“You ladies need any help?” Sam asked politely. "I'm available."
“Not yet,” his mother, Marcy, answered with a smile. “But when we do, I’ll be sure to find you. Thanks for asking, sweetheart.”
“No problem,” Sam said, and journeyed out into the backyard. Alec and Paige had a nice sized piece of land. The inground pool was covered for the winter; the soil for Paige’s large vegetable garden had been turned and the roots thatched; the trees were starkly bare; but the grass was still mostly green, and a few flowers that hadn’t died yet lined the perimeter of the spacious yard. His four-year-old nephew, Zack, and his seven-year-old niece, Cindy, were sitting on either side of their grandfather, on the grass, blowing bubbles. Henry had an arm around each of them, with a pleased and contented smile across his face.
Sam whipped out his iPhone and took a picture. “Wow. Awesome shot.”
“Ha!” Henry grinned as Sam approached them. “I want a copy of that one.”
“I’ll email it to you tonight,” Sam said. He lowered himself to the ground to sit with his father and the children. “You guys having fun with Grandpa?”
“He brought us bubbles!” Zack said gleefully.
“He’s a smart man,” Sam said, smiling at the boy. “What’s up, there, CindyLou?”
She blew out a stream of bubbles. “Grandpa took us out here to keep us out of the grownups' way.”
“Like I said, he’s a smart man.” Sam winked at his father. Henry smiled in return.
They all sat together for a few minutes, chatting about the food that was being prepared inside and watching luminescent bubbles float into the sky. When a brisk breeze blew a group of bubbles away quickly, Sam asked the children, “You guys okay out here? I mean, you’ve got your coats on, but are you getting cold, or are you okay?”
“We’re okay,” Zack piped up, at the same exact time that Cindy said, “I’m getting cold.”
The two men laughed.
“Why don’t you guys go back inside then?” Sam suggested.
“Uncle Sam’s right,” Henry said. “Don’t want you kids catching a cold. I’m going to stay out here and talk to your uncle for a bit, but you two should go in now.”
“Okay,” Cindy said, climbing to her feet. She wrapped her arms around her grandfather’s neck to hug him tightly and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for the bubbles, Grandpa. I love you.”
Henry’s face lit with deep pleasure. “I love you too, sweetheart.”
“C’mon, Zackie,” Cindy commanded. “Time to go in.”
“I don’t wanna go!” Zack wailed.
“I think you should, little man,” Sam said. “Go on.”
Zack pouted, but begrudgingly handed his grandfather the plastic jar of bubbles he held. He kissed Henry on the cheek before taking off like a shot, running to the back door.
“Hey, wait for me!” Cindy cried, chasing after him. They got to the back door at the same time and got themselves inside.
“They’re such great kids,” Henry marveled. He leaned back on his hands and stretched out his legs before him.
“They sure are,” Sam agreed. “Amazing that Alec had anything to do with them.”
Henry chuckled at Sam’s jest.
Sam’s iPhone made a noise, jingling to alert him that he had a text message. He glanced down at it.
Knock knock, read Lydia’s text.
He smiled softly. Who’s there? he typed back.
“Sorry,” Sam apologized to his father. “Don’t mean to be rude.”
Henry shrugged. “I don’t mind.”
Atch, Lydia responded.
Atch who? Sam texted back with a knowing grin. He waited for the punchline.
I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had a cold.
Sam smirked. Ba dum dum! LOL, he wrote back.
“Who’s so funny?” Henry asked.
“Lydia,” Sam said as he finished pressing the keys on his phone.
“Ah,” Henry said. He studied his younger son more closely.
My 9 y/o nephew just told me that joke, Lydia texted. Thought I’d share the hilarity with you.
Sam smiled broadly and wrote back, Thanks. I think. Groooan!
“You look good, Sam,” Henry said.
Sam raised his head to look at his father. “What? I’m sorry.”
“You look good,” Henry repeated as his eyes swept over Sam’s face. “You look happy.”
Sam’s eyebrows lifted and the corner of his mouth turned up in his crooked half smile. “Yeah? Well… thanks. I am, actually.”
