31. Sam
THIRTY-ONE
Sam
The key turns with that familiar click, and cool air rushes out to meet me. I step inside, letting the door close behind me with a soft thud that echoes through the entryway.
The house feels different. It's quieter somehow, like it's been holding its breath, waiting for me to return.
Sunlight streams through the partially open sliders, casting long rectangles of gold across the hardwood. The ocean's soft whoosh filters in, constant and comforting. My shoulders drop without permission.
God, I missed this.
I set my bag down beside the kitchen island and drape my cardigan over a barstool. I tip the Uber driver on the app and set my phone on the island.
Everything looks exactly the same; the white leather sectional, the driftwood coffee table Mom found at that little shop in Delray, the framed photo of us at my med school graduation, and the throw pillows on the sofa all look untouched.
But something has shifted, like I'm seeing it through new eyes .
I walk to the sliders and push them open wider. The ocean breeze hits immediately, lifting my hair and carrying the salt-sweet smell I'd forgotten how much I needed. My eyes close automatically.
This is home. This will always be home. Maybe not this house, but this slice of heaven.
"Hope you didn't start crying without me."
The front door clicks open again, and Arden's voice fills the space with warmth I didn't realize I was desperate for.
We hug like we haven't seen each other in years. It's been a month.
"I didn't cry, but I did almost lie down on the entry rug and die a little."
She appears holding a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and one of those gorgeous charcuterie boards from the market downtown. My mouth waters at the sight of the cheeses, nuts, and those pretzel crackers she knows I'm obsessed with.
"That's my girl. Dramatic as ever." She kicks off her sandals and follows me onto the deck.
"Talk about crying. I'm so excited about sitting out here with you and drinking wine, I could cry."
She twists off the screw top and pulls two plastic stemless cups out of her bag.
"Wine first, existential crisis second."
She pours two generous glasses. We settle into the cushioned lounge chairs that face the water. The sun hangs lower now, painting the waves with streaks of amber.
"So." Arden takes a sip and studies my face. "How bad is it, really? In Atlanta?"
I rotate my glass between my palms, watching the wine catch the light .
"Bad at first. But it's getting better now. I'm starting to get my feet under me and make a few friends-ish."
"And the mobile clinic thing you told me about? Are you still thinking about trying to do that?"
"I can't stop thinking about it." The words tumble out faster than I expected.
"Well, tell me. Where are you? Did you do any research?"
"I think I can run it for around three grand a month, which I've been told is attainable with an active fundraising arm. But there is a heavy upfront cost to getting it up and running and stocking it. Probably looking at around two hundred and fifty thousand."
She nods, but I catch the worry flicker across her face.
"That sounds amazing, but also expensive. And complicated."
"It is. I spoke with the hospital outreach, and they can only commit to fifty thousand. That would be great if the van were ready to go."
"Shit. That sucks. Maybe you can organize a fundraiser?"
"I plan to. To sustain it. But I need cash now. That's why..." I take a breath.
"Why what? What are you up to? That look…"
"I'm meeting with Janet Reeves while I'm in town."
Arden nearly chokes on her wine.
"The realtor? You're thinking of selling your house!?"
The question hangs between us like a challenge. I stare at the horizon, where the sky meets the water in a perfect line.
"I think I am, Ar."
There. I said it.
"Sam." Her voice goes gentle, the way it does when she's about to talk me off a ledge. "Are you sure? This house is your mom."
"No, it's not. Mom wasn't alive when I bought it. I just made it her to have something to cling to. She would be much more a part of a program like that in Atlanta. And if I could get it up and running, in her honor, it would make me closer to her than any four walls could."
I pull my knees up to my chest, suddenly feeling smaller against the vastness of the ocean.
"Wow. I mean, that's beautiful, but is that practical? I love your heart, and that you want to do that, but I don't think I would be a good friend if I didn't press you on this."
"I've thought a lot about it. I'm not completely certain, but everything keeps pointing me back to this."
"What do these houses in here go for? Around four million?"
"Around that. Maybe more with the market the way it is." I look at her directly.
"Shit."
"I'd have enough to invest, keep a cushion, and finally do something that feels like mine. With the Evelyn Taylor wing going away, this is the best way to keep her spirit alive."
Arden sets her glass down and leans forward.
"I'm going to need some time to absorb this."
I watch a pelican dive into the waves, coming up with a fish writhing in its beak.
"What am I holding onto? It's a big house for one person, and it was never about the real estate anyway. Plus, I live six hundred miles away. I'm probably never going to come back here to live."
The sun dips lower, painting everything in shades of coral and gold. Stars start to blink into view, scattered across the darkening sky like tiny promises.
Arden refills our glasses, her movements thoughtful.
"Before you sign anything, I want you to make sure you're sure you can let it go?"
I lift my glass toward the sea, feeling the weight of the decision settling in my chest.
"I will. Pinky promise."
My Apple Watch vibrates on my wrist. It's a local number.
"Hold that thought."
I step back inside, bare feet brushing over the cool hardwood floors, following the sound of my buzzing phone on the kitchen counter. Through the glass doors, I see Arden refilling our wine glasses.
