The next day when Malcolm came in, he was a different person. He gave Sophie a sincere apology, and his dad had emailed her to let her know all his privileges had been taken away for two weeks. No video games, no hanging out with friends, nothing. From that moment on, Malcolm was not a problem. The loudness never went away, but at least he was pleasant.
Unfortunately, those kind of results seldom occurred. One thing was certain, things weren’t the way they were when Sophie was a kid. If you got in trouble at school, you had better pray Mom or Dad didn’t find out.
These days . . . not so much.
Eight
Sophie stood at Sam’s front door and paused before knocking. Oh my goodness, she was nervous! And why? She’d already had lunch with him twice in the teachers’ lounge, but that was different because there were other people there. This was an official date. She gave her clothes a once-over, trying to smooth any wrinkles her seatbelt may have left on her blouse. Then she dug into her purse for some gum and stuck a piece of peppermint in her mouth.
When she finally rang the doorbell, a dog barked inside. Its deep tone made Sophie wonder if it was a big dog. Sophie rocked back and forth on her heels as she waited for him to answer. “Abby, sit!” Sam commanded from the other side of the door. She was prepared to be pounced on by a lab, or maybe a German Shepherd, but was pleasantly surprised to peer down and see what appeared to be some kind of mutt with a brindle coat, sitting obediently, and wagging her tail.
“Come in,” Sam welcomed.
“Why hello, Abby!” Sophie said and bent down to pet her. “You know, that’s my mother’s name.” The dog refrained from jumping on her, but helped herself to Sophie’s chin with her tongue. “Ah, you got me!” She wiped the slobber from her face.
“Sorry, I should have warned you,” Sam said. “She likes to kiss, and she loves visitors.”
“She’s so darn cute. What is she?”
“Part pit, part something else. Not sure what. Maybe lab? I got her at the pound fourteen years ago, and we’ve been best buds ever since. Right, Abby?” He scratched the top of her head.
The simplicity of the moment was soothing somehow, similar to the spell she’d fallen under when she and Sam danced. Mesmerized, she gazed into the graying face of the dog. In her mind’s eye, there was a flash of something, something she didn’t quite catch. Sophie remained in a squat as she peered up at Sam, trying to make sense of the bizarre vibe. Samuel Joseph, she thought to herself. What the . . . ? Where did that come from? Had he already told her his middle name? She didn’t think so.
There was a friendly little furrow in Sam’s brow as their eyes met. “Can I get you something to drink? A beer? Iced tea?”
As quickly as the oddity had come, it was as if it had never existed; the thought slipped away. In fact, she could no longer remember the name that had popped into her head just a moment ago. The harder she tried to retrieve it, the more elusive it became. “I don’t really care for beer,” she replied. “Iced tea is good.”
“I’ve got other stuff,” he offered, leading her farther into the house. “What do you usually drink?”
“I’ll take a shot of whatever you have in a soda.” She sat on one of the barstools facing him in the kitchen. Damn it! I need to ask what his middle name is. “Can I help with anything?”
“Nope. Everything’s under control. I’ve got a pan of enchiladas coming out of the oven in just a couple more minutes.”
She was impressed by the warmth and tidiness of his home, although she realized this may not be what it normally looked like. After seeing his classroom, she envisioned a place that was a holy mess with sports memorabilia scattered here and there, maybe an old, worn recliner where he watched his games. Instead, the small living room, visible from where she sat, was furnished with two leather couches pointing to a rather modestly sized television set, at least by today’s standards. Wooden shutters covered the windows of the earth-toned room, and a few framed family photos sat on one of the end tables.
“I like your house. Very homey.”
“Thanks.” He handed Sophie her drink. “Surprised?”
“Not at all!” she argued as she took a sip.
“Liar.”
Sophie shrugged guiltily. “Okay, so I’m a little surprised.”
“Go ahead and have a seat at the table,” he motioned. “It’s time to eat.”