LOL, came Lydia’s text.
Still smiling, Sam wrote back, I miss you.
“You’re seeing her, then?” Henry asked. He hadn’t asked his son about Lydia before this, at all; he wasn’t a nosy person, and Sam suspected he got updates from his wife. But since the opportunity was presenting itself, he’d obviously decided to take it. "It's ongoing?"
“It is,” Sam said plainly.
Henry nodded. “Your mother told me you went to Manhattan last weekend to see her,” he said. “Sounds like it’s turning into something.”
“Actually,” Sam admitted slowly, “last weekend was the second time I went out there to see her. I went out there the first weekend of November too.”
This time it was Henry’s brows that shot up. “Oh. I didn’t realize that.”
Miss you too, Lydia texted. Talk to you later…
Sam smiled again and slipped his phone back into his pocket. "And I'm going again in a few weeks, for her birthday. The weekend of the eleventh." He stretched his long legs out in front of him and leaned back on his hands, unconsciously mirroring his father.
“Wow.” Henry looked a bit taken aback. “Okay. Then it's… really something.”
“Yeah,” Sam said quietly. “I think it is.”
“She just got divorced, right?” Henry asked in a cautious tone. “Fairly recently?”
“She signed the final papers in mid-October, right before I met her,” Sam answered. "But she's been living on her own for about a year already. That marriage was very over.”
Henry only nodded. “She has a son?”
“Yup. Three and a half. His name’s Andy. I haven’t met him yet.”
“But you will?”
“I’d like to,” Sam said earnestly. “But she won’t let me until she’s sure that we’re… really serious. She's protecting him. Maybe herself too. And I respect that.”
Henry nodded again. He was quiet for a minute.
“You disapprove of my pursuing her, I take it?” Sam said with a slight edge. “Like everyone else in there?” He gestured with his chin towards the house.
Henry shrugged. “I don’t know enough about it to form a definite opinion. I don’t know her, and I don’t know about her life. Who am I to judge? She's a very attractive woman, I saw that. She seemed nice. And if she's a friend of Melanie and Ryan's, she must be good people. I just know I haven’t seen you look like this since your early twenties. You seem truly happy. So, she can’t be bad. I’m happy for you.”
Sam gazed thoughtfully at his father. His smile was broad and appreciative. “Thank you,” he said, his voice deep with emotion.
Henry smiled and winked. Another cold breeze blew, hard enough this time to scatter dry brown leaves across the yard. “Come on,” he said. “Help your old man up and we’ll go inside. This is Alec’s house, there’s gotta be a glass of Macallan with my name on it in there somewhere.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” Sam smiled, getting to his feet. He clasped Henry’s hand in his and helped pull him to his feet.
Once upright, Henry didn't let go of his son's hand. He looked his son in the eye and said quietly, “Sam… just be careful, alright? Don’t, um… well… ah hell, you know what I'm trying to say. Right?”
Sam nodded. “Yes sir.” He squeezed his father's hand.
“Alright. Happy Thanksgiving,” Henry said. He affectionately clapped Sam on the back before the two of them turned
towards the house.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THINKING OF YOU, Sam had written. Have I texted you too many times today?
Lydia smiled to herself. She was curled up in the armchair next to the fireplace, enjoying a rare moment of peace with Andy still in the basement. She texted back: Hell no. I like it. It's keeping me sane today. And I keep thinking of you too.
“Who have you been talking to all day?” Roslyn stood over Lydia, looking down at her with a curious frown. “Every time I look over at you today, you’re on that cell phone, texting away. Who’s so important?”
“No one,” Lydia answered quickly. She felt like a teenager who’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t. Gotta go, she texted, then stood quickly and gave her mother a forced smile.
Roslyn didn’t budge and eyed her younger daughter with suspicion. “What’s that face? You got a boyfriend or something?”
“No,” Lydia said, but felt her cheeks betray her as they flushed. She shoved her cell phone into her pocket and walked away from her mother, seeking escape.
