Fifteen minutes later we were sitting back on our bench and I was looking out, over the sea...
...watching as the last vestiges of setting sun slipped below the horizon; while listening to Sam, over on my right, noisily draining the last of her orange-pineapple Slurpo.
With a contented sigh, I took another long sip of my ginger-lime (after all, I'd already tasted the raspberry-mango(!) and then, tearing my eyes away from the second most beautiful sight in world, I turned back toward the first...
...watching as she threw her empty cup/lid/straw, in a effortless graceful arc, into a trashcan about fifteen feet away. And I smiled...not because of her perfect aim, but because I was now thinking about tonight...
...about how I couldn't wait to hold her, naked, in my arms...
...but, as badly as I wanted to grab her-with both hands-and drag her straight back to our hotel room...
...and then, directly over to the bed...
...I suddenly remembered the unfortunate fact that Sam had brought nothing to Ocean Shores but an empty suitcase.
We had to go shopping.
And so, quickly finishing my drink, I got up, walked over to the trash can and threw the cup into it (my long-range aim sucks); and then I headed back to the bench, stopping directly in front of Sam and holding both of my hands out.
She took them.
As I hauled her to her feet, she looked at me questioningly.
"I know that you don't have anything you need with you," I announced, "so why don't we go shopping next? That way, you'll have clean clothes in the morning."
"I was just going to suggest that myself," she replied with a smile...
...and then followed me, willingly, over to-and then down-the road, through the rapidly-deepening twilight.
Less than five minutes later we were back on Ocean Shores Blvd. and, after walking only a block and a half, we found a pharmacy.
Just inside its front door, I turned to Sam and asked, in a low voice, "While we're here, do you need tampons?"
She shook her head.
"No. Not for another week and a half...why do you ask?"
"Well," I continued, "it's just...I've been thinking...that you can save some money while we're staying here if you just use my grooming items; and so, since you don't need tampons, all you'll need to buy is a toothbrush."
She shook her head.
"Nah, Carls, no need to buy that, even; I'm perfectly happy to use your toothbr-"
"The Dental Hygiene aisle is over there!" I cut in, pointing rapidly and enthusiastically to our left.
She stuck her lower lip out.
I pretended not to notice.
"Go pick one out, and then meet me back here," I added, stepping over to a rack of postcards, located near the register.
After shooting a last, reproachful look in my direction...
...which I ignored...
...she turned on her heel and headed, as instructed, toward Aisle Seven. Less than five minutes later she returned, with a new, blue-handled toothbrush clutched in her fist...
...and, reaching over, I took it from her, saying, "I've got this."
"Carls, that's not necessary!" she protested. "After all, I have money now."
"And I want you to hang onto as much of it as you can," I replied.
Nodding down at the post card in my right hand, she asked, "So, you found one you like?"
"Yes...and I'm buying one for you, too," I replied, holding up a second card, which featured a beautiful, sweeping beach scene at sunset.
At the register, I paid for everything, including two stamps; and then, after borrowing a pen from the cashier, Sam and I stepped down to the far end of the counter and took turns filling our cards out.
Five minutes later, I looked up from my completed message and toward Sam, saying, "Mine is to Grandad, thanking him for this trip. What did you write on yours?"
She picked it up from the counter and read:
"Mom, Lay off the Madd Dogg...I can smell your breath from here!"
Resisting the urge to laugh...loudly...I instead shot her a most disapproving look, then took the card from her; and, after putting stamps on both cards, I shoved them, along with her new toothbrush, into my back pocket.
Dusk was closing on us as we, now back outside, started walking again, looking for a place where Sam could buy some much-needed clothes...
...and, after only two more blocks, we found one.
The A&B Department Store was housed in a massive, turn-of-the-twentieth-century, former five-and-dime store. Its huge interior had been modernized-to a degree-but still retained its original hand-painted high tin ceilings, elaborately-carved wood molding, and understated Victorian charm...
...but, seconds after walking through the front door, Sam and I realized that it also featured some very unusual décor...
...including, among other things, a full-sized Stolch 811 twin-seater plane...
...a Wolksvagen ZW Beatle...
...a Kriss Kraft motorboat...
...and an AKT motorcycle...
