Authors: Linda Schmalz
Spencer rose. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
Sam extended his hand. “You’re a good man.”
“You are too, Sam.”
“And you’re a bloody hell of a liar.” Sam spoke, his voice raspy and tired. “Now leave me before you tire me out completely and I die right here. Imagine having to tell Deirdre you killed me.” Sam closed his eyes and waved him away.
Spencer took a moment more to stay at Sam’s side and then slowly walked to the door.
“Take good care of her,” he heard Sam say.
Spencer turned and smiled. “I will, Sam. I will.”
With help from his public relations agent in London, Julia, and the Willowbrook staff in the United States, Sam soon found himself settled in a room at the small, Illinois nursing home. As promised, he registered under a false persona. Even though the staff knew Sam’s true identity, they did their best to hide it from the nursing home residents and the outside world. The staff addressed him as “Mr. Wilmington” or “Bryce”. His caregivers humored him by supplying him with glasses, fake mustaches and silly hairpieces.
His new identity and props were the only things he laughed about these days. He couldn’t deny his illness’s rapid progression. Each day brought more difficulty breathing, increased weakness, and now, abdominal pain. His appetite waned and his weight dropped further. Pain medications helped, but caused him to tire easily, so he bypassed these in favor of being alert for Julia’s visits. He took great efforts not to let on to his suffering while she was with him. He made sure he was out of bed, dressed and groomed.
Julia brought relief as no drug could. She sat by his side as they looked through her old pictures of their time in London and reminisced about their tour of Westminster, their picnics at the lake with the beautiful swans, and how they fell in love. Sam told of his fight to keep McTeel Manor, how Barnabas still lived there, and what life was like as a famous actor. Julia talked about motherhood, her children and her job at the nursing home. She delighted explaining how she started a drama club at her daughter’s school and helped with the plays, costuming, and set construction. She told Sam that Kim had six children now, but had vowed to stop at four with the birth of twins. She spoke of her father, Bert, and how he remarried a lovely lady and finally seemed happy again. They spoke of books they read, movies they loved and places they’d been. Perhaps subconsciously, perhaps purposely, they left Deirdre and John out of most conversations.
Julia brought Sam pictures of Elizabeth. He studied them closely, his heart bursting with pride for their lovely daughter. Sam desperately wished to meet her. To his dismay, however, Julia held firm that this could never be. She incited Elizabeth’s young age of only sixteen and how unfair it would be to suddenly spring on the girl that she had a different father, and then have her watch him die. Julia also added, that John would never allow it. He barely tolerated Sam being near and Sam needed to compromise and leave Elizabeth as John’s. Sam understood Julia’s reasoning but wished with all his heart that things could be different. As her true father, he wanted to do right for Elizabeth.
With these thoughts in mind, Sam sat on his bed and composed a letter. He needed to put order into his life before it ended.
Sandy, his private nurse entered the room and provided him with the envelope and stamp he requested earlier.
“Thank you.” Sam reached for the supplies. “Can you wait a moment while I post this?”
“Of course.” Sandy used the time to straighten his bed covers.
“There.” He handed her the envelope.
The nurse took it, and glanced at the address. “For
Mr
. Riley? Julia’s husband?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure you want me to mail this?” Sandy raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you rather save the stamp and have Julia just give it to John?”
Sam winked at the stout nurse. “I can afford the postage. And no, please mail it. It’s a private matter. I would also appreciate you not mentioning this to Julia.”
“Fine, but that request will cost you another autograph, Mr.
Wilmington
,” Sandy teased.
“I think you’re selling my autographs on e-bay and saving for retirement.”
Sandy smiled and put the letter in her uniform pocket. “I wouldn’t do that. I’ll mail this for you.”
“Thank you.”
Sam rose, slowly walked to his chair by the window and sat. He looked out the window, spotting two morning doves sitting side by side on the branch of a birch tree.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “All is set. If John bides by my requests, I’ll die a somewhat happy man.”
John stood outside Room 41 and debated whether or not to enter. In his hand he held the letter Sam sent. He gripped it so tight that wrinkle marks now decorated the paper. John possessed no desire to meet Sam Lyons, famous actor or not. To him, Sam was only a man his wife loved in a way she’d never love him. Still, John needed to put an end to the sleepless nights this letter caused him. Sam’s letter asked John to come meet with him, privately, and without Julia’s knowledge. At first, John resisted. But curiosity as to what Sam could possibly want ate at him like a termite gnawing malleable wood. The letter sounded urgent, but John let three weeks pass before he finally acquiesced. The morning Julia announced she’d help with a Christmas pageant at Elizabeth's school, John took the opportunity to visit Sam.
He couldn’t stand outside the door forever. He took a deep breath, tucked in his already perfectly tucked shirt and knocked firmly on the half closed door. A man’s voice, deep but weak, asked him to enter.
John walked in and stopped short. His expectation to find the famous movie star in a smoking jacket, drinking juice from a martini glass and reading scripts vanished. Sam was a very sick man, gaunt and pale.
“You must be John.” Sam pushed a button on a remote control and the top of his bed lifted him to a sitting position. “Ah. There. I can see you better now.”
John took a few steps into the room, still shocked at how aged Sam looked at only, what? Forty-six or so? John knew Sam to be about ten years older than Julia. He looked about seventy.
“Forgive me if I don’t get up,” Sam said, with a half-smile. “There’s a chair over there, if you’d like to sit.”
John shook off his shock enough to speak. “No, that’s okay. I’m not staying long.”
“Ah.” Sam studied him. “Well, then, I’ll get right to it. Thank you for coming. Had you come sooner, I’d have been in a bit better health. Seems I’ve taken a turn for the worse rather sooner than expected.” He paused and drew in a wet and rattled breath. When he spoke, his voice was weak. “I have something for you.”
