Chapter 27 Sam
Someone clears their throat and I stand so quickly that I’m instantly light-headed. Once again I was so absorbed in my work that I missed something.
“Excuse me?” someone called from the other side of the counter for our department.
“Pardon me, I didn’t see you there,” I say, taking care how I walk so I don’t fall right over while my blood starts to flow normally again.
“That happens more than you know,” she says, not fully joking but pointing out that she’s an inch or two over five feet. I can’t imagine people wouldn’t stop to notice this woman. She’s got curves that I’ve only dreamt of. “I’m Maisy.”
“Oh my, where are my manners?” I say, feeling completely out of sorts. “I’m Samantha Davies, but everyone calls me Sam.”
I hold out my hand to shake hers and she glances down at it and then proceeds to dig around in her bedazzled handbag.
At least I think she saw it.
I let my hand drop.
“Perfect, just the person I came to see,” she says, pulling out gum, unwrapping one piece, and then tossing the remainder of the pack into her bag. “I’m here for a calendar of events for Greenstone, I’m moving back and there are a few things I don’t want to miss.”
“Of course, let me grab you one.” She’s quiet as I walk to the filing cabinet and something feels odd. Very few people come in asking for a physical copy of anything, especially not people under the age of seventy. It’s not like they can’t, but most adults use the online calendar to sync with their own.
“Is there something in particular you’re looking forward to?” I ask, flipping through the hanging folders.
“Not really,” she says.
“Here it is,” I announce. “These are subject to change, of course, so if you want the most up-to-date information, our website is the best place to confirm.”
She picks up the paper, folds it in half, and puts it in her bag while looking at the office behind me. She takes her time blowing a bubble, pulling it back into her mouth before it pops and then makes a series of crackling sounds.
“No, I got what I came for and I’m not worried about a thing.” Her eyes take me in for a moment.
In another context, I would have thought she was hitting on me, but this is strange. The entire interaction feels off.
“Well, if you think of something else, feel free to stop by or send me a message,” I say in a cheery voice. “It was lovely to meet you—”
I’m hoping she doesn’t notice I trailed off because, of course, I already forgot her name. Oh, I’m the worst at this.
She looks me over once and with a tight smile says, “I’m sure I’ll see you around.” Then she turns and walks away.
What was that about?
And why did she want to see me?
Draping myself across my couch, I weave my fingers together across my stomach and look at my feet, propped up by the armrest. I’m not sure why I’m checking the polish on my toes, I’ll be wearing socks and boots today. Sighing, I assess the damage to my thumbnail. I definitely chewed it at work.
Stop replaying that scene, Sam. I did nothing that could have offended her or made her feel unwelcome.
It was likely me being so caught up in my work. Who knows how long she had to stand there? The familiar flush of guilt hits me. Automatically, I close my eyes, gently tap my thighs, and breathe.
I did nothing wrong. I was working and simply hadn’t heard her. It was an honest mistake, which I corrected immediately. I was helpful and kind and did my job well.
One last exhale to let it all out. My eyes drift open, and I feel a little more centered.
Springing into action, I grab the dark blue nail polish. I touch up my nail and blow on it while pulling out my jeans that I’d never wear to work and toss them on my bed. I’ve mastered the art of getting ready with wet polish over the years…one of the skills from trying to hide a nervous habit. I run my free hand over the holes I’ve worn into this pair. One from each move I’ve made over the years. The left knee is the move with my family when we moved across town to a place that was one level, their dream for eventually retiring. The snag on the back pocket and start of the right knee happened over the few times I moved for college. The full right knee is from when I sort of moved in with an ex. The final snags and one of the belt loops coming halfway off are what I’m most proud of…those are from moving here. I’m not sure why, but I think learning to ride a horse seems like a fitting thing to do in these. Another big event in my life, another move forward.
The pants lay on my bed along with my simple, and I suppose sturdy, brown leather belt. My turquoise boots are just inside the closet, and I set them at the foot of my bed. I open my second drawer from the top and dig one-handed, so I don’t ruin my nail polish in record time, shifting shirts out of the way until I get to a plain white V-neck. Since Tommy volunteered one of his flannel shirts, I’m not saying no to that, so this is all I need.
Once I’m dressed and my hair is pulled back into a ponytail, I toss a pair of workout pants and an extra shirt into my tote bag just in case I end up on the dirt. I’m definitely safe in Tommy’s hands, but a horse is a huge animal. Can you tip off of a horse? I know that saddles are secured and there are stirrups for the riders’ feet, but it’s not like there’s a seatbelt…
While locking my apartment, I resolve to not research if saddles come with seatbelts. I”m a grown-ass woman who already spent way too much time searching for tips beginning riders should know. Sitting on a saddle is going to happen, and it’s going to happen today.
After I let Tommy know I’m on my way, I turn on the radio, roll down the windows, and enjoy the wind, the sun, and earthy smells that come with living in this small town and having fields of crops, horses, and cattle surrounding it. The highway is a blur and the turn to Landen Acres is here before I know it. The house comes into view and my heart is racing, but not in an anxious state, an excited one. We’ve only had one date for crying out loud, but not only do I like Tommy, I like this. I like this life, I like this place, I like who I’m becoming.
I like not hiding. This place, maybe this ranch even, feels like it could be home.
There are a few spaces where people can park, not with white lines or anything like that, of course, and I pull my car to the far edge, away from the house, so there are plenty of options for customers. I roll the windows up once I’m stopped when I register what’s likely one of their dogs coming towards me from near the main stables. I haven’t actually met any of the dogs before.
My tote falls off the seat when I reach for it, grabbing the shirt and my water bottle that are now on the floor of the passenger side. By the time I’ve rerolled the shirt and gotten it back into my bag, a shadow shifts near my window and my whole body jerks in surprise. My mouth is open, like I made some sort of sound, but all I hear for the next few breaths is the whooshing of my racing heartbeat because instead of a dog outside my window, it’s a wolf.
And it’s in this where I learn that, in true moments of adrenaline, my body neither fights nor flights.
It freezes.