Chapter Twenty-Two Nora #2
“Yeah,” she said. “Just really want some chicken.”
“And to watch sweaty men tackle each other.”
“Naturally.”
As she always did when she went to Sam’s house, she felt a swelling of pride as she walked through the neat entryway and into his living room.
There was a tray of chicken wings and bowls of chips, along with two opened beers.
“I love that you have this house,” she said.
“It’s miraculous. All things considered. ”
“Yeah. It is.”
She grabbed a plate and piled it high before sitting at the farthest end of the couch from him. Keeping distance between their bodies seemed like the best practice.
This wasn’t usually a problem, but everything just felt unstable. And with all the instability, she worried, she really worried, she would do something to jostle this mint-condition friendship in its glass case. Because she was a ruiner. If one thing was true, it was that.
She drove everyone away from her. Eventually.
She took a breath, ready to apologize for last night. She owed him that, even though he wasn’t acting mad about it.
“My dad died.”
All her problems and her apology were momentarily forgotten. She stared at him, her heart squeezing tight. “Oh, I’m so sorry. When . . . when?”
“A month or so ago, apparently, but the word just got back to me. Some half brother sent me a message. He was in jail.”
“Your half brother or your dad?”
“Both. But . . . yeah. Anyway.”
“Are you . . . okay?”
“Not really. But that’s true of anything concerning my dad. My family.”
“My whole shitty family is still alive,” she said. “At least as far as I know.”
The one thing she knew about Sam’s dad was that he had once gotten angry at Sam for drinking one of his beers and had beaten him with a shoe. Also that he was a drug dealer, and so he was often in and out of jail.
His mom was a sex worker who was hooked on the drugs his dad was dealing. She also knew he loved his parents.
That was the awful, complicated truth they both knew. Drugs and neglect didn’t stop you from wishing your parents would magically transform into a happy sitcom mom and dad. Betrayal, abuse, didn’t knock the affection out of you instantly.
“It’s just so . . . bland. He never changed.
He never reached out. He’s dead at sixty-five because he was a hard man who lived a hard life, and now that’s it.
It’s never going to be fixed. It’s never even going to be better.
Or worse. I’m never going to go yell at him for making my childhood terrible or .
. . for hurting my mother.” He paused. “I don’t know where she is anyway. ”
She and Sam had spent their childhoods being alone. But this was a different kind of alone. There was a finality to it. Maybe nobody else would be able to understand, but she did. “Fuck him, and I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
She didn’t move to hug him, which seemed like a crappy thing to do because he had hugged her when she found out about Ben.
But she was afraid to touch him. Moments like this underscored why.
She knew everything about him. She knew why this hurt him, and how it hurt him.
That it was a complex grief made of anger and sorrow and words that would now be left unsaid forever.
Someday, when she lost her grandmother and her mom, she’d need this.
The kind of knowing that came from years and didn’t require a big explanation.
“Thanks, Nora. I knew you were the one I needed to see.”
There was a heaviness to that, and it only increased the ache inside her. She was the one Sam needed. Because they were both so messed up, they understood each other’s brand of it.
Then it just seemed absurd for her to sit over on her side of the couch. To not offer comfort. To not give him physical affection when who else would? Who had ever hugged either of them?
She’d had Ben for a while, but it wasn’t the same. He didn’t know all the parts of her. And yes, he touched her, kissed her. They had sex, but how could you comfort somebody when you didn’t really know what all their demons were?
She and Sam needed each other. She moved to him and wrapped her arms around him, bringing his head down against her chest as she rested her head on his.
Her heart was beating fast, her whole body felt warm, but she had just gone ahead and grabbed hold of him without overthinking it. Now they were touching in so many places, he was hot against her, and . . .
He lifted his head, and it was very close to hers.
She touched his face, dragging her fingertips along his cheekbone, down to the sculpted line of his jaw, and he moved, pushing her back slightly on the couch, bringing himself over top of her, his thumb and forefinger gripping her chin, and there was no way to interpret the hold as platonic.
I have the love I deserve.
She thought about that spell in her purse. It was almost like she could feel the heat from it.
Her heart was beating so hard, she thought she might die. She couldn’t tell if she wanted to move closer or move away. But she was scared.