Sam slowly reached over to his nightstand and retrieved another letter. He held it out. “This is for you.”
John felt the room grow warm. “Another letter? What is this? Can’t you just tell me whatever the hell it is you need to say?” He shifted nervously. He hated nursing homes and hospitals, he hated sickness, he hated Sam, and he hated being here with all this bottled up anger threatening to explode.
Sam waved the envelope at him. “It’s to read after I’m gone. Just take it.”
John’s jaw clenched as he tried not to yell at this skeleton of a man. “I don’t want anything from you.”
“Please just take this. Don’t make me have to get up and give it to you. I ensure you, that would not be a pretty sight.” Sam laughed at himself. His hand shook. “Please.”
John realized Sam was determined to hold that damn letter until either he took it or Sam collapsed under the strain. Begrudgingly he walked to the bed and took the letter. “What could you possibly say in this that you can’t just say to my face? Why did I have to come to get it? Couldn’t you just give it to Julia?”
Sam closed his eyes halfway, as his speech slurred. “No. She knows nothing about it. Nor should she.”
“Fine. But you could have mailed it, like the other one.”
“Yes.” Sam took another minute before continuing. “But I owe you gratitude and wanted to tell you that in person.”
John backed away. “You don’t owe me crap. I’m here. I took the letter. I really have to go.”
“Thank you for raising Elizabeth. You’ve made Julia happy.”
“Someone needed to.”
Sam opened his tired eyes and looked out the window. “Touché.”
“Is that it?” John wanted out. Out of the conversation, out of this room, and out from under this cloud of guilt that Sam was dying and he did not care.
“Yes. The rest is in the letter.”
“Fine.” John turned to exit, but stopped. “I have a question for you.”
Sam turned his head John’s direction. “Whatever you want.”
John stared him down. “How could you have loved Julia and hurt her like you did?”
Sam’s words came slowly as his eyes started to close again. “I thought she married you and that Elizabeth was your baby.”
“And I knew the baby was yours. And I still married her. That’s love, Sam. She was pregnant with your daughter and I married her anyhow. I didn’t give up on her.”
Sam raised a weak hand as if to wave away John’s words. “I can’t defend what happened. It was a tragedy of mishaps. Just read the letter after I die, John. You’ll not have to wait long. Thank you for coming, but my medication is kicking in and I won’t be much for conversation in a minute or two.”
John turned and left, only too happy to leave that room. Damn Sam. What the hell could he want now?
As he walked to the parking lot, curiosity overcame him. He sat in his car, tore open the letter and read it through, several times. After the last painful read, John pounded his fist against the steering well.
“Damn you, Sam Lyons! It will be a cold day in hell if I ever honor this last request!” He started up the car and headed towards home. Towards Julia. His Julia.
Julia walked out of the cold Chicago weather and into Sam’s room. Although the January temperatures hovered just above zero, the sun shone brightly, the frozen snow glistened and the wind whipped viciously at delicate skin. She brought a bouquet of store-bought, multi-colored flowers to liven up his room. The clock read ten in the morning, yet Julia found Sam still in bed. An elderly Asian nurse whom Julia did not recognize stood by his bedside adjusting an IV tube.
“Hello,” Julia said, as she stepped inside the room further. “I’m Julia Riley.”
The nurse turned toward her. “Hello. I’ll be with you in a moment.” She turned back to Sam. “Bryce, you have a visitor.”
Sam opened his eyes and attempted a smile. “Julia. Ah.” His voice sounded raspy and pained. Julia’s heart raced. Why was he still in bed so late in the morning? Who was this new nurse and why the new IV tube?
The woman walked over to Julia. “I’m Sarah Wong, a Hospice nurse. I’m here to ensure Sam’s comfort and will work alongside his doctor to ensure his comfort level and other basic needs are met.”
“Hospice?” Julia’s face fell, as did her heart. She whispered. “Already?”
“I can hear you,” Sam said, with a forced laugh.
Sarah addressed Julia. “Sam took a turn for the worse last night. His pain became intolerable and he can’t eat. He refused the feeding tube offered.”
Sam slowly nodded his agreement.
Sarah continued, glancing at the I.V. “That’s morphine which will provide pain relief as he needs it.” She looked back at Julia. “I’m sure you two would like to visit. May I take those beautiful flowers from you? I’ll go find a vase.”
Numbed by the news, Julia absent-mindedly handed the flowers to the nurse. “Thank you.”
“Do you have any questions for me at this time? I realize you’re listed as next of kin for Sam while he’s here?”
Julia’s mind spun. She couldn’t formulate a question at that moment anymore than she could make Sam well. She shook her head. “No, no thank you.”
“I’ll be back in a bit.”
As Sarah left with the flowers, Julia walked to Sam’s bedside.
“Hello, love,” he said.
“Oh Sam.” Julia could not hide her shock. “What happened? Just yesterday you were sitting in that chair.”
He took her hand. “I’m sicker than I let on. The cancer spread quickly and I’ve known it for some time. I’ve been fighting the pain, but I simply can’t anymore. Even for you.”
Julia gazed into the beautiful hazel eyes she loved. Gone was the vibrant, happy determination she usually found there. His eyes now held sorrow and pain. “Has a doctor checked you? Maybe you’re just having a reaction to the medication-”
“Stop.” He waved a thin hand in the air. “Time to face the music, my dear. I can’t eat or walk.”
“Oh.” Julia fought back tears and kissed his hand.
“I suppose it won’t be long.” Sam winced and Julia noticed he pushed a button on the remote hooked to the I.V. He held it up toward Julia. “This is rather lovely little device. My own morphine dispenser.”
“What can I do, Sam?”
“Love me.”
“I do.”
“I mean, after I’m gone.”