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chapter twenty-six
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is your girl of glass something that never mends
or is she a puzzle that fell
that we could mend again
-Trespassers William, "Broken"
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May 20, 2003
6:35 pm
Sam groaned and rolled over, trying to block the glare of the setting sun that seeped into her bedroom through an open spot in her curtains.
There was still a soreness, an ache, in the healing wound on her left thigh. But in spite of that, as she sat up in bed, she felt markedly better overall. She leaned over to where her crutches lay propped up against the dresser and hoisted herself off the bed, supporting her weight with her arms.
Slowly inching her way into the bathroom, Sam felt herself adjusting to moving around on crutches, although she was already anxious for her broken bone to heal. She put the toilet seat down and sat down to change the dressing. Pealing back the bandage, she bent her head forward and inspected the sutures, which were scheduled to come out at her follow up appointment late next week. The skin was still red and angry, although significantly less so than just a few days before. She ran a finger lightly along the suture line and checked for signs of infection before reapplying the gauze loosely as her nurses had instructed her to do.
Her eyes darted back and forth between the mirror and the shower, realizing it would be several more days before she would be able to wash her hair again. It would be far too difficult to maneuver into the shower and support herself while trying to keep the sutures dry for the next two days, particularly while she was still taking the hydrocodone. She vowed to herself to have decreased the amount of pain medication she was taking by the end of the week though, not really liking how tired it made her.
She found herself, once again, resenting the distance between Martin and herself, a feeling that was becoming all too frequent since he had returned to Washington on Sunday. She wanted to blame it on stress and the pain medicine, to be able to ignore the voice in her head insisting that it was something far deeper.
She shook her head and sighed to herself, wondering how long it would be before they would let her come back to work. Even just desk duty sounded more appealing than sitting alone in her apartment with her thoughts, but she could not even do that much until she was released by her surgeon and she had been cleared by both Jack and Van Doren.
The familiar sound of her buzzer interrupted her musings, and she stood to put on her bathrobe. It was still an arduous task to balance herself on the crutches while she dressed herself, but it was getting easier with practice. She cursed under her breath and called "I'm coming!" to whoever happened to be at her door.
She slowly hobbled through the living room to reach her front door, turning the dead bolt and opening the door. "Hey, Naomi," she greeted her friend, welcoming the distractions in her otherwise quiet apartment.
"Hey," Naomi smiled, walking in and shutting the door behind her. "How are you doing?"
"Ugh," Sam groaned. "You know, as much as I hated the hospital, at least there were other people around. I'm going to go stir crazy and I've only been home since about noon."
"Yeah, I figured you could use some company since your otherwise very attentive boyfriend is detained in Washington," Naomi teased as they walked to the sofa to sit, Sam propping her leg up against the coffee table, elevating it as instructed.
"About that," Sam started, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you myself ..."
"You did, though ... when you asked me to call him. I'm not stupid, you know." Naomi laughed. "Dinner plans with the Senator aren't normal things on a social calendar."
Sam laughed, her face feeling slightly flushed. "Still, though, I'm sorry. It's just ... with what he does, and what his father does, we didn't want to risk anything getting out until we were ready."
"Martin told me," she said, smiling. "You know, I'm really happy for you Sam... You deserve this; he's one of the good ones. Trust me, I know about these things."
"I know," Sam agreed, closing her eyes and trying not to say too much. She felt extremely protective of what she had with Martin and, even though she knew and trusted Naomi, was wary of including others in something that she wanted to keep private.
"How's your leg feeling?" Naomi asked. "I know you're probably sick of answering that question, but is there anything I can get you?"
"No, I'm fine," Sam shook her head and leaned back against the sofa. They fell into an awkward silence, Sam weighing her options before deciding to broach the subject. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.
"About what?" Naomi whispered.
"About what happened on Thursday, about Thomas, about Barry ... anything."
Naomi's shoulders fell forward, and she massaged her temple. She wiped at the tears forming her eyes, her voice breaking as she spoke. "Barry was just so ... I mean, I've been there. Every day. And they say that in time, it's supposed to get better, but it's still there and it never changes. You just get better at ignoring it."
Unsure of what to say, Sam simply reached out to rub Naomi's arm reassuringly and waited for her friend to continue as she felt comfortable doing so.
"You know that Russell was his name. When we got married, I didn't want to take his name. I changed it after ... Well, let's just say that I'm sure his mother still hates me for that." She said bitterly. "He knew, too. His office was in the South Tower, and when he saw the North Tower get hit, he called me and left a message. 'I don't know what's going on, but a plane just hit the North Tower and I'm going to get out of here. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine.' ... On the stairs, he would have been right about at the floor where the second plane hit."
