by Ann M. Noser
I cross my arms. “I’ll tell you why I spend a lot of time with him. It’s because he’s the only person who’s been nice to me since Mike’s accident.”
Chrissy almost looks sorry for a moment, and then her expression shifts to that of a condescending parent. “I’m worried about you. Officer Walker called Kevin an hour ago, asking if he knew a ‘Sam Anderson’. Now why would he do that, do you think?”
My heart sinks. “What exactly did he say?”
“I don’t know. Kevin won’t tell me, but that cop obviously thinks Sam had something to do with Mike’s death.”
“But he wasn’t even there that night!”
Chrissy pierces me with another knowing look. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I be sure?”
“Well, they said you were in such a state of shock after Mike drowned that you babbled all sorts of crazy things.” Chrissy sounds like an ultra-cool babysitter with awesome hair patronizing a five-year-old. “How can you be sure you’re remembering everything correctly?”
I sigh. “This is ridiculous.”
“Is it really? Think about it. If Officer Walker didn’t suspect something, he wouldn’t be asking so many questions.”
Chrissy has a point. And there is something going on, just not anything Charlie Walker would ever imagine. As I wonder what’s become of my life, Chrissy heads for the door.
“Just be careful. Not everyone you meet is a good person. And take down those blankets. People are gonna think you’re a freak.” With that last cutting remark, she flits out of the room.
After Chrissy leaves, I wait for Sam to return. When a half hour passes with no sign of him, I go take a shower. Once that’s done, I leave the bathroom, a wet towel slung around my neck and my carryall in hand. I hear music in the hallway as I approach my door. Beautiful, sad music.
Sam rests in the upper bunk, eyes closed.
Johnny Cash’s version of “Hurt” plays on the stereo. The repeat button blinks in time with the haunting lullaby. As the guitar strums an elegant elegy, Johnny’s timeworn, gravelly voice wallows in despair.
“How many times have you listened to this song already?” I demand.
Sam doesn’t open his eyes. “What difference does it make?”
“Okay. That’s enough.” I flip the song off. “You shouldn’t listen to things like this.”
“Why not? I happen to like it.”
“Because it’s only going to make things worse. It’s the type of song that feeds depression. It makes pain sound beautiful, when it’s not. Pain is just pain. It doesn’t help to make it pretty.”
Sam rolls away to face the wall.
“Oh, and one more thing.” I hang up my towel and set down the bathroom caddy. “We’ve got to throw away your black-and-white shirt immediately.”
He pulls off the shirt and tosses it down to the floor.
“Sam?”
He says nothing.
I sigh. “Come on. Don’t be mad at me.”
No answer.
“After all, I’m the only one who knows how you feel.”
He mutters, “You don’t know anything about how I feel.”
I glance at my journal. “It’s not like you’re the only person on the planet who’s ever been sad or lonely.”
He puts his hands over his ears. “Just leave me alone, all right?”
Fine. Don’t let me help you.
I throw his shirt away.
I should study tonight, anyway.
That Sunday evening, Sam and I hang out in my dorm room.
Abby knocks on the door. “Hey, do you guys have a few minutes to talk?”
I glance at Sam’s blankets covering the mirrors and his stuff scattered around.
“Why don’t we all go for a walk?” I suggest.
“Okay,” Abby agrees. “I guess I could use the fresh air.”
We leave the dorm and wander down to lower campus.
“So, how did it go?” Sam asks, even though her face shows us the answer.
“Well.” Abby sighs. “My sister said I ‘accidentally’ got pregnant ‘on purpose’ to rub it in her face that she can’t have kids.”
I shake my head. “That doesn’t even make sense!”
“Welcome to the wonderful world of my dysfunctional family.” Abby grimaces. “I don’t know why I ever thought of having her adopt the kid. We don’t get along very well. She even said that if I wanted to be ‘considerate’ of her feelings, I would get rid of the baby immediately. Can you believe that?”
“What did your parents say?” I keep a close eye on the river as we cross over the bridge.