...all hanging (upside down) from the ceiling, suspended by heavy chains.
In short, the store's décor was one of the coolest things I've ever seen...
...and Sam, too apparently, since it was nearly five minutes before she turned her attention from everything that was hanging over her head, down to me...
...stating as she did that, even though we were only staying for five days, her clothes back home were falling apart, and, therefore, she really needed to stock up.
Since I wanted her to save as much of her money as she could, I found this to be a bit unsettling...
...but still, I said nothing...
...because, once we were in the Men's department, she headed (to my relief) straight for the sale racks; actually finding several decent items, before checking out the rest of the displays.
She let me help, and together we picked out for her: five pairs of shorts (it was too hot for jeans), twelve pairs of socks, ten pairs of boxer shorts, nine T-shirts...and then-at my insistence-a navy blue, lined, hooded, zip-up sweat jacket (I'd noticed that the night air outside was turning cool, and besides, the thing was on sale for only $15).
After I'd won that argument(!), I led her over to the Women's department, where she picked out six bras.
"Well, that's enough, I guess," she stated. "I can just wear these same sneakers for the rest of the week."
As she turned her shopping cart in the direction of the register, located back up near the front entrance, I laid a hand on her arm and asked, "Would you mind if we took a fast look through the rest of the store?"
"Not at all; what is it that you need?"
"Well, nothing really," I answered. "I just wanted to see what else they have, besides clothes."
"Sure," she answered amiably, "lead the way."
Less than two minutes later, we were standing in the middle of Housewares...
...and it soon became obvious that this store catered mostly to a touristy clientele...because much of the merchandise (especially in this department) was of a 'souvenir' nature: Tea towels, mugs, etc., all with Ocean Shores imprinted on them. Still, curious to see everything, I took my time walking up and down every aisle, with Sam tagging, cooperatively and silently, behind me.
Two minutes later, I saw something I did want...
...and, on impulse (and suddenly inspired), I picked up three fat pillar candles, in a calming vanilla scent, and a long fireplace lighter...
...for later.
Sam didn't say anything as I added them to the cart, possibly because she was busy looking at a display of small, decorative, wooden 'treasure chests'.
Reaching over her shoulder, I took the one she was holding from her hand, and set it in our cart.
"No, Carls," she protested, "that's okay. I don't need-"
"Oh, yes you do," I informed her. "I want you to have it."
"Thanks, Cupcake," she said, smiling appreciatively...
...and adorably...
...as she reached over and gave my hand a squeeze...
...and then, together, we headed to the register.
By the time we emerged from the store...each of us lugging a huge shopping bag...darkness had fallen completely...
...it's profound blackness punctuated decisively, however, by the numerous lamp posts lining both sides of the street...
...and by the soft light spilling out onto the sidewalk through the many storefront windows, enveloping us in a welcome (and welcoming) blanket of radiance.
"Ha-ha, I told you you'd need that!" I declared with a superior smirk, as I watched Sam pull her new sweat jacket from her bag and then remove the tags...
...but, less than a minute later, I was apologizing profusely for my arrogant remark...
...as she held it out to me.
"Here, Cupcake," she said, kindly ignoring my sarcasm, "I don't want you to be cold."
Gratefully, I turned around and let her help me into it.
She zipped me up herself and then, as I snuggled appreciatively into its cozy, waffle weave lining, I smiled at her...
...and, together, we turned and headed in the direction of the hotel (there would be time later for sightseeing), walking through the now-noticeably cool, misty night air.
Looking over at Sam, I said, "Well, that was a nice surprise."
"Yeah," she agreed; what an awesome store!"
"No, that's not what I meant," I replied, turning my attention forward once more, to avoid walking into any of the other people who were currently sharing the sidewalk. "What I meant was that, since this is a resort town, I thought a store like that one would be a tourist trap...you know, with incredibly high prices; but instead, you just bought an entire week's worth of clothes, for just under $300...which means that you still have more than a thousand dollars to save...to save...for..."
Suddenly noticing out of the corner of my eye that she was no longer beside me, I stopped walking, myself...
...and stopped speaking...
...and, turning on the spot, I saw her now standing more than fifteen feet behind me, rooted to the sidewalk, eyes unfocused and staring straight ahead, with a most unusual expression on her face.
