02_Groom of Her Own (19 page)

“Well, the doctor said the swelling would go down pretty fast. And I feel a lot better already.”

Brad poured himself another cup of coffee and sat back down at the table. “Dinner here will be nice,” he said with a smile, the intimate warmth in his eyes soaking into her pores like sunshine.

Sam was saved from having to reply by the sudden ringing of the phone. She started to rise, but Brad restrained her with a hand on one shoulder and stood up to take it off the hook, passing it to her as he sat back down.

Sam gave him a smile of thanks as she greeted the caller. “Hello?”

“Sam? It’s Laura.”

“Hi.”

“You sound better.”

“Yeah, well, yesterday wasn’t exactly my day.”

“Are you okay?”

“Uh-huh. The stings are pretty red and swollen, but at least they don’t hurt as much.”

“Thank heavens! We were all so worried. And Brad was a wreck.”

Sam looked over at the man in question, who smiled disarmingly, making her heart flip-flop. “Really?”

“Yeah. I thought he was going to have a heart attack or something while he was waiting for Sandy to come out and report on your condition.”

“Hmm,” was Sam’s only response.

“So did he stay long when he took you home?” Laura asked, her studiously casual tone not fooling Sam. Laura was fishing for information, and Sam decided to have a little fun.

“Uh-huh.”

There was silence, and when it became clear that Sam wasn’t going to offer any more information, Laura tried another tack. “I’ll probably give him a call later this morning and see how he is. Nick thinks he hurt his shoulder in the fall. We were all so worried about you that no one really paid attention to him.”

“Do you want to talk to him now?” Sam asked innocently.

There was a long moment of stunned silence. But at last Laura found her voice. “You mean he’s there?” she asked cautiously.

“Uh-huh. We just had breakfast”

By now Sam was grinning, and Brad raised his eyebrows questioningly. Sam just shook her head. She was enjoying this. Laura was too discreet to come right out and directly ask a personal question, but Sam knew she was dying of curiosity. So she waited her out.

“Well…that’s nice,” Laura said finally. “He must have come over really early.”

“No. Actually, he never left. And Nick was right. His shoulder is badly bruised.”

By now Brad was on to her game, and he leaned back with a smile and shook his head, sipping his coffee.

Sam knew Laura’s brain was in overdrive, so before things got too out of hand, she stepped in. “He slept on the couch, Laura,” she said deliberately.

“I’m sure he did,” Laura replied quickly. “I mean, I’ve known Brad a long time, and he’s a real gentleman. Besides, sleepovers aren’t his style.” She paused. “Listen, Sam, I wasn’t trying to pry or anything, so…”

“Yes, you were,” Sam interrupted with a chuckle. “And it’s okay. I gave you the third degree plenty of times when you were dating Nick, remember? After all, what are friends for?”

Laura’s soft laugh came over the line. “Yeah. I do remember. Well, take care of yourself. And tell Brad to do the same. Will I see you Thursday night?”

“I’ll be there. And thanks for calling, Laura.”

“Like you said, what are friends for? ‘Bye.”

Sam replaced the receiver, and Brad chuckled as he set his cup down on the table. “I think I got the gist of that conversation.”

Sam flushed. “Sorry about that. I couldn’t resist putting her on a little.” Then she frowned in sudden concern. “Oh, Brad, I probably shouldn’t have done that! I mean, you’re a minister and all, and I wouldn’t want to start any rumors or anything.”

Brad rose and smiled down at her. “Don’t worry. Laura’s known me too long to jump to the wrong conclusions.”

Sam’s face cleared as she stood up as well. “Yeah, you’re probably right. She did say you were a gentleman, and a gentleman wouldn’t…well…you know.”

“Wouldn’t he?” Brad asked softly, moving closer.

Sam backed up in alarm, her heart accelerating to double time. “Brad…let’s put things on hold till Friday, okay?”

It wasn’t okay as far as he was concerned. He wanted to talk things out right now. In fact, he wanted to do more than talk. But they’d agreed to wait until Friday, and Laura was right—he was a gentleman. And a gentleman kept his word.

“Okay,” he capitulated. “I’ve got to get going, anyway.”

