“Oh, lookie here. Janie’s finally decided to show up, everybody,” Sam teases and waves in my direction. He lowers the microphone from his mouth and winks.
That cheeky bugger. Is this why he was telling me not to go to too much trouble? Because he had his own plans?
Like a Mexican wave at a sports arena, except at an almost glacial pace, the sea of residents turn in their chairs to gawk at me. They politely start clapping. As I walk deeper into the crowd, closer to Sam, my cheeks flame. I might just combust from the sudden onset of heat.
When my feet stop short a metre away from Sam, I hold my hands out to the sides. “What are you doing?”
He shrugs and then covers the microphone with his other hand. “Livin’ the dream,” he says.
A laughter and a sob rolled into one bursts from my mouth. He’s really doing this. He’s going to sing, here, in front of all these people. God, he looks incredible with a microphone with in his hand. Even though Sam is sitting, confidence exudes from him, and the determination in his eyes demands attention.
Kathleen appears beside me. “Sorry, Sally-Anne and I had to keep you busy this morning. Wasn’t easy trying to organise everyone.”
I throw my arms around her and give her a squeeze. “You did this?”
Kathleen holds me at arm’s length. She turns her head to Sam and then back to me. “I’ll let Sam tell you all about it. Paige and I will set up afternoon tea for two o’clock, so you don’t have to do anything else. After that, take the rest of the day off, Jane.”
A loud sigh escapes my mouth and my shoulders drop. “You’re the best.”
I have the most understanding boss in the world. All morning I’d been stewing over how hellish the rest of the day was going to be knowing that Sam was only hours from leaving, and I was going to be stuck at my desk.
Kathleen chuckles and makes her way to the side of the room, where Sally-Anne is waiting. She lifts her chin and smiles at me.
I move over to where Sam entered so I’m not standing in the way of the action. Sam leans over and says something to the guitarist. They nod.
“This is Shaun on guitar, everyone,” Sam says, and motions his open palm towards the man. “Let’s give him a warm Willow Creek Nursing Home welcome.”
I laugh to myself. Sam is in his element. It’s an incredible sight.
As the crowd claps in polite appreciation, Shaun strums a slow tune. It almost sounds like an ambulance the way it alternates between high and low.
The guitar is thrust into song. It’s a fast beat, and I know the tune, but I can’t put my finger on the name of the song.
I place my finger and thumb in front of my lips and let out a piercing wolf whistle. “Sing it, Sam!” I shout and clap with vigour.
Sam smiles as bright as the midday sun and shakes his head as he laughs. His knuckles whiten as he grips the microphone in his right hand, bringing it to rest near his chin. “Right-O, you crazy cats, let’s start with something a little upbeat,” Sam says in a playful tone.
Mrs Cassidy stands up from the end of the front row and places her hands either side of her mouth to make a funnel. “Are you talking about my cat? Have you seen her?” she calls out, then looks around the room as if she’s wondering if anyone else heard him say that.
Oh lord, that woman. Now is not the time to be searching for her ghostly feline friend.
I sneak over to her and lean in until my mouth is within close range of her ear. “He was talking about crazy hats, Mrs Cassidy,” I lie.
She looks amongst the sea of residents. “I have the perfect hat in my room,” she says and power-walks into the hall.
Shaking my head in disbelief, I dump my bag on the floor and take her seat in between Frederick and Bob.
“I think some of you might know this one,” Sam says in a deep voice. “A little something from The Easybeats, nineteen-sixty-six. ‘Friday On My Mind’.”
He closes his eyes. His voice is croaky to start as he sings about everyone nagging him, and feeling better on Tuesday. When he starts singing about going out in the city and his girl being so pretty, his dreamy blue eyes narrow in on me. I swallow, trying to keep myself from turning to fangirl mush at his feet.
Looking around, I see some of the crowd sways in their seats, and some clap in time to the music. I find Frederick staring at me, a sly grin on his face.
