Somewhere Between Black and White (5 page)

“Part
pit, part something else. Not sure what. Maybe lab? I got her at the pound
fourteen years ago, and we’ve been best buds ever since. Right, Abby?” He
scratched the top of her head.

The
simplicity of the moment was soothing somehow, similar to the spell she’d
fallen under when she and Sam danced. Mesmerized, she gazed into the graying
face of the dog. In her mind’s eye, there was a flash of something, something
she didn’t quite catch. Sophie remained in a squat as she peered up at Sam,
trying to make sense of the bizarre vibe.
Samuel
Joseph
, she thought to herself.
What the . . . ? Where did that
come from?
Had he already told her his middle name? She didn’t think
so.

There was
a friendly little furrow in Sam’s brow as their eyes met. “Can I get you
something to drink? A beer? Iced tea?”

As
quickly as the oddity had come, it was as if it had never existed; the thought
slipped away. In fact, she could no longer remember the name that had popped
into her head just a moment ago. The harder she tried to retrieve it, the more
elusive it became. “I don’t really care for beer,” she replied. “Iced tea is
good.”

“I’ve got
other stuff,” he offered, leading her farther into the house. “What do you
usually drink?”

“I’ll
take a shot of whatever you have in a soda.” She sat on one of the barstools
facing him in the kitchen.
Damn
it! I need to ask what his middle name is
.
“Can I help with anything?”

“Nope.
Everything’s under control. I’ve got a pan of enchiladas coming out of the oven
in just a couple more minutes.”

She was
impressed by the warmth and tidiness of his home, although she realized this
may not be what it normally looked like. After seeing his classroom, she
envisioned a place that was a holy mess with sports memorabilia scattered here
and there, maybe an old, worn recliner where he watched his games. Instead, the
small living room, visible from where she sat, was furnished with two leather
couches pointing to a rather modestly sized television set, at least by today’s
standards. Wooden shutters covered the windows of the earth-toned room, and a
few framed family photos sat on one of the end tables.

“I like
your house. Very homey.”

“Thanks.”
He handed Sophie her drink. “Surprised?”

“Not at
all!” she argued as she took a sip.

“Liar.”

Sophie
shrugged guiltily. “Okay, so I’m a
 
little
 
surprised.”

“Go ahead
and have a seat at the table,” he motioned. “It’s time to eat.”

She made
her way to the dining area, which was more of a nook than anything else. The
oak table had places set for the two of them, along with tortilla chips, salsa,
and guacamole.  Sophie hoped she could control her appetite, especially since
she had not eaten anything before she came. She lifted a napkin from the holder
on the table and stuffed it with her gum.

“Here,
I’ll throw that away for you,” Sam said, appearing beside her.

“You
weren’t supposed to see that.” Heat rushed to her cheeks. “And no, you’re not
throwing away my chewed gum.”

“Have it
your way. The garbage is under the sink.”

Sam
returned to the kitchen and pulled the most cheesy, scrumptious looking pan of
food from the oven, with tomatoes sprinkled over only half. He brought the dish
to the table.

Sophie’s
jaw dropped. “You remembered about the tomatoes!” she said, referring to the
day they met in the store.

“I did.”

“You
didn’t have to do that. I’ve gotten pretty used to picking them out.”

“Ah, no
trouble.” Sam dished the food onto Sophie’s plate.

“So
you’ve had Abby for a really long time.” Sophie changed the subject, thinking
she might remember that name if they started talking about the dog again.

“Do you
have any pets?” he asked.

“No. I
used to have a border collie, Heidi, but she got sick and I had to put her
down.” She spooned some salsa onto her plate. “Is this spicy? I don’t mind if
it is. I like spicy food.”

“It has a
little bit of a kick to it, but not bad.”

She
scooped some with her chip and took a nibble. “Oh my gosh, this is amazing! You
had to go and serve Mexican, my greatest weakness.”

“I aim to
please.”

Sophie
waited for him to ask how she could like salsa when she hated tomatoes so much.
She couldn’t count how many times people had said that to her.
How can you like ketchup?  How
can you like marinara sauce? You’re actually eating pico de gallo?
For one thing, none of those foods resembled the slimy,
squirtiness of a raw tomato. Once, when she was a child, her friend told her to
close her eyes and open her mouth. When she did, the friend popped a baby
tomato into her mouth, and she nearly tossed when she bit into it.

Sophie
was pleasantly surprised when Sam said nothing about it. “Anyway,” she
continued. “I never got another dog. I just didn’t want to go through that
again.”

Sam
sliced open his enchiladas to let the steam escape, then plopped on a dollop of
sour cream. “But think about all you miss when you don’t have one of those
furry critters around.” Abby’s tail happily thunked the floor when she realized
he was talking about her.

“That’s
all I
did
think about after she died! It was too depressing. I
admit it, I’m just a big baby.” It was very simple. Don’t attach yourself to
pets, and you don’t have to suffer when they die. Problem solved.

Sam got
up to grab himself another beer from the refrigerator and twisted off the top.
“That’s when you learn to participate joyfully in the sorrows of the world.” He
held up his hand. “That’s not my line. I just read it somewhere.”

“
Participate
joyfully in the sorrows of the world?
”
she repeated. “I’m sorry, but what kind of hogwash is
that?”

He
laughed at her question as he sat down. “Yeah, it’s not the easiest one to
swallow. But we gotta take the bad with the good, right? I don’t know . . . I
like the idea.”

Sophie
set her fork down and narrowed her eyes. “Let me guess. You’re one of those
people on Facebook who’s always posting those philosophical, feel good quotes,
aren’t you?”

