by kj lewis
“I’m not,” she says.
“I want to talk to you, Samantha.”
“Then talk, Walt. But I’m not going anywhere.”
I fume for about, oh, three seconds, then get to the real reason I’m here. Pulling a footstool from the chair, I position myself in front of her, my knees touching the couch.
“I’m sorry.”
Shit. I’ve had almost twenty-four hours since I made the decision to come after her, and it occurs to me only now that I have no idea what to say to her. How to make her forgive me.
“I’m sorry,” I offer again, since I have nothing else.
“I know you are,” she replies.
“That was too easy,” I murmur. This woman. I’m always a step behind her.
She laughs, but it’s not the easy-going laugh of my Sam. “What were you expecting? You were right Walt. You did the right thing. The girls come first. I would never hold that against you.”
“I wasn’t right. I should have listened to you that first week. Instead of giving Zinnie time, I should have made us work this out together. I love you, Sam. I won’t choose between you and the girls.”
“I don’t want you to, Walt. Everything Mrs. Yates said at the restaurant is true. I killed her daughter. I killed my family.”
“You had an accident.”
“Texting is no different than drunk driving. I chose to pick up my phone. I chose to look at the screen. I took my eyes off the road. No one else. I’m sure Charlotte has put a tale in your head that she’s at fault because she was supposed to drive. She’s not. I am.”
“The girls need you,” I blurt, because I’m beginning to panic. There is a resolute calmness about her that I had mistaken for hurt or anger earlier. I was thinking she was going to make me grovel, make me fight to prove to her, but that is not what is going on here at all. She’s given up. She believes what she is telling me.
“Walt.” She turns and lowers her legs to the floor, only I’m right in front of her, so they part, trapping mine between hers to accommodate me. She takes my hands in hers and holds them against my thighs. “Jenny and Everett left the girls to you. They entrusted you to do the right thing. You are a wonderful father and I am so proud of the man you are.”
“The man I’ve become. Because I wasn’t this man before you.”
“You were. You just needed someone to show it to you. The girls did that.”
“You did that,” I plead. Forget arguing. I’m scared. I’ve lost her. It’s so evident in her eyes.
“Sam.” I clear my throat. “Sam, I was wrong. Please don’t do this.” The tears I struggled to hold back spill over the brim. “Please don’t. I love you. I didn’t know how to be what Zinnie needed and to be there for you.”
“Walt, I love you. With all my heart, I love you, but you were right. This will pass. The hard times fade, and you realize that you are where you are supposed to be. I don’t get a free pass because I’m a good person who made a mistake. I took the lives of six people. Six people who are no longer here. There’s no telling how many countless others I affected. A man whose soulmate was meant to be my sister, but I took that from him. A co-worker who lost their job because my father wasn’t there to help protect his. Mrs. Yates who will never have grand-children because of me. It’s a ripple. My actions caused a ripple that none of us can fathom. That’s what our decisions do. They affect others. I have to be responsible for that.”
“Sam, you can’t possibly carry that weight around. It’s destroying you. And it’s not how it happens. You fought for the boy that killed Everett. You didn’t even know him, but you fought for him to get a second chance. Why don’t you believe you deserve one?”
“It’s time for you to go,” she says. But this time she’s not so calm. There’s a hint of emotion there, and I hurl myself towards it like a lifeboat. She’s breaking. And I’m not going to stand by and let her stay glued together.
“I’m not leaving.” My face morphs into stone. This. Digging in. This I can do.
“Walt,” she pleas, her voice quivering.
“I’m not leaving.”
“Then I will.” She stands to step around me. I let her clear the foot stool before pulling my shirt off and wrapping my arms around her from behind, using her surprise to my advantage. I pull her to my body, holding her in place.
“Get off me,” she demands.
Anger. Now we’re getting somewhere.
“No.”
“Walt, get the fuck off me.”
