Chapter 11
11
B ack at Grandma Pearl’s, Sam washed dishes. She’d changed into cotton shorts and a sweatshirt. Her sleeves were rolled up and she let the scalding water burn her hands as she scrubbed away at a pan. There was an ever-present fine layer of sand on the floor that Pearl brought in from her daily beach walks, and Sam’s toes scrunched against the grainy feel of it. She thought going to the Rocha barbecue would be something to distract her, but now all she could do was relive the feel of Damon while he held her steady and they danced. There had only been her and him. The two of them reliving part of their past together. But then Marissa had shown up.
When she glanced out the window, there was a happy young couple holding hands and watching the sunset on the beach. The noise that rose from her throat wasn’t a growl exactly, more of a harrumph. She tossed the wet sponge into the sink and pressed her palms into the counter. Her fingers twitched with nervous energy, like she could run a marathon if asked.
Within the span of a few days, she’d gone from thinking love would happen to her someday, to seeing a past where she was deeply in love. And now she was worried she’d passed up her one chance at happiness. Seeing two people just easily being with each other, the way Alt-Sam and Damon were, was turning her into Scrooge McAnti-Love, set to bah-humbug at anyone and anything that looked happy.
She was deeply in her feels, the way she’d been in high school whenever she’d turn on Dashboard Confessional.
It was then that Sam realized that she needed to talk to someone. Instead of wallowing over whether or not she’d made the right decisions in life, she needed a rational outsider. Not her grandma, who already had a broken wrist and didn’t need a heart attack on top of it. Not Damon, for obvious reasons. So that really only left Rachel.
Rachel, who believed Sam was sipping cocktails while topless on a beach. Rachel, who had no idea that Sam was in her hometown and having some kind of out-of-body experience that was making her question her life choices.
But Rachel was, at her core, a rational person. Part of what made her a great pilot, really. Sam could call and Rachel would tell her what to do about this very bizarre situation.
The sun had just begun to dip low in the sky, and Grandma Pearl was busy watching a reality show about people who made moonshine, which gave Sam the opportunity to talk without Pearl overhearing. She went to her room, sat in her swivel desk chair and took a deep breath as she placed the FaceTime call. When Rachel answered, she wore her pilot uniform and, judging by the gelato in her hand, was in Rome.
“I’m surprised you picked up,” Sam said, relieved. It would be one in the morning in Rome, and their international flights usually left by midnight. “Flight delay?”
“Please, please, please tell me exciting vacation stories while I wait for the crew to fix a passenger’s screen. Thank the gods the airport lounge is open and still has food.” Rachel took a bite of her pistachio gelato, then squinted at the phone. “Where are you? The lighting is tripping me out.”
The lava lamp on Sam’s desk was the only light she’d left on in the room. And because the thing was ancient, when she’d plugged it in, the pieces floated around like sad lumps; Sam was lit like a human blueberry in Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory.
“That’s the thing I didn’t really tell you,” Sam started. Then she panned her phone around her childhood bedroom and confessed that she wasn’t on vacation at all.
“Sort of a weird thing to lie about,” Rachel said. “But you do avoid talking about your family anytime I ask, so I’m not entirely shocked.”
“There’s more,” Sam added. “I’m a little worried I might actually be experiencing a psychotic break or something.”
“My family does that to me, too.”
“No, it’s not a joke—” Sam propped her phone against a stack of Seventeen magazines, then picked up her CD player. She told Rachel about the first time she’d put the headphones on, and the visions and Damon. Then showed that the batteries were removed, but the Walkman still somehow worked. And how each time she listened to a song she saw a new and different version of what her life could’ve been.
Rachel remained silent. Her face cycled through a series of emotions that were hard to identify but mostly bordered on concern.
“I know this sounds completely bizarre,” Sam said.
“You’re telling me you have a magic CD player that transports you to another life.”
“Correct.”
Rachel sat back and put the melted gelato down. “Like the wardrobe in Narnia.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Or, like 13 Going on 30 , when she goes into a closet or something, and then she’s suddenly a thirty-year-old?”