She made her way to the dining area, which was more of a nook than anything else. The oak table had places set for the two of them, along with tortilla chips, salsa, and guacamole. Sophie hoped she could control her appetite, especially since she had not eaten anything before she came. She lifted a napkin from the holder on the table and stuffed it with her gum.
“Here, I’ll throw that away for you,” Sam said, appearing beside her.
“You weren’t supposed to see that.” Heat rushed to her cheeks. “And no, you’re not throwing away my chewed gum.”
“Have it your way. The garbage is under the sink.”
Sam returned to the kitchen and pulled the most cheesy, scrumptious looking pan of food from the oven, with tomatoes sprinkled over only half. He brought the dish to the table.
Sophie’s jaw dropped. “You remembered about the tomatoes!” she said, referring to the day they met in the store.
“I did.”
“You didn’t have to do that. I’ve gotten pretty used to picking them out.”
“Ah, no trouble.” Sam dished the food onto Sophie’s plate.
“So you’ve had Abby for a really long time.” Sophie changed the subject, thinking she might remember that name if they started talking about the dog again.
“Do you have any pets?” he asked.
“No. I used to have a border collie, Heidi, but she got sick and I had to put her down.” She spooned some salsa onto her plate. “Is this spicy? I don’t mind if it is. I like spicy food.”
“It has a little bit of a kick to it, but not bad.”
She scooped some with her chip and took a nibble. “Oh my gosh, this is amazing! You had to go and serve Mexican, my greatest weakness.”
“I aim to please.”
Sophie waited for him to ask how she could like salsa when she hated tomatoes so much. She couldn’t count how many times people had said that to her. How can you like ketchup? How can you like marinara sauce? You’re actually eating pico de gallo? For one thing, none of those foods resembled the slimy, squirtiness of a raw tomato. Once, when she was a child, her friend told her to close her eyes and open her mouth. When she did, the friend popped a baby tomato into her mouth, and she nearly tossed when she bit into it.
Sophie was pleasantly surprised when Sam said nothing about it. “Anyway,” she continued. “I never got another dog. I just didn’t want to go through that again.”
Sam sliced open his enchiladas to let the steam escape, then plopped on a dollop of sour cream. “But think about all you miss when you don’t have one of those furry critters around.” Abby’s tail happily thunked the floor when she realized he was talking about her.
“That’s all I did think about after she died! It was too depressing. I admit it, I’m just a big baby.” It was very simple. Don’t attach yourself to pets, and you don’t have to suffer when they die. Problem solved.
Sam got up to grab himself another beer from the refrigerator and twisted off the top. “That’s when you learn to participate joyfully in the sorrows of the world.” He held up his hand. “That’s not my line. I just read it somewhere.”
“Participate joyfully in the sorrows of the world?” she repeated. “I’m sorry, but what kind of hogwash is that?”
He laughed at her question as he sat down. “Yeah, it’s not the easiest one to swallow. But we gotta take the bad with the good, right? I don’t know . . . I like the idea.”
Sophie set her fork down and narrowed her eyes. “Let me guess. You’re one of those people on Facebook who’s always posting those philosophical, feel good quotes, aren’t you?”
> Sam shook with amusement as he tried to swallow his food, prompting Sophie to let out a little chuckle. “I hope you don’t mind me saying so,” Sam began, “but you’re frickin’ adorable.”
“Well, thank you,” she replied with a grin. “But I just call ‘em like I see ‘em. And by the way, do not give me the recipe for these enchiladas, or you’ll soon be seeing me on The Biggest Loser. You’re a great cook, Sam.”
“Thanks. I do all right with this, but don’t ask me to grill a steak. It’s not pretty.”
He took her hand and kissed it, as if he hadn’t done it right then and there, he would have lost his nerve. It was his first physical act of affection, and his boyish hesitancy made him all the more attractive. Still holding her hand on the tabletop, he studied her fingers with marked concentration, running his thumb over her skin.