"Sam? Sam, are you okay?" I called over to her, concerned.
When she didn't answer, I quickly retraced my steps, until I was standing directly in front of her.
"Sam?" I repeated.
"That's...that's it," she mumbled, more to herself than to me.
"Uh, what is?"
"That's why your grandad gave me so much money," she said, raising her eyes to mine. "Don't you see? Last night at dinner, even though he obviously was...well, shell-shocked, he heard me say that I was going to college...and so this money is his gift...no, his contribution toward that!"
"I...don't know, Sam," I replied. "Fifteen hundred dollars? Why would he give you that much?"
She'd already asked herself that question.
"Well," she answered, "he knows that you're going to be 3,000 miles away, all the way over on the other side of the country, all by yourself, for the first time...and so, when he heard that I was planning to move to Philly...well, he probably likes the idea that I'm going to be so close by...since he won't be."
"But, still, Sam...fifteen hundred dollars? That's a huge gift! I...don't know," I said, frowning, "something about all of this just doesn't add up."
"Well, yeah...I know," she agreed, but then paused...
...and mumbled, "Unless..."
Silence.
"Unless...what?" I prompted...
...but she shook her head...
...refusing to elaborate, even though I asked her several more times...
...until I, finally convinced that she had no intention of telling me the rest, reluctantly let the matter drop.
As we stopped on the corner, waiting to cross the street, I said, "Look, there's a mail box on the next block, in front of that bank. We can mail our cards there."
She nodded and, taking my arm, led me carefully across the street.
After I'd dropped our cards, we continued walking toward the hotel and, soon noticing the 'Hours of Operation' sign on a nearby card shop's front door, I remarked, "I can't believe how late these stores stay open. Back home, the Seattle Waterfront stores all close around seven, and...and-" and suddenly, I stopped speaking...
...noticing, once again, that Sam wasn't walking beside me.
This time, I found her halfway back down the block...
...in front of Shannon's Sub Shop...
...whose open front window housed its front counter...
...where she now stood, entranced...
...eagerly inhaling huge lungsful of cheesteak-scented air.
With a smile, I headed back to where she was standing...
...and, without turning to me, she exclaimed, "M-m-m-mmm, Carls, smell that good grease!"
Obligingly, I did as she'd directed, reveling in the inviting and unmistakeable, mouth-watering aromas of sauteed mushrooms, melted Provolone, and garlicky marinara sauce.
"So...you're thinking about dinner?" I asked with a smile.
Tearing her eyes (with obvious effort) away from the storefront, she turned toward me and replied, "Cupcake, you know I'm always thinking about dinner!"
"Well, that's good, because I'm hungry, too," I informed her, adding, "really hungry...and so, I'm thinking-"
"So am I!" she cut in eagerly, "Those steaks smell incredible!"
I shook my head.
"Uh, no," I answered slowly, not sure how she'd respond to my next suggestion, "actually, I was wondering if...uh...would you mind if I pick the restaurant this evening?"
She was silent for a long moment...
...but then, after another long, yearning glance at Shannon's, she turned back to me and said, just as slowly, "Well, no...I...I guess not."
With an appreciative nod, I continued, "Well, I was thinking that...have you noticed that restaurant back at the hotel? The one off to the right side of the lobby as you walk in, behind that long glass wall? It's called Shafto's."
"The one with the two huge, weird metallic floral arrangements, right outside its entrance?" she asked.
"Yes," I confirmed, "that's the one."
"Yeah, I saw it."
"Well then, would it be okay if...can we have dinner there?" I asked...
..and her face fell, as she protested, "But, isn't that...gourmet...whaddya call it? You know, what the sign in the window said?"
I had to think about it for a minute.
"Oh, you mean nouvelle cuisine?"
"Yeah," she replied, "that's it...so what the hell is that?"
"Well," I began, "to make a long story short, nouvelle cuisine is an approach to cooking that places a lot of emphasis on plate presentation..."
She still looked far from sold.
"...and, since you're an artist, I'll bet you'll love that!" I added quickly.
"Aw, man! It sounds way too formal...and I don't feel like like dressing up!" she exclaimed sullenly.
