Sam remembered the way she felt when she first danced with him for those brief moments. She remembered that night out on the ocean when he told her he loved her. She remembered the fear that sprang up from deep inside.
“I should be going.” Sam retrieved her purse. “I have to get an early start in the morning.” She turned toward the door, seeing his hands drop to his sides.
“Thanks again for your help today,” she said, opening the door. Max was sprinting up the porch steps ahead of Caden, and Sam let him pass. “Time to go, Caden.” She crossed the lawn, hearing her daughter’s footsteps behind her, swishing through the grass as Sam fled into the darkness.
S
am was prying the lid from the paint bucket the next day when Max darted into the yard, his owner following.
“Max!” Caden called from the end of the pier. “Come ’ere, boy!” Max ran, his paws clattering across the boards. He stopped just short of jumping on Caden, and she rewarded him with a hug.
“’Morning,” Landon said.
Sam stripped the lid from the bucket and set it in the grass next to the Adirondack chairs. “Good morning.” He looked good in the dusty blue T-shirt and jean shorts. Too good. She’d thought about him until past midnight. The scene in his living room had replayed in her head, and because she tossed and turned, she slept in and was getting a late start.
She wiped down one chair with a wet rag to prepare it for the paint.
Landon put his hands on his hips and eyed the extra brush she’d brought out for Caden.
“I don’t expect you to help, Landon. I know you have a life.” She turned the chair over and wiped the underside.
“I want to.”
And I want you to keep your distance.
Yesterday had shown her how vulnerable she was still. After all these years, they picked up right where they’d left off. As much as the friendship pulled her, the deeper feelings he evoked made her want to hightail it back to Boston.
When she dropped the rag and reached for the brush, Landon picked up the discarded cloth and began cleaning the second chair. She filled her brush and slathered paint on the wood.
A few minutes later Landon dropped the rag and picked up Caden’s brush.
“Have you considered keeping the house?”
“No.”
He swiped the paint neatly along the wooden slats. “Why not?”
Sam shrugged. “My life is in Boston.”
“Doesn’t have to be.”
Keeping the house had never even occurred to Sam, and she didn’t plan on considering it now. Besides, it wasn’t as if she could afford living here. “I never wanted to stay here. You know that.”
He took his time trimming the edge of the chair’s arm, his tongue caught between his lips. “Emmett’s gone.”
“The memories aren’t.” If she was honest, they were with her even in Boston. Landon tossed her a look, but she turned to load up her brush.
“You could make good memories here. You and Caden.” When she didn’t answer, he continued. “All the memories aren’t bad. We had good times.”
In her desperation to escape her house, the outdoors and Landon’s house had been her sanctuary. He’d been her refuge, her comfort, her safety.
Then he’d left.
“Selling is the right thing. Once we get it fixed up, it’ll bring a pretty penny.” Then she and Caden could go back to Boston and wait for the sale. When the money came in, Caden’s future would be secure.
Landon dropped the subject, and they finished painting in silence. After setting the chairs in the sun to dry, they put the first coat of gray on the small shed. When the wind blew the door shut, they discovered it locked automatically, so they propped it open with a rock. Afterward, Landon secured the wobbly porch railing while she worked on the flower beds.
Sam was tilling the soil when she heard a friendly voice call out. She turned and watched Melanie jog up the drive, cute in her baby-blue shorts set.
“Wow, the house is looking fabulous, Samantha.” She wiped a dot of perspiration from her forehead, her breathing labored.
“I didn’t realize you lived nearby.” Sam set the cultivator against the porch rail and pulled off her gloves.
“Yeah, not quite a mile away.” Melanie put her hands on her slim hips. “You’ve come a long way in a short time.”
“You haven’t seen the inside. I haven’t done a thing in there.”
“Hi, Landon.” Melanie smiled, all dimples.
“Hi there. How’s Taffy’s ear?” Landon asked.
“Oh, just fine. Those drops you gave her are doing the trick.” She turned to Sam. “Hey, Samantha, I was wondering if Caden would like to come over sometime. Amber loves to have friends over, and I was thinking Caden might like a change of scenery now and then.”
“I’m sure she’d like that. Just give us a call when you’re ready.”
