22. Not a Second Goes By
Not a Second Goes By
ELLIE
The tour lasted all of five minutes. It wasn’t a big house. We ended up in the basement, where Sam’s teenage room was.
“They kept it exactly the way I left it.” He picked up a ceramic piggy bank. It clinked loudly as he shook it. “Right down to the pennies.”
“Wow.”
Sam sat down on the edge of the bed. I stayed safely leaning against the wall a few feet away from him.
“Cora and I shared a room when we were little. When I needed my own space, they moved me down here.”
Except his ‘room’ wasn’t really one. It was a small section of the big open space. The bed was shoved into the corner wall. Two bookshelves acted as room dividers, but they didn’t allow total privacy. On the other side was laundry, and stacked boxes and bins.
I knew not every child was fortunate enough to get their own room like Tommy and Henry. But with the way he grew up? Sam could have used a refuge. Some privacy curtains at the very least.
Sam leaned back on his arms. “So? What do you think, now that you’ve seen my childhood embarrassment?” He used a joking tone, but I could sense the seriousness in his question.
“I’m honored you let me see the real you,” I said, meaning it. Seeing Sam’s family home made a huge missing piece about him click into place. “I can see why you wanted to get the hell out of Dodge the soonest chance you got.” I smiled sadly. “And why you kept going.”
Sam’s Adam’s Apple bobbed, but he didn’t say anything. He just nodded.
My heart didn’t just pinch anymore. It ached for him and that little boy who was just trying to please each of those messed up people out there.
Sam shifted so his elbows were resting on his knees. I had the sudden urge to pull him against me, to tell him it was okay to feel whatever he felt. Instead, I lowered myself onto the foot of the bed, as far away as possible while still sitting next to him.
“So…” I said, trying desperately to think of how to lighten the mood. “Where did Mrs. Higgenbottom live?”
If Sam had been drinking something, I think he would have spat it out.
He swiveled his face to me, eyes wide. “I’m sorry, did you just mention Mrs. Higgenbottom?”
I giggled. That was the name of the woman he’d said I reminded him of that night. The older divorcée all the neighborhood boys had talked about.
“I can’t believe you remembered that,” he said, his voice slightly stunned, but also a little—or a lot—delighted.
I was thrilled my subject change had worked. “How could I forget?”
Sam laughed, almost disbelievingly. “Her house was right there.” He pointed a thumb to the wall at the head of the bed.
“Right next door?”
“Oh fuck no. I’d probably have been arrested for some indecent crimes if that was the case.
” At my raised eyebrow, he clarified, “Spying from my window. That’s about all I’d be brave enough for back then.
” He smiled. “She was two houses down. But I could just see the edge of her pool from the top of our back steps.”
“How long did you spend out there? Be honest.”
“I forgot a lot of things outside in the summer.”
I laughed, tipping my head back.
Sam was still sitting with his elbows on his knees.
He bent down sideways now, his brow furrowed, to scratch the back of his head.
Then he rested his head in his hand, his fingers in his thick waves.
“The thing is, Ellie, I could have sworn we agreed we weren’t going to talk about that night we spent together. ”
My stomach plunged, my laughter from a moment ago a foolish echo in my ears. “That wasn’t speaking about it,” I protested.
He hesitated. “I guess not.”
But I wouldn’t have known about the neighbor if it weren’t for that night.
I swallowed. “You’re right. I didn’t think about it. I’m—”
“I don’t mind, Ellie,” Sam said. His eyes were still on mine. Not pushing, just watching. “It was your rule.”
I thought desperately of how to backtrack.
My mind spun, trying to pick from some menu of safe topics.
But then, suddenly, I just felt so tired.
Because I’d been doing this delicate dance for weeks.
Working so hard not to think about the elephant in the room.
Pretending that the slightest touch from Sam didn’t switch all my senses into overdrive.
I’d been pretending tonight, too, like an actor on stage, with his parents.
And now, I’d been pretending even with Sam.
Like I hadn’t lost myself a little having him be so vulnerable with me, in a way he hadn’t been with anyone else.
I tipped my head back against the wall, wanting badly to bonk it there several times.
Instead, I closed my eyes. And saw Sam at the table outside, holding our baby.
Looking so handsome and so so good. Keeping his eye on me, even as he took repeated blows.
Sam was everything good in this world, while his parents sat there oblivious, only caring about how his love applied to them.
“It’s hard,” I said, my voice cracking slightly.
“What is?” Sam’s voice was soft. It was the same tone he’d used last week, when he’d called me sweetheart.
I wanted to hear it again. I’d pay for it. Kill for it.
Die for it.
He didn’t rush me. Didn’t ask me to keep going. Still, I opened my eyes. And said, “It’s hard trying to forget about you.”
Sam didn’t say anything. He just stared a moment longer, then looked away so he was in profile. His jaw pulsed. He twisted his wrist in his hand. “Yeah.”
Yeah?
Maybe it wasn’t hard for him. Maybe, once again, he was just being nice. But was he? Was I really that wrong?
“I just mean…” I was grasping at straws now. “I feel like I know you now. We talk almost every night. But we talked a lot that night, too. I feel like we compressed a lifetime into that weekend. But…”
“It was different,” Sam said.
I nodded. It was different. Because we didn’t have to hold back that weekend. When I talked to him and he said something cute, I could kiss his shoulder. He could tease me, then pounce on me, roll me around in the bed and—
“I’m fucking this up,” I croaked.
Sam turned abruptly, meeting my eyes. “No, you’re not.”
My pulse quickened. Because his expression was desperate. Like he was balancing on something precarious. “Ellie, please, I need you to be completely honest with me. It doesn’t have to leave this moment. I just… I need to know.”
“What is it?” I whispered, wanting, and very much not wanting to know.
He looked back at his hands, clasping them so tight his knuckles went white. “Do you think about that night, Ellie?”
My heart turned over in my chest.
He doesn’t stay. I reminded myself. Seeing the reason why didn’t change that fact. He can’t commit. He doesn’t want to stay.
But I was lying to myself. Because I saw how tense he was.
I could feel it.
My heart was beating dangerously fast.
I considered lying. But it didn’t seem fair. Not after Sam had just let me in so much.
“Yes,” I said, the word barely a breath. “Yes, Sam, I think about it. Quite a bit. More than I’d like.” Like right now.
Sam had gone perfectly still. I wasn’t even sure if he was breathing.
I hesitated. I knew, even before I asked the question, that I was setting myself up for disaster. No matter what his answer would be. I asked it anyway.
“Do you?”
For a moment, nothing changed. The silence was so loud, it hurt my ears.
Then Sam laughed. It was a soft chuckle low in his throat.
My stomach threatened to fill with cement.
But Sam wasn’t an asshole. I knew that for certain. I’d stake my life on it.
He looked up at the ceiling for a moment, then, finally, he looked back at me. When he did, his eyes were like blue flames. “Ellie. Not a fucking second goes by when I don’t think about it.”
Heat rocketed through me. It blurred my senses, burning away any hope at thinking rationally. All I could see was Sam’s eyes, searing holes into me, his pupils broadening so wide the blue was only a thin, almost minuscule ring.
“I’m thinking about it right now,” he husked. “I remember—” He swallowed. “I remember how you taste, Ellie.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but I didn’t know what to say.
So I didn’t speak. I reached for him, grasping his shirt in my hand, and pulled him toward me.