“Wait a minute!” Roslyn cried, following her. “Ha! You were never a good liar, your face gives you away every time, instantly. Thank God.”
Lydia tried to ignore her. She kept walking. She headed for Jane, the strongest distraction tactic she could think of while flustered, and a certain refuge.
“Lydia! Don’t run away from me!” Roslyn insisted, only a few paces behind her.
“What’s going on?” Paul asked, looking up from the tremendous golden bird he’d been carving. He and Tyler were standing over the turkey at the center island in the kitchen. Jane was at the sink, rinsing a few dishes. She caught the distressed look on Lydia’s face and turned off the water.
“Lydia’s trying to escape me,” Roslyn announced, “because I just found out that she has a new boyfriend.”
“No I don’t,” Lydia snapped, but the blush on her cheeks deepened and started to spread down her neck.
“Oh really?” Paul asked pointedly. “Then why are you blushing like that?”
“You never had much of a poker face, Lydia,” Roslyn added.
“Leave me alone,” Lydia muttered, turning her back to the room and gripping the edge of the sink. Jane sighed quietly and shot her a sideways look of support.
“HA! It’s true, then!” Roslyn crowed. “I figured it out, I was right!”
Lydia took a deep breath and turned back to her parents. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” she said hotly. “I’m… just seeing someone.”
“You’re seeing someone already?” Paul asked. The disapproval was abundantly clear in his tone, in the fixed focus of his watery blue eyes. “But you just got divorced.”
“She's been on her own for over a year,” Jane said. "Just because she signed the papers a month ago doesn't mean she's been any less alone. And now that it's final, she can do whatever she wants."
“Hhhmph,” Paul snorted. “Jumping in to your sister’s defense automatically, like clockwork.”
“Maybe if you didn’t put her in a position that often needs defending,” Jane snapped without hesitation, “I wouldn’t feel like I had to do it.”
“Alright everyone,” Roslyn said, seeing how quickly the mood of the room was changing. “Let’s all just take a minute—“
“I love you, Janie,” Lydia said, ignoring her mother, “but in this case, I don’t need defending.” She looked her father squarely in the eyes and said, “Jane’s right, though. Matt and I have been separated for over a year. Now that the divorce is a done deal, I'm free in every sense of the word. I thought you knew and understood all that, Dad. Hell, I thought you were thrilled.”
Paul merely shrugged and went back to carving the turkey. Lydia rolled her eyes and turned away.
“So wait,” Roslyn said, her voice hesitant and amicable, trying to smooth things over. “So… you’re seeing someone. That’s nice. What’s his name?”
Lydia sighed before she answered, “Sam.” She crossed her arms and leaned back against the counter. Jane didn’t move from her side, ignoring Tyler’s probing looks.
“Sam what?” Roslyn asked lightly. “Does he have a last name?”
“Forrester,” Lydia replied. “Sam Forrester.”
At this, Paul looked up. “Again with the goyim?”
“Oh my God,” Lydia groaned in disgust.
“Don’t ever change, Dad,” Jane said caustically. Even Tyler pursed his lips in rigid disapproval.
“What?” Paul was instantly defensive. His eyes rounded as he looked around the kitchen, taking in the clear condemnation of everyone there. He turned on Lydia and said in a sharp, accusing tone, “I’m wrong? It worked out so well for you the last time? No! You’re divorced. Just like I predicted.”
The room fell silent. Tyler looked out the window in discomfort. Lydia and Jane glared at their father. Roslyn stood as still as a statue, obviously distraught, her eyes wide.
“Happy Thanksgiving, everyone,” Tyler said softly. He shook his head and went to the refrigerator for a beer.
“You’re such a bigot,” Lydia seethed. “Matt and I didn't get divorced because he's Catholic and I'm Jewish. Matt and I got divorced because we couldn't stand each other. He was a lousy husband. Jewish men can be lousy husbands too. All men can—there isn't a religious predisposition that favors some men and makes others assholes, Dad. It goes right across the board.” Her temper boiling over, she added, “You're living proof.”
