Chapter Three
Sam had Monday reserved for miscellaneous tasks and errands related to the house and settling her mother’s affairs.
Most of the morning was spent on the phone—calling her mother’s credit cards to cancel them, filing insurance claims, changing the contact information on utilities and homeowner’s insurance, and dealing with Social Security, taxes, and other government entities.
She repeated the same story at least two dozen times to at least two dozen customer service representatives.
It wasn’t the first time she wished she had a sibling to share some of the responsibility with.
While each conversation was emotionally exhausting, she found that everyone she spoke to was remarkably understanding and sympathetic, prompting her to pause several times between calls because she had started to cry.
Sometime midmorning, as she was sitting at the table nursing her umpteenth cup of coffee, Sam’s phone pinged with a text from Alex.
Free for lunch?
Sam paused. After the morning she’d had, she wasn’t sure she was emotionally ready for more interactions with Alex.
Her fingers hovered over her phone before closing the screen on Alex’s text and sliding it back into her pocket.
She couldn’t handle her right now. Her morning had been too busy to process those stirring thoughts and feelings, along with the waves of grief she experienced with each phone call.
An hour or so later, Sam was interrupted by a knock at the door.
It had slipped her mind that she had an appointment with a real estate agent that afternoon.
She wanted to list the house before the fall, but she needed an idea of the potential repairs and upgrades she might encounter and their impact on her ability to sell the house.
Her mother had lived alone since Sam had left for college, and while the house was tidy and well-kept, many small, and some larger, repairs were still needed.
Sam estimated that she had several weeks of work to complete, including sorting, cleaning, painting, and preparing the house for sale.
“Come in,” she called out, standing up to go and meet the agent.
“Samantha Weaver!” At the sound of the familiar voice, Sam bristled. Of course, as luck would have it in any small town, Sam would know the real estate agent. She didn’t realize it would be someone she hadn’t lost any love for in high school.
“Missy!” Sam spun around to face the other woman. “What a nice surprise. I wasn’t expecting you. The name they gave me on the phone was different.”
“It’s Melissa now.” Missy’s smile never wavered. “Melissa Carter. And I own Carter Real Estate. When I saw your name pop up in the schedule, I just knew I had to be the one to work with you!”
“Did you—” Sam began.
“Marry Nate Carter,” Missy finished. “I sure did.” She looked triumphant.
Sam resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Missy had a reputation in high school.
She went through boys left and right. But she had set her sights on Nate in their senior year of high school.
At the time, Nate fully resisted, mostly because he was too busy trying to get Sam’s attention.
Little did he know then, but there was no way that was going to work out in his favor.
Apparently, after Sam had turned him down one too many times, he’d finally moved on to Missy.
“No hard feelings?” Missy asked, cocking her head. Her eyes gleamed.
Sam snorted. “You do know I’m gay, right?”
“As if anyone could forget.” Missy sighed dramatically.
“It was all anyone could talk about for years.” Sam gritted her teeth at Missy’s flippant tone.
She was fully aware that the scandal she had caused—well, she and Alex had caused—had taken a long time to die down.
It was partly why she had spent so little time at home over the past years.
“But then Mr. Bayer was caught stealing money from the church, and people moved on.”
“Missy—”
“Melissa,” she corrected.
“Melissa,” Sam repeated firmly. “I’m glad the town of Hicksville moved on after my scandal, but I’m not here to relive what happened all those years ago.”
“Oh, I know, sweetie.” Missy’s tone turned soft. She laid a hand on Sam’s arm. “I just want you to know that people have moved on. You should, too.”
Sam took in the woman standing before her.
Missy—no, Melissa looked like a polished professional.
Gone were the short skirts and skimpy tops from high school.
She wore a sharp navy suit. Her hair was immaculately styled.
But what was most surprising was the look on Melissa’s face.
It seemed, dare she say it, empathetic. Missy Wilcox seemed to have changed a bit.
Sam wasn’t sure how to react. She decided just to be honest. “I’m trying,” she said finally.
“Well, that’s the best anyone can do.” Melissa squeezed her forearm one last time before letting go. She clapped her hands. “Now, should we take a look at the house?”
After nearly two hours of running through every room in the house in minute detail, Melissa left.
Sam sat at the kitchen table, looking at her now greatly expanded list. Most of the repairs were cosmetic, including painting everything, such as the deck and windowsills, adding a few handrails where stairs were present, and fixing some siding.
A few were more big-ticket items. The house could use a new roof, water heater, and plumbing upgrades.
They weren’t deal-breakers, but Sam had to decide whether she wanted to make any of the bigger repairs or sell the house as-is.
As she perused the list, her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of her phone buzzing.
She picked it up, glanced at the screen, and saw another text. Alex again.
Okay, so no lunch. How about dinner?
Sam’s thoughts turned back to Alex. She was confused, but also slightly intrigued.
What could Alex possibly want after all these years?
Was she trying to be nice because of what happened to Sam’s mother?
Or was there something else there? Where had she been all this time?
Sam knew there was only one way to find out.
Intellectually, she knew the right thing to do was to text Alex back.
But she just wasn’t ready. The day had taken an exhausting toll on her.
The list sitting in front of her was stressing her out even more.
She swiped the notification off the screen and set the phone back on the table.
Sam woke the next day, resolved to put Alex out of her mind as much as possible and get to work on that list. That resolve was tested when she glanced at her phone and saw several new texts from Alex. She groaned and opened her phone.