“No.” She thrashes her body back and forth in an attempt to free herself, but I’m not giving up. I stay glued to her back. I need her to feel me. To know I’m really here and not going anywhere.
“You’re hurting me.” I’d release her in a heartbeat if that were true. The truth is, I have hurt her. Just not physically.
“No. I’m not.”
“Walt.” She tries again to free herself.
But it’s working. I can hear it in her voice. It’s seeping from her body into mine. She’s breaking. Her emotions are on the cusp and it’s exactly where I need her to be.
“I am going to marry you. So, do whatever you need to do to wrap your head around that, but I’m not leaving here without you.”
“Walt,” she sobs. Finally. She needs this, but it tears my heart in two.
“Samantha, how can you expect to teach Zinnie to forgive if you won’t even forgive yourself?” I whisper into her ear as her body begins to convulse. I release her arms and her hands cover her face as gut-wrenching sobs rip through her. The fight is gone. All that is left is her grief. I roll her over and pull her into my lap, propping us against the pillows. Her arms wrap around my back, her face buried against my neck. Even after she’s fallen into a disturbed sleep, I hear her whimper. Her body has finally given out.
I don’t move. I just hold her, pulling her closer to me. Praying my love is seeping into her, infusing her with the knowledge that she is more deserving of love than anyone I’ve ever met. She stirs briefly, and the tears are back.
“I love you,” I tell her.
Her shoulders visibly sag, and I watch her release the last regret she was holding on to.
She’s holding onto me like she’s desperate for me, and in this very minute, I vow to protect this woman with everything I have. Even if it means protecting her from herself.
My thumb runs the length of her jaw. I dose off, and when I wake a while later, she’s still asleep. The tremors have ended, and she looks peaceful.
Another hour goes by and I feel her stir. She doesn’t fight me. She doesn’t attempt to move. She just looks at me, a tear escaping down her cheek. “I killed my family,” she says.
“I know, love. I know.”
After Sam’s breakthrough last night, I put her to bed after pulling her sweats off. By the time I returned from the loo, she was on her stomach, asleep.
I undressed and joined her, draping my thigh and arm across her. It took a strong conversation with my dick, but it finally got on board and settled down. Not an easy feat when it’s resting against that glorious body.
We sleep through breakfast, both of our bodies healing from the chasm that’s been there since we split.
The winter sun is setting when I wake again. Sam was crying in her sleep, and when I drape the weight of my body against hers, she shimmies into the protective nook I’m offering her and sleeps again.
I wake sometime later and order room service. My hunger winning out over watching her sleep. She doesn’t stir and my attempts to wake her are futile so I eat in bed next to her, not wanting to leave her side.
She seeks me out in her sleep when I lay back down. My hands comb through her hair. I tell her she’s forgiven. I tell her she’s a wonderful mother. I tell her she’s deserving of a life. I tell her she’s smart. Funny. Sexy. Beautiful. I tell her she’s loved. The last one gets me a kiss on my chest where her head is resting, and just that easily, she’s asleep again.
Sam stretches next to me. She l
ets out a soft moan of someone who’s been in bed too long.
“I’m hungry,” she mumbles. When she turns to face me, she has sheet indentions on her face and a horrible case of bedhead.
“Ah. There’s my girl.”
She doesn’t correct me, or protest, but she doesn’t smile either.
“What time is it?”
“Almost noon. On Friday,” I add.
“What?” She sits up too quickly for someone who hasn’t eaten or moved in way too long. I help her to her feet and escort her to the bathroom. I pick up a complimentary toothbrush on the counter and brush my teeth. Man, does that feel good. Sam watches me as she pees. Not taking her eyes off mine, she wipes, flushes then washes her hands.
She steps up to me and my body reacts to hers, thinking it’s about to be kissed, but instead, she pulls the toothbrush from my hand and puts it in her mouth. She brushes her teeth.
But then, she smiles.
We’re going to be okay.