It was very odd. Not so much the way he touched her, but the way it seemed he was someplace else. He looked up and met her gaze, and Sophie thought she spied a momentary—what was it? Recognition? Awareness? Awareness of what, she did not know. But his eyes had revealed an awakening, however brief.
“Is your middle name Joseph?” The name had come back to her before she had the chance to mull over the question.
He sat back in his chair. “It is,” he replied with a curious smile.
Holy hell! You just came right out and knew his middle name!
“Is it Samuel Joseph? Or Samson? Or just Sam?”
“Sam . . .u . . . el. . . .” He answered slowly, wondering what this was about.
“Can I have another drink?” she asked, jumping to her feet.
“Sure.” He took her glass and she followed him to the kitchen. “How did you do that? Are you psychic, or something?”
“Yeah, just call me the Dog Whisperer. Don’t be silly! Of course I’m not psychic.”
“Don’t you mean the Ghost Whisperer?”
“Whatever.” She waved her hand. “You know what I mean.”
“Then that just leaves one explanation.” He stirred her drink, his face full of intrigue. “You’re messing with me.”
“Sam, I wouldn’t do that,” she said gently, slumping back against the counter. “Besides, that would make me some kind of stalker. Can I have that, please?” She swiped the glass before he could respond and helped herself to a big swallow. “Let’s just forget about it. Forget the fact that your date is a total nut job, and let’s start over.” Aside from his admission at the bar that he felt he knew her, she must have imagined the hint of something more at the dinner table.
Sam took the drink from her hand and set it on the counter, then moved toward her ever so slowly. His hand encircled her wrist, and she was certain she could feel her pulse beat against his fingertips. Sophie held her breath, wondering if what she’d seen earlier in his eyes was real, searching for any indication he was as mystified as she. His hand slipped from her wrist, his fingers lacing hers. His other hand was on her waist, inching her closer. The anticipation was murderous. Just do it, already! He didn’t seem like the type to torture a girl this way, delaying what she assumed was going to be their first kiss. His breathing slow and deep, his lips parted, as if he were about to speak.
Sophie closed her eyes, and found herself surrounded by tall, amber grass, dancing in the wind. The blades spread as far as she could see, in every direction, against a sky bluer than she had ever known. The colors were entirely too vivid. She was vaguely aware of Sam’s mouth softly touching hers. Her fingers brushed the tips of the waist high grass as the sun cast her shadow on the golden sprigs. Whichever way I go, I come back to the place you are.
Sam let her go, ending the kiss, and the vision evaporated. She opened her eyes to see bewilderment in his face, his chest rising and falling in short breaths. And like the occurrence with his name earlier that evening, the details of Sophie’s premonition—flashback—were almost like a distant memory, but not one she had lived.
Did he experience the same thing?
She clutched his arm. “Did you . . . ?” She had no idea how to finish her sentence.
“That was . . . weird,” he stammered.
Great. Just how you want a first kiss described. But she got the feeling he didn’t mean the kiss.
Sam grabbed the bottle of vodka he had used to make her cocktail and tipped his head back for a swig. There was no doubt something strange happened to him, too. She put out her hand, indicating it was her turn for the bottle, and he handed it over.
Sophie clammed up, trying to process, trying to remember. Those words, back to the place you are, were playing the night they danced, weren’t they? She hadn’t recalled until now.
With the liquor in one hand and her drink in the other, she marched back to the dinner table. What the hell was that? She didn’t see him wherever and whenever that was, but damned if she didn’t feel him there! Not here. There. Or maybe it was both?
“We’re just going to pretend that none of that happened, if that’s all right with you,” she said. “Because quite frankly, it’s freaking me out.” She sat down and took a bite from her meal, then poured a little more vodka into her soda. “And I’m just going to keep telling myself that you did not put a rufi in my drink.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“Of course I’m joking, Sam. About the rufi. Not about forgetting.”
Unlike Sophie, Sam refrained from eating. “What happened just now, was it . . . unpleasant?” he asked.
