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chapter forty-two
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and if i told you
that i'm sorry
would you tell me that you were wrong
or would you hold me down forever
if i came to you for answers
-Matt Nathanson, "I Saw"
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Sam left the office feeling liberated, her steps light and her body relaxed as she made her way home. As she parked her car and made her way inside her apartment building, she smiled and waved at her doorman before pulling her cell phone out of her pocket and dialing the familiar numbers.
"Hello..." Martin sounded breathless and distracted as he answered.
"Hey, it's me." She replied, switching to tuck her phone under her other ear as she boarded the elevator and lit the button for her floor. "You okay?"
"Yeah, no, I'm fine." His voice evened out on the other end of the line. "I saw you come up on caller ID; we're in recess now, and I wanted to find someplace private." He paused for a few seconds, and Sam listened to the even sound of his breathing on the other end of the line. "Anyway, how are you?"
"I'm good." She smiled. "I talked to Jack tonight."
"Really? What did he say?"
When his tone of voice did not change, Sam let out a breath she did not know she'd been holding. She tried to avoid bringing Jack into conversation with Martin, knowing how insecure he seemed about their past affair. She had mentioned her frustrations about being confined to the office over the course of the past week, however, and he had encouraged her to talk to Jack about it. She shifted her weight and leaned against the side of the elevator car and said, "He said he didn't want me to compromise any of the team's investigations, which is crazy because I would never allow things to get that far." The elevator door slid open and she sighed and stepped out into the hallway. "I don't know if he has any subconscious intentions, but I think I set him straight either way."
"It will all blow over by sometime next week," he reassured her. "Besides, I've learned that the public has a very specific idea of who we are and what we do. Chances are that it will take a lot for them to connect the dots and realize who you are. I'm sure you can work something out so that you can still be in the field." He paused, and both ends of the line fell silent. After a few moments, she heard him cough to clear his throat, and say, "What is it, Sam?"
"I just..." her voice trailed off as she stopped to open the door of her apartment. When the door was firmly shut and locked behind her, she slumped down on her chair and settled down against the cushions. "He seemed so sad. It was completely unlike him, and I can't help but feel a little bit guilty," she sighed, slowly and cautiously. "I kind of feel responsible for what's going on with him."
"Right."
Sam closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose with her free hand. "Martin..." She sighed. "I'm sorry."
"No." He said shortly. "Don't be sorry."
She sighed audibly. She hated that they were both so quick to get defensive when Jack came into the conversation. She didn't know how to assuage his obvious insecurities, but she resolved to ask Lisa during their next session which was not scheduled until the next week. So she swallowed and simply said, "I don't want to have this argument over the phone."
"No. I'm glad you told me." His breath hitched, and he added, "And we're not arguing."
She found the whole conversation absurd and let out a low chuckle that did not escape his notice. He grunted on the other end of the line, and she remarked, "I'm sorry, Martin. It's just... now we're arguing about whether or not we're arguing. It does seem kind of crazy."
She felt herself relax a little as he chuckled back in agreement. "Okay, okay," he uttered, the laugh still evident in his voice. "Now we're not arguing."
She kicked off her dress shoes and crossed her legs underneath her as she sat. "We've got to find a way to work around this. I'm sorry I brought it up, but I can't help that I feel guilty. I know that Jack and Maria had plenty of problems before he even knew me, but that doesn't change the way I feel. And none of this changes us. You do know that, right?"
She heard him breath deeply, but he deflected his emotions and quipped, "Your guilt complex is worse than mine. You are aware that I am the one who was raised Catholic, yes?"
"Yeah." She laughed, but still held back. "Martin?" Her voice caught in her throat and she closed her eyes. She waited for him to answer and said, "We're okay, right?"
"We're okay." He repeated affirmatively. "I trust you, but I can't help getting a little jealous. He gets to see you every day, and I can't compete with that."
She shifted her weight in the chair and breathed, "You don't have to."
Her neck jerked around as she heard a knock at her door. She frowned as the knock grew louder and more impatient. Holding her cell phone away from her face, she shouted "I'm coming" in the direction of the door. Bringing the phone back against her ear, she said, "I'm sorry, I'd better get that."
"Yeah, and I'd better go too. Recess should be just about over by now." He paused, and she could hear his deep breathing on the other end of the line. "I'll call you when I get to the airport, and I'll see you tomorrow night."
"Okay, I'll let you know if anything changes." She replied, smiling. She had not been expecting to see Martin again for another few weeks, but tomorrow was the two year anniversary of September 11 and Martin had been asked to be present at several different memorial services. Furthermore, his party had thrown together a "last minute" dinner to discuss several last minute issues concerning the November elections that Martin was begrudgingly attending, and he had decided to conduct most of his business out of his New York office and make a long weekend out of it. She was looking forward to seeing him sooner than she had anticipated, and had allowed herself to be hopeful that nothing would come up at work this weekend to spoil their plans. "Goodnight, Martin."
