Irma pulled away from where she’d leaned her head against the windowsill of the kitchen, the perfect spot for Samantha’s and Lucas’s voices to carry to her on the breeze. Brushing a tear from her eye, she pushed her shoulders back and turned to do the washing up.
“You still miss him, don’t you?” Mirra asked, coming to wind her arms around her mother.
“I always will,” Irma admitted.
“He’s with us. You can see his soul swimming with us on the full moon,” Jolie said, hugging her mother from the other side.
“I’ll never stop loving that man. I hope one day you’ll both know that sort of love.” Irma patted them both and then pulled away. “That’s enough melancholy for now. I have cookies to bake.”
Chapter 15
“You don’t have to walk me to my door,” Samantha said, her nerves kicking up as Lucas left the garden with her. Walking her to the door meant she’d be presented with the decision of inviting Lucas in, and she wasn’t sure if she was capable yet of doing something so frivolous as having a romp with a man she’d just met yesterday.
“I am a gentleman,” Lucas demurred and Samantha shut her mouth, not wanting to sound ungrateful or rude. They silently climbed the stairs of the quiet villa until they stood in front of her weathered door.
“Um, this is me,” Samantha said, gesturing to the door.
“Good, then my job is done.” Lucas smiled down at her and Samantha felt heat flash through her body. He towered over her, all tanned muscles and warm green eyes, and she wanted to shock him by grabbing his hand and pulling him into the room.
“Thank you for sharing the wine with me, and for telling me that lovely story about the island,” Samantha said.
“Since you paid for dinner tonight,” Lucas said, leaning casually against the wall, neatly caging her in so that her back bumped against the door, “I owe you. Can I take you out tomorrow?”
“I… well, you don’t owe me anything. It was just a bit of cheese and some wine, it’s not really a big deal…”
Lucas silenced her with a kiss, shocking her by brushing his lips lightly across hers while she was still speaking, causing her words to trail off as her hands came up to his shoulders. The man took his time, easing her slowly against the door, letting his lips slide gently over hers, until the breath all but left her body and she moaned lightly into his mouth.
“Is that a ‘yes, Lucas, I’d love to go out with you tomorrow’ moan?” he teased, and Samantha blushed, her insides a knot of lust and aching and embarrassment.
“Yes, um, that would be nice,” Samantha said, biting her lip.
Lucas raised a finger and traced her lips before bending over once more to kiss her – the most featherlight of kisses – before pulling away.
“Until tomorrow then. Sweet dreams,” he said, strolling down the stairs and out the front door while Samantha tried not to melt into a puddle on the floor.
He’d kissed her.
And asked her out tomorrow.
Oh my god. She had a date tomorrow. And she’d had one tonight. And the man was hot.
Samantha squealed and ran inside, pouncing on her cell phone.
“Lola, you’ll never believe this.”
Deciding another glass of wine was called for while she stayed up to chat with Lola, Samantha opened a bottle, poured a glass, and relaxed on the bed.
“I love the name. Is he a good kisser?” Lola asked.
“He is, at least from what I can tell.” Samantha found herself giggling into the phone like a schoolgirl.
“You kissed him already! I love this slutty side of you,” Lola said.
“That was not slutty,” Samantha protested.
“Well, for you it was. For me I would’ve shagged the man six ways to Sunday by now, but we’re different.”
Samantha felt heat course through her body at the thought of ‘shagging’ Lucas, as Lola had so delicately put it.
“I… I need a little time here. But I’m trying my best to channel my inner Lola.”
“Good. I love what I’m hearing. Wear one of your new dresses tomorrow and do something foolish,” Lola ordered.
“I will. Or at least I’ll try,” Samantha said.
“Have you managed to ignore your family?” Lola asked.
“Yes, I messaged them to let them know I was on holiday. The response was… well, it was pretty awful.”
“Let me guess – you’re foolish, get back to work, you’ll never get anywhere in this company if you run away from your responsibilities, no daughter of mine shirks her work.” Lola deepened her voice to mimic Sam’s dad.
“Pretty much. With an added touch of how embarrassed they’ll be at the country club with all the talk about me not getting the promotion and skipping town.”
“For fuck’s sake. You didn’t skip the country. You’re not on the lam. You took a holiday for the first time in years after clawing your way up the corporate ladder. I can’t deal with them, I swear to god. You need to listen to me,”
Lola all but barked, “and hear every word. You have done nothing wrong. You not only deserve this vacation, but you have my permission to do every last thing you want that you know they’d hate. Comprende?”
“I know. I know. I know. You’re completely right. I know I haven’t done anything wrong. It doesn’t stop it from hurting, is all,” Sam said.
“When are you going to stop seeing yourself through their eyes?” Lola asked. “Because I think you’re amazing exactly as you are. Well, especially this new and improved vacation-version of you. I suspect you like this version of you too.”
Sam laughed. “You know what? I kind of do.”
“Then own it, girl.”
