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chapter thirty-four
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i've been thinking
i've been thinking, i've been thinking too much
i just want to live now for a little while
and cast my dreams to the wind
-Vonda Shepard, "Maryland"
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3:00 pm
Sam and Martin lay on the sofa in the basement that afternoon, at least half-pretending to watch a movie. Martin's aunt, uncle, and cousins had arrived immediately after lunch, and while the rest of the family dispersed to various outdoor activities, she and Martin had opted to stay inside and rest. Her leg would still occasionally give her trouble, a lingering soreness that had not yet worn off, and neither she nor Martin wanted to be overtired at dinner that evening.
And so Sam found herself half paying attention to 'My Fair Lady' and half allowing her mind to wander aimlessly over the events of the morning. From Martin insisting that his parents would not judge or likely even notice if they stayed in the same room to trading work stories with Martin's sisters and their husbands, she was still processing how easily she felt comfortable with the Fitzgerald's and how genuinely they seemed to welcome her to their family home. She found herself looking forward to the stories Rebecca had promised her about Martin as a little boy just as much as she was looking forward to the dinner that evening.
As Alfred P. Doolittle began to sing on the television screen, though, she felt a familiar lump rise up in her throat at the memory of her own father. She had been so young when he had left and had so few solid memories that he did not seem like a man who had ever been a tangible part of her life, and yet she still felt his abandonment acutely on the rare occasions that she let her guard down.
And being around Martin's family, so close in spite of their differences, made her heart ache deep in her chest. She regretted her own youthful stubbornness that contributed in large part to the break with her mother and sister, although she could not see it at the time.
She bit her lip nervously as the characters on screen continued to sing, wondering what Martin's family would think when they realized just how different she really was from the type of woman they had likely envisioned for their only son. And wondering, more importantly, what he would think.
He knew, of course, that her only family to speak of consisted of her mother and her sister, and that she had grown up in Kenosha, far less privileged than he had. But she suspected that he did not realize the full extent of how different their backgrounds were. While he had attended the top tier private schools, took piano lessons, and went to cotillion, she had gone to public school in her sister's hand-me-down clothes and played flashlight tag with the other children in the trailer park whose parents weren't home from their second jobs yet.
The bad memories from her childhood far outweighed the good ones, and she tended to dwell on the bad and ignore the good. But it had not been all bad, and she was suddenly reminded of a time when she and her mother and sister had been happy together, just the three of them...
"Samantha!" Betsy Spade touched her daughter's face and nudged her gently to wake her. "Samantha, wake up!"
Samantha shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut tight, exhausted. Her mother rubbed her back gently and kissed her cheek, whispering in her ear. "Wake up, baby girl. Happy birthday!"
Yawning and moaning quietly, Samantha lifted her head up off of the pillow, her small hands rubbing her eyes. "I'm not a baby anymore!" She insisted, offended.
"Of course not," Betsy soothed, the bed dipping as she sat down. "But you will always be my baby, no matter how old you get. And as I remember, today is a pretty big day..."
Samantha nodded, still rubbing at her eyes. Today was her sixth birthday, and she had been looking forward to it for longer than she could remember. Things at home had not been great since Dad had left, with her mother having to pick up a second job at Wal Mart just to make ends meet. But Betsy had been working extra overtime at the diner for the past month so that she could have the day off to spend with her two young daughters.
Giving Samantha a gentle pat on the leg, her mother said, "Lindsey's already up and dressed. Why don't you throw some clothes on and come on out to breakfast. Okay?"
Through sleepy eyes, Samantha nodded in agreement. Although she was tired, she did not want to miss any part of today. She had been looking forward to spending time with her mom for what seemed like an eternity!
Sam walked over to the dresser that, like everything else in the room, she shared with Lindsey. After pulling on a pair of blue jeans and a pink t shirt, she padded out into the open area of the trailer that served as both kitchen and den and found her mother and sister waiting for her with breakfast already at the table.
"Morning, Sam!" Lindsey's green eyes shone as she greeted Sam brightly. "Happy Birthday!"
"Thanks, Linds," Sam replied, pulling her chair out from under the table and hoisting herself up to sit on it.
That was when she saw that her mother made blueberry muffins from scratch, the muffin sitting out in front of her topped with a candle in the shape of the number six. Her eyes went wide and her mouth watered; her mother never had time to make muffins from scratch anymore.
Her mother bent over to brush her bangs back out of her eyes, placing a kiss on the top of her head. "Happy Birthday, sweetheart."
