Coming Home to You (17 page)

I nodded, as though I completely understood. Well, whatever. All that really mattered was whether this building was really in as great a shape as Glenn was saying it was, and how much he wanted for it. Both of which were easily discovered.

I took a turn around the large main room, making my way to the back of the space, where a short hallway led off to a bathroom and an office area. So far, so good, I thought, seeing nothing that set off little red flags. Nice floor plan, well-constructed walls. Even the bathroom met with my approval.

“You can always have a contractor come in and look at everything, if you want a second opinion, but if it makes you feel any better…” Glenn paused and took a card from his back pocket, holding it out to me. “I’m a contractor.” He smiled.

I looked down at the rumpled business card I held in my hand. Glenn Thompson, General Contractor. The card had all sorts of official numbers and license references, phone and fax numbers, physical and e-mail addresses. I looked back up at Glenn.

“So why don’t you want to use this as your office?” I knew I was probably sounding overly suspicious, but it all seemed too good to be true. And then I remembered that I had yet to discover his asking price.

He shrugged again. The man seemed very fond of shrugging.

“I’ve already got an office, and I really didn’t want to move,” he replied simply.

“Okay. Well.” I looked at the room around me, memorizing the space I would surely never be able to be afford. “How much are you looking to clear?” I asked finally.

Again with the shrugging.

“What’ve ya got?” he asked, completely serious.

I felt like I was trading for marbles on the playground.

“What have I got?” I repeated.

“Yuh. What’ve ya got?” Glenn was smiling by now, his grey eyes crinkled into tiny slits. He was enjoying this way too much.

“Not enough,” I said, my shoulders slumping in disappointment. “Not nearly enough,” I said, looking into his eyes sadly. “I’m sorry I wasted your time.” I started toward the door, wanting to leave before I started sniffling and looking all pitiful in front of this man I’d only just met. I did enough of that, I was determined not to do it now.

“Two fifty,” Glenn called after me, his voice echoing in the empty space. I stopped cold and turned around to face him.

I felt my eyes narrow. “Thousand?”

He shook his head.

“A month? Two fifty a month?” I was seriously confused. The sign said For Sale, not For Rent. Why would he be looking for a monthly payment?

The head shaking continued.

I stood there, racking my brain. What did he mean?

“Two fifty flat. That’s it—one time, one check, place is yours.” He was grinning so widely I thought his face might split.

“Are you
insane
? All you want for this
wonderful
place is
two hundred and fifty dollars
?” I realized once the words were out of my mouth that I might not be doing myself any favors, casting aspersions on the man’s mental state in the face of his unbelievably generous offer. But again, it all seemed too good to be true. No one in their right mind would sell a place like this for so little.

Not if they were legit.

My eyes widened to the size of saucers. Or, at least, they felt like they were as wide as saucers.

“Are you…
mob
?” I asked, my voice becoming hushed at the word
mob
. Again, I realized the foolishness of posing such a question—especially if it turned out to be true—once the words had already escaped my lips.

Glenn threw back his head and laughed, his whole body shaking under the force of it. “No, no,” he said finally, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. “Not at all.”

“Then what?” I asked incredulously.

Glenn let out one more little hoot of laughter and then turned serious.

“I just have a good feeling about you, Zoë. And heck, it’s not like I really need the money,” he said, as though his simple explanation was the most logical thing in the world. “I understand, though, if you want to check it out before you commit. The offer will still be good and waiting for you. You just make sure you don’t lose that.” He smiled and nodded in the direction of the business card I was still holding.

I smiled. “I will.”

I turned and walked out of the store into the sunlight, feeling a surge of confidence and optimism and promise. The air smelled sweet and full; and as I made my way down the streets back to my car, I started to skip.

I couldn’t help it.

Chapter 16

A week later, Sam sat across the table from me, nervously tracing the circle of sweat that had been left on the tabletop by his glass of iced tea. He was hard to watch, his struggle to sit still so barely controlled that he seemed ready to shoot out of his chair. I wasn’t sure if this was the way he was now, or if this was just the way he was with
me
.

I hadn’t seen him in so long that he was like a stranger, and lines I didn’t remember were etched across his face like rivers on a map. He looked older and tired, even with all the nervous energy that was running just under the surface. He stopped tracing circles and ran a hand through his dark hair in a vain attempt to get it out of his eyes. He was sorely in need of a haircut, and I wondered idly as I watched him when he’d last had one. It was a surprise to see that he’d let it grow so long.

“Sam,” I began, feeling slightly annoyed that he seemed to have nothing to say to me, despite the fact that he had been the one to insist so strongly on this meeting. It was like answering the phone and then being told that you’re going to be put on hold.

He looked up quickly at the sound of his name and pursed his lips.

“Sam,” I said again. “I need to know what you want from me. Why am I here?” I asked, leaning forward and keeping my voice low and even.

It was a struggle, because my urge was to reach across the table and slap him.

I wanted to grab him by the collar and shake him and scream at him until my throat was raw.

I wanted to tell him how much I hated him for leaving me alone when I had needed him the most.

It was there only a split second, but a look of fear flashed across his face, and I wondered if he could sense all the venom I was holding back.

Sam opened his mouth slightly, then closed it again. His eyes searched my face and then jumped around the room as though he was looking for somewhere else to focus, find something that might give him confidence.