“They didn’t say much.” Abby shrugs. “They’re pretty angry right now, plus they always take her side anyway. I decided to leave before they had the chance to disown me.”
“That’s horrible,” Sam says. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s going to be okay.” Abby pauses. “During the drive back to school, I made a few decisions. I’m going to use this pregnancy to get out of my dorm contract and find an off-campus apartment. Now I just have to figure out what to do about school. I don’t want to drop out.”
“Okay…” How is she going to swing this?
“Oh, and I’m never going home again unless I get an apology,” Abby declares. “Emma, I can see it in your face you’re wondering how I’m going to afford all this.”
I nod and take the lead down the uneven sidewalk.
“Honestly, I’m pretty worried about that part, too,” Abby admits.
“Well, Emma has plenty of money,” Sam offers.
Abby laughs. “Sam, be reasonable!”
“You’re going to live off campus next semester?” I slow as we near Sam’s old apartment building.
“Yeah, I think my roommate is getting pretty tired of my morning sickness.” Abby chuckles. “And I can’t say I blame her.”
“I’ve been thinking about living off campus next semester, too.”
“You have?” Sam asks, oblivious to my nods toward Frank’s window sign advertising apartments for rent.
“Of course. Don’t you remember looking at this apartment with me?” I point. “And, check it out, now there’s a second two-bedroom apartment available.”
“This place seems nice.” Abby pauses. “Considering your circumstances, Emma, you could probably get out of your housing contract, too. And it would be nice to have you as a neighbor. I wouldn’t ask you to room with me, with a kid and all.”
“I should call the apartment manager tonight and see if we can look at them again tomorrow,” I say.
Actually, it isn’t the kid idea that concerns me. I just can’t live with anyone else with Sam always hanging around. Things would get too confusing.
rank greets us at his door the next afternoon, after I call to set up an appointment. “Come on in. You’ll have to excuse the mess. I’ve already started sending things home.” Even though it is only midsemester, cardboard packing boxes crowd every corner of his living room.
“Are you graduating in December?” Abby guesses.
“That’s right,” Frank replies. “I’m outta here!”
“What are you doing after graduation?” I ask. I want to believe that once school ends, there is something else out there, something better than this. I always ask what others have planned for their lives, since I feel so lost in mine.
“It just became official this week.” Frank’s face lights up. “I passed all the interviews. I’m joining the Peace Corps. I’m going to teach science and math to kids in Africa. I leave two weeks after graduation.”
“That’s so cool!” Abby smiles. “Have you always wanted to do that?”
“Well, originally I wanted to go to grad school, but now I’m really excited about doing this instead.” Frank scratches his head. “Some people put so much emphasis on getting into the right graduate or medical school program. I decided I wanted something else out of life.”
I know he means Sam, who ha
s stopped listening. Instead, Sam focuses on his unopened med school packet resting in the mail rack.
“That sounds great!” I say way too loudly in an effort to keep Frank’s attention on me and not my mail-obsessed dead roommate. “Thanks for letting us see the apartment again.”
“No problem,” Frank says. “I’m glad you’re giving it a second look. It’s been a great place to live.”
“None of us have any prior rental history because we all lived in the dorms,” I say. “Is that okay?”
“As long as you don’t plan on manufacturing drugs or having pet snakes in your apartments, you should be fine.”
“What about kids?” Abby slings a protective arm over her belly.
Frank shrugs. “I don’t think the owner can say anything about that.”
“Abby wants the first floor apartment,” I tell Frank. “I’m thinking of taking the upstairs one. On the phone you said they looked the same, but I’d still like to see it. Do you mind showing it to me after Abby has her tour?”
“Of course.” Frank shows Abby around his small kitchen as Sam and I wait in the living room.
Sam pulls me out of view of the kitchen doorway. “Emma, I need you to distract Frank while I take my mail.”
“What? Are you crazy?”
“Just do it,” Sam whispers. “You only have to distract him for a minute. I’ll grab it while you guys head upstairs.”