Chapter 16
When the phone began ringing the next morning, Samantha gave in to the inevitable. She’d spent another decadent night lying naked beneath the crisp white sheets – and wasn’t that sad, that the most decadent thing she’d done in years was to sleep without a nightie? With a sigh and a yearning glance at the coffee pot across the room, Samantha answered her phone.
“Good morning, Mother,” Samantha said, looking at the clock and noticing it was around breakfast time back home. Her mother would be preparing a light breakfast for her father, as she always did, while he watched the news and complained about the state of politics.
“I shouldn’t have to call you this many times for you to answer,” her mother’s crisp voice answered. “One moment, your father would like to speak with you.”
“That’s really great,” Samantha said, a little too loudly. “I’m glad to hear you’re doing well.” But she was talking to air as her mother passed the phone across their granite counter to her father.
“Samantha.” Her father’s brisk tone, one that had made many a junior partner cower, sliced through the phone at her.
“Father,” Samantha said, pinching a pleat in the bedsheet.
“That’s enough of this Caribbean nonsense. You’ll come home and make apologies to Paradiso for skipping town,” her father ordered. “If you’re lucky they’ll take you back, though it’s not likely you’ll have another shot at the CFO position after this irrational behavior. It’s best that word doesn’t get out that you’re unreliable. We’ll expect you home this evening.”
“They can’t fire me for taking a vacation,” Sam protested.
“They can if you take it at the last minute without giving notice,” her father shot back.
“Then that’s their choice. I’m sure I can find a company that won’t make me defer my vacations for years,” Samantha said, feeling the old pain lace her stomach as she tried, once again, to make her father hear her.
“You’ve already shown that you haven’t worked hard enough, or you would have gotten the promotion. Do you really think it’s wise to add to that image by taking off at a moment’s notice for a jaunt through the Caribbean? Haven’t I taught you that every action has a consequence? Just what do you think will happen as a result of this careless behavior
of yours? If I were your boss, you’d be fired.” Her father was in full-on rant mode. “That’s what’s wrong with young people these days. They think they can jump around from job to job, never putting in the tough work. They’re always talking about wanderlust and living their lives. On what salary, may I ask? How are they going to live if they can’t put food in their mouths? It’s like nobody cares about putting in a hard day’s work anymore. Instead they’re flitting around taking Instagram photos on the latest popular beach locale and talking about making money from blogging. Blogging – what a joke. Like anybody wants to read what they have to say. You know what people want?”
Samantha opened her mouth to reply, but she knew it was useless.
“People want someone they can rely on. A lawyer or a doctor, to be exact. And when they pay people to handle their accounts, they expect that person to be there.”
“They also can expect, and reasonably so, that the person they are paying to do said job is also human and has a life,” Samantha sighed and pinched her nose where a dull ache had settled.
“What life? You don’t have a husband or kids. Not even a dog to let out. Your life is your work. The day after you lose a huge promotion is exactly the day you need to step it up – coming in early and showing your willingness to do anything to work harder. Yet you’re willing to chance the one thing that makes up your life? Your job? I don’t get people like you.” Her father’s words jabbed at her, as they always did, and Samantha felt her shoulders slumping. She wanted to curl up in bed and hide, like she was a little girl again, weeping into the pillows after being grounded for whatever infraction she’d incurred this time.
“I haven’t done anything wrong,” Samantha said. “You seem unable to grasp that fact. I have done nothing legally, morally, or ethically wrong by taking my first vacation in years – vacation time that I am entitled to by my contract with my company.”
“Bah, that’s bullshit. You’re constantly on vacation. They fly you everywhere and treat you to beautiful suites in the best hotels around the world. Don’t act like you haven’t gotten a vacation. People like you who whine about their jobs don’t ever understand that the grass isn’t always greener on the other side. Do you know what the workforce is like these days? There’s a million people who would die for your job. If you’re not careful, you’ll be out on your butt quicker than you can say unemployment line. Now, be a good girl and get on that plane and go apologize to your new boss.”
Samantha closed her eyes and forced herself to take a deep breath. Then another. She’d been on the receiving end of one variation of this tirade or another for most of her life. It didn’t matter what she said or did, her parents insisted they knew best. It was their way or the highway, and if she didn’t follow what they wanted then she was being difficult. God, she hated being labeled the bad one. How was she ‘difficult’ for choosing an occupation outside of law? It wasn’t even that far outside of it, but she still had to hear grief about it years later. And the problem was? She usually did fall in line. Most of Sam’s life had been tiny rebellions against her parents, just enough to try and get them to allow her to be herself instead of who they thought she should be. Just once, she wanted them to see her for who she was – an adult who could make her own choices.
So sure was her father that Samantha would do what he’d ordered that he was already handing the phone back to her mother. But not before he heard what she said next.
“I don’t remember asking your opinion.” Samantha clenched the phone and blinked back the tears that spiked her eyes, listening to the silence that greeted her as her stomach flipped into a complicated series of knots. She imagined it was like the moment when someone pulled the pin on a grenade.