I lean in closer to him. “What?” I say quietly.
“That boy is head over heels for you, young lass,” he says. “Can’t say I blame him, either.”
“Aw, you’re too sweet,” I say, and divert my attention back to Sam.
Before too long the song is over and Shaun starts playing another tune.
“This is ‘Love Me Two Times’ by The Doors,” Sam announces. His voice is gravelly when it needs to be, and soft when the lyrics back off. My heart swells to capacity with every line, verse and hum that falls from Sam’s beautiful mouth.
The song ends and everyone applauds. No one in this room is prouder than me. I’m sure of it. Witnessing someone who’s beaten themselves up finally push forward is like watching a dream come to life. Baby steps for Sam will soon become giant leaps. I know it, and by the strength in his voice and the conviction with which he sings each word, I know Sam Marshall believes it too. He can get back to where he was.
Sam takes a long swig from the water bottle on the table beside him and then takes a moment to catch his breath as the clapping continues.
“Don’t think I can call him Mr Trouble anymore, Jane,” Frederick says, and bumps his shoulder against mine.
I bite back tears and sniff. “I think you’re right.”
“The kid’s alright in my book,” Mr Blandford says in a husky voice on my other side.
“Thanks, Bob,” I reply.
“I don’t know if y’all know this,” Sam says, swagger in his tone, “but today’s my last day here. Never thought I’d say it, but I’ll kinda be sad to go.”
A couple of the ladies at the back let out a few oohs and ahhs. Man, is he a crowd pleaser.
“Before I do, I want you all to know how lucky you are to have a very special woman who works here. Some of you may know her as Wonder Woman. I like to think of her as the girl with the cherry lips who brought me back into the light. Come up here, Janie,” he says, and crooks his finger at me.
“Go get him,” Frederick says.
I stand and take slow steps to the front. Too embarrassed to look around the room and meet the stares, I focus purely on Sam. I’m not used to being the centre of attention.
Sam holds out his free hand. I take it and weave my fingers between his.
“I’m just gonna sing one more song, everyone, and then Shaun is gonna treat you with some real old school tunes, but first …” Sam tugs at my arm, pulling me onto his lap. He plants his lips on mine. Our kiss sinks into a rhythm, and then I remember where I am, and that a bunch of oldies are watching us make out. How is it that he can so easily steal my inhibitions and have me block out where I am?
“Slip her some tongue,” a male voice calls out.
Breaking my lips from Sam’s, I swing around and see a red-faced Frederick in the front row. I roll my eyes at him and laugh.
“This one’s for you, Janie,” Sam says as I stand up.
A hand grips my elbow. Paige beams at me, and places a chair right in front of Sam. She motions for me to sit.
Oh my God. This isn’t happening. Sam is going to serenade me? Here?
“Janie,” he says and sighs. “There’s a song by a legend of our time who could have very well written this song about you and me. This is ‘Thinking Out Loud’ by the ginger Jesus, Mr Ed Sheeran.”
Shaun plucks at the guitar. Sam sways from side to side, patting on his left knee with his free hand.
I do a terrible job of holding back tears as Sam sings about legs not working like they used to, and falling in love, and not being able to play his guitar the same way.
Tears barrel down my cheeks. I brush them
away as Sam croons about finding love right where we are. When the song comes to an end, applause erupts. I lose it and sob into my hands, which cover my mouth.
“Handing you over to Shaun now,” Sam says in a thick voice, and hands the mic to the guitar player.
When Sam rises to his feet, I sweep my arms around his waist and hold on tight.
“If I was any prouder of you, I’d burst,” I tell Sam.
“You got me here, babe,” he says.
Softly, I press my lips to his. “Love you, so much,” I mumble.
“Get a room,” a woman calls out and laughs.
Sam’s leg buckles. I strengthen my hold around him. He stabilises.
“Let’s get out of here,” Sam whispers in my ear. “I’m ready for an audience of one.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Paige is by Sam’s side, walker ready.