“Great.” Melanie backed away. “Well, I’d better get back to it before I lose my energy. See ya.”
Sam watched her go, her blond ponytail swinging rhythmically. Melanie would be an easy woman to dislike if she weren’t so nice.
Sam put her gloves back on.
“Is Melanie your Realtor?” Landon took the cultivator and picked up where she’d left off.
Sam grabbed the hoe and began defining the edges of the bed. “Yeah.”
“She’ll do a good job. She handles a lot of properties around here.”
They worked in silence for a while, and Sam couldn’t help but think about Melanie and Landon and how suited they were to one another. She was pert and blond, and he was tall and dark. She was a warm, likable person, and he deserved someone like her. Sam wondered if they’d ever gone out.
They spent the afternoon putting another coat of paint on the house, and by suppertime, she wanted nothing more than a soft bed. Though Landon invited them over, she turned him down, only to receive a pout from Caden. Landon seemed to have won her daughter over quickly enough, and Sam wondered if Caden was starved for male attention. Would spending time with Landon be good for Caden, or would it only hurt her when they left the island?
That night Sam lay awake, the night sounds seeping through the walls. Beside her, Caden softly snored, and Sam envied her peace. She’d lain in this bed a thousand times staring up at the dark ceiling, feeling so alone she had to pinch herself to make sure she was here at all. She remembered the first time she experienced that feeling.
It was the morning her mom left, after Sam watched the ripples from her boat wash to shore. She walked barefoot back up the pier and through the damp grass, then curled up in the chair. The chill from the early morning air pebbled her skin, but she didn’t move.
Time stood still.
It was barely light when Emmett hollered her name from the back porch, the sound of it echoing across the bay.
“I’m here.”
Sam heard his steps across the grass. “Where’s your mom?” He jabbed the words at her.
She stared down the pier, knowing what she’d feared was true.
“Where’s your mom?” He grabbed her arm and squeezed, but she didn’t feel it.
“She left.”
He held her there, staring her down, his bushy brows becoming one. Then he let go. “Her things are gone. Everything.”
A hard lump grew in her throat, but she stuffed it down.
“Except you.” He laughed, but it wasn’t pleasant. “Leave it to her to take everything but you.”
Moments later, she heard the car’s engine and wondered if he would come back. She laid her head against the hard wood. More time passed.
Sam didn’t hear Landon until he slid into the other chair. She was surprised to see that dawn had morphed into daylight and the sun, peeking over the horizon, had burned off the fog.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
She stared out at the sea, watching the shadows play on the surface. “Nothing.”
“Why are you still in your pajamas?”
She looked down. Her long T-shirt hung to midthigh, and she pulled the hem down, feeling the coldness of her legs through the material.
“I don’t know,” she said. Numbness flowed through her veins. She wondered if that was why she didn’t feel cold.
“You should go inside and get dressed. You’re cold.”
She could feel him staring at her and heard the concern in his voice. He always noticed things other boys didn’t.
“My mom left.” She remembered what her mom had told Emmett the night before, about not having any plans for the day. Had she even told Sam good night? What was the last thing her mom had said to her?
“Where’d she go?”
Beyond the bay, a sailboat rode the waves, its sails billowing in the wind. “Away.”
An eastern phoebe called out from the tree limbs above her, nearly swallowing Landon’s reply.
“Is she coming back?”
Sam’s lips were stiff, like they hadn’t moved in weeks. “I don’t think so.” She didn’t know if Emmett was coming back either. As much as she feared him, she feared being alone more, but she didn’t tell Landon that.
Emmett did come back, much later, his clothes reeking of beer, his lips loosened by excess. “
Don’t ever let yourself love, Sam,”
he’d slurred. “
Just soon as you do, they leave you. It’s the one thing in lifeyou can count on. Love never brings anything but pain.”
Later, she weighed his words against her own experience. She had only loved three people—her mom, her dad, and Landon. Two of them had left. What Emmett said held more than a grain of truth, and she wondered for the first time if Landon would leave her too.
Now, she looked at Caden lying beside her, the moonlight washing over her hair, and it hit her fresh that her daughter was nearly the same age she’d been when her mom ran off. So young, a tender age that carries enough of its own problems. She imagined trying to leave Caden and couldn’t. What kind of selfishness brings a parent to abandon a child and never look back?
