Sing it, Sam

by Jennifer Ryder

  Whilst I’d love to take Sam out today, with Kathleen not working, I don’t want to trouble her. I’ll be asking enough of her during the week as it is. So today, perfect weather on my side, I’m taking Butch into the home. We can hang out in the courtyard and throw a ball around. I can’t wait for Sam to meet my hangry, attention-seeking sidekick. Seeing Sam with Ed the other day, the way he doted over him, I know he’ll love Butch. As for Butch, there’s no doubt he’ll be all over Sam. Butch is a pushover. He loves everyone.

  I review my list once more and start setting my plans into action. I’ll talk to Kathleen tomorrow to get the all-clear to take Sam out on Thursday. I don’t think it’ll be an issue. Sam is gonna love it.

  I text Ben and ask him when he’ll be in town next, and if he could manage to bring some boardies for Sam. It doesn’t take him long to respond.

  The Sheriff: Did you get the tick of approval from the boss for this?

  I don’t want him to worry, so I decide to call Ben and chat about it.

  “It’ll be fine,” I assure him. “I’ll clear it with her tomorrow. She had no problems when I took him to the park the other day.”

  “Yeah, I know, I just—”

  “Worry too much?” I blurt out.

  A deep chuckle echoes through the phone. “Yeah. I guess that’s what big brothers do.”

  “Well I promise you, there’s nothing to be concerned about. The worse thing that’ll happen is he’ll end up with a few mozzie bites.”

  “Okay, well I was planning on driving back on Friday to bring him home, but I’ll sort things so I can come over a day early and bring some stuff.”

  I gloss over the fact that he’s taking Sam from me and thank him for making the arrangements. This week is gonna be tougher than I thought.

  ***

  At eight-thirty on Monday morning, I turn down Mason Street on my way to work and almost hit a police car. Wake up, Jane. I’ll have time to go see Sam before my workday starts. As much as I feel like crying, I have to be strong for him. I can’t let him see me upset. It won’t make it any easier. Besides, I have bingo to run after lunch. I need to be bubbly and enthusiastic for that. Especially for Mrs Lee’s sake.

  As I drive into the car park, a large white vehicle catches my eye at the main entrance. I slow the car down to a crawl and wind my window down, catching the reflective stickers on the sides. My heart sinks, heavy in the pit of my stomach. Why is an ambulance here?

  I accelerate and swerve into the nearest car park, snatch up my bag, and run to the office. As I approach, the vehicle pulls away. The driver doesn’t put on the siren or flashing lights. It can’t be that bad. Maybe it was a false alarm. Patient transport?

  When I reach reception, Kathleen is sifting through the top drawer of the filing cabinet at the rear of the office.

  “Morning,” I say as I swipe my card to gain access. I slip my black Kathmandu jacket off and hang it on the back of my chair, then sit down and tuck my bag beneath my desk. “Why was an ambulance here?”

  Kathleen pulls a file from the cabinet and walks over to me. She places her hand on my shoulder. Dark rings hang beneath her red-rimmed eyes. “We lost Mr Thompson last night.”

  My shoulders drop as air rushes from my mouth. He’s dead?

  I swallow down but end up choking on my saliva. “What happened?” I ask when my voice decides to cooperate. Tears prick at my eyes. I fight them back. “Mr Thompson was fine the other day. So full of life.”

  “He passed in his sleep,” she says and reaches down, gripping my hand in hers. “I’m hoping the family doesn’t have to go through a post-mortem, but that’s for the coroner to decide.”

  Oh, boy. Not only has his family lost him, but he’s gone without warning. And to top it off, they might have to wait for answers before they can say their final farewell.

  “He. Was. Fine,” I repeat. So far in my time here, there’s been no sense to people leaving. Apart from being old, they haven’t been battling cancer or something terminal. Not that I’ve known about anyway.

  “I know, love. Unfortunately, this is part of the job. People leave us all the time.”

  I swipe a tear from my cheek and squeeze her hand. “Does it get any easier?” I ask, staring into her glassy eyes.

  Her lips quiver but she quickly steels her mouth into a firm line. Kathleen has managed the home for years; death is inevitable in her line of work.