"Goodnight, Sam," he replied before the other end of the line went dead.
Sam closed her phone and set it down on the coffee table just as the knocking at her front door began once again. "I'm coming!" she said, trying to keep the irritation in her voice in check. Her bare feet padded quickly on the soft carpet as she made her way to the door, turning the lock and opening it without peering through the peep hole to see who was on the other side.
And there, standing in the hallway before her, was her mother.
Sam's posture began to tense up once more as her jaw fell open. She gaped silently for a few seconds before she found her voice and stuttered, "I... uh..."
Betsy Spade curled her lips in a half-smile, and Sam could see tears form in the corner of her mother's eyes as she said, "Hi, Samantha."
"Hi Mom," Sam returned. She wiped at a phantom crease in her pant leg before weakly raising her arm to motion inside. "Do you, uh... Do you want to come in?"
"I didn't fly all the way here just to stand in your hallway," Betsy commented with an ironic laugh.
Sam slowly ushered her mother inside and, taking a deep calming breath to assuage her apprehension, said, "Can I get you something to drink? Water? Soda?"
Betsy settled herself on the sofa and replied, "I'm fine, honey." Sam watched as her mother's gaze slowly rotated around the entire apartment. "You have a nice place," she commented, and Sam suddenly felt guilty that she had no photos of her mother or Lindsey out on display.
"Thanks," Sam replied softly and took a seat on the opposite end of the sofa. She exhaled and casually started, "I don't mean to sound callous, but what are y..."
She never got a chance to finish though, as her mother held her hands up and finished, "What am I doing here?" Betsy folded her hands back in her lap and explained, "I know it seems sudden after all these years, but I've wanted to see you for so long. So when I got a phone call from Lindsey earlier this week telling me that I should take a look at this week's People magazine because you were in it... Well, you can only imagine my shock when I saw that article. That couldn't possibly be my daughter." Betsy stopped for a minute as her gaze fell on the framed photograph on the end table. She picked it up to finger the frame and remarked, "But I guess it's true."
Betsy put the frame back in its place and Sam's eyes followed until they fell on the photograph inside. It was a beautiful picture that Rebecca had taken the last day they had been at Martha's Vineyard. They all sat outside while Martin's uncle Roger fixed lunch on the grill, Martin's arm was around her as they laughed at something he had said. One of Rebecca's cameras had already been out as she had been taking pictures of Kelsey and Bridget for Caroline and Tim to use as their Christmas card picture, and Rebecca had used the opportunity to snap a series that started out with them just sitting talking together, then of them laughing, and finally of him kissing her gently before Kelsey had called out "Ewww! Gross!" and the entire family had laughed. Rebecca had emailed all of her pictures from the weekend to Samantha, who had thought it fitting that she frame at least one and set it out on display.
Drifting back to reality she saw her mother's gaze fixed upon her, intent until she explained. "Yes Mom, it's true." She had the good nature to appear guilty and subdued that she would be in such a significant relationship for so long and not mention it to her mother even once. "We've been together for about five months now."
Betsy nodded as though it was the answer she had been expecting but not the answer that she had wanted to hear. "I know we don't talk much... or ever, really. But why didn't you tell me?"
"We have a bad track record in that department," Sam replied with a shrug of her shoulders.
"I guess we do." Betsy agreed. "But it's been twelve years, Samantha. I'd like to think it's in the past enough that we're more than just a phone call at birthdays and Christmas."
Sam's knee jerked up and down nervously, a bad habit she picked up in her early days in the Bureau, and she sighed. "The phone line goes both ways, Mom."
Betsy gave Sam a pointed look, and her eyes once again scanned the apartment. "I guess we're even, though. You've done well for yourself in New York, Samantha." She paused for a beat, studying the newspaper that was lying out on the coffee table. She shifted her weight and moved so that she was sitting directly next to Samantha, reaching out to touch Sam's forearm as she said, "Your sister wanted to come, too. But she was afraid you wouldn't let us in if she came along."
Sam lowered her eyes, unable to look directly at her mother as she recalled the last time she saw her older sister.
"Look at me, sweetheart," Betsy implored, her voice breaking. Through her own blurred vision, Sam thought she saw traces of tears in the corner of her mother's eyes as well. "I'm so sorry, baby. I never meant for any of this to happen. But when I saw your picture in that magazine I just knew... We missed out on so much when you and Linds were younger, I couldn't bear the thought of missing out on any more."
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