The first one had come at eight fifteen that morning. How about coffee?
Sam? Followed fifteen minutes after that one. The final one came another fifteen minutes after that. Are you going to avoid me forever?
Sam sighed. Maybe it would be better to get it over with. She typed out a few words. Not avoiding…sleeping. I’m busy today with house stuff. How about tomorrow?
Alex’s reply was immediate. Tomorrow it is. See you then.
Sam shook her head and set the phone back on the table. She had all day and all night to figure out how to deal with Alex Weaver.
“I can’t believe Nadine Weaver baked you a pie.” Jordan’s tone was disbelieving. “And that you didn’t take it.” At that, his tone veered into incredulity. “Say what you will about Nadine Weaver and her homophobic ways, but she always did make a mean pie.”
Sam put down her paintbrush and turned to give him a wry look. “I’m not taking her pie until she looks me in the eye and apologizes for outing me to the whole town.”
“I mean, if she’s baking you a pie…maybe we’re getting closer to hell freezing over and the apology is just around the corner.”
“Funny,” Sam deadpanned. She turned back to the wall she was trying to paint and cursed. She really hated painting. Of all the things she could be doing with the house, painting was the worst.
Jordan was down from Pittsburgh to help her get a jump on the house repairs, but she took a minute to fill him in on Alex’s visit.
As usual, he listened with a sympathetic ear, but Sam could tell by watching his face that something was simmering in the back of his brain.
She was trying to keep the focus on the house so she didn’t have to address it.
“In another stunning twist of events,” she called over her shoulder, “I did agree to meet with Alex.”
Jordan paused from where he was diligently rearranging the magazines her mother had kept on a rack by the coffee table. “You did what, now?”
“I don’t know, Jordan,” she said, coming over to sit beside him on the couch. “What am I supposed to do?” She reached out and grabbed the beer that was sweating on the coffee table and took a long swig. “What am I even doing here?” She sighed, looking around at the mess.
“Do you mean existentially, or metaphorically, or…” Jordan’s voice trailed off. Sam slugged him in the shoulder. “Ow!”
“You know what I mean.”
“I know.” He grinned. “I’m just trying to lighten the mood.”
“This house is a wreck.” Sam gestured around. “How did I think I could do all of this myself?”
Jordan clutched at his heart in mock indignation. “You’re not alone. You have me.”
“Even worse.” Sam smiled. “You’ve just been watching me for the past two hours.”
“Rude!” Jordan scowled at her. “I did bring you beer, didn’t I?”
“That you did, my friend.” Sam touched the neck of her bottle to his gin and tonic tumbler. “And for that, I am eternally grateful.” The two of them sat sipping their drinks in thoughtful, companionable silence.
“Does all of this have to do with a certain someone?” Jordan slyly began after a minute, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.
“Someone whose name rhymes with….” He paused and frowned.
“Wait, nothing rhymes with Alex. At least nothing all that good.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “That’s unfortunate.”
Sam glanced at him and then slouched lower into the couch. She crossed her arms over her chest and huffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, really?” Jordan smirked. “You just totally glossed over the fact that you’re going to meet her for coffee.
And, well, right now, you’re acting even more neurotic than usual, so it’s clear that something is on your mind.
” He gestured to the room around him. “The Sam I know would’ve torn through this house in a few hours. You’ve barely even finished one wall.”
Sam slugged his arm again. “It’s not like I have the best help.”
“Again, rude!” Jordan smacked her back lightly on the arm. “These magazines need alphabetizing. Did you know there is a People in here from 1999? That’s like last century, Sam.” He flipped through them again, his face scrunching up in thought. “Maybe I should do them by year instead.”
“Jordan.” Sam shook her head at his antics. He wasn’t overly helpful when it came to chores, but he was still her best friend.
He took another sip of his drink and looked up at her. “Let’s get real. We both know that I’m just here for the emotional support.”
“Is that what you’re doing here?” Sam smiled. “You could have fooled me.”
“Seriously, Sam.” Jordan turned to face her, setting his drink on the table before him. Concern was evident on his handsome face. “What’s up? Talk to me.”
Sam stood back up and began to pace. She was trying to put her finger on precisely what was tugging at the corner of her mind.
It wasn’t just Alex. It was everything. She was back home, and everything felt exactly as it had when she was younger.
After being away for so long, after all the things she had tried to become, she was realizing she was still the same person she had been when she left.
The only thing that was missing was her mother.
She turned to face Jordan. “It’s like I never left,” she whispered, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.
“That’s just it. You never do leave. Yeah, your geography might change.” He got up and walked toward her. He reached out and took her into his arms. “But this place, these people. They are you. It’s in your blood. It will always be a part of you.” He pulled back and looked her in the eye.
Sam untangled herself from his embrace and looked at him, wiping tears from her cheeks. “When did you get to be so wise, Jordan Davies?”
“Well,” he said, pointing at his chest. “They don’t call me Dr. Davies for nothing!”
“Whatever.” Sam grinned. She picked up a roll of tape and thrust it at him. “It doesn’t exempt you from working. At least not in this house. Let’s get some work done, Dr. Davies!”
“But Sam…” Jordan’s face turned serious again. “You know that does mean that Alex will always be a part of you, too.” He picked up a roll of painter’s tape and purposefully turned his back on her, beginning to fidget with a window. “You just have to figure out what you want that part to be.”
For a minute, Sam watched him work, forehead scrunched in thought. She knew he wasn’t wrong. She just didn’t know what to do about it yet.