"How could you? I asked, "...when you don't even have any dress clothes?"
"Well, I...I...thought you'd just...force me to wear something of yours!" she replied apprehensively.
I shook my head and then, stopping under the next streetlamp, I pulled my phone out of my front pocket, saying, "Look, I'll give them a call. The hotel is so close to the beach that they might not even have a dress code. Besides, it's getting late and I'm not sure what time they close."
She still looked way less than enthused, but she nodded, nonetheless...
...and I made the call.
Less than five minutes later, I turned to her with a smile.
"Well, aren't you the lucky one?" I informed her. There's no dress code-"
"Yay!"
I shot her a look, then continued, "...and so I made us a reservation, for the last seating...which is in fifteen minutes."
"BOOOOO-MPH!" she exclaimed, as my hand shot forward and covered her mouth.
Immediately moving closer to her...until our noses were almost touching, I begged, "Please, Sam? I'd really like to...and I promise you that we'll come back for cheesesteaks...soon!"
After thinking it over (for nearly half a minute(!), she nodded slowly...
...and I removed my hand from the lower half of her face.
"Come on," I said, "gourmet food, in a casual atmosphere...how bad could it be?"
"You're right, Carls," she answered, sounding genuinely regretful. "I...I'm sorry."
"That's okay, you know I could never stay mad at you," I replied with a smile...
...reaching forward and pulling her into a hug...
...and feeling a thrill shoot through my entire body as she returned it...
...and then, with a sigh (and even though we were standing on a very crowded sidewalk), I leaned down and rested my head on her shoulder.
It was almost a full minute before she released me, but once she had I took her arm, and we continued walking; until, less than ten minutes later, we were entering the hotel, crossing over to the right side of the lobby...
...and walking through the front door of Shafto's.
Two hours later, we were walking into our hotel room...
...and Sam was slamming the door behind us.
I set my shopping bag on the dresser...
...and she flung hers down next to it...
...then rounded on me, shouting, "Carls, that's the LAST time I let YOU pick the restaurant!"
"W-well," I began, defensively, "h-how was I supposed to know-"
I thought you were aware what kind of place that was!" she yelled.
"I...I thought I did, too," I agreed, in my most sincerely apologetic tone.
"No wonder they call it Shafto's," she observed...loudly, "...because we certainly got shafted!"
Laying a hand on her arm, I said, "B-but, I deliberately ordered us the five-course pre fixe menu...because it sounded like...well, like...a lot!"
"And it would have been...if they'd put more than a thimbleful of food on each plate!" she shot back.
"Look, Sam-" I began...
...but she was on a roll.
"And that 'dessert' was the biggest insult of all!" she yelled, now waving her arms. "What the hell was that crap supposed to be? A huge, sixteen-inch plate, with half of a miniature chocolate macaroon...representing the dark side of the moon...in its center, surrounded by a few drips of sauce...and edible glitter stardust! Un-friggin-believable! I mean, cockroaches eat more than that!"
"How many times do I have to tell you that I'm sor-hey, wait a minute!" I exclaimed suddenly, then demanded, now equally angry, "Why should I apologize to you...when I'm the one who paid for that, that...travesty?"
"And that's another thing, Carls," she continued, ignoring my logic (and just as loudly), "...not only did they starve us half to death...they charged you an arm, a leg, and an ovary for the privilege!"
"Well...what do I look like...a psychic?" I yelled.
"Never again, Carls!" she shot back. "Never, ever again!"
Now furious at this last insult, I opened my mouth...
...to shout that, when it came to making decisions, she herself was far from perfect...
...but then, suddenly, I came to my senses...
...and shut it again.
What the hell were we doing?
We were fighting with each other...like two highly agitated idiots...over something so unbelievably trivial!
And, after forcing myself to take a deep, calming breath, I said to her, with much more composure, "Look, we're both really hungry and cranky...so let's just call this evening a uh...'learning experience'...and I promise that I'll make it up to you, tomorrow, with as many cheesteaks as you can-"
"But...I'm starving now!" she shouted, obviously far from ready to 'let this go.'
I reached over and took her right hand between both of my own, then stated, "Look, Sam, I was wrong...really wrong...about what I just said. I do owe you an apology. I'm very, very sorry to have disappointed you by picking that place; but all I'm asking is that you take into account that I had no idea what was going to happen...so, please don't be mad at me...okay?"