The call display shows a local number.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Dr. Taylor? It's Janet Reeves with Premier Properties."
The voice is polished but warm. She's professional with just enough of a local lilt to make it personal. I straighten unconsciously, even though no one can see me.
"Hi, Janet. Thanks for calling."
"I ran the numbers like you asked. Wanted to talk through them before our meeting. I think we can list it at $4.2. Easily. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if you had multiple offers."
I lean against the counter. My hand grips the edge like it might steady me. "That high?"
"Yes, ma'am. Mariner's Reach is on fire right now. I've sold three houses there in the last eight weeks. All full price or better. One didn't even hit the market before it went under contract. "
I let the words sink in. $4.2 million. It's not just a number. It's more than enough to make this mobile hospital work, with enough money left over to not make this reckless.
My stomach twists with nerves, but there's something else threading in behind it. It's conviction.
I'm doing this.
"I'd like to sit down with you this week if you're available. I can walk through your place and get my photographer scheduled if you want to move forward."
I nod, even though Janet can't see me. "Okay. I'm home through the weekend. Does Thursday morning work?"
"Perfect. I'll bring comps and a listing agreement for you to look over. We'll take it from there."
We hang up. I don't move right away. My hand lingers on the phone, as my chest rises and falls in slow, deliberate breaths. My throat is tight, and my heart pounds like I just ran upstairs in a trauma bay.
The house seems to pulse around me. Every memory, every morning coffee on the deck, every night I fell asleep to the sound of waves rushing at me with clarity.
And then one flash I didn’t expect: Cole in the kitchen, barefoot, hair still damp from a shower. He’d looked over his shoulder and grinned like we had time, like any of this could’ve lasted.
The ache blooms fast. But underneath it, something stronger takes root.
Purpose. I need a clean slate. And I need money. Everything is pointing me to this.
I press my palms to the countertop, grounding myself. It's real now. Not just a maybe or a dream or something I’m considering.
I'm doing this .
I walk back out onto the deck on cloud nine. Arden glances up from her phone, reading my face immediately.
"Well?"
I sink into the chair. My voice comes out quiet but certain. "That was the Realtor. She says we can list for $4.2. Buyers are biting fast."
Arden raises a brow. "And how do you feel about that?"
I stare out at the dark horizon where stars are starting to pierce through. The ocean keeps its steady rhythm, indifferent to my life-changing phone calls.
"Like I'm about to jump out of a plane. But maybe for once, the landing will be worth it."
Arden lifts her wine glass toward me. "To landing on your feet."
After hours of catching up and just loving being with my friend, the sun has finally set. The wine hits my empty stomach with a warm buzz that spreads through my chest.
"I think I need a run. I need to burn off some of this wine."
Arden laughs. "You're the only person I know who can run after drinking."
I stand and stretch, feeling the pleasant looseness in my limbs. "Want to come?"
"God, no. I'm going to finish this bottle and contemplate your life choices from the comfort of this chair. You can exercise for both of us."
I slip inside to change into running shorts and a tank top. The wine makes everything feel slightly off-kilter, but in a good way. Like the edges of my worries have been softened.
The beach stairs creak under my feet as I make my way down. The ocean stretches out like black silk, moonlight cutting a silver path across the waves. I start with a slow jog, but my stomach immediately protests .
Yeah, that's not happening.
I drop to a walk instead, letting my bare feet sink into the cool sand. The breeze off the water is incredible against my flushed skin, carrying away the heat from the wine and the weight of the phone call.
$4.2 million. The number keeps spinning in my head.
It's freedom. It's possibility. It's also terrifying as hell.
I walk farther than I planned, letting the rhythmic crash of waves clear my mind. The beach is empty except for a couple walking their dog in the distance. This is why I'll miss this place. The quiet. The space to breathe.
When I turn back toward the house, something catches my eye.
Light.
Golden light streams from the kitchen window of Cole's house. I stop dead in the sand while my pulse jumps like I've been shocked.
It's not him. It's probably a cleaning crew or who knows who. But my body doesn't believe my brain. My chest tightens as heat flashes across my skin. My stomach knots up like I'm about to walk into surgery.
I haven't seen that light on ever since he left. The cleaners always seem to come during the day, so seeing it now like this throws me off kilter. It's more than the single lamp in his living room that is on every night.
My hands ball into fists at my sides. My thighs press together without me meaning to. Every nerve ending fires at once, flooding me with memories I've worked so hard to bury.
Suddenly, Cole's hands are on my skin. His mouth is against my neck. The way he looked at me, like I was the only thing in the world that mattered, fills me.
Stop it. Just stop.
I force myself to breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth. I do it just the way they taught us in residency to stay calm during trauma cases.
"It's not him," I mutter to the empty beach.
I turn and walk back toward my own house, but I can feel the warmth of his kitchen window against my back like a hand I can't shake off.
I thought I had finally gotten Cole Houston out of my system. It turns out ten days can leave more of an impression than I could have ever guessed.
This solidifies my decision to sell the house. I need to completely eradicate him.
It's time.