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chapter thirteen
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the road is long, the memory slides
to the whole of my undoing
put aside, i put away
i push it back to get through each day
and all i feel is black and white
and i'm wound up small and tight
and i don't know who i am
-Sarah McLachlan, "Black & White"
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Samantha ran her hand through her hair as she pushed through the turnstile and quickly climbed the steps, exiting the subway station. She blinked rapidly, the sunlight stinging her eyes, as she made her way through the late Friday afternoon crowds and down the street.
There was a nervous bounce in her step as she walked the two blocks from the subway station to the small Italian restaurant where the team was meeting for dinner. Martin's invitation had taken her by surprise, but the instant she heard him speak over her voice mail, she knew she would accept. She had spent far too many hours alone with her thoughts over the course of the past week, and ecstatic from her transplant coordinator's go-ahead to return to work, she was eager to spend some time with her colleagues outside of the work environment. It had been far too long since she had willingly spent time maintaining her inter-office friendships.
But still, now that the only thing that stood between her and the evening with her friends was the traffic signal that read "Don't Walk" in flashing neon red lettering, she had to fight the waves of anxiety that settled across her stomach.
The crowd around her began to push forward across the crosswalk as the traffic signal changed from red to green. She took a breath and began to walk alongside the crowd, stepping carefully back up on the sidewalk and eyeing the glass windows of the restaurant as she approached. A small bell chimed as she swung the door open and stepped inside, her eyes scanning the tables until she found Danny and Elena, sitting close together at a round table set for five people. They were deep in conversation as Sam waived politely in acknowledgement to the hostess and coughed to clear her throat as she approached the table, finally causing Danny and Elena to look up.
Taking off her jacket, she hung it over the back of the seat on the other side of Elena and sat down. Shifting her weight forward and leaning against the table, she asked, "How long have you two been here?"
"Not too long," Elena bit her bottom lip and dropped her hand down under the table. "We just put in the order about five minutes ago."
Danny lifted his glass with a vigorous shake and mumbled, "Would have been here sooner if it weren't for our incompetent cab driver." He looked over at Elena, who smiled and laughed as she fingered her napkin. Her eyes shone brightly at him, obviously having overcome whatever issues were previously between them in the wake of Sofie's abduction. Danny leaned over and whispered something in a hushed voice that made Elena's smile widen, and Sam glanced away, pretending not to listen.
Sam's eyes scanned the restaurant, a small, comfortable family restaurant with red checkered tablecloths and tiny lamp-shaped candle holders in the middle of each table. Most of the tables were, at this point, occupied by young families with small children, chatting happily among themselves.
Her gaze fell on one family in particular, sitting in a booth in the back corner close to the kitchen door. The husband and wife looked as though they were no older than she herself was. The father sat on one side of the booth with a young girl of about four with curly brown hair and blue eyes, and across from them, the mother sat with their brown-haired toddler son of no more than two. The girl leaned in close to her father's side, hugging him tightly and giggling as he reached to tickle her; the toddler stood, still shaky on his feet, and began to dance in place, bobbing up and down delightedly. The mother leaned across the table to say something to her young daughter, who shook her head and laughed happily in turn, and the husband's hand reached out to take hold of his wife's hand and lifted it up with an affectionate squeeze.
There was something calm and peaceful about the happiness of this family that touched Sam, making her feel immensely and irrevocably sad. Her eyes remained transfixed upon the young family, continuing to watch until the waitress brought the food over to the table and husband and wife finally broke contact as plates were set down in front of them.
Finally tearing her gaze away, she picked up her glass of ice water and rotated her wrist, the ice cubes clinking against the side of the glass. She raised the glass to her lips and sipped eagerly, allowing the cool liquid to coat her throat as she swallowed. Her head felt fuzzy and warm, confusion washing over her as she wondered at the young family that had captured her attention. For although she had never seen herself as a mother and would vehemently deny any thoughts of having children, she suddenly did not understand the logic behind her own reasoning.
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A warm shiver ran down her spine as she felt Martin's hand along her back, guiding her inside O'Leary's Pub on the Upper West Side. It was about as upscale as you could get for a pub, and it fit the upscale neighborhood to a T. It was exactly the type of bar she would have pictured Martin as frequenting -- not that she often thought about what Martin did outside of work, of course.
But nevertheless, her skin tingled through her clothes at the pleasant burning sensation of his touch as they shuffled through the crowds to an empty booth towards the back of the dimly-lit room. Folk music with pop lyrics and fiddle accompaniment blared in the background and she cautioned a look at the wide dimpled grin across Martin's face.
She sat down slowly in the wooden booth, choosing the side that would put her back to the door and effectively allow her to hide herself away from the rest of the world. Her face contorted slightly as a twinge of pain shot down her thigh, and she balled up her fists and cursed silently. She was not certain if the random, occasional sharp pains or the persistent lingering soreness irritated her more, at this point.