Immediately removing her hand from mine, she covered her face with both hands for a long moment...
...and then said, much more calmly, "Carls...I...I'm so sorry! I never should have...I never should have yelled at you...it's just that...I...I was expecting..."
...her voice trailed off.
I took a step forward and lay a hand on her shoulder.
"No honey," I replied, "you didn't do anything wrong...neither of us did...so why don't we both just...forget about this...all of it, okay?"
"I already have forgotten, Cupcake, it's just that...I'm still really hungry," she replied, as she leaned back, sulking, against the dresser.
"I...I've already forgotten it, too," I assured her, "...and so, why don't we just-"
I never got to finish the sentence...
...because, suddenly, her eyes left mine...
...as she whipped her head over to the right...
...and a second later, she shoved off from the dresser, ran across the room, grabbed her backpack, and then crossed the room again, sprinting for the door.
"Hey! Where are you going?" I demanded.
"Be right back!" she said, fumbling with the lock.
"It's already unlocked," I reminded her, then added, "But, wait! The restaurant is closed now! You saw for yourself that we were the last ones to leave!"
"Yeah, I know," she called over her shoulder, while running out of the room.
"Well then, did you see some vending machines down in the lobby?" I asked...
...but it was too late.
She was already gone.
With a sigh, I stared down the now-deserted corridor, trying to remember if we had passed a convenience store on our way back to the hotel; because that's the only other place that could possibly be open at this late hour. Unable to recall, I turned my attention to the two shopping bags on the dresser; and, for something to do, I pulled Sam's new clothes from them, removed their tags, folded them neatly, and then stored everything in two of the dresser's empty drawers.
Next, I pulled her new treasure chest out and set it in the center of the dresser...
...and then, I got my three new candles out, removed the cellophane from each and took them, along with my lighter, into the bathroom, where I set them on a bare section of the vanity...
...for later.
As I walked back out of the bathroom, I noticed, to my dismay, the room service menu that was sitting on the nightstand.
Damn it!
Why hadn't I thought to (lavishly) order room service for both of us? If I had, Sam would be right here...
...half undressed and in my arms by now...
...instead of...God knows where!
I sighed. It was too late now. Oh, well.
Picking up the discarded cellophane and both of the shopping bags, I crumpled everything into a huge ball, then walked out into the hallway and stuffed it all into a trash can at its end...
...and then, I returned to the room.
To wait for Sam.
Less than ten minutes later, she burst through the door and, after shutting it hastily...
...and without a word, she rushed straight to the coffee table in front of the couch...
...where, after shrugging her now-bulging backpack off and setting it down...
...with a resounding whump...
...she turned to face me.
"Where the hell were you?" I demanded, before she could even open her mouth...
...and much too loudly.
"Getting you your money's worth," she replied grimly, but without a trace of resentment for how I'd just spoken to her.
I opened my mouth to speak again...
...but, shaking her head, she put her hands on my shoulders and pushed me down, gently, onto the couch...
...and then, kneeling beside the coffee table, she unzipped her backpack, reached inside, and pulled out...
...an entire roast duck...
...a nearly foot-long slab of thinly-sliced Scottish smoked salmon...
...half a dozen huge, marinated and grilled portabello mushrooms...
...several large sheets of lavash flatbread...
...and a long, chocolate Swiss roll, all wrapped in foil. After opening that last item, she paused.
"Oh, yeah, and before I forget," she said, reaching back into her bag and pulling out a huge bottle of Canterberry Fizz.
"Where did you get all of this," I asked, amazed, "...certainly not at Shafto's?"
"That's exactly where I got it," she replied. "I'm just as surprised as you are, though...I never expected to find food in their kitchen that was in larger than microscopic-sized pieces."
Frowning in confusion, I asked, "But how did you manage to get ins-"
"Back door...lock pick; refrigerator door...roasting fork," she replied succinctly.
Rising from her knees, she joined me on the couch, and then, without hesitation, we both tore into our real dinner. Since there were no utensils, we ate with our hands...
...which meant that each of us was soon a greasy mess...