Sam’s eyes burned. A stone hardened in her throat, and she pushed it down, just as she had all those years ago. She turned on her side and reminded herself the past couldn’t hurt her anymore. But Emmett’s words chanted at her through the night.
Don’t ever letyourself love anyone. Don’t ever let yourself love anyone. Don’t ever letyourself love anyone . . .
L
andon fell into a new pattern the next week. Instead of savoring his work, he waited impatiently for the last appointment of the day, after which he could go help Sam. At first, she’d been resistant, but as time wore on, she loosened up. Their friendship was finding its footing again.
Thursday, as he walked toward her house, she smiled, and he felt like he’d won the lottery. Sam turned off the mower when he entered the yard.
“You should have waited,” he said. “I would’ve done that for you.”
She wiped her hands on her khaki shorts, and he followed the long line of her legs before meeting her eyes again.
“I like mowing.”
Caden ran up then, her hair hanging in wet strings alongside her face. With her brown eyes and button nose, she was a miniature of Sam, and something caught in his gut.
“Can we go now, Mom? Can Landon and Max come?” Caden asked.
“I have to finish the yard first.” Sam looked at him. “We’re taking some food up to Brant Point.” Sam lifted a shoulder. “You’re welcome to come along.”
“A picnic on the beach,” Caden added. “Can you come?”
“It’s about time you took a break,” he said to Sam. “I can finish the yard if you want to grab a shower.”
She quirked a brow, and he quickly added, “Not that you need one.”
To his surprise, Sam agreed to the help. By the time he finished mowing, Sam and Caden had packed a bag of food and changed into bathing suits. They all piled into his Jeep, along with Max, and headed the few miles to Brant Point, where they spread a blanket on the sand. He’d been wanting to ask Sam on a date all week. He’d tried at least a dozen times, but when he opened his mouth, the words stuck in his throat. Dating would change the dynamics of their relationship. He was ready for that, but was Sam?
The sunbathers had left for the day, and the trio had the beach to themselves. After they ate, Landon showed Caden a few of Max’s tricks, and she rewarded the dog with chunks of bread. When Max ran to the water, Caden peeled off her shorts, put on a fluorescent orange swimming cap, then followed Max toward the water.
“Don’t go out too far,” Sam called. She lifted her hand to shade her eyes from the sun and said to Landon, “I told her about riptides, but you know how kids are. They think they’re immune to danger.”
They watched Caden plunge into the cool water.
“Is she a good swimmer?” he asked.
Sam nodded. “Our last apartment had a pool. It wasn’t much more than a cement hole in the ground, but she loved it. Used to turn flips off the side and scare me to death.”
“I haven’t seen her flip-flopping down the pier yet.”
“Give her time.” The wind blew a strand of hair across Sam’s face, and it caught between her lips. She tucked it behind her ear. He hadn’t seen her hair down since she’d come back, and he found himself wanting to draw his fingers through the length of it.
Caden followed Max into the shallow water, where Max shook, splattering the girl.
Unlike Sam, Caden was small-boned and pixie-faced, but she seemed mature for being so young. “She seems like a good kid.”
He saw rather than heard Sam sigh. “She is. Lately she’s been kind of snippy. I think she’s going through some adolescent stuff.”
“She’s awfully young for that, isn’t she? What is she, nine or ten?”
Sam stilled. The wind ruffled the corner of the blanket, and Landon stretched his legs, holding it down.
“She’s eleven.”
He looked at Sam, then at Caden. Eleven. He did the math and felt his gut clench. If Caden was eleven, Sam had gotten pregnant right before she left the island or shortly after. Either before he told Sam he loved her or after, depending on when Caden’s birthday was. He didn’t want to know. Had she been pregnant the last time he’d seen her, at Bailey’s funeral?
He could still see her beside his brother’s grave site. She hadn’t looked like herself. She wore her hair down, and it was the only time he’d seen her in a dress other than at the prom. She stood beside him, and when he took her hand, it was steely cold despite the August heat. She was a sickly shade of white. He wished he didn’t have to leave for college the next day, but he’d already delayed his departure for the funeral. His parents wouldn’t hear of him missing the first days of college.