together in a pattern that made sense. He gave up and just listened.
“Why do you think I came to you about Amy and Amanda? I mean, yes, you probably are the one person who might be able to see all of whatever is happening there. But I also needed an excuse to talk to you. A way to hear your voice and still hold onto my anger.
“And now all this anger has worn me out, but I still want to hear your voice. I miss you.”
She looked like she wanted to go on, but she steadied herself with a visible effort and waited for Sam’s response.
Sam remained seated on the weight bench, transfixed by the ridiculous idea that if he moved, she might disappear.
> “I miss you,” he managed.
Come on! He scrambled for something, anything, else to say, but nope. Nothing.
Melanie smiled, hesitantly. “I thought maybe you’d gotten used to being without me after all this time.”
There had been a time, in the beginning, when he’d begged and pleaded with her for one more chance. But when the enormity of her pain and his own weakness finally sank in, he hadn’t allowed himself that indulgence anymore. He’d left all contact to her, and that had been pitifully rare.
Her words, and the self-doubt behind them, broke the spell, and he was propelled to his feet. Sam crossed the room in three strides and gathered her hands into his own, looking deeply into those snowdrift eyes that had been so cold and now seemed so wounded.
“Melanie, if I lived to be a thousand years old, I’d never get used to life without you. You deserve your space. You deserve –” oh, God, he couldn’t believe he was saying this—“your freedom, but I will never be whole without you.”
He was surprised to feel her long, strong fingers clutching his. “I don’t want freedom,” she whispered. “I want safety.”
His blood, roaring in his ears, chilled and slowed.
“And I know you can’t give that to me. I know there’s no such thing.”
He wanted to disagree, to argue the point, but he’d proven her right too well already.
“But maybe we can be friends. I’m just tired, Sam…so tired. I’ve been trying to convince myself that I don’t need you, that I can be happy without you in my life. And some days I even believe it. But the simple truth is that I like the world better with you in it. I miss seeing people through your eyes. I miss talking to you. I even miss eating with you.”
Dark lashes swept down and hid those eyes from his sight.
“So, what do you think? Can we be friends? Maybe just once in a while? I’m so tired of trying to be angry with you all the time.”
Sam gently squeezed her hands one more time and released them. He fought to keep his voice from shaking.
Preacher Sam Page 10