“Where are you going to hide it?”
“In your backpack. Give it to me quick. Here they come.” Sam yanks the pack off my shoulders as Abby and Frank rejoin us.
“I just told Abby about the off-street parking and that utilities are extra,” Frank informs me. “Are you ready to go upstairs?”
I glance at Sam. “Yes, please.”
Abby and I follow Frank, leaving Sam momentarily behind to work his thievery. He quickly rejoins us. His secret smile lets me know my backpack now contains a federal offense.
Frank is right. The upstairs apartment mirrors the first-floor model. I like it immediately. I wish I could move in right now to get away from the prying eyes at the dorm and uncomfortable Chrissy run-ins.
I break out in a nervous sweat when we return to Frank’s apartment. I worry he’ll notice the sudden absence of the huge envelope in the hanging wall rack, but he doesn’t. He hands us the necessary forms to fill out. My hands shake as I scribble down my rental info as fast as I can.
“Here’s my rental application.” I hand it to Frank, worried sick he’ll call me with accusations of mail theft instead of telling me I’ve been approved.
Abby takes so long filling out her forms I fear my nerve endings will explode.
“How safe is the parking lot?” I ask, partially to distract Frank from the missing mail.
“There hasn’t been any trouble in the three years I lived here. But, then again, none of us has a car worth stealing.”
“I have a Lexus back home,” I confess.
Frank chuckles. “Then you might not want to park it here.”
My car embarrasses me. It was a high school graduation present from my father, who planned to get me something even more expensive before I stopped him. I’ve refused to bring it to college so far, but I’m sick of taking the bus. I sigh, knowing there’s no other option. I can’t trade the Lexus in for something less fancy, because Dad would never forgive me.
As we walk back to the dorms, Sam asks, “When are you going to get your car?”
I shrug. “Probably not until Christmas.”
“Shoot.” Sam bites his lip. “I really need to go somewhere.”
“Fine, then we’ll take the bus.”
Sam shakes his head. “No. I need to go somewhere out of town. And I need you to come with me.”
“You can borrow my car,” Abby offers, smiling at Sam.
I hope she won’t go soft on Sam. I still don’t know much about the father of her baby, except that he disappeared one day. What if that happens with Sam? What will I tell Abby if he goes away? Abby doesn’t need any more complications in her life. It’s getting more difficult to keep Abby in the dark about Sam’s identity, but telling her the truth doesn’t seem like a good idea, either.
“Here are the keys. Have fun, you two.” Abby hands them over. “I think I’ll go lie down for a while.”
I jingle the keys, wishing I didn’t have to hide so many things from Abby. She seems like a good person, but what I know is too much to handle.
“I’m guessing you want to go see your mom.” I glance at Sam as we get in the car. “And, I gotta say, I don’t think this is such a great idea.”
“She’s only an hour away from campus.” Sam hugs my backpack.
“And how’s she going to react when her dead son shows up on her doorstep?”
“I won’t tell her who I am. She’ll never recognize me.”
I cross my arms. “Then who are you going to say you are? You better come up with something.”
Sam snaps his fingers. “I know! How about you say you rented Frank’s apartment, and he left the envelope behind? You recognized my name from the paper, so you looked up my mom’s address to deliver it yourself. I’ll just be your tagalong friend.”
“Okay. I can do that.” I pull out of the parking lot and head north to Chetek, the picturesque lake town where Sam grew up.
Too soon we stand on Sam’s old doorstep and ring the doorbell. Nobody comes to the door.
“Should we go?” I ask. “We could come back later.”
“Her car is in the drive,” Sam points out. “Let’s just wait a little bit longer.”
“Okay.”
After what seems like an eternity, Mrs. Metzger slowly opens the door. She looks worn out, her hair wilted, her clothes a faded, nondescript color. A heavy white bandage covers her foot.
Sam stiffens and hands me the backpack.
