A man in mourning, Sam Malone struggles to come to terms with the loss of his father figure, Ernie "Coach" Pantusso, to an aggressive form of cancer. In a meeting with their attorney, Sam is shocked to learn that his best friend has made one last request: to have Sam and his ex-wife scatter his ashes in the Mediterranean waters off the island of Rhodes. Memories rush to the surface, transporting Sam back to idyllic days spent on Greece's dazzling beaches with the only woman he ever truly loved.
Sam hasn't seen or spoken with his ex-wife, Diane Chambers, in twenty years. He has no idea she's living a quiet life in upstate New York, teaching interior design at prestigious Cornell (and conveniently engaged to the university's president, Les Meredith). Will the news of Coach's death bring them back together? Or has the passage of time been unable to heal their collective wounds?
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a 3rd person narrative and shifts perspective between the main characters. I am flying without a beta, so be aware that this is not a polished piece of fiction. I'm not afraid to tear apart the Cheers Universe and rearrange all the pieces. While you'll no doubt recognize many elements from the TV series, I do take quite a bit of licence to create entirely new worlds for Sam and Diane while retaining the true essence of their characters. Also, my stories focus solely on relationships because for me, that was the most satisfying element of the series. Love scenes? Yes! Bar hi-jink? Not so much.
Reader feedback is invaluable and fuels the fire to continue writing. I hope you'll consider sharing a comment or two along the way.
Happy Reading!
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His hand brushed against her bare arm and instantly his fingertips came alive. He half expected her to pull away but she didn't. She was part angel, part mirage, with a halo of pink light coloring the air around her. He'd searched for her for so long, thankful now that they'd arrived at this place. This dark place where they seemed to drift into one another. After locking on her eyes with a soft smile, he continued to explore the contours of her body. Her elbow. Her neck. The tiny mole hiding behind her left ear. She didn't try to stop his advance, the lightness of his fingers felt warm. Familiar. Safe. No, it wasn't until the waves crept up to the edge of the bed, turning the silky sheets between them into a cold, soggy net that she began to retreat. She didn't say a word as the bed began to sink into the blue-black abyss but calmly motioned for him to follow, swimming in silent strokes toward a distant shore.
He followed her, barely able to keep his eyes focused above the waves. Gasping for breath, he struggled as sheets of water broke like panes of glass over his head. The salt stung his eyes and he felt at any moment his tired arms and legs would simply disconnect, leaving him to drown as nothing but a stump of a man. Thankfully the darkness overhead was now fading, replaced with brighter, kinder skies. He frantically scanned the water. One minute she was in sight, just a few strokes ahead. The next, she was gone. He gulped in the air, pulling it into his lungs with great, thirsty force. Determined not to let her slip away again, he fought the surging current.
Without warning everything stopped. They were safe, side by side on the sand. Bright sunlight had drowned out the darkness completely and he had to squint to see her fully. Somehow he'd conquered the monster waves. Feeling somewhat smug at this victory, he reached out for her again, looking for the reward that only her lips could offer. With an impish grin, she pushed his hand away and ran down the beach, her white cotton skirt catching the wind like a sail. She was beautiful, the light falling perfectly on her skin. He watched her for several minutes. When the trail of footprints between them started to wash away, he realized the threat was not over. His heart began to pound once more as the tide grew stronger. Seconds were becoming minutes and minutes were transforming into hours, days. Farther and farther away she ran. She was now just a tiny dot on the horizon, her golden hair whipping around her face. Go to her! he willed himself, but the sand gripped him. He tried to pull himself up, but the beach began to consume him.
"Diane! Diane!" he called out as the ocean swallowed both his words and his body.
"Sam, I'm so sorry to wake you, but-" The hospice care worker gently nudged his arm, ending his dream.
The fuzzy, disconnected realm of sleep dissolved and he was now fully awake, heart pounding. A line of sweat had formed on his lip. He wiped it away then ran a heavy hand through his hair.
"Is he okay? What time is it?" He strained, trying to read his watch. How long had he been asleep? Five minutes? An hour? Daylight still peered through the drawn draperies in the living room and he guessed it was somewhere near lunchtime.
The woman standing over him paused and he studied her with wild eyes. That brief hesitation was all he needed, silently screaming the answer he didn't want to hear.
It's over. He's gone.
He's really gone.