Sam shook
with amusement as he tried to swallow his food, prompting Sophie to let out a
little chuckle. “I hope you don’t mind me saying so,” Sam began, “but you’re
frickin’ adorable.”

“Well,
thank you,” she replied with a grin. “But I just call ‘em like I see ‘em. And
by the way, do
not
give me the recipe for these enchiladas, or you’ll soon
be seeing me on
The Biggest
Loser
. You’re a great cook, Sam.”

“Thanks. I
do all right with this, but don’t ask me to grill a steak. It’s not pretty.”

He took
her hand and kissed it, as if he hadn’t done it right then and there, he would
have lost his nerve. It was his first physical act of affection, and his boyish
hesitancy made him all the more attractive. Still holding her hand on the
tabletop, he studied her fingers with marked concentration, running his thumb
over her skin.

It was
very odd. Not so much the way he touched her, but the way it seemed he was someplace
else. He looked up and met her gaze, and Sophie thought she spied a momentary—what
was it? Recognition? Awareness? Awareness of what, she did not know. But his
eyes had revealed an awakening, however brief.

“Is your
middle name Joseph?” The name had come back to her before she had the chance to
mull over the question.

He sat
back in his chair. “It is,” he replied with a curious smile.

Holy hell! You just came right out
and knew his middle name! 

“Is it
Samuel Joseph? Or Samson? Or just Sam?”

“Sam . .
.u . . . el. . . .” He answered slowly, wondering what this was about.

“Can I
have another drink?” she asked, jumping to her feet.

“Sure.”
He took her glass and she followed him to the kitchen. “How did you do that?
Are you psychic, or something?”

“Yeah,
just call me the Dog Whisperer. Don’t be silly! Of course I’m not psychic.”

“Don’t
you mean the Ghost Whisperer?”

“Whatever.”
She waved her hand. “You know what I mean.”

“Then that
just leaves one explanation.” He stirred her drink, his face full of intrigue.
“You’re messing with me.”

“Sam, I
wouldn’t do that,” she said gently, slumping back against the counter. “Besides,
that would make me some kind of stalker. Can I have that, please?” She swiped
the glass before he could respond and helped herself to a big swallow. “Let’s
just forget about it. Forget the fact that your date is a total nut job, and
let’s start over.” Aside from his admission at the bar that he felt he knew
her, she must have imagined the hint of something more at the dinner
table. 

Sam took
the drink from her hand and set it on the counter, then moved toward her ever
so slowly. His hand encircled her wrist, and she was certain she could feel her
pulse beat against his fingertips. Sophie held her breath, wondering if what
she’d seen earlier in his eyes was real, searching for any indication he was as
mystified as she. His hand slipped from her wrist, his fingers lacing hers. His
other hand was on her waist, inching her closer. The anticipation was
murderous.
Just do it,
already!
He didn’t seem like the type to torture a girl this way,
delaying what she assumed was going to be their first kiss. His breathing slow
and deep, his lips parted, as if he were about to speak.  

Sophie
closed her eyes, and found herself surrounded by tall, amber grass, dancing in
the wind. The blades spread as far as she could see, in every direction,
against a sky bluer than she had ever known. The colors were entirely too
vivid. She was vaguely aware of Sam’s mouth softly touching hers. Her fingers
brushed the tips of the waist high grass as the sun cast her shadow on the golden
sprigs.
Whichever way I go,
I come back to the place you are.

Sam let
her go, ending the kiss, and the vision evaporated. She opened her eyes to see
bewilderment in his face, his chest rising and falling in short breaths. And
like the occurrence with his name earlier that evening, the details of Sophie’s
premonition—flashback—were almost like a distant memory, but not one she had
lived.

Did he
experience the same thing?

She
clutched his arm. “Did you . . . ?” She had no idea how to finish her
sentence. 

“That was
. . . weird,” he stammered.

Great. Just
how you want a first kiss described. But she got the feeling he didn’t mean the
kiss. 

Sam
grabbed the bottle of vodka he had used to make her cocktail and tipped his
head back for a swig. There was no doubt something strange happened to him,
too. She put out her hand, indicating it was her turn for the bottle, and he
handed it over.

Sophie
clammed up, trying to process, trying to remember. Those words,
back to the place you are
, were playing the night they danced, weren’t they? She
hadn’t recalled until now.

With the
liquor in one hand and her drink in the other, she marched back to the dinner
table.
What the hell was that?
She didn’t see him wherever and whenever
that was, but damned if she didn’t feel him there! Not here. There. Or maybe it
was both?

“We’re
just going to pretend that none of that happened, if that’s all right with
you,” she said. “Because quite frankly, it’s freaking me out.” She sat down and
took a bite from her meal, then poured a little more vodka into her soda. “And
I’m just going to keep telling myself that you did not put a rufi in my drink.”

“You’re
joking, right?” 

“Of
course I’m joking, Sam. About the rufi. Not about forgetting.”

Unlike
Sophie, Sam refrained from eating. “What happened just now, was it . . .
unpleasant?” he asked.

It
occurred to her that he might have thought she had been talking about the kiss.
“Oh, no!” She touched his arm. “No, the kiss was . . . The kiss was lovely.”
Her face was getting hot. Where did she go from here, without having to share
what she’d just seen?

Sophie
glanced at him from the corner of her eye, before dipping a chip in the
guacamole. She pushed one of her curls behind her ear. “Um . . . it seemed like.
. . .” She didn’t know how to say it. “Well, what about you?”

He seemed
to catch her meaning; she was no longer talking about the kiss, but something
else. “Can’t describe it,” he replied, slowly shaking his head. “It was like I
was in some anonymous place, but at the same time, it seemed familiar.”

Sophie
moved some of her food around with her chip, reluctant to look at him. “Has
that ever happened to you before?”