“How ’bout we go outside,” Sam suggests.
I swipe at the wetness on my cheeks and take a step back, then collect my bag. “Yeah.”
The guitarist starts strumming as Sam rolls the walker in measured movements from the room. I’m by his side as we head out into the courtyard towards a new padded swing seat, which wasn’t around last time I was out here. It’s partly shaded by the willow tree.
“You feel like lunch?” I ask, helping Sam into the seat.
“Oh yeah, lunch. Kind of got side-tracked, hey,” he says with a wink.
We eat our noodle salad, and chat for a while, before joining everyone back in the dining hall for afternoon tea. Sam gets an opportunity to say goodbye to everyone, which is beautiful but hard to watch. I sense a little heartbreak on Frederick’s part, and don’t miss the enthusiasm on Sam’s part when he hugs him goodbye.
We return to the courtyard once more and sway in the seat in each other’s arms, talking until the sun disappears behind the mountains and a chilly breeze blows through.
Kathleen strolls into the courtyard with Ben.
My heart beats harder in protest. I pat Sam’s leg in a comforting gesture. I don’t want to make this more difficult for him.
“I hear your singing caused quite the excitement around these parts today,” Ben says as he approaches, a wide smile across his face.
“It sure did,” I say, and turn to Sam, gripping his closest hand in mine. I’m sure that the smile I give him doesn’t meet my eyes.
“Yeah, well, I had to go out on a high,” Sam says and chuckles.
“We’d better get on the road.” Ben’s voice is low. His waning smile creates a dimple on his left cheek.
Sam’s grip on my hand tightens. “I don’t wanna let go.” He sighs. “Hate that I’ll be so far away from you.”
I hate it too.
I stand and coax Sam to his feet. I hug him goodbye and kiss him softly on the side of his neck. “It’s not that far.”
“Yeah,” he gripes. “Anyway, I’ll be back in two weeks for the pumpkin festival. It’ll be here before we know it.”
My heart warms at the thought. Two weeks will fly. They’d better.
Kathleen moves closer and extends her hand to Sam. “I’m not used to saying goodbye to residents like this, as you can imagine. It hasn’t always been a pleasure having you, as you know, but I’m proud of you, Sam. If you ever need anything, you have a world of support here.”
Sam takes her hand and shakes it. “Cheers, boss.”
***
After farewelling the Marshall brothers from the car park, I return to the courtyard once more. With nothing but the breeze and my thoughts to keep me company, I try to convince myself what I just told Sam.
It’s only three hours.
No, I won’t have the convenience of seeing him every day, but he’s only a phone call away.
We can make it work. Can’t we?
At nine o’clock that night, snuggled and sulking on the couch with Butch, my phone buzzes with a text. I put down my mug of hot chocolate and open up the message.
Sam: Just got back to the apartment and am going to crash x
I want to reply with ‘miss you already’ or ‘come back’, but I want him to know I’m okay and not crying into my hot chocolate. Like I have been. So, I go with a pretty standard response, which I hate to do, especially when there’s so much more I want to say.
Me: Glad you’re home safe xxx
Chapter Thirty-Six
We sit at the café, coffees in our hands. The wind whistles outside as the four women all look at me—and my ultra-puffy eyes.
Yes, my pillow wore the brunt of my tears and cheap mascara last night. It was cathartic yet heartbreaking. I have to keep reminding myself that this isn’t the end of the adventures of Sam Marshall and me. We will overcome this distance business … somehow.
Sam’s departure is all the girls have wanted to talk about today. From the glowing faces I know they all share in the triumph of Sam’s recovery, but I sense that elation will somehow only add to the emotional low that I know is coming. And I can’t blame it on PMS either, as I’m not due for a couple of weeks.
“I still can’t believe he sang to you like that in front of everyone?” Leonie says, and rubs her hands together with glee. “I mean, that’s like ultimate book boyfriend material.”