The hours remaining in the day raced by in a blink. Visits from the coroner and funeral home director. Phone calls. Paperwork. A steady stream of their closest friends, their kind eyes hoping to soften the blow. He wasn't truly aware of everything happening around him but Lloyd was there, overseeing every detail. And Gwen kept them all fed, despite protests that he wasn't the least bit hungry. He wanted to take a more commanding role but exhaustion wove tightly around his brain. And really, there wasn't much for him to do. Coach had seen to that personally. No loose ends. All arrangements made. It was as though the old man had left them a shopping list of sorts. Check each box and move on, just like back in their bar days. It's how he wanted it, he kept reminding himself. Yet somehow that knowledge didn't ease his heartache. The only true father figure in his life was gone. As in, never coming back. He'd contemplated this day in his head thousands of times over the last few months, hoping that maybe it wouldn't come. A protective streak of luck had branded Ernie Pantusso his whole life. Surely he would beat this. But each dismal day gave way to a dismal night and after a few weeks, Sam knew that letting go was best.
He looked around the home they'd shared together. Boxes of medical equipment sat by the stairs, waiting for Hospice to retrieve them. Norm and Cliff exchanged soft goodbyes at the front door with a couple of Sam's former teammates. Carla helped Gwen collect discarded cups and plates that had been scattered around the living room. Lloyd had exited a few minutes earlier with a promise to return early the next morning.
"I want you to take two of these and go to bed. That's not a request." Dr. Sechler, Coach's oncologist, pressed a small, brown bottle into Sam's hand. "You've been amazing, Sam. What you've been through these past few weeks is no less than human warfare. You've handled it with grace and dignity and you've honored Ernie exactly as he wanted."
Sam dropped his eyes from view, only able to muster a humble nod.
"I'll see you on Friday at the memorial. Please don't hesitate to call me if you need anything." The man gripped Sam's arm in a show of support.
With the house quiet and all guests gone, he made his way upstairs to the bed he'd rarely touched. Midnight was just seconds away. Soon the house would be alive again, as their collective friends would gather to remember a very special man. He stared at the tiny white pills in his hand for a moment, thinking back for the first time on the strange dream. The one he was wrapped inside as the most important man in his life left this earthly world. The images of the woman only added to his pain and he doubted the pills would be enough to keep all ghosts at bay.
He pulled the sheets back and slipped in between their cool comfort. Within minutes he could feel the pills working, making his body feel heavy. In the few moments of lucidness that remained her perused his mental checklist. There was only one thing left for him to do-call his ex-wife.
He'd needed to for months.
He'd wanted to for years.
But Coach's request, coupled with his own fear, he'd held off. Don't bother her, Sam. At least not until it's over. She'll understand. It's better this way. Trust me, son.
"Daddy?" He felt a small hand upon his shoulder.
"What are you doing up?" Sam turned over.
"I had a bad dream," the boy whispered.
"Me too, Buddy. Climb on in."
He moved over, creating a space for his son. They lay together, both in boxers, their arms intertwined. He inhaled the boy's scent, delighting in his sweet breath and freshly washed hair. It was exactly what he needed to calm the chaos of the day.
"Do you want to talk about it? The dream I mean?"
"No," the boy replied, snuggling closer.
"Okay then. Let's go to sleep." Sam yawned and kissed the top of his son's head.
"Daddy?" he whispered once more.
"Hmm?"
"We'll be alright." He patted his father's hand reassuringly. "Coach said we're Malones and Malones are strong."
"That's what he said, huh?"
"Yep."
"Coach was a wise man."
He was a wise man. His simple worldview and unfailing devotion had saved Sam time and again. When drinking and depression wrapped its possessive hands around Sam, Coach grabbed hold too and refused to let go. He'd pulled Sam back from the brink numerous time, the sole rudder of their family, guiding them quietly through both still and choppy waters. Now, after years of steering, his mission was complete.
And Sam's heart was broken.
As he looked down on the small, dark-haired form beside him, he thanked God for the presence of the little man in his life.
"He loved us very much, didn't he Daddy?" the boy added after a long silence.
"He sure did, Buddy. He sure did." Sam's voice cracked as tears formed in his eyes.
He felt his son's body relax and in seconds he was gone, lost in dreams. Sam's mind began to tumble as the medicine was now fully dissolved, tainting his blood with sleep-inducing power.
We're Malones...and Malones are strong...
How prophetic and timely were the words of his six year old son. He would certainly need strength when morning showed its face. When a phone call would bring her voice to him for the first time in twenty years.
Oh, Diane...Coach loved you. I remember exactly what he said to me the day you worked your first shift. He said, "Sam Malone, one of us has got to marry that girl. If you won't, I will."
How quickly the years have gone.
God, I remember that night like it was yesterday.
I remember a lot of things, Diane.
In fact, I remember it all.