"And what can be I gettin' for you there, lass?" Martin said in a mock Irish brogue that did not work for him at all but made her laugh in spite of herself.
Biting her lower lip and fighting a full grin, she craned her neck and said dryly, "Aren't you supposed to have a few in you already before you deteriorate into bad accents and pick up lines?" He shook his head bemusedly, and she leaned over to reach for her purse to retrieve her wallet.
He gently grabbed her elbow before she could undo the metal clasp that opened her leather handbag. Abandoning the fake accent, he tugged her forearm until she sat upright once again and said insistently, "What kind of a gentleman would I be if I didn't treat to at least one round?"
Telling herself that she was giving in easily only because she did not have the energy to argue, she nodded slowly. "I'll have a martini," she requested, craving the comfort of her usual drink of choice.
"Sure," he said, turning on his heels and heading off to the bar to place their order. When he returned a few minutes later with their drinks, she asked what he was having and noted with surprise that he had ordered a scotch for himself.
Scotch was the type of drink that men who were dark and brooding would order, the type of drink that Jack might order on the rare occasion that they had hid together in the dark back corner of some tacky bar well across town, hidden safely away from anyone they knew. It was not the drink that she would have expected from a man who seemed nothing but dimpled grins and encouraging words that she was coming to appreciate in the time since she had been recovering from the shooting. And it was another layer to Martin Fitzgerald that was beginning to pique her interest.
After all, she told herself, he had been a good friend to her.
"So," he said, sliding into the seat across the table and taking a drink, "Did you really mean what you said earlier about not wanting kids in this world?" He paused for a moment and arched his eyebrows, looking instantly nervous and wondering if he had begun their conversation by prying into something far too personal. His tongue jutted out between his lips and he bit down on it, pausing for a beat before quipping. "I mean, in what world would you want them? Or would you have to move galaxies?"
Sam laughed quietly, hiding her nerves behind the rim of her glass and forcing the memory of her terminated pregnancy from a lifetime ago back to the dark corners of her mind where it belonged. Lowering her eyes she said, "It's just not something that I've ever really wanted for myself. My relationships are complicated enough without bringing children into them..." She paused to take another long drink, allowing it to wash her throat as liquid courage. Placing the glass down on the wooden table top for emphasis, she said, "Besides, I could never wish a relationship like the one I have with my mother on my worst enemy, let alone a child that would be my own flesh and blood." She exhaled and flattened her palms against the edge of the table before looking up again, "Why are you so sure that you want kids?"
Martin was silent as he took in her explanation and carefully chose his response, and she wished that she could read his facial expression. "I've always wanted to have a family, for as long as I can remember." He rubbed his chin slowly and his blue eyes remained unreadable as he said, "But there's still time for you to change your mind... My older sister Alice went through a phase where she swore she wanted to be a nun; now she's happily married and has two daughters. Her youngest, Emma, just celebrated her first birthday three weeks ago."
"A nun? Really?" She laughed incredulously.
Martin smirked mischievously and replied, "Do you honestly think I could make this up?"
Sam leaned back into her seat, relaxed and still laughing, the impending OPR review long-since forgotten.
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"Look who we managed to drag out of the office!" Sam heard Vivian exclaim from just behind her. Rotating her neck, she saw Jack loom just behind where Vivian and Martin stood.
Elena immediately stood up from her seat. "Jack! I'll go ask someone if we can pull up another chair."
While Jack stood awkwardly to one side, appearing uncomfortable, Vivian slipped into the empty seat next to Danny, and Martin sat down in the chair between Sam and Vivian. Elena quickly returned with an extra chair and a set of silverware, and following closely behind her was the waitress, carrying their dinner order. Elena set the chair down, and Sam found herself once again forced between Jack and Martin, although this time not of her own doing. This time though, there was no choice for her to make; still furious with Jack, she scooted her chair just enough that there was acceptable space separating them.
Once the six were settled at the table, the waitress began to place their pizzas down in front of them, but Sam was not listening until she placed the last one down between herself and Martin with the announcement that it was white pizza.
White pizza? This could only mean one thing: Martin. She had never known any of her other co-workers to prefer white pizza, and Martin was the only one who knew about her childhood fear of any food that contained tomatoes.
It was something so simple, so mundane, and yet in this moment, it meant everything to her.
In the past when she had a choice between Jack and Martin, she would hem and haw indecisively, her decision coming in her failure to come to a solitary conclusion and stick to it. She clung to the ghost of what she thought she shared with Jack while ignoring the reality of the simple and honest nature of what she did share with Martin.
At one point he had looked at her with hope shining in his clear blue eyes as he broached the possibility of new feelings coming into play, and he had been right. Being with him introduced her to new feelings that she had not previously known existed, feelings that even now she did not fully understand.
But now there was a difference. Because while he had been right that day several years before, she had been too.
Old feelings don't die, they fade. And if you're not careful, they will creep back up on you when you least expect them.
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