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chapter thirty-five
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take my hand in the meantime
and let's walk into the sunshine
everybody got something they want to sing about, laugh about, cry about
it's true - for me, it's you
-Train, "For Me, It's You"
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Chatham, Massachusetts
7:15 pm
Martin sat back in his chair and reached his hand under the table to find Sam's own hands folded in her lap. Linking their hands together, hidden by the crisp white tablecloth, she finally tore her eyes away from their view of the Atlantic Ocean and turned her head to look at him. Her eyes were narrowed thoughtfully, and the expression on her face was subdued and quiet, but seemingly calm.
"The view here is amazing," she whispered quietly, leaning her body in closer to his as her eyes drifted back out to the view through the window.
"Yeah, it is," he agreed, not moving his gaze from her as he studied her intently. She was quietly nervous but not overly on-edge, and she had handled herself with a natural grace and poise that made his heart swell with pride. He had been afraid that, once they arrived and there was no turning back, she would tense up and retreat back within herself, but she had responded instead with a level of composure that could not be taught. He knew the whispers and second glances that had followed them from the second they hit the door must be getting to her, but he would never be able to tell from just looking at her.
He was used to getting second glances at this point, most people initially looking right past him and then doing a double take when their brain makes the connection. But tonight, he noticed that he was not getting nearly as many second glances as Sam was. And while he was sure that part of it was that they were arriving together and she was very clearly with him, part of it was simply her. He was going to have to convince her to dress up more often because, while she was always beautiful, tonight she was simply breathtaking. Her pale blue dress hung gently around her curves, accentuating her slender figure, while the hem swished out just slightly with each step as she walked. Her long blonde hair was curled and fell elegantly over her bare shoulders, and a string of pearls complemented her elegant neckline. The pearls she wore in her ears boasted a brand new backing that only they knew about, and each time he caught a glimpse of the pearl studs he felt a flush rise in his body and a slight stirring in his groin at the memory of the last time she had worn them.
Forcing himself to tear his eyes away from Samantha, he glanced around the table at the rest of his family: Rebecca and Scott sat to his right, deep in conversation with his mother about different camera lenses; Jamie, Ron, Allison, and Caroline were chatting aimlessly about the last movie they had seen; Tim and Roger were discussing the Giants' chances this year; and his father sat across from them, silent but not his usual stoic self. Bonnie, feeling somewhat under the weather after the long drive, had opted instead to stay home with the three girls and the babysitter. She did seem a little tired, but said she figured she would be feeling better tomorrow.
His father gave him a small smile from across the table, and Martin found himself pleasantly surprised with his father's behavior for the second time that day.
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"Yeah, everything is going just fine." Sam said, and Martin had to bite down on his tongue to stop himself from allowing his confusion to show on his face. Sam seemed comfortable and relaxed, and his father likewise. She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, smiled reassuringly, and asked, "How was your nap?"
"It was good," he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it softly. "Thank you for letting me sleep."
"You're welcome," she replied, setting her palms on the edge of the table and pushing herself so that she was standing. "I think I'm going to go rest for a little while longer before I have to start getting ready."
Martin's eyes lingered on her retreating figure as she walked out through the door before he finally turned his head back toward his father. He took a deep breath and ran his hand along his chin. "So, you two seem to be getting along," he said, his voice skeptical.
"She seems great, son." Victor said, matter-of-factly. "Things are going well for the two of you?"
"Yeah, Dad," he replied, smiling to himself. "They are."
"That's good to hear. She is welcome here anytime; I'm glad she could come this weekend and we could all get to know her better." Victor brought his arms up to rest on the tabletop, "I know I don't always give you the impression that I trust your judgment, but you have done quite well for yourself on your own. I'm proud of you, Martin."
Speechless, Martin could only nod.
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8:30 pm
Sam curled her lips around her glass as she sipped her wine slowly, allowing herself to lean back against her chair as the waitress began to clear the dinner plates and began to ask about dessert. She noticed that the waitress' gaze lingered for a few moments over where Martin's hand hung down to rest on her thigh, and willed herself not to flinch at the attention.
This was an instance where her FBI training served as more of a hindrance than a help, as her acute awareness of her surroundings was heightened by her own nerves. She felt far better after spending the day with the entire Fitzgerald family, and even carrying on a pleasant conversation with Martin's father, but once they had pulled up at the entrance of the hotel that evening, she felt her hands go numb and her heart beat faster. It took a few deep breaths and a lot of mental coaching, but she managed to swallow the large lump that rose in her throat and, walking in gripping Martin's hand tighter than she might normally allow herself, hoped she had not seemed overly uneasy.