"Thank you, Mommy," she replied, leaning forward to pick up her muffin.
Betsy laughed, reaching out to stop her. "Hold on there, Sam. We've got to light the candle first!"
"Oh," she bit her lip, embarrassed.
Betsy pulled out a match and struck it against the side of the box to light it, bringing the flame down to the candle, while Lindsey hopped up and ran over to the wall to flip the light switch. The only light in the room was the small flickering flame that glowed in front of her, shining in her eyes as her mother and sister began to sing.
'Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Sammy! Happy birthday to you ...!'
Her mother stood behind her, holding her hair back as she leaned forward to blow out the candle.
"Don't forget to make a wish!" Lindsey reminded her.
Sam giggled and thought for a moment, contemplating her wish. But glancing quickly around the room at her mother and her sister, she decided that right then, she had everything she could ever want.
So she smiled, took a deep breath, and with one short, quick puff of air, extinguished the small flame.
xx
Shaking the memory with regret, she propped her head up on her elbow and rotated her neck slowly, working out the kinks. The movie was still playing in the background, but neither she nor Martin was paying attention, as she noticed the subtle change in his breathing as he fell asleep. Knowing how tiring and stressful his week had been with the internal investigation his Senate Committee had been conducting, she lifted his arm from around her waist and rose from the sofa. He shifted slightly in her absence, releasing a small grunt as she patted his arm affectionately and placed a spare throw pillow in the place where she had been. Chuckling to herself, she picked up the remote and clicked the television off, the screen going blank and leaving the room silent except for Martin's even breathing.
She tiptoed carefully up the stairs and made her way into the kitchen to get a glass of water. But she was not paying attention to her surroundings, and when she turned away from the refrigerator, glass in hand, she found herself face to face with Martin's father.
Victor sat at the kitchen table, coffee mug in one hand and the New York Times in the other. He looked over the top of the newspaper when he heard her rustling at the refrigerator, folding his current page over and putting the paper down on the table. "Hi, Samantha," he greeted.
Unable to read his tone of voice, she found herself wishing on many levels that she had remained downstairs in Martin's arms. She nodded tensely in greeting, "Sir."
Victor motioned to the chair across from him and, his tone all professionalism, said, "Please, you're here with Martin. You can call me Victor."
She took a seat, biting her lip to avoid balking at this extremely friendly but unexpected gesture on Victor's behalf.
Victor ran his hand along the fold of the newspaper twice, seemingly unaware of her unease, and continued. "Are you enjoying your time here thus far?"
"Everything has been wonderful, thank you." She twisted her hands nervously under the table, but forced a smile that she could only hope was convincing.
Victor paused for a beat, and his expression changed, suddenly appearing far more like Martin's father and less like her boss. "You know," he said finally, "I'm sure Martin hasn't told you anything about me that would contradict your previous impressions. But his mother and I ... we always wanted what was best for him."
"Martin loves you," she replied. If Martin did not love his father as much as he did, she knew he would not care so much about garnering Victor's approval.
"Still, though, I've never quite been the father he wanted me to be," Victor said wistfully and lowered his eyes at the table. "I don't give him enough credit ... at times. I have to remind myself that he's grown up now, and he is fully capable of making the right decisions on his own." Pausing, he raised his gaze once again to look her in the eyes. "I trust his judgment, though. More than I think he knows."
Samantha folded her hands in her lap and shifted her weight, leaning forward pensively. "You should tell him that."
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3:45 pm
The first thing Martin noticed when he woke up was Sam's absence, the throw pillow a poor substitute for her warm body. As he yawned and stretched his arms out, the next thing he noticed was that the television had been turned off. He glanced at his watch and took note of the time, assuming that Sam had made her way upstairs to start getting ready for dinner as it would be nearly a two hour trip between the ferry to the main Cape and the drive in from Hyannis to Chatham.
He took the steps two at a time and, when he reached the top, he furrowed his brows in confusion at the sound of voices coming from the kitchen. Confusion turned quickly to a mixture of shock and bemusement as he began to make out the actual conversation. He stood just to the right of the kitchen door, peering in as he watched Sam and his father going over the finer points of one of Sam's team's recent investigations.
Taking a deep breath, he shuffled forward and cleared his throat. "Hey," he said, taking the empty seat to Sam's left and reaching out to grab her hand. "How is everything going up here?"
His father gave a nod and a small smile. "Everything is great, Martin."
Squeezing his hand, Sam tilted her head towards him, her face visibly relaxed and her posture calm as she said, "Yeah, everything is going just fine."
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