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chapter sixty-two
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well we all write our own endings
and we all have our own scars
but tonight i think i see what it's all about
because i've come home
i've come home
-Vienna Teng, "Homecoming (Walter's Song)"
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February 14, 2004
Kenosha
11:00 am
"Anyone want some toast?" Lindsey asked, popping her head in the bedroom where Sam was helping her mother put the finishing touches on her hair and makeup. "I'm kind of hungry, so I was going to throw together some breakfast."
Betsy shook her head and Sam answered for both of them. "No thanks, Linds. We're both fine."
Lindsey opened the door all the way and stepped inside. She shut the door behind her and leaned back against the doorframe. "Are you nervous, Mom?" she asked.
Betsy smiled and Sam watched her reflection in the mirror. Betsy turned around to face both of her daughters, her voice even and calm as she said, "Not at all. When I married your father, I spent the entire morning in the bathroom throwing up, but that was more a factor of the fact that I was pregnant with you Lindsey, and not because I was getting married. I might not be getting married at all now if not for the fact that I want to get it right this time around. I'm practically an old hag now."
Sam knew that her mother's self-deprecation was only in jest, but it was certainly far from the truth. She was just glad that her mother was getting a chance to be happy after so many years of making sacrifices just to get by. Betsy opted not to wear white, and instead was wearing blue -- "for the rhyme" she had insisted -- but she truly looked stunning. Lindsey left the room to go off in search of something for breakfast, and Sam and her mother were left alone.
"You look beautiful, Mom," Sam commented.
Betsy stood up from the vanity mirror and hugged her daughter. "I'm just happy I have my whole family together again," she said. "And I'm glad that you brought Martin along. I originally got the feeling that you weren't big on him coming."
Sam shrugged her shoulders sheepishly, unable to deny the truth in her mother's statement. Betsy and Charles had set their wedding date while she was spending the Christmas holiday in Washington DC with Martin, and initially she had not been receptive of the idea of him coming along with her.
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Sam sighed long and hard as she hit 'end' and closed her cell phone.
"Are you okay?" she heard Martin call out from somewhere behind her. She craned her neck from where she sat on the sofa and saw him leaning back against the doorjamb. He was wiping his hands against a dishtowel. Her mother had called right as they finished eating lunch, and Martin had obviously started working on the dishes while she talked with her mother. He turned around to drop the dishtowel on the kitchen counter and joined her on the sofa. He rubbed her thigh soothingly with one hand as he sat beside her; sometimes his impeccable sense of timing and his sixth sense were unnerving.
"Yeah, I'm fine," she answered back.
He raised an eyebrow, looking at her skeptically. Ignoring her 'I'm fine', he probed further, "What did your mother have to say? Is everything okay at home."
"Everything is fine," she nodded. He was not going to let her off easy; she was going to have to tell him. "Mom and Charles finally set a date for their wedding." She met his eyes and he silently urged her to continue. "They want to get married sooner rather than later, and with Lindsey and Trey's school schedules, they think that Presidents Day weekend is probably going to be the best time for everyone."
Martin gave a slow, contemplative nod. "Presidents Day weekend. Federal holiday, so that should be a good weekend for me too." He frowned, appearing crestfallen, as he saw the obvious uncertainty written all over her face. His voice a mix of frustration and disappointment, he said, "That is, unless you don't want me to go."
"Martin," she protested, getting herself revved up for an argument. "Look, it's not that, it's just..."
"It's just what?" he interrupted, throwing his hands up in frustration. He paused, taking a long, deep breath and shutting his eyes. When he opened them again, he gave her a deep, penetrating stare with sad blue eyes and she wished he would go back to being angry. It was a lot easier to deal with making him mad than with disappointing him, and it was obvious that his initial irritation was giving way to just that.
They both remained totally silent for a few intense moments before Martin spoke softly. "Look, Sam, I don't even know what to say. You tell me that you love me and that you want this to work, but then you send me these negative signals like you want to keep me away. You need to decide what you want Sam, because I do love you and I can't do this halfway."
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Sam shook herself from the memory, regretting that she had still been so insecure about bringing Martin to Kenosha. "It worked out in the end," she said finally.
"It did," Betsy nodded, giving Sam a knowing look. She rubbed Sam's forearm reassuringly and said, "What do you say, Samantha? Am I ready?"
Sam pursed her lips together and gave her mother a once-over, then smiled. "Very ready," she nodded assuredly.
"Good," Betsy answered. "Then let's go get married."
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5:40 pm
Sam took a sip from her glass of wine and slowly scanned the room. The wedding had been an extremely small one, just immediately family and a few close friends from work, and afterwards they had all returned to Charles and Betsy's home for a low-key celebration that had been entirely catered by two of Betsy's coworkers. Betsy sat at one table with a few of her coworkers, Lindsey and Trent were comparing notes on their respective semesters as they ate dinner, and she continued to scan the room until her eyes fell on Martin and Charles standing by themselves, deep in conversation. She met Martin's eyes as he gave her a small wave and motioned for her to come join them.
She walked slowly over in their direction, smiling as she caught up with them. "You two look like you're standing over here plotting something," she teased as Martin wrapped his arm around her waist. "Are you looking for another wingman?"
Charles laughed. "I think we've got it covered, but we'll keep you in mind just in case."