“And you had no idea,” Hannah says, shaking her head from side to side.
“Nope. The boss was in on it. The rascals planned the whole thing together.”
“So how is the whole distance thing gonna work?” Janice says as the cold, hard voice of reason. Dependable to the end.
“Um, if it’s okay, can we talk about writing?” I ask, trying to keep my emotions in check.
Leonie reaches across the table and pats the top of my hand. “Yeah, let’s do that. How about you go first?”
Hannah grabs the attention of a nearby waitress and talks to her with her back to me. For someone who doesn’t drink much coffee, I wouldn’t have thought she’d be ordering any more.
I purse my lips and let out a heavy sigh. Taking a sip of my coffee for courage, I look around the table of writers, published authors with years of experience. “I’m stuck. I feel like my characters are cardboard cutouts. I don’t know what they want or how they’re going to get it. I’m just not feeling it. I know I probably need to plan a little more.” I let out a giant sigh. “I’m a fraud,” I finally confess. It feels liberating to get it out in the open.
“Hush up,” Hannah says with a flip of her hand in my direction. “We all start somewhere. And that’s what this group is for: support for writers of all backgrounds.”
“If it’s not working, then write about what you know,” Leonie says with a shrug of one shoulder.
“But that’s my problem. I know shit when it comes to romance.”
“I’m talking about you and Sam,” Leonie says, and looks to Britt.
Britt nods and waves her finger at me. “You should write about the two of you. It’d make a beautiful love story.” Britt looks to Hannah, who’s smiling like the Cheshire cat on opiates.
“It’s complicated, though,” I protest.
Britt clucks her tongue and shakes her head. “Sure, but it’d make a great story.”
Could Britt be right? I pull my notebook from my bag and glance over the basic premise I’ve set out for Brandon and Ally’s story.
A simple relationship between a man and a woman, where all that truly matters is having each other, supporting each other, no matter what. Everything else is noise.
Britt and the girls could be on to something. Sam and I will make things work, no matter the distance. We already grew our love despite his illness. Everything else is noise. This could totally be mine and Sam’s story.
“Maybe when you get home tonight, spend a little time thinking about your journey so far, and where you want it to lead,” Britt offers.
My shoulders drop as I puff out air through my nose. “I know I’m gonna sound like a complete whinger here, but most of the time when I sit down to write, even if I have the perfect wr
iting conditions, the moment my fingers touch the laptop it’s like my mind goes blank.”
“When you write what’s in your heart, I think you’ll be surprised how easily the words come,” Leonie says.
A piece of Nutella cheesecake is placed in front of me with a fork and napkin. I look around the group, and Hannah winks, giving me a soft smile. Instead of jumping over the table and crash tackling her with a mammoth hug like I want to, I mouth “thank you” to her and devour a large forkful, letting the rich chocolatey sweetness distract me, if only for a few seconds.
“Just try it,” Leonie says. “If you need a writing buddy, send me a message and I’ll help push you through it. Once you start making milestones with your words, each step will get easier. You’ll gain more confidence.”
I swallow down a mouthful of thick dessert. “God, I hope so.”
“If I’m honest,” Janice says, drawing all eyes to her, “I have a crisis with every book.”
She says it’s like it’s a big secret, but the eye rolls and devilish smirks amongst the others tells me it’s a well-known fact. I kind of get the impression that crises are just a part of her everyday writing life.
“Not sure if that really helps you,” Janice continues, “but every book is hard no matter how long you’ve been at it.”
They are? It doesn’t get easier the more experienced you get?
I simply shrug.
“Actually, I reckon it gets worse,” Hannah says. “Once you’ve released one, the expectations are much higher. You have to work harder than before.”
Sheesh. Not what I needed to hear. And I want to be an author why, exactly?
“Okay, let’s look at it this way,” Janice says, her voice bossier this time. “You already know in your heart that your characters aren’t talking to you, right?”
I nod. “Uh-huh.”
Sing it, Sam Page 20