“Oh, you think you know it all? You want to be like your friend Lola, who flits from job to job and man to man with no care for her future or her responsibilities? You’re already probably too old to have children, and no man is going to want to marry someone who can’t even hold down a job. You’d be wise to listen to my opinion before you ruin your life. But what do I know? I’m just the most successful attorney in this city and a man who has raised an extremely – well, mostly successful family. Which is more than you can say for yourself. Do what you want, Samantha, go be a feminist or whatever it is you’re doing now and act like I’ve done nothing for you. I’ve only paid your way through college and opened every door possible for you. But of course, you’d know better. Have a nice life.”
Tears poured down Sam’s cheeks and all she could do was shake her head silently into the phone, willing her father to not be so harsh on her. There were so many things wrong with this conversation that she could barely wrap her head around them all. What was wrong with being a feminist? She was female, after all. And as far as she was concerned, being a feminist just meant she wanted the same opportunities as a man would have. If one of her brothers had taken off on a last-minute vacation, her family would have wished him well and told him to send pictures. How was this remotely fair?
“Now, Samantha, you know you shouldn’t antagonize your father.” Her mother’s cool voice slipped through the phone and Sam closed her eyes, wishing that her mother would – just once – side with her and not the men of their family. But irrespective of her mother’s fierceness as an attorney, she somehow still managed to cater to the men in her family while holding her own daughter to an entirely different standard.
“I’d say he’s the one being antagonizing,” Samantha said, not caring if she sounded bitchy.
“You know how he gets after he watches the news. He needs someone to vent it on.”
“I’m not one of his employees. I’m his daughter. He just told me to have a nice life. As in, he’s cutting me out of his life because I won’t follow his directives.”
“You need to think about what he says. He gets passionate about things. But it’s only because he wants you to be your best.”
“What about wanting what is best for me? Me. Not what he thinks is best. Not what you think is best. Why can’t you both trust me to decide what is best for me? Even if you don’t understand it? Even if it’s not what you want?” Samantha cried.
“Now, Samantha. Of course we want what’s best for you. But your father is right – your job is important. You don’t have anything else in your life. It wouldn’t be smart to be careless with it.”
“Nice evasion, Counselor,” Samantha said, bitterness lacing her voice.
“You’ll do what you want anyway. You always do.” Her mother’s voice took on a surprisingly resentful tone that made Sam’s back go up.
“What I… oh please. If I had done what I wanted, I would have never gone into accounting. Instead I’d have gone out west for college, pursued a teaching degree like I wanted, and would have met or married someone like Noah. Instead I’m stuck in a corporate job, coming to your house every Sunday to hear about how well everyone else in the family is doing with their promotions and kids while you all make pointed barbs about me still being single. Please, tell me, how I am doing anything I actually want in my life?”
“Nobody’s forcing you to come to Sunday dinner, Samantha. Though it’s not like you have a lot of other plans anyway.”
“Goodbye, Mother. Don’t plan for me to be at Sunday dinner anytime soon. When you’re ready to accept me for me, I’ll be here. Just like I’ve always been. Waiting for you to stop trying to force me into being something I’m not.”
“Oh Samantha, you were always prone to dramatics. I really don’t have time for this right now; I have a nine o’clock meeting.”
“Standing up for myself is not being dramatic…”
Samantha’s voice trailed off as her iPhone showed that the call had already been disconnected.
There it was – another conversation where her parents spewed at her, but refused to listen to what she had to say. It was what made them excellent lawyers – this singlemindedness in getting their point across – but did they need to use those tactics on her?
And at what cost?
Lola had been absolutely right to tell Sam to ignore her parents. If only she’d listened.
Chapter 17
A light tapping at her door drew her head up from where she’d buried her face in the pillows after the phone call with her parents. Sometimes she wondered if she was too sensitive for her family. She wished she didn’t care so much what they thought of her – was there a class she could take to learn how to toughen up? Perhaps she just needed good old-fashioned therapy, she thought, as she tugged a cover-up over her head and padded lightly to the door.
“Oh, Sam, you are in here. I was just going to drop off some fresh beach towels and some mango I…” Irma trailed off as she took in Samantha’s face. “My goodness, what’s wrong?”
“Do I look that bad?” Samantha grumbled, though she was well aware how she looked after a crying jag.
“Let’s just say it doesn’t take much to guess you’ve been crying. Is there anything I can do?” Irma asked, her hands full of towels and eyes full of concern.
“Oh, no, thank you,” Samantha said, slightly embarrassed. This woman must think she was nuts. It was hard admitting to someone as self-assured and confident as Irma that she felt like the tightly wound string holding her life together was quickly unraveling. “It’s nothing. I’ll be just fine.”
Irma walked to a small table and put the towels and plate of fruit down, turning with her hands on her hips. Immediately, Samantha wanted to hunch her shoulders. She felt like she was about to get her third scolding of the day.
“Who did this to you?” Irma demanded and Samantha’s mouth dropped open.
“Who?”
“Yes, who made you cry? Is it Lucas? I’ll go down and let him have a piece of my mind if that’s the case,” Irma said, her blue eyes bright, like she was a mama bear protecting her young.
“Oh, no, please don’t. It’s not him – he was lovely. Really,” Samantha protested.
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