...but, at that point, I was far too hungry to care.
Twenty minutes later, when everything was gone, and Sam was inspecting the duck carcass carefully for any fragments she'd missed, I got up to wash my face and hands.
Soon sitting back down next to her, I asked, sarcastically, "Not going to suck the marrow out of those bones?"
Tearing her attention away from the duck carcass, she shot me a reproachful look.
"Feeling better now?" I asked, much more kindly...
...and, with a broad smile, she nodded and leaned back, sprawling against the sofa.
"Oh, no you don't!" I informed her...loudly. "Not until you clean yourself up...because I don't want you leaving greasy fingerprints everywhere!"
For once (and to my astonishment), she didn't argue with me, but instead got up and headed straight to the bathroom...
...while I sat, distastefully surveying all the trash that was now strewn across the coffee table.
Hearing the bathroom door open, I turned to her, saying, "I threw those two shopping bags away, but now I wish I'd save them, so we'd have something to put all this junk in...especially these duck bones."
Sam looked thoughtful for a moment then said, "Hey, how about this?" Bending down, she grabbed something from the floor, over on the far side of the bed...
...and, as she straightened up, I saw that it was the huge, padded manila envelope she'd found in her suitcase this morning...
...where Grandad had put it.
"This is lined with plastic bubble wrap, so it's almost as good as a trash bag," she added, walking over to where I sat.
"Excellent," I said, taking it from her hand and holding it open, "just crumple all that foil up and put everything in, and then I'll take it down the hall, to the trash ca-oh, my God!"
"Carls?" she asked...
…but I didn't answer...
...because I was now looking, stunned, inside the envelope...
...to see a smaller, cream colored one at the bottom.
Grandad's stationery.
He had sent us a third item.
Sam obviously hadn't noticed it earlier, because it had fallen over sideways, wedging itself horizontally at the bottom of the larger envelope.
I pulled it out with shaking hands...
...and looked at it for a long moment...
...and then raised my eyes to Sam's.
She sat down beside me on the couch.
"Who...is this one for?" she asked slowly.
"M-m-me."
She nodded...
...and I tore it open.
Taking a deep breath, I reached inside, and pulled out...
...not Grandad's familiar stationery...
...and not another fax...
...but a single sheet of slightly crumpled, lined, yellow legal paper...
...and as I did I realized, to my great apprehension, that something about it seemed very, very familiar...
...and, the instant I unfolded it, I swear that my heart stopped beating...
...as I recognized, not only my own handwriting...
...but what I had written as well.
The words, which covered the entire front of the page, were one of my unfinished love letters to Sam...
...in which I'd poured my heart out, telling her how much I love her, and that I wanted only to spend the rest of my life with her, trying my hardest to make her happy...
...the way she made me happy, every moment of every day.
And that I absolutely could not live without her.
But then, as I reached the bottom of the page...
...my heart, once again, lurched to a halt...
...this time, seemingly crushed by a huge, invisible fist...
...because I saw, written there in my Grandfather's unmistakeable, angular handwriting, the following seven words: I found this on the kitchen floor.
Oh.
My.
God!
I sat, frozen and stunned, staring at what he'd written, while realizing that, somehow, this page must have fallen out of my wastebasket, while I had been carrying it through the kitchen...
...on my way to empty it in the back yard trash can...
...and he had found it!
And, at this horrifying revelation...
...and with letter still in hand, I jumped to my feet and began tearing, in circles, around the couch.
"He's gonna kill me! He's gonna kill me! He knows...and now, as soon as I see him on Friday, he's gonna kill me!" I shrieked...
...repeatedly.
"Carls! Carls...what is it?" Sam gasped.
"Oh, God, Sam!" I yelled, not slowing my pace. "He knows I have...f-feelings for you, and now he's gonna-"
A I passed in front of her for, perhaps, the seventh time, she reached up, grabbed onto the right leg of my shorts, and dragged me down next to her.
"Stop that!" she demanded. "You're making me dizzy!"
Without another word, she snatched the paper from my hand...
...and started to read it.
"S-sam, no!" I begged. "It's not fin...I never finished it...and, it must have fallen out of my wastebasket, and he found...oh, God! He's gonna kill me!"
