Chapter Sixteen
Sam might have gone out of her way to avoid Alex directly for reasons that seemed insignificant and silly in the sober light of day, but still, they had circled each other all night.
Sam had pretended to focus on darts with the guys while secretly watching Alex’s movements in her peripheral vision.
Alex had been leaning against the bar, her blue eyes catching the light whenever she laughed, but she would instantly meet Sam’s gaze whenever she looked her way, almost as if she felt it from across the room.
Sam recalled the look of something like longing on Alex’s face.
But then, unfortunately, Sam also remembered the mortification on Alex’s face after she had broken off their kiss.
But that kiss…It only lasted a few seconds and was more like the first awkward fumbling kiss of a couple of high school kids, but their bodies remembered each other instantly.
Sam’s hands found their way to Alex’s waist, and for those three perfect seconds, everything just made sense.
Alex, in her arms, felt so right, like coming home.
Now she had no doubt about her feelings for Alex, and she had a pretty good idea of how Alex felt about her.
And even though her time in Hicksville was limited, she knew what she had to do with that knowledge.
She reached for her phone and texted Alex.
Wondering how you’re doing this morning. Also, I was wondering if we could talk.
She watched her phone as she waited for the telltale dots to signify that Alex was writing back. But after several minutes, those dots still never appeared.
Sighing in frustration, she threw her phone down and pushed back the covers.
She grabbed a tank top and a pair of sweatpants and headed downstairs.
Coffee. Sam always needed coffee, but today, that need felt even more urgent.
As she sipped, she glanced over the list of things she still had to do for the house.
To her delight, she was able to cross a few more items off the list. Brad and Adam were coming over later to finish the roof, so Sam texted Brad to see if they could help her move some of the heavier furniture.
She gathered some receipts and paperwork and filed them in the folder she kept for all the house expenses.
Thanks to everyone’s help, she was well under the budget she had set for the house.
Maybe she could afford to make a few more cosmetic adjustments to help increase the asking price.
Not because it would keep me in Hicksville longer or anything like that.
Drumming her fingers on the countertop, Sam tried to decide the best way to spend the rest of her Saturday.
She studied the list. She could do more painting, which she dreaded because she wasn’t very good at it.
She had a few boxes she could drop off for charity.
The garage needed a good cleaning. It was where she and her mother had dumped piles upon piles of things they didn’t know what to do with.
That task alone would likely take her several days to finish.
Then it hit her. What better way to distract herself from last night than by tackling a task she had been dreading for the past three weeks?
Maybe it was time for her to clean out her mother’s bedroom.
Sam had avoided doing anything in her mom’s room because she knew it would be one of the more painful things she had to do.
Going through the boxes of Christmas ornaments, years of report cards, childhood keepsakes, and family photographs, had been hard enough.
Each item brought back waves of memories and more than a few tears.
Sam knew that once she finished the room, her mother’s bold and vibrant life and personality would be reduced to just a few small boxes of belongings.
She simply couldn’t imagine her mother’s seventy-two years on this earth being distilled down to almost nothing.
That, more than anything, tore at her heart.
Feeling like she needed some moral support, Sam tried texting Alex again.
I’m about to tackle my mom’s room and am looking for some moral support. Can I buy you lunch in exchange for your company?
Sam watched and waited for a response, but again none came. She fixed another coffee and wolfed down a quick breakfast. After cleaning the kitchen, she forced herself to stop avoiding the inevitable and headed upstairs.
Sam had been in her mother’s room since she passed away.
She just hadn’t moved a single thing or touched any of her mother’s belongings.
She pushed open the door and stood in the doorway, surveying the small room that had once been her mother’s sanctuary.
Against the wall, a full-sized bed stood, its well-worn, blue-patterned quilt made by her grandmother.
Her mother’s essentials rested on the nightstand beside her bed—a coaster for her water glass, a small stack of romance and thriller novels, hand cream, and her mother’s favorite original flavor of ChapStick.
In the corner was her mother’s recliner, covered by another faded, handmade quilt.
A larger stack of books and crosswords reached from the floor up to the height of the chair’s arm.
A small bureau held most of her mother’s clothes.
A vanity mirror, a jewelry box, and several framed photos were on top.
Sam walked over to the bureau and picked up a photo.
It was of her and her mom at Sam’s college graduation.
They had their arms wrapped around each other’s backs, and her mother gazed proudly at her.
Tears stung her eyes as she remembered that day when she became the first person in their family to graduate from college.
The next photo was of Sam with her mother and grandmother.
She ran her finger lightly over each face in the photo, noting their similar features.
The final image was Sam as a young girl, sporting a gap-toothed grin.
Sam was maybe eight years old in the photo and was missing her top two front teeth.
It had been her mother’s favorite picture of Sam.
She lovingly wrapped all three frames and placed them in a box she had marked Fragile
She moved on to the jewelry box next. Opening it, she saw her mother’s modest collection—her old wedding ring set, a delicate gold chain with a cross pendant, and a pair of diamond earrings Sam had bought her several years ago for Christmas—as well as her grandmother’s wedding bands.
She lifted the box insert and came upon several rosaries that had likely belonged to her grandmother.
There were also a few more photos, locks of hair from her first haircut, and even a few baby teeth.
Sam shook her head at seeing those. Her tears now flowed freely, making slow, silent tracks down her cheeks.
She wrapped the entire box in bubble wrap and placed it with the photos.
Next were a few small figurines her mom had collected, a silver-handled hairbrush, and a few random perfume bottles.
Several bottles of lotion and hair products went into the trash bin.
Sam walked over and sank onto the bed, not ready to sort through the clothes in the dresser or the closet.
She picked up the ChapStick from the nightstand and popped it open, bringing it to her nose for a sniff.
She smiled and shook her head. Her mother was the only person she knew who actually liked the original version.
Sam preferred strawberry, and they had many heated debates about the merits of their chosen versions.
She looked around the room and took a deep breath.
This was turning out to be much more painful than she thought.
She flopped back onto the pillow and took in her mother’s scent.
It smelled like warm hugs and home. Sam couldn’t suppress her sobs.
When she awoke, she had no idea how much time had passed.
Her eyes felt puffy and swollen, and her throat was raw.
She checked her phone for a word from Alex and frowned at the blank screen.
She rose to her feet after pushing herself back into a sitting position.
She carefully wrapped the blue quilt and placed it in the box with the items from the bureau.
After adding the pillow, she taped the box shut and put it in the hallway.
The work went much quicker after that, mainly because Sam’s emotions were spent.
She packed the other quilt from the chair, along with a decent-sized selection of her mother’s shirts.
Nothing else in the closet or the bureau would have fit her, so it all went into several other boxes labeled Donations.
After that, she stripped the bed and put the bedding into a basket for the laundry.
When it was clean, that would be donated as well.
Reading had always been a shared passion between her and her mother.
Sam remembered lying in bed beside her, reading from the same page, until she was ready for sleep.
Sam read any genre, but her mother was partial to mass-market paperbacks, usually romances and thrillers.
Throughout high school and college, her mother always handed down books for Sam to read.
Sam sank to the floor to sort through the various piles of her mother’s books.
It took her a while, but she managed to fill a whole box with novels she was interested in reading.
She placed those in the hallway next to the other boxes of items she wanted to keep.
She dusted herself off as she got to her feet.
She looked around the room at her work. Her mother’s room was almost empty except for the furniture.
When the donation company came later in the week, she’d also have a bunch of that set aside for them.
Satisfied with her work, she gently closed the door behind her.