Neither of us says anything. She grabs a brush from her case and begins the task of detangling her hair. When she comes out of the bathroom again, I’ve laid out the only causal clothes she packed—jeans and her white T-shirt. When they delivered dinner last night, they brought up the bag my driver had left for me. I pull out a jumper that buttons down the front and lay it on the bed as she slides into a pair of knickers.
“Whose cardigan is this?” she asks.
“Mine.”
She smiles, picks it up from the bed, and puts it on. That’s it. There are no other words spoken. I find a casual jacket in my bag to replace the one she stole. We ride the lift to the lobby and I shake off the car, opting instead to walk. Sam takes my hand in hers, and we walk several blocks before coming to the restaurant I wanted to take her to.
Snagging a table in the back corner, we eat fish and chips, and drink a local ale. Sam tells me about her job with Emme. What she was doing over here and how she plans to make it work with her school schedule. I fill her in on some of the projects we were working on before she left, letting her know her hard work paid off and we signed the clients.
She asks me about London and I tell her what I love about it. We make plans to see some places that interest her after we finish our meal. We don’t talk about the girls, or our friends, or what our next steps are. We just talk like a couple who is on holiday.
Sam is still processing, and I’m okay with giving her that time, as long as she understands that we are leaving here together. I don’t press or start an argument. I just show her my city, and she holds my hand.
We eat dinner in the room. I don’t move us to my house or even to a larger suite. I leave us in her room, in hopes she will feel safe and that she is in control. My thoughtfulness falters a bit when we get back in bed. I want to be with her. Make love to her. Help her feel my love. I tap into every ounce of reserve I have and wait for her to initiate. She doesn’t. So, I tap down my desire and settle for holding her. It’s not long before her breathing evens out and she sleeps.
There were no tears today.
Saturday is much the same, only I leave her in a bookstore for the afternoon, going to Harrod’s to pick up more items for us.
We dress for dinner and I take her to a Michelin-rated restaurant, one of my favorites.
Sam is dressed and leaning over me Sunday when I wake. “Going back to the bookstore. Want to finish my book.”
I nod, and she leaves me with a kiss. On my lips. Who knew it could be such an exciting thing.
The door to the bookstore jingles, announcing my arrival. It’s Sunday, so they will be closing earlier than yesterday. I go through the stacks at the front of the store. The middle of the store has coffee and tea. I lift a biscuit from the plate. I search the stacks, my pulse accelerating as I near the end, wondering if she left. I turn into the last isle and there in the corner is Sam. Curled into a chair, legs folded under her. There are a couple of biscuits resting on her thigh and a cup on the arm of the plaid chair. She turns the page of a book. A different one than yesterday. A couple of random people occupy the other chairs, oblivious that they are sitting next to the most remarkable woman. If they knew, they would be soaking her in like I am. She turns the page and my body stirs, remembering her fingers skimming my body in the same manner.
When the clerk comes back to let everyone know the store is closing she looks up for the first time and sees me. A shy smile flickers across her lips and she stands. I’ve been sitting for more than thirty minutes in this hard chair, my legs crossed. I’m wearing worn jeans from uni, a white collared shirt under a navy V-neck jumper, with the shirt sleeves rolled up over the cuffs. My sunglasses are tucked into the V.
Her hand lands palm up on my crossed knee. It’s the easiest decision I’ve ever made. I accept and walk out of this store, my hand in her hand.
Later that night, we order room service. I’m cutting into my salmon when Sam says, “Salmon was Rory’s favorite.”
I recognize the name from one of the grave stones she visited. My only response is to cut another bite. I chew, and she keeps talking. I gather this is the first time she has discussed her family at length since the accident, and I wonder if it’s because she didn’t think she had the right to before.
Once she starts, it’s like a reel of family movies are playing in her head. I order dessert for us a couple of hours later. We laugh at the funny stories, cry at the harder ones. I ask some questions, and she hesitates for only a minute before answering.