And, jumping back up off the couch, I resumed racing around it.
Less than a minute later, however, I came screeching to a halt...
...because Sam was now on her feet and directly blocking my path.
Taking hold of my shoulders, she steered me, protesting, back over to the the front of the couch.
"S-sam! He's gonna kill me!" I yelled, as she pushed me back down onto it, and then sat down on my lap to keep me from jumping up again.
"No, Carls, she said slowly, "he's...not."
"He is! He will!" I insisted, struggling-and failing-to slide out from under her. "He's going to...oh, God!"
"No," she repeated. "He's not."
"B-b-but you s-s-saw-" I began.
"You're not being logical," she cut in, with astonishing calmness...
...and, at this, I stopped squirming, while shouting, "How can I be...knowing that I'm going to be dead by the end of the wee-"
Dropping the letter onto the coffee table, she put her hands on both sides of my face and, looking deeply into my wildly-darting eyes...
...she said, "Stop. Just...Stop...It."
With effort, I forced myself to stop freaking out verbally...
...even though my insides were still shaking violently in terror...
...and once I had, Sam took a deep breath, then stated, "Good. Now, let's be logical. First things first: when you called your Grandad this morning, did he sound...homicidal?"
"N-no," I admitted, quickly realizing that he hadn't.
"Well, then, how did he sound?" she asked.
I thought it over for a moment.
"Uh, mostly apologetic...but still-"
"No," she interjected, letting go of my face, then picking the piece of paper up and holding it out to me, while directing, "Okay, now look at the date on this."
I did...
...but instead of reassuring me, it only made me even more agitated.
"It's...from over three months ago...in April!" I exclaimed. Looking up at her, I added, "H-he's h-had it all this time..."
"Yet he never confronted you," Sam finished my sentence calmly.
"But...but why didn't he?" I demanded.
"That's not the issue here," she answered.
"Well, then, what is?" I shot back.
"How often do you empty your trash?" she asked.
"Once every week, on Monday nights, because the trash truck picks up every Tuesday morning," I answered, "but what does that have to do with any-"
"Don't you get it, Carls?" she cut me off. "From what you've just told me, plus the date on this letter, he's had it for over three months."
"I know that! We just established that a minute ago!" I shouted.
She shook her head.
"You're still not understanding what this means," she pointed out. "He knew about all of...this, back in April yet, on the day you both got into that huge fight, he told you that he'd been planning to invite me up to Yakima, to stay with you...for the entire summer."
"What does that have to do with-" I began...
...but then, suddenly, I got it.
Oh, my God, Sam! He WAS going to let you c-come stay with me!" I gasped.
"Exactly, Carls," she answered. "Now, if he still hates me, why would he make an offer like that? Wouldn't he instead have wanted me to stay as far away from you as possible?"
Before I'd had a chance to answer, she mumbled, more to herself than to me, "Well, it looks like I was right after all."
Frowning, I asked, "What do yo mean you were...oh, my God, Sam!" I exclaimed...
...suddenly remembering, "Do you mean, earlier, in front of the department store, when you said, 'Unless'...this is what you were thinking? That h-he knows about us?"
She nodded in agreement, adding, "Yes. That's why he gave me fifteen-hundred dollars...instead of, you know, maybe fifty."
"No way!" I shouted. "Sam, there's no way! It's...absolutely too farfetched!"
"What other explanation could there be?" she asked, in a tone that left no doubt that she'd already embraced this conclusion.
"I...don't believe it!" I said stubbornly. "Grandad's mindset...and his...religious devotion...and-"
"And people can change their minds," she countered.
"Maybe...but not my grandfather!" I insisted.
"He has, Carls, if you'd only realize it."
"What do you mean 'he has?'" I demanded. "How do you figure that?"
"Look," she replied, "it's obvious, from this letter, that he knows how you feel about me...yet, he sent us both on this trip...together...but he wouldn't let me sleep in your bed last night, even though it's a queen size."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning that, obviously, he's old-fashioned and doesn't allow 'that sort of thing' under his roof. Yet, here we are now, in a hotel room, all alone...and he knows that because he deliberately sent us here...for five whole days...so, all of this can point to only one thing: that he knows how you feel about me...and he accepts it."