It occurred to her that he might have thought she had been talking about the kiss. “Oh, no!” She touched his arm. “No, the kiss was . . . The kiss was lovely.” Her face was getting hot. Where did she go from here, without having to share what she’d just seen?
Sophie glanced at him from the corner of her eye, before dipping a chip in the guacamole. She pushed one of her curls behind her ear. “Um . . . it seemed like. . . .” She didn’t know how to say it. “Well, what about you?”
He seemed to catch her meaning; she was no longer talking about the kiss, but something else. “Can’t describe it,” he replied, slowly shaking his head. “It was like I was in some anonymous place, but at the same time, it seemed familiar.”
Sophie moved some of her food around with her chip, reluctant to look at him. “Has that ever happened to you before?”
“Well, everyone has spells of déjà vu, don’t they?”
“Hmmm.” She was dying to ask him exactly what he had seen, if his experience matched hers, but the idea made her uneasy. He might end up saying something really out there, and her perception of him would be shattered. Then again, if that was going to happen, better sooner than later. However, she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. “Can we please talk about something else?”
“It was probably just a bit of a liquor buzz,” he reasoned.
It was no such thing; she had only finished her first drink.
For what seemed a long while, the only sound was the clinking of the silverware to their plates. Sophie tried to summon the serenity she knew in that reverie, then pushed it away, simply because the thought was such a distraction. She wondered if something would happen the next time they kissed, and the corners of her mouth curved up a tad.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she answered, eyeing the tattoo on his arm. “What is that symbol?”
He glanced down at it, as if he forgot it was there. “Ah, that,” he said, brushing off the question. “It’s just something I got when I was young. I’ll tell you some other time. Don’t want to bombard you with too much corniness in one night.”
Now she was extremely curious, but she let it drop since he wasn’t up for sharing. “I am stuffed. I cannot eat another bite.” She dropped her napkin on her plate. “Thank you for a delicious dinner.”
“I hope you’ll have room for dessert after a while. Chocolate cake.”
“Ohhh,” she groaned, rubbing her stomach.
“How ‘bout we take Abby for a walk? It�
��s a nice night out.”
It was a beautiful evening in early October, Sophie’s favorite time of year. It was one of the two months out of the year in Las Vegas that had perfect temperatures. Not too hot and not too cold.
Sam lived in Summerlin, so his neighborhood was much greener than where she lived. Residents there paid association fees to enjoy grounds that did not resemble Las Vegas. Lots and lots of trees, for one thing. The trees nearly formed a canopy over the sidewalk, and the twittering of birds was unbelievably boisterous. “Wow, are they always this loud?” Sophie asked.
“A good part of the year,” he answered, taking her hand. Abby, who had been pretty inactive at the house, enthusiastically scampered alongside him.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Sophie said. “Is Elijah doing any better in your class?”
“He’s still a pain in the ass,” he answered point blank.
Sophie didn’t know why, but she expected him to be a little more diplomatic in his reply, given the last conversation about the boy.
“I just tune him out, for the most part,” he added.
“I wish I could do that! I try, but I just wanna. . . .” She mimed wringing someone’s neck. “He’s got to argue about everything. Everything! Even the kids get sick of him!”
“I know,” Sam said amiably, shaking his head. They took a break from their walk as they waited on Abby, who was intently sniffing a hydrant.
“I often wonder if I chose the wrong profession.” Sophie sighed. “I don’t think I have the temperament for teaching.”
“Who of us hasn’t thought that?” Sam admitted. “You just can’t let yourself take their attitudes personally.”
“Of course my mind knows that,” she answered, throwing up the palms of her hands. “But try telling that to my blood pressure!” It was very difficult for Sophie not to use her body when she talked. Evie always told her she was a clone of Meg Ryan in her personality and mannerisms. Sophie didn’t see the similarity. She would never be able to fake an orgasm in the middle of a diner like Meg did. It would be too embarrassing.
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