She was so damn scared.
“Sam,” she said, her voice pleading. “Sam I . . . Please don’t. Please.” But her breathing was labored, and she ached between her legs, which made lies out of her pleas.
He listened immediately, because he was Sam. Because he was the most trustworthy man she’d ever known. He moved away from her, and then there was distance between them. Profound distance. She reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. “Sam . . .”
Her phone started to ring.
“Shit. Let me just . . .” She didn’t recognize the number. She frowned. Then she answered. “Hello?”
“This is Sandy at Mercy Hospital. You’re listed as Ben Clarke’s emergency contact.”
“What?”
“Is this Nora Clarke?”
“Yes. Yes, it is. I . . . Was Ben in an accident?”
“He’s being airlifted here in serious condition from a hospital in Chile.”
“Oh. When . . . when will he be there? What happened . . . ?”
“He should be here in forty minutes or so. The doctor can give you details when you arrive.”
“I’ll be there.” She hung the phone up, her heart in her throat. “They’re bringing Ben to Mercy Hospital. They airlifted him from a hospital in Chile . . . He . . . he had an accident.”
“Shit,” said Sam. “Let’s . . . let’s go to the hospital.”
It was that quick. They’d been about to kiss, maybe, and now he was springing right into action to help her deal with Ben. Her chest was sore, a churning sensation in her midsection making breathing almost impossible.
What if Ben died?
What if he died and she never got any clarity in their relationship or what was happening or why he’d cheated on her or . . . ?
Maybe that wasn’t what should matter, but it felt like what mattered.
“You don’t have to take me,” she said, even as she got into Sam’s truck.
“You’re not driving yourself. You look like hell.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Do you want to hear that you look totally normal after finding out your husband was in a terrible accident?”
“No. No, I . . .” A tear slid down her cheek. “I don’t know what’s happening.”
It was a drive to the next town to get to the hospital, and Ben was there when they arrived, but she couldn’t go in to see him yet.
Sam hung back in the waiting room when they finally did let her go back.
“You’re the patient’s wife?” the doctor asked, her expression creased with sympathy.
“Yes. What happened?”
“From the notes we got from the other hospital, he slipped during a hike and fell down a mountain. They got him stabilized and thought it would be best if we got him back home.”
“So he’s stable.” Relief washed through her.
The doctor nodded. “Yes. He’s not awake right now, but that’s due to the heavy amount of painkillers he’s on. He has severe lacerations and broken bones.”
“But he’s not going to die?”
“If he was critical, they wouldn’t have flown him back to the States, though I haven’t had a chance to make a thorough evaluation.”
Nora nodded and braced herself to walk into the hospital room. He wasn’t going to die. He had to talk to her.
“Can I see him?”
“Of course.”
She pushed down on the door handle and walked in, sweeping the curtain aside.
Ben. She hadn’t seen him for over a month now, and she hadn’t expected to see him like this.
All his belongings were in clear plastic bags next to the bed.
Including his phone. She could see it lighting up inside the bag, texts and missed calls flashing over the screen.
She moved to the bedside and looked down at him. His limbs were in traction, his neck in a brace. His face was familiar, undamaged. He looked like he was sleeping peacefully, just as he’d done for years beside her before he’d bounced off to Chile to find himself.
“What did you find?” she whispered, leaning in and letting her hand hover over him. She was tempted to touch him. To push his hair back off his face. Did she have the right to do that anymore?
His mustache had grown into a beard.
When she’d met him, he’d been clean shaven. Through most of their marriage, it had been the mustache. Maybe it was good she couldn’t look at him now and see back into the past. See the man she’d met, who’d gotten past her barriers and convinced her that love was something she wanted to try.
She’d wanted this to work so very, very badly.
She just stood there, hovering, not sure if she should touch his hand or his face or not at all. His phone lit up again, and she turned her focus to the bag. To the phone.
Her answers were on the phone.
She’d never been one to snoop in Ben’s business. She’d let him go off to South America without questioning him too deeply. Because she’d wanted to trust him. She’d always wanted this to be the thing she’d dreamed about, and she’d let herself believe it was because it felt good to believe it.
Whether he was hers or not, whether she should touch him or not, the answer was in his phone.