“That’s right.” Sam crossed her arms and waited for the confirmation that she needed medical attention. “But I’m thirty-two going on sixteen.”
“Did you take anything?” Rachel practically whispered the words, then looked around to make sure no one else was listening. To be fair, no one wanted a pilot on drugs, especially not the hallucinogenic kind. “Like old Tylenol? Or, I don’t know what they do in Georgia, some peach-flavored shrooms?”
“I haven’t, no.” Sam nibbled her bottom lip and carefully weighed her options. She’d already done the hard part of telling the truth. Could she just take it all back? Say it was a weird joke?
After a good, long pause, Rachel finally asked, “What were the songs?”
Sam frowned. “Does that matter?”
“Well, sometimes songs put me in a real dark place. Like that Rihanna and Eminem song, ‘Love the Way You Lie’? That song messes me up. And you’re telling me this was a mixtape your high school boyfriend—”
“Not my boyfriend,” Sam quickly corrected.
“Okay, fine, not your boyfriend . What did he pick out for you?”
“They’re just songs we listened to in high school. Mostly emo songs that meant a lot to us at the time.”
“Is it possible that the most important person in your high school life made you a CD, and the songs are hyper-nostalgic and you’re having super-vivid memories?” Rachel’s hopeful expression told Sam that what her friend needed was reassurance, because in that moment, Sam wasn’t making any sense.
“Yeah, that could be...” Sam didn’t say that she’d already considered this possibility, and then quickly abandoned the theory entirely.
“You’re not buying it, huh?”
“These are not the memories I have from high school. They’re totally different, like an alternate version. And they feel very real.” Sam peeled a thigh off her leather chair and winced as her skin stuck to the material—sure to leave a stubborn mark. “And I’m just kind of freaking out, because what does this all mean?”
Rachel didn’t answer. She blinked a lot, looked off and put the phone down. Sam stared at the ceiling of the airport lounge for a few tedious seconds. When she eventually picked the phone back up, Rachel asked, “I’m just wondering if maybe you should go to a doctor and get checked out?”
And there it was: the decision had been made that something was not quite right with Sam. This was a problem that couldn’t be solved with a phone call. She needed to go be evaluated.
“You think I’m making it up?” Sam asked, maybe a little desperate to hear the opposite.
“I didn’t say that.” Rachel tucked a thick strand of hair behind her ear. “But, Sam, if I told you this exact same thing, what would you think?”
“I’d think you were...” Sam of course wanted to say that she’d believe her, but she wouldn’t. Not even a little bit. “You’re going to come visit me now, aren’t you?”
“I can’t just leave you in this aughts vault, hallucinating. What kind of friend would I be?” The overhead airport intercom blared, and Rachel put on her pilot’s cap and stood from her seat. “We’re being called back to the plane. Text me the address, okay? I won’t call a priest until I’m there and can confirm the demons need to be removed.”
Sam knew she’d do the exact same thing, but still...this was a part of her life no one had seen and it was about to be cracked open. Her shoulders sagged with the realization that she’d no longer be able to pretend this wasn’t happening. “I just don’t want to be here anymore.”
The trip had been a nonstop whirlwind of blow after blow. And if it was up to Sam, she’d leave—but she couldn’t, not until she finished this job for Pearl.
“Then do something about it.” Rachel gave Sam a tough but fair look. “The Sam I know doesn’t just sit around. Stop tripping balls with your sad emo songs and get packing.”
“Okay.” And Sam was relieved to have someone telling her what to do—even if it was what she’d already been up to.
“And don’t touch that CD player anymore,” Rachel added. “Lock it up, or put it somewhere you can’t reach, like the roof. I know you never really ask for help, but I’m bringing some, whether you like it or not.”
Sam blew out a massive breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Being out of control was her least favorite thing, but ever since arriving she hadn’t been able to get her land legs under her. At least Rachel could help dig her out of this mess and get her back in the air, far away from Tybee.