  “I’d like to be able to say yes, but I hardly know myself,” she finally says. Time in the job could’ve changed her, turned her heart cold from dealing with it so frequently, but it hasn’t. She still has a kind heart. I don’t know how she does it.

  “Anyway, we have a busy day ahead, Jane.”

  “Yeah, we do.”

  Kathleen looks away, and I take it as a cue to start my day. I switch on my computer and draw in a few deep breaths. Don’t let it get to you, Jane. Focus on work.

  The doors swish open a moment later. In strides Sally-Anne, her hair tied in a messy knot, and her face clear of makeup. Like a whirlwind, she comes through the secure doors, huffs and puffs as she puts down a travel mug, and unloads her giant black handbag on the desk. She lands with a thud in her chair.

  “Helluva morning,” she says and swivels in her chair to face both of us. “Jake took an hour to eat his cereal, and I had a serious battle with the others just to get dressed. I swear, those boys are turning my hair grey.”

  Kathleen and I glance at each other and then back at Sally-Anne.

  “We lost Mr Thompson last night,” Kathleen says matter-of-factly.

  She doesn’t even blink. “The old bugger is gone? Well, shit.” She turns her back to us, grabs a small zipped pouch from her handbag, and starts putting on foundation. Should Sally-Anne really be working in a place like this? How can news of a resident’s death not affect her?

  “Mind if I go for a quick walk?” I ask Kathleen.

  She nods. “Take your time.”

  I make my way down the hall, biting back tears along the way. I stop outside Mr Thompson’s room. It’s as if there is an invisible uncrossable threshold, preventing me from entering. The sheets have already been stripped from his mattress, but his personal belongings still remain. A deck of cards sits beside his bed along with photo frames filled with people who will no doubt be in the midst of dealing with their loss.

  Tears roll down my cheeks as I imagine his children, grandchildren, and maybe even great-grandchildren gathering together, watching on as he lies cold in a timber box.

  I shake off the thought, swipe the wetness from my cheeks, and continue down the hall.

  When I reach Sam’s room, I’m greeted by his beaming smile as he sits, fully dressed in a grey hoodie, black trackpants, and sneakers. He’s perched on the edge of the bed as if he’s ready to go somewhere.

  His grin drops as I step into the room.

  “What happened?” he asks, brows pulled tight.

  In silence, I walk over. He snatches my hand and pulls me to sit on his lap. Warm arms wrap around my middle.

  I stare deep into his eyes and finally gather the courage to tell him without blubbering all over his clean jumper. “We lost another one. Mr Thompson. Last night.”

  “Oh, babe. I’m so sorry.” He sweeps the back of his knuckles over my jaw, and then flattens his palm against my cheek. I lean into his hand and mouth “thanks”.

  “There was a bit of noise last night. People in the halls. I just thought it was a full moon or something. What happened?”

  “He passed in his sleep.”

  Sam blows out a breath and kisses my forehead. “I can’t believe it. Magic Thommo?” Sam whispers.

  A giggle bubbles up my throat as I’m drawn back to his strip show in the dining room—laughter echoing, the joy in Mr Thompson’s eyes as he let himself go. I bury my face in my hands. It’s not a time for laughter. “God, it’s not funny. What’s wrong with me?”

  “Janie, you lost someone. You can’t control how you react.”


  We spend a few minutes wrapped in each other’s arms before I stand to leave.

  “I have a surprise for you at lunch,” I tell him and place a soft kiss to his lips.

  He widens his eyes in question. “Does it involve more of your mouth?”

  I smile, even though it feels like I’m being traitorous to our late friend. “Prepare yourself, Sam. Things might just get dirty.”

  Sam’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down. “How long are you gonna keep me painfully in suspense?”

  I look at my watch and back up to his heated gaze. I purse my lips knowing full well I’m being a tease. “Oh, about three hours.”

  “Damn,” he mutters under his breath as I make my way to the door.

  As harsh as it feels, I tell myself it’s time to get into a different headspace, to stop hurting over Mr Thompson. Sam is here, and he is very much alive. And I need to appreciate every minute that he is.