"Well, even if we assume that's true, then how, I mean...what made him change his mind?" I asked.
"I'm...not sure," she admitted, "but we both know that much of his day revolves around reading the news...and watching it on TV.; which means that he has to have seen all the recent news coverage of all of those haters saying that gays should die...
I opened my mouth to speak...
...but she held her hand up, adding, "...plus, there's all those stories about gay kids killing themselves, because they're bullied relentlessly into thinking that they're less than human."
"All the more reason why he wouldn't want me to be gay!" I insisted.
Sam shook her head.
"No, Carls. You're not factoring in the most important thing of all."
"And...what's that?"
"That he's well aware of how miserable his own life is," she answered. "After all, his wife left him...and now, being so desperate for companionship, he's allowed himself to become prisoner to an evil, drunken troll...so, don't you think that he'd want you to be happy?"
I shook my head.
"I...don't know, Sam; but even if what you're saying is true...I...I'm sorry but I don't know how else to say this...but...even if he could reconcile himself to me being in love with a girl...then then...why would he want me to end up...end up with..."
"With a hooligan?" she asked.
"I'm sorry!" I added quickly, "it's just...how could he possibly go from calling you...that, for as long as I can remember, to...to...giving you his blessing?"
Instead of answering immediately, Sam pulled the folded stack of money that Grandad had given her from her front pocket...
...and sat, looking at it, for a long moment.
"No, Carls, this doesn't represent his blessing," she said slowly...
...then, looking up at me, she stated, "What I'm being given here is a...a chance."
"What do you mean?"
"Well," she continued, "it means that...he knows that if I'm not serious about my, about our future, then I'll just waste this...and if I do, that means I won't be able to go East with you next year...which means that you'll be spending four years all the way over on the other side of the country...which means that you'll probably find someone else you want to be with...instead of with me."
"How can you even say that?" I gasped. "Don't you dare even dream-"
She held her hand up.
"Whoa! I'm just stating this from his perspective. But, on the other hand...if I do follow through on everything I said...and if I work hard, then I will be able to go...which means that...I'll sort of have earned the right to...be with you...see?"
I still didn't buy this whole thing completely...even though, as Sam had pointed out, there really didn't seem to be any other possible explanation...
...but, still, I didn't want to argue about it...
...because I was now fixated on-and terrified of-my upcoming reunion with Grandad.
"What am I going to say to him, on Friday?" I asked. "How can I possibly-"
"You probably won't have to say anything," Sam stated confidently. "If he wants to discuss it...which I doubt, then he'll bring it up himself...but I really don't think he will...okay?"
After thinking it over, I nodded...
...and then sat looking at her for a long moment...
...as, now deep in thought again, she lowered her gaze.
"Sam?"
"Yeah?" she asked, not looking up.
"I was thinking," I continued, "that...when we go East, if we both have cars, we could...live together, you know, share an apartment...halfway between both campuses, to minimize the commute for both of us."
She didn't answer me, just sat staring at the floor.
"...unless you don't want to!" I added quickly.
To my relief, she reached over and gave my hand a squeeze.
"No, of course I'd like that!" she assured me...
...as she looked up, into my eyes...
...and smiled at me in that wonderful way of hers...
...and suddenly, Grandad was the last thing from my mind.
We just sat there, my hand still in hers, looking at each other, neither of us speaking. I had no idea what she was thinking...
...but, rather than deliberating on that, I was now thinking about myself...trying to figure exactly what to say or do next...
...because I wanted to do this the right way.
All of it.
I wasn't sure if she was tense...
...but I sure as hell was...
...and so, it seemed that the next logical step was that we should relax...
...both of us...
...together.
And, getting up off the couch, I turned to her and, while hoping my voice didn't betray my extreme nervousness, said, "Well...we should get cleaned up now...and get, uh, ready for bed; so, uh, how about a...a long, hot shower?"
Without hesitating, she nodded.
"That sounds great!" she responded, eagerly...
...and, turning away from her, and with heart racing, I headed to the bathroom.
Pushing the door open...
...as far as it would go...
...I walked through it and, crossing the room..
...over to the vanity, I picked the lighter up and, with trembling hands, lit all three of the vanilla-scented candles I'd bought earlier that evening...