Her eyes scanned the dining room once more as the sun began to set over the Atlantic Ocean; the main dining room in the Chatham Bars Inn exuded classical elegance, with crisp white tablecloths and intricately fashioned crystal centerpieces and white flowers. Understated, but sophisticated. A live band was set in one corner of the dining room, playing classic ballads from the Big Band Era that carried across a large dance floor where many couples were spinning happily together.
Leaning into Martin's shoulder, she whispered in his ear, "You never said anything about 'dancing' when you told me about this dinner..."
Martin waggled his eyebrows playfully, grinning as he said, "You want to take a spin?"
She bit her lip thoughtfully. "I can't dance, at all," she objected, but her protest fell flat even as the words left her mouth, as she linked her hand in his and followed his lead to the dance floor. She knew how important it was for him that she was here with him, and for the first time in a romantic relationship, she was making a conscious decision to do something just because it made him happy, without worrying about her own complications.
As he tugged her gently out onto the dance floor and swept her close in his arms, he whispered softly in her ear. "It's easy; I'll teach you." And his words sent pleasant shivers down the length of her spine.
She settled easily in alongside him as they began to dance, and she wondered at how calm and reassuring he had been throughout the course of the weekend.
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Sam unplugged her curling iron, careful not to touch the scalding metal as she set the instrument down back down on the countertop by the bathroom sink. She put the finishing touches on her makeup before taking a few steps back and studying her appearance in the mirror. She smiled impishly to herself as she thought of Martin's reaction when he saw her; he had mentioned on a few occasions that she should wear skirts more often.
Just as she came to the conclusion that her appearance was satisfactory, she heard a few quick knocks on the wooden door of the bathroom.
"Hey, Sam..." Martin's muffled voice carried through. "You okay in there? You've been in there for quite awhile..."
Chuckling silently to herself, she opened the bathroom door and stepped back out into the bedroom. Martin had his back to her, and she cleared her throat, causing him to turn around. His hands immediately dropped from the buttons of his shirt that he had been working on, his mouth open and his eyes wide as he grinned broadly. Speechless for a few minutes, he finally managed a "Wow" but nothing more.
She lifted her arms to his shirt, slowly fastening each button until she reached the notch at the top of his breastbone. She began to finger his tie, lifting the silk material through her fingertips and tugging gently on the knot as she finished. She ran her hands along his chest, and he finally brought his hands to rest on her hips, his thumbs making slow circles against her lower abdomen.
"Martin ..." she warned half-heartedly, not really want him to stop. "We have to leave in --" she checked her watch, "ten minutes, and I am not about to be late. Your father seems to like me enough thus far, and I'm not about to ruin that."
Flicking his wrist as though to dismiss her, he pressed a gentle kiss against her lips, finally finding his voice again as he said, "You look amazing, Sam."
Her eyes darted to one side and ran her index finger along her lip where he had just kissed her, her nerves rising up suddenly.
"Sam --" he said, obviously noting the sudden tension that coursed through her body. "It's going to be alright, you know. You don't have anything to be afraid of. Just ... trust me."
He smiled at her hopefully, and she had no choice but to smile back. His optimistic confidence was infectious, and it worked alongside her own self-assurance, which had been raised by the surprisingly normal conversation she held with his father just an hour and a half earlier. "I do," she replied. "It's just ... this is new for me. I've never really done this before."
He took her hands in his, linking their fingers together and massaging her wrists in the same slow, sensual circles he had inflicted on her abdomen just minutes earlier. But instead of being charged and sexy, it was sweet and reassuring. He kissed her cheek and said, "Well, that makes two of us."
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The band switched 1940's jazz ballads as Martin began to spin her around on the dance floor, causing her dress to swish outward as she twirled in his arms. She giggled euphorically, feeling more like a little girl playing dress up than like Samantha Spade, and Martin grinned broadly as his left hand found its way back to where it rested on her hip, drawing her back in.
Over his shoulder, she caught sight of Martin's parents dancing about twenty feet away. She smiled to herself as she saw Lydia whisper something to her husband and Victor laugh easily; she could not remember a time when she had ever seen her own parents together like that: content just to be together. She could barely remember a time when they had not been fighting.
Shaking thoughts of her parents from her mind, Martin began to twirl her out once more, and as she spun, she realized that she, too, was content to just be here in this moment with Martin. It was a new feeling that excited and confused her all at once, but she enjoyed the pleasant tingling sensation that coursed through her body.
And instead of worrying as to what these new feelings meant, she took the hand resting on Martin's shoulder and began to run her fingers through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. She drew him closer to her and leaned forward to kiss him, and suddenly it did not matter to her if the whole world was watching.
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