“Hello. My name’s Emma Roberts. I’m renting an apartment from Frank, an old friend of your son, Sam. He asked me to bring you this.”
She momentarily brightens at the mention of her son’s name, but accepts the packet halfheartedly and tosses it aside on a wooden bench near the doorway. “The medical school admissions office contacted me when they didn’t hear from Sam. Do you want to come in?”
I peek at Sam, standing pale and shell-shocked.
“Sure. Thank you,” I say.
Mrs. Metzger stares at me an uncomfortable length of time. “Oh, I’ve got it! You’re the girl from the picture that nice Officer Charlie showed me earlier today. He wanted to know if you and Sam had been friends. I told him I’d never seen you before.”
I stifle a gasp. What is that snooping police officer up to, anyway?
“Why don’t you two take a seat?” Mrs. Metzger limps with her bandaged foot across the yellow-green kitchen floor.
I stare at a decorative white shelf on the kitchen wall, crammed full of ceramic kittens.
“Do you like cats?” I ask.
“Yes, I love cats, but Sam had such bad allergies that…” Mrs. Metzger falters, her back turned to us. She busies herself at the kitchen counter, clinking cookies onto plates.
Sam remains silent. He looks so sullen I want to kick him under the table. How can he treat his mother this way? He should at least be nice to her after everything that happened.
“You’re lucky I just baked up some goodies for the church bake sale, so there’s a lot to choose from. Help yourself.” She sets several plates before us, a forced cheerful tone to her voice.
“Everything looks great,” I say. “My mom never makes any of this stuff.”
“Doesn’t she like to cook?” Mrs. Metzger asks.
“No, I think it’s probably more because she’s always on a diet,” I say through a mouthful of oatmeal raisin cookie.
“That sounds awful,” clucks Sam’s mother. “Does she have troubles with her weight?”
“No, she’s pretty skinny.”
“Help yourself, dear.” Mrs. Metzger encourages me to eat more. “If
your mother doesn’t cook, then what do you eat when you get home?”
“I’m not home much,” I confess.
“Ah, Sam used to come home every other weekend. I did his laundry for him.” Mrs. Metzger settles in her chair, her foot stretched out at an angle from the table. “Sam always kept to himself, but he got so quiet once he went to that college. He worried about everything. Maybe he should’ve gone somewhere else. I wish I could’ve afforded a private school. Then maybe he would have gotten the attention he needed.”
Sam cowers, listening to his mother blame herself for his mistakes.
“I really wish you would have known him.” Mrs. Metzger pats my hand. “You seem like such a nice girl. I don’t think he had many friends. He spent so much time studying and working. He wanted to be a medical doctor just to prove himself to everybody. Do you want to see some pictures of him when he was young?”
Her face looks so hopeful―how can I refuse? She pulls out a photo album, and I sit next to her on her puffy couch, listening to her reminisce about the old days.
Sam excuses himself to use the restroom. His mother keeps busy talking and doesn’t seem to notice when he doesn’t ask for directions. I hope he won’t take anything from his old bedroom. I don’t want to deprive this poor woman of even one of her old memories. She won’t have a chance to make any new ones.
Finally, Mrs. Metzger closes her large photo album. She’s wrong about Sam. I know enough about being lonely to recognize the signs in his childhood pictures. He was sad long before college ever started.
Sam’s mother smiles. “Your parents must be so proud of you.”
“Why? What do you mean?”
“You’re such a lovely girl.” Sam’s mother takes my hand. “Too bad Sam hadn’t met you at that school. You would’ve been kind to him.”
The desperation in her faded eyes frightens me. “I’m really sorry about your son. I’m sure Sam wishes things were different, too.”
Then I spot Sam in the doorway, looking like he wants to choke me for what I just said.
“Time to go,” he says dully.
“Already?” Mrs. Metzger bustles about, encumbered by her foot. “Could you take this to Sam’s grave for me, please? It’s been so difficult for me to get to the cemetery lately, with my foot and all. Take my advice―don’t get diabetes. It’s no fun.”