“You watch your mouth,” Paul spat at her. “I don’t care how old you are, I'm still your father.” He went back to carving the turkey, his mouth set in a thin line, intent on his task.
Lydia and Jane just looked at each other, their eyes silently expressing volumes to each other. Jane rolled her eyes at her younger sister, attempting to break the tension. Lydia just shook her head in angry resignation.
“Um… so… tell us a little bit about him,” Roslyn said awkwardly.
“What? Why bother?” Lydia spat. “He’s not Jewish, so he’s worthless, right?”
“I didn’t say that,” Paul snapped, looking up again.
“You might as well have,” Lydia snapped back, seething as she again folded her arms over her chest. She put her icy hands under her armpits for warmth.
“Well, is that why you didn’t tell anyone about him?” Paul challenged.
Lydia snorted derisively. “I told Jane about him right away. I just didn’t tell the two of you. Can’t imagine why. I mean, you're so open-minded.”
Paul shook his head, gave his daughter a withering look, and went back to carving the turkey once again, attacking the carcass with ferocity.
Jane watched Tyler open a bottle of Samuel Adams and said, “Hey, husband, get me one too, will you?”
“Sure thing, dear,” Tyler answered casually. He handed her the bottle he’d opened and went back to the refrigerator to get a new one for himself. Jane took a hard swig of her beer.
“Lydia,” Roslyn began, wringing her hands.
“Save it,” Lydia said to her curtly. “Dad’s ignorant and mean, and you're a doormat. I'm outta here. I need to go check on my son.” She stormed out of the kitchen without a look back.
Roslyn closed her eyes, shook her head sadly, and sighed. She went and sank into one of the chairs in the kitchen nook.
“Why did you do that?” Jane demanded, immediately turning on her father. She almost slammed the bottle down on the counter. Sparks flared in her eyes, ready for further battle. “Why do you always have to do that to her?”
“Do what?” Paul said, not even looking up from the turkey. He carefully sliced a long, thin piece and put it on the serving platter.
“Insult her,” Jane snarled. “Pick fights with her. Try to take her down to remind her who's 'boss'. Lydia—your daughter—is one of the sweetest people I’ve ever known. Why the hell is it so hard for you to be nice to her for more than a few minutes at a time?”
Paul slammed down the carving knife and fork on the co
unter of the center island. Roslyn jumped in her seat, and even Jane gave a slight start. “You know what?” he roared, equally incensed. “I didn’t come here to be attacked. I’m such a terrible father? I'm ignorant and mean? Fine. Do you want me to cut up this damn bird or what? Because if I don’t finish slicing this up soon, you’ll all be eating turkey at midnight.”
“I love these family get-togethers,” Jane sneered scornfully. She turned to look over at her mother. Roslyn was leaning on the table with her elbows, holding her head in her hands.
Jane said to her, “Hey, Roz. Just so you know, since you seem to actually give a shit. This guy Lydia’s seeing, Sam? Seems to be a really nice guy, from what I can tell. You should be happy for her. He’s obviously crazy about her. He’s been pursuing her for weeks, despite the fact that she’s just divorced and has a kid, because he obviously recognizes how wonderful she is. And she’s been trying to hold him at arm’s length, because her main concern is how and when it might affect Andy, who is always her first priority. Not herself, not her own happiness—and by the way, she more than deserves some. But she doesn’t think of herself first. She puts her son first. Pretty admirable, if you ask me.”
“Enough with the melodrama already,” Paul sniffed with open contempt. He dismissively turned back to the turkey and began to slice another piece.
Jane grunted and didn’t stop staring her mother down. Her eyes narrowed, unrelenting.
“What?” Roslyn finally said to her. “What? I don't know what you want me to say.”
“How about standing up for your daughter?” Jane replied sharply, on the verge of screaming. “How about telling your husband to shut his mouth when he spits out toxic things? He's just getting nastier as he gets older. And you never say anything until after it's already over. Lydia's right, you're his doormat. Doesn't it bother you that he can be such a bastard sometimes, especially to your own daughter?”
Winter Hopes (Seasons of Love) Page 16