"Congratulations," she commented, taking another sip from her wine glass. "This was the perfect day."
In spite of the biting Wisconsin cold outside, the day had been sunny and the snow that lined the ground had been fresh and white. And by having just a small crowd for a low-key reception at home, it felt cozy and intimate, casual but still celebratory.
"Thanks, Samantha," Charles replied. "I told your mother we could do whatever she wanted, but I think this was best for all of us. She really only had one request, and that was for us to get married in a church."
Sam nodded understandingly as she glanced around the room to where the minister sat talking with a few of Charles' friends. She remembered her mother mentioning at one point that she wanted to get married in a church this time because her first wedding was nothing more than two witnesses and the justice of the peace. Not that it mattered in the long run, but Betsy wanted this to be different from the shotgun wedding she'd thrown together the first time around. Sam didn't blame her in the least, and this had been perfect.
While her thoughts had been otherwise distracted, Martin went on to ask Charles more about his work for the drug company. He looked down at her and smiled as Charles talked about new research developments and promotion and Martin's grip around her tightened, hugging her closer to him. Her thoughts wandered again to their arguments the day her mother invited them to the wedding, and how glad she was that she decided to change her mind and invite him.
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Sam returned from her run, panting heavily as she turned into Martin's driveway and hit the keypad to let herself back in through the garage. She punched the keys a little harder than necessary, excess stress still pent up inside her as she reconsidered their argument from earlier that afternoon.
She could barely even call it an argument; Martin left her alone almost immediately after he said his piece, claiming he needed some time to himself. It was now five hours later, and to her knowledge, he spent the entire time locked up in his study. She went stir crazy after making it through the front page section of the Post and attempting the crossword puzzle, and decided to go out for a run to get some of her stress energy out.
Truth be told, she didn't feel any better because no matter what, she couldn't get Martin's look of total disappointment out of her mind.
Why was it again that she didn't jump at the idea of bringing Martin with her to her mother's wedding? Martin and her mother already met, already liked each other. What was there to be afraid of?
Everything, she sighed to herself.
Of Martin bringing the media along with him, of how they would paint her. She didn't like to admit it to herself, but it did matter. She hated the idea of the media spinning their relationship in a negative light because of her, or of doing the same to his career.
Of bringing Martin back to a place that held so many negative memories for her. There was no telling whom or what she might run into back in Kenosha, and while he always seemed to want to know more about her past, there wasn't a whole lot that she was interested in sharing. Not because she didn't want to share things with him, but because she didn't want to relive most of it herself.
But most of all, she was concerned that the whole thing would end badly. This was entirely new territory for her in a relationship. In all of her experience, she never made it to the point in a relationship where meeting the family and inviting each other to family functions became an issue; she usually made sure things were over long before that point.
She and Martin had been together for ten months now, and he consistently proved himself different from any other man she'd ever dated. He told her that he loved her, and she not only believed him but she told him how she felt as well.
She drew in a few deep breaths, running her hand across her face. She needed to face her fears and talk to Martin, she just didn't know how.
Glancing down at her watch, she noticed that it was starting to get late. In the ten minutes since she finished her run, the sun had already begun to disappear in the distance and the early winter evening was setting in. She set off for the kitchen and searched through the pantry for something she could throw together for dinner without expending tremendous amounts of energy and burning Martin's place down. Finally deciding that pasta would be her safest bet, she put the pot out on the stove and began to boil water.
She brought the water to a boil and was stirring in the spaghetti when she sensed Martin watching her from the other room. She turned around and met his eyes. "Hi," she said meekly, uncertainty lacing her voice.
"Hey Sam," he offered, his hands in his pockets as he inched closer. "You making dinner?"
She curled her lips up in a half-smile and ran one hand nervously through her hair, taking it down from its ponytail. "I was going to throw some garlic bread in the oven and then come see if you wanted to eat."
He looked as though he wanted to say something but instead decided against it. He took a seat at the kitchen table, giving the clock on the oven a long, hard stare before he finally spoke. "I heard you leave for your run." His voice was cool, calm, and disconcertingly emotionless. "I, uh, wasn't sure you would be coming back tonight."
She released a quick, pulsed breath and stirred the boiling water just a little bit faster. With one last definitive flick of her wrists, she set the spoon off to one side and walked over to join him at the table. She was still wearing a long-sleeved t shirt and her warm ups, and she rolled up the sleeves of her t shirt. It was almost a metaphorical gesture as well as a literal one, as her brown eyes met his deep blue ones. She felt a shiver run down her spine at the intensity of his gaze and, taking a deep breath, lowered her eyes and explained, "I've been thinking a lot about my mother's wedding, and I do want ... I want you to come with me. I can't lie and say that the whole thing doesn't make me nervous, but you're right, it's time for you to meet my family."
"Look, I may need a little more time to adjust and I may need some space, and I may even run sometimes..." she paused a beat for effect, raising her eyes to meet his gaze once again , "... but I don't ever want you to doubt that I love you and I will come back when I've worked through everything."
Martin smiled at her from across the table, reaching out to hold her hand. He rubbed smooth circles on the back of her palm with his thumb and replied, "I will always be here waiting, but I can be on your side too. You don't have to work this out on your own anymore, not if you don't want to."
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