  Sam deserves my full attention, and I’m going to give it to him.

  ***

  Three hours later, I walk into Sam’s room with a giant brown paper carry-bag in one hand, and two mega milkshakes secured in a cardboard tray in the other. I tap the corner of the door to close it.

  “Lunchtime,” I announce, holding them upwards. Sam is on top of the covers, reading the newspaper. A couple of magazines are strewn at his feet.

  He folds the paper as I walk over and grabs the magazines, dropping them in a pile on the floor. I place the milkshakes down on his table and place the carry-bag on the bed beside me.

  Sam reaches out and hooks his finger over my belt and tugs me towards him. With both arms, he grips my waist and pulls. My feet are off the ground and my full weight on top of him before I can blink. I squeal as he plants loud kisses on my neck.

  “Three hours is far too long to keep a man waitin’,” he says, his voice deep and gravelly in my ear. He nips at my earlobe and tightens his hold on me, panting. I wiggle to lie on my side, my legs still hanging in mid-air. But Sam has me. In more than the physical sense.

  Tentatively, I place a kiss to his cheek and pull back. “I brought dirty burgers from Grease Monkeys.”

  “Hmm. I thought you smelled suspiciously like flame-grilled beef.”

  I pull the bag close and unfold the top of it. Handing a burger in a box to Sam, I wink. “This is the part where we get dirty.”

  He clutches at his chest and squeezes his eyes shut. “Way to crush a man’s dreams.”

  “Sam, Kathleen would kill me if anything untoward happened in here. You know that.” Do I tell him we’ll have a chance to get dirty on Thursday? When the two of us will be alone?

  “Yeah, I know,” he drawls and rolls his eyes.

  “Hold on to those dreams. It’s only a matter of time.” I cradle the burger box and flick open the lid. The shiny brioche bun gleams, sitting atop a masterpiece of beef and bacon and green bits sticking out the side. The distinct smell of Grease Monkeys’ loaded calories floats in the air.

  I glance over at Sam, and he’s staring at his burger as if I’ve just handed him a gold brick.

  “Go on, eat,” I prompt, and dive in for a bite.

  We both moan in unison, coating our lips with a sheen of grease, mayo, and signature tomato relish. If Kathleen was to walk past at this very moment and simply hear us, I think we’d be in trouble.

  Watching Sam make a royal mess of himself is a beautiful sight. I swear it’s like he’s making love to his burger. And I can’t wait for that mouth to be on me.

  “If I make it to ninety,” Sam mumbles around a mouthful of burger, “I hope I still have a sense of humour like him.”

  I take a swig of my milkshake and hold it up towards Sam. “Yeah. Me too. Anyway, cheers to Thommo.”

  Sam picks up his drink, and we tap the two paper containers together.

  A quiet washes over us as we finish our lunch. Sam isn’t as chatty as usual. From the occasional pull of his brow together, it’s as if there’s something he’s mulling over. In the wake of another death, maybe it’s hit home for him again. Maybe he wonders if it could’ve happened just like that with him. I guess it’s a reminder of how quickly life can be over.

  “Wanna come to bingo this afternoon?” I ask as I stuff our empty burger boxes into the paper bag.

  Sam wipes at the corner of his greasy lips with a napkin, and then balls it up in his hands. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  “There’s a new lady. Mrs Lee?” I tell him.

  “Is that the one who just lost her husband?” he asks, compassion in his soft smile.

  I let out a loud breath. “Yeah. I thought maybe you and Frederick could sit with her? Make sure she feels welcome?”

  A soft smile pulls at Sam’s lips. “You got it.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  On Tuesday, the sandwiches and doughnuts are a hit. Wednesday, the pasta leaves us in a food coma. Somehow, regardless of how hard I’ve tried to create a happy, fun environment for Sam, with each passing day he seems to be withdrawing. It’s as if he’s slowly regressing to the surly, unpredictable Sam I first met. It makes it really hard to stay positive.

  Sam is getting out of here. He’s recovering.

  As I pack the van with supplies, I silently pray that our outing to the falls today will change that. It’s time to create some happy memories with Sam.