I tell her about Charlotte talking with Zinnie, and what Zinnie has been feeling since the accident. We talk about therapy sessions, and I encourage her to go back to hers. I remind her that she is worthy of love and good things happening to her. We talk about what the girls need and how to begin to heal our family. When we look up it’s two in the morning.
We climb into bed, exhausted from the emotions sitting just beneath our skin. She gives me a soft kiss on the lips before falling asleep with her head on my chest.
The water from the shower flows over me, matching the weather outside. Today is the day I take charge. But not yet. Sam is behind me in this shower testing every ounce of strength I have. So far, I’m winning. I bend my head to rinse the shampoo, when her arms wrap around my waist. She just stands there, holding me, sucking streams of water off my back.
“Thank you,” she says.
I turn and kiss her. A full kiss for the first time in almost two months. My heart soars at the contact of my tongue against hers.
Little by little, my Sam is coming back to me.
“We’ll be there tomorrow night,” Finn says. Sam is people watching from a chair at the café we stopped at for lunch. I stepped out when my phone buzzed so as to not disturb the other patrons.
“Perfect. I have the main suite reserved for you and the girls, so you will all be in the same space.”
“You and Sam aren’t already in there?”
“No. I didn’t want her to have to move. I plan on keeping us separate. And you’re sure Zinnie is ready?”
“Yes. She and Charlotte have spent a lot of time together while you’ve been away. I went with her to two therapy sessions. The therapist agreed she was ready. She’s been begging me to fly us over earlier, but I wanted you to have the time you needed.”
“Finn.”
“I know.” I don’t have to tell him how grateful I am. “Hang on,” he tells me, and Zinnie gets on the phone.
“You’re not waiting for us, are you?”
“No, sweetheart. This has to be about the two of us.”
“I know,” she says, and I can tell she means it. “It’s how Dad would have done it.”
Sam hasn’t been the only one thinking the last few days. Being away for the first time since the funeral has given me time to process and remember my friend. The things he said, the stories he told.
One in particular resonated with me the first night I was here. The night I decided to stay as long as necessary to bring Sam back to herself.
/>
“Jenny and I are going to Vermont for the weekend. The girls will be with her parents. If you need me, call someone else,” he jokes, lifting his beer to us before taking a sip. The five of us are in a circle of leather chairs. The bartender brings us each a couple of fingers of Macallan.
“Didn’t you just get back from taking the girls to Paris?” Colin asks.
“Yep. But this trip is just for me and Jenny. Gents, once you man-whores finally take the plunge, you’ll learn, kids grow like weeds. They’re gone before you can blink an eye, living their own lives. Jenny is the love of my life. By taking care of her, I take care of the girls.”
None of us understood what he meant. It wasn’t possible for us to. But now, now I understand.
“I need to call Emme,” Sam says as we walk the streets downtown.
“Okay,” I respond. I don’t tell Sam that Emme is more than aware that she is taking time off. I told her as much when I rang her Friday.
“This is the place.” I step into a building, holding the door for Sam to follow.
“Where are we?”
“I need to pick up some papers from a friend of mine.”
We exit the lift on the fifth floor. The door reads “Sir John Weatherly”.
“Walt Nelson to see…”
“Get your arse back here,” my friend calls from his office door. Fitting his name is Weatherly, because he’s starting to look it. Too much booze and too many women.
We clamp hands before hugging.
“I must say, I was rather shocked to hear from you yesterday. This must be Miss Abbott.” He kisses the back of her hand. She laughs when he tries to kiss a little further up, and I bop him on the back of his head. Hard.
“Piss. That hurt. But I get it, I wouldn’t want anyone kissing my wife.”
“Oh, I’m not his wife,” Sam tells him before turning to me. When she does I’m on one knee, holding out the ring my grandfather gave to my grandmother. It’s modest at two carats, set on a simple gold band. Sir John is an arse, but an old friend. He’s slips out of the office, leaving us alone.