Naomi was crying in earnest now, no longer attempting to hide her tears. Sam shifted her body to lean in, and pulled Naomi to rest against her chest. Biting back her own tears, she held her friend while she cried.
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Washington DC
8:45 pm
Martin sat at his parents' kitchen table, looking over pictures from Bridget's birthday party with his mother. He laughed as he looked at the six rolls of film his mother had laid out on the table; Rebecca had inherited her snap happy nature from their mother.
He glanced over a series of pictures of Bridget setting up her dollhouse, Kelsey standing behind her with her hands on her hips and calling out orders as to where all of the furniture pieces belonged.
"This one turned out really well," his mother said, holding up a picture of him on the sofa, one of the girls leaned up on either side of him.
"Yeah, it did," he took the photograph in his hand and smiled.
"You know, Kelsey and Bridget really missed you when you weren't there over the weekend. They adore you..." Lydia trailed off and reached out to squeeze his hand. "But I'm glad that you got everything sorted out. Am I ever going to get to meet this mystery woman?"
Martin looked down, his face flushed and a smile playing on his lips. "You've already met her."
"I have?" His mother questioned, confusion etched across her face.
"Yeah, you have," he replied, glancing across the table to try to read her expression. "Sam ... Agent Spade. You remember her, right?"
"Yes, of course. I guess that was how your Secret Service agents knew her?"
"Well, actually," he paused, laughing at the absurdity of how he and Samantha had met. "We didn't start dating until after ... We had only met once before that night."
"I guess some good came from that night after all," his mother nodded, smiling. "It's good to see you happy, Martin. I hope you two had a good weekend together."
Martin gave a weak smile and tightened his posture, still nervous at the prospect of Sam being alone in her apartment while rather unsteady on her feet and on heavy pain medication. He wished Lively had held off on introducing this giant healthcare bill so that he could have engineered a way to stay in New York for a few more days.
"What's wrong, Martin?" His mother said, concern in her eyes. "Did something happen between the two of you?"
He shook his head, inhaling deeply. "No, nothing like that. I'm just worried about her. There was a hostage situation last Thursday, and she got shot in the leg ..." Lydia gasped, and Martin quickly interjected, continuing his explanation. "She's going to be fine; the doctors actually let her gone home today. It's just ... she's all alone in her apartment, and I'd rather be there with her."
"That's great that she's going to be okay, Martin," his mother soothed reassuringly. "But why are you here with your old mother in your precious few hours away from work? You miss her that much, go call her, you fool," she said, grinning.
Martin looked at his mother bemusedly, rubbing his chin.
"What?" His mother teased. "Your father might be completely hopeless, but there is still hope for you Marty. Listen to your mother. This is an order, not a request."
He stood up from the table and walked around to hug his mother. "Yes, ma'am," he laughed.
"Now go!"
Martin took his cell phone from his jacket pocket as he walked into the next room, still laughing at his mother's obvious exuberance at the fact that he was seeing someone. He dialed the now extremely familiar numbers and waited to see if she would pick up on the other end. He knew with the pain medicine, she could be asleep or in no state to talk, but he did want to try. If nothing else, he could at least leave her a message.
"Hey, you."
He smiled at the sound of her voice. "Hey. How are you doing?"
"Pretty well, actually. Naomi stopped by for awhile to keep me company."
"Oh, good," he said, genuinely pleased that her teammates seemed to be looking out for her in subtle ways that she would permit. "Did you have a good time?"
"It was good," her voice seemed to soften on the other end of the line. "It was ... we needed to have that talk. I'll have to tell you about it sometime."
He sensed the exhaustion in her voice, assuming it had just as much to do with her visit with Naomi as it did with her pain meds. She obviously did not want to go into details at the moment, but he felt hopeful that she seemed to want to confide in him at some point in the near future. "Sure, of course," he breathed. "Whenever you want."
"Yes," she said, her voice growing more certain as she tried to shake off whatever it was. "Anyway, how are you doing? How are the hearings?"
"The hearings are interminable," he groaned into the receiver, not hiding his disdain for the endless rounds of back and forth that he had endured for the past two days. "But I'm at my parents' house right now. Mom got back the first half of her film from the weekend. I swear, it's good to know where Becca gets it from."
Sam's soft laughed echoed on the line, and he felt his heart pulse slightly faster.
"So, you're at your parents' house?" she said, a hint of teasing in her tone.
"Yeah. Why?" he asked cautiously.
She paused for a beat, her breath heavy on the other side of the phone. He was expecting a taunting or provocative remark, but suddenly, inexplicably, the tone on Sam's end changed.
"Nothing," she said quietly "It's just ... I miss you."
He cradled the receiver against his ear and exhaled. "I miss you, too."
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