Sam walked him to the door, and he paused on the tiny porch, turning back to gently touch her hair, remembering the way it had felt in his hands the night before. Exercising great restraint, he took a deep breath and then bent down and gently kissed her forehead, carefully avoiding the puffy welt above her eye.

“Will you take it easy for the next few days, Sam?”

She nodded, trying to swallow past the lump in her throat. “Uh-huh.”

He gazed down at her, clearly reluctant to leave, and finally let out his breath slowly in a long, heavy sigh. “Well, I know one thing for sure,” he said at last.

“What?”

“It’s going to be a long week.”

Sam wearily fitted her key in the lock and pushed the door open. Not only was it turning into a long week, it had also been a long night. There were times when she found her work at the counseling center very rewarding. And then there were other times, like tonight, when it left her emotionally drained and depressed.

She dropped her purse on the hall table and stepped out of her shoes, arching her back and tilting her head back and forth to relieve the tension in her muscles. Was there something else she could have done, or said, or offered that would have made a difference? she wondered futilely. It was the same question she always asked on nights like this, and she came up with the same answer: maybe. But she didn’t have a clue what.

As Sam mechanically prepared for bed she wondered how Jamie was doing, both physically and emotionally. Her decision had been made under pressure, Sam knew. The last thing her boyfriend wanted to deal with as a college freshman was a baby. And her parents were apparently of the opinion that a scandal would be worse than the alternative.

They were wrong, of course. Dead wrong. But they’d obviously convinced Jamie. Maybe, in the end, they’d threatened not to pick up her college tuition if she had the baby. Maybe they’d told her they would throw her out of the house. Only Jamie knew which pressure had finally pushed her to make a decision Sam knew she would live to regret. Because Sam also knew that the girl had had serious moral concerns. But Sam had seen the desperate, frantic look in her eyes both times they’d met and she knew that despite her best efforts, there was a good chance Jamie would go through with the procedure. Sam had done everything she could think of to prevent that from happening, even giving the girl her home phone number and encouraging her to call at any hour. But Jamie hadn’t taken her up on the offer. She might call now, though, after the fact. Some of them did. And at that point all Sam could do was listen and share their anguish.

Sam lay awake a long time, staring at the dark ceiling. Jamie was probably doing the same thing right now. And if she was half as sensitive as Sam thought she was, similar nights lay ahead of her. Nights filled with regret and remorse and sadness. Maybe someday she would go on to marry, have other children, lead a fulfilling life. Most women did. But Sam suspected that even those who seemed able to put the decision behind them and move on still had moments of deep sadness and guilt.

As Sam finally drifted to sleep, she did something she hadn’t done in a very long time. She turned to the Lord for help. Not for herself, but for Jamie. She asked him to watch over the girl in the difficult months—and years-ahead. She would need all the help and support she could get. Ending the life of an innocent child—by choice or through irresponsibility—often took only minutes. But it exacted a price that lasted a lifetime.

Sam thrashed on the bed, frowning in her sleep. She heard a child’s anguished cry of fear and pain, followed by the plaintive utterance of a single word…Mama…that slowly turned into a scream of terror that went on and on and—

With a strangled sob, Sam awoke abruptly, her heart pounding, her breathing erratic. It was a familiar, if dreaded, scenario, and Sam knew what to do. She sat up quickly and turned on the light, forcing herself to take slow, deep breaths as she focused on the Monet painting strategically hung across from her bed. It was a coping mechanism she’d learned a long time ago.

She continued to breathe deeply, letting the beauty of the painting seep into her soul until the ugly images in her mind began to fade, and gradually her heart rate returned to normal and her respiration slowed. She was still shaky, though, her hands trembling as she reached for the sheet and pulled it up as she leaned back against the headboard.

Sam’s eyes filled with tears. With every fiber of her being she wished she could forget that day, pretend it had never happened. Sometimes she managed to force the memory into a dusty comer of her mind, but always the nightmare would return, the images so vivid, the sounds so real, that for those brief moments before awakening she relived the horror in all its original intensity. Choking back a sob, she lowered her head to her knees and huddled on the bed, reliving once again that terrible time in her life….