  ***

  The van weaves through the windy country lanes towards Logan Falls. Even though I told him where we’re going, for the last half hour, Sam has stared out the window and barely made a peep. The two of us are generally okay with uncomfortable silences, but I find myself becoming less comfortable with them. It makes me think about what it is that Sam isn’t saying. He’s not that easy to read sometimes.

  I purposely drive below the speed limit so he can appreciate the journey. It’s as if he’s taking in every tree and each falling leaf, watching for bumps in the road and scanning every house we go by. Is he looking for the house he grew up in?

  I reach across and place my hand over his, which is resting on the edge of his black boardshorts. “If you want we could stop at the graveyard?” I pause, waiting for an answer.

  Sam continues to stare through the tempered glass. My heart pounds harder. Why did I have to bring her up?

  “Or anywhere else you want to while we’re over this way,” I add in a soft voice.

  “S’okay, Janie. I don’t need to visit my mum’s grave. I still carry her here,” he says, and presses his hand to his heart. His words comfort me and have me falling that much harder for him. I know she died a long time ago, but it would’ve been beautiful to meet the person who helped make Sam the man he is today. From what Sam’s told me, he had a strong bond with her.

  A short while later, we turn down Sheoak Lane, a makeshift dirt road created by the traffic of local fishermen, picnic-goers, and mad kayakers such as myself. I pull the car in between two trees at the end of the clearing and shut off the engine.

  “We’re here,” I announce, and open the door and run around the front of the car, yanking open Sam’s door.

  “Where’s here exactly?” he says as he takes off his seat belt.

  “This is where I put my kayak in. It’s not far from where the falls flow into Willow Creek.”

  Sam lets out a weary sigh. His eyes become fixed on the rough path through the trees. “How’s this gonna work, exactly? The path looks too rough for the walker.”

  I form two fists, hook one against my waist, and straighten out the other arm and hold it above my head. “Never fear. Wonder Woman is here.”

  He chuckles and shakes his head. “Yeah, I need to see the uniform. I’m not convinced.”

  “I wear it on the inside. Come on. I’ll piggyback you.”

  Sam tilts his head to the side. “Serious?”

  “Deadly.”

  He shifts his body in his seat. I turn around and back up to him, leaning forward to take his weight. It’s not like he’s going to weigh a tonne. Besides, it’s
only about fifty metres, give or take. We’ll be fine.

  “You getting on?” I bark, looking over my shoulder.

  Sam’s eyes shoot up from their focus on my butt. Heat rushes to my face. “You’re checking out my rig, now?”

  He chuckles and licks at his lower lip. “Hey, still a hot-blooded male, despite being a little slow. Anyways, don’t pretend like you didn’t want me to.” Desire pools in his eyes. Cheekily, he raises his brows up and down.

  I run my tongue over my top teeth. His Adam’s apple bobs. Score, Jane.

  “Tell you what. I’ll strut by the creek and you can gawk at it there, but please, can we just get there already?”

  “Best offer I’ve had in years,” Sam says.

  I roll my eyes and turn around once more, bending at the knees and tilting my back, ready to take the load. My hands are out to the side in readiness to grip his legs. I swear I can feel his eyes on my butt. And yes, I want him to look at me like a hot-blooded male. I want him to touch me, too. All of me.

  Patience, Jane.

  Sam’s fingers tease at the nape of my neck. Goosebumps prickle like wildfire over my skin. “Sam,” I growl.

  “Janie,” he whispers, close to my ear. He flattens his palms and smooths them over my shoulders, as if trying to relieve some of the tension there. It doesn’t work; if anything, it makes me more agitated. I’m trying to do something special for him. And he’s being a stupid boy.

  “What’s the hold-up?” I bark out.

  His fingers travel up to the nape of my neck once more, twirling the hair there. “What if I don’t wanna?”

  I close my eyes and snort out a breath. Sam has gone from an impassioned male to a small child in mere seconds.

  “Get. On. Me,” I growl as my patience wears paper-thin.

  Warm hands curl over my shoulders, holding tight. “The three little words every man wants to hear,” he says, and plants a soft kiss below my ear. His inner thighs squeeze around my hips. I hook my hands beneath his bent knees and hold his weight.