“How could you let this happen? We’ve only been married two months! I don’t want a kid, Sam. Get rid of it or I’m out of here.”

Randy’s voice was angry and his face expressed shock, but Sam was more shocked at the harshness of his words. She didn’t really want a child, either, at this point in her life. She was too young and too inexperienced and too frightened of the responsibility. Nor did she want to lose Randy. Since she’d alienated her parents by marrying him, he was all she had. There was no one else to turn to, and she had no job, no money, no place even to live without him.

Yet she couldn’t bring herself to end the life growing within her, despite Randy’s threats. The very thought of it was abhorrent to her. But as the days wore on and his threats intensified, she grew more uncertain and desperate. There just didn’t seem to be any other option. Sleepless night blended into sleepless night as she struggled alone with her decision, and she grew pale from exhaustion and strain.

The night of horror began with Randy’s angry parting words as he left for his band job.

“I told you to get rid of that thing, Sam. Make your choice now—it’s me or it”

Sam watched him leave, the tears silently coursing down her cheeks. Wearily she lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling in the latest of the impersonal, nondescript motel rooms that had become her home. Sleep. That was what she craved. Her body needed the rest and she needed the oblivion. But sleep had been a stranger lately.

Suddenly she remembered the pills Randy took. The blue ones and yellow ones; uppers and downers, he called them. He never seemed to have any trouble sleeping when he took the downers, she thought. It couldn’t hurt to take one or two, could it? She needed the sleep so badly! She couldn’t even think straight anymore, she was so tired.

Sam got up and filled a glass with water in the bathroom, then rummaged in his suitcase, finally withdrawing a small container. She hesitated for a brief second, then resolutely shook out two of the innocuous-looking pills and tossed them into her mouth, downing them quickly with a gulp of water.

Sam replaced the container and lay down, waiting for her eyelids to grow heavy. But instead, as the minutes ticked by, she started to feel strange. Lightheaded. Sensitized. Her nerve endings began to tingle, and she grew more alert rather than sleepy. As the feelings intensified, she frowned in confusion. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Unless—

With growing, frightening certainty, she swung her feet to the floor and rummaged through Randy’s suitcase again, once more retrieving the bottle of pills. She stared at it, then searched for the other bottle, pulling it out as well. With a sickening jolt, she realized that she’d taken the wrong pills.

Sam began to pace, frightened by the frenetic energy coursing through her veins and the erratic pounding of her heart. She had to find a way to tone down the effects of the pills, she thought in panic. Fresh air. That would help. Lots of fresh air. Maybe she should take a drive and just let the air rush against her face. Yes. That was a good idea. It couldn’t hurt, anyway. Mike, the drummer, had picked Randy up in his van, so at least the car was here.

Frantically she searched for the keys, sighing with relief when her fingers closed over them in the pocket of Randy’s jeans. She grabbed her purse and dashed for the car, rolling the window all the way down despite the light rain that was falling. Then she set out aimlessly on the unfamiliar roads of the small town.

Sam drove for almost two hours until gradually she began to feel better. As she waited at a red light on the outskirts of town, she decided it was time to return to the motel. She felt normal again—physically, at least. Maybe tonight she’d be able to sleep, she thought hopefully.

When the light turned green, she stepped on the accelerator, gaining speed as she crossed the intersection. And that’s when it happened.

The subsequent sequence of events was a disjointed blur in her mind and was destined to remain so even years later.

A child’s bike, suddenly darting in front of her through the deepening dusk.

The squeal of brakes.

A frantic attempt to turn the unresponsive steering wheel.

A dull thud against the bumper.

The sensation of slow-motion gliding as the car slid off the wet pavement and into a ditch.

The sharp impact of her head against the windshield as the car slammed into a telephone pole.

And then blackness.

Sometimes Sam wished that the story had ended there. That she’d never reawakened. But the horror had continued. Her next conscious memory was distorted faces, peering at her as she lay in the hospital, grotesquely moving in and out of focus. But the words were what would remain most indelibly burned into her memory.

The child’s mother, leaning over the gurney as they wheeled her into the emergency room, as she shouted over and over: “You killed my baby! You killed my baby!”