One more minute of this nonsense, and I’m leaving, I thought angrily.

“You’re here because I needed to see for myself that you’re okay,” he said finally, his voice sounding weary. “And you need to know—
I
need you to know—how sorry I am for leaving you alone to deal with all of this.” He looked down at his hand, and I noticed for the first time that his fingernails were ragged and bitten to the quick, his fingertips yellowed from nicotine.

Since when did Sam smoke?

I sat back in my chair and glowered at him.

“You waited an awfully long time, don’t you think, Sam? It’s been a year. What makes this
need
so strong now?” I didn’t even bother to hide the edge in my voice.

“It’s part of the program, Zoë. To make amends, to right the wrongs and ask forgiveness.” Sam spoke quietly, his brown eyes meeting my gaze in a silent plea for understanding.

It was an answer I hadn’t expected, and I felt for a moment like I’d had the wind knocked out of me.

Sam was in AA?

The waiter sidled up to our table, reaching into his apron to retrieve his order pad and pen.

“Well, are you two ready to order, or should I give you a few more minutes to look over the menu?”

A hopeful smile was plastered across his face, and he looked from Sam to me and then back again, waiting for someone to give him an answer.

I hadn’t even picked up my menu yet, much less decided what I wanted to eat.

If
I wanted to eat.

At this point, food was the furthest thing from my mind. Sam glanced at me before looking up at the waiter, smiling apologetically.

“I think we’re still going to need a few minutes, if that’s alright,” Sam said, picking up his menu.

“Of course. Just let me know when you’re ready,” the waiter replied, the smile never wavering from his lips as he closed his book and replaced it in his apron. He backed away from our table and wandered his way through the dining room to check on his other customers.

Sam seemed engrossed in his menu, but I knew he was probably just as distracted as I was.

“Sam,” I said, determined to continue our conversation. “Are you telling me you’re in AA? When did that happen?” I asked, hoping that I sounded less condemning to him than I did to myself.

He closed his menu with a sigh and placed it gently on the table in front of him.

“A lot has happened in this past year, Zoë.” He folded his hands and rested them on the menu, leaning forward on his forearms. His eyebrows were tightly knitted together, his thin-lipped mouth set in a grave line. “I hit rock-bottom after Paul died. That’s one reason I stayed away for so long. I didn’t want you to see me like that.” Sam looked down at his hands. “I know it’s no excuse, but it’s the truth.”

I watched him move, seeming so lost and depleted; and I felt the anger that had been boiling inside of me dissipate like steam. I felt sorry for him, sorry that he had closed himself off and damaged his life so badly. And I felt sorry, somehow, that I hadn’t been there for him.

“But how…?
Why?
” I was stammering like an idiot, but I really didn’t know how to ask for what I needed and wanted to know. I closed my mouth, hoping a coherent question would formulate.

Sam closed his eyes and sank back into his chair, the cane-backed frame creaking in protest.

“Paul was my sponsor, Zoë,” he said, sounding almost resigned. “That’s how we met. I know we always told you we were friends in college, but that was only half of the story. We met in college at an AA meeting.” He raked a hand through his hair and pulled nervously at his earlobe. “We got to be tight. Really tight, like brothers. I started to rely on him more than I think I should have.”

When Sam looked up at me, I saw the sheen of tears on his eyes.

“And then he met you.” A sad smile crossed his lips, and he looked quickly away. He seemed almost desperate for something else to look at, and I wondered what he might be about to say that was so hard. Especially in light of everything else he’d already confided so far.

I almost wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

“Sam,” I said quietly, ready to give him reprieve if he needed it.

He shook his head and fixed his gaze determinedly on my face, the tears that had begun to form now gone without a trace. “I loved you, Zoë.”

My eyes widened. I felt as though I’d been sucker-punched in the gut. The room was getting dark and little pin-pricks of grayness were clouding my vision. I blinked rapidly, trying to clear my head, my eyes…everything.

“You
what
?”

“I loved you,” he said again, this time with less hesitation.

“Whoa,” I said, shaking my head rapidly. “No. No, no, no you don’t. Didn’t.
No
.”

“Yes.”

It was like being in some alternate reality. I stared at Sam, all the pieces falling into place.

“So why—?”

“Why did I just pick up and leave you alone to deal with the memorial and everything? Every
one
?” he volunteered.

I nodded mutely.

“Because I felt guilty. Because he was with me when he died. Because he knew that I was in love with you. Because we were having an argument when it happened.” He shrugged. “Take your pick.” The tears had returned to his eyes. “I couldn’t face you after all that,” he whispered, bowing his head.

I saw the waiter begin to make his way across the dining room toward us, his eyes sweeping the room as he walked. I caught his eye and shook my head, and he turned sharply on his heel, a look of discouragement on his face. I had a feeling we were going to be his least favorite table of the afternoon.

“He what?” From the look on Kate’s face, one might have assumed I’d told her Sam had asked me to have his baby.

She was in town again, having decided that nothing less than regular weekend visits would suffice, now that she and Ray were engaged. Fortunately for me—and Ray, of course—she had plenty of frequent flier miles and could easily make the hop. It gave all of us more time together, which also meant more time to reconnect and catch up on everything. In between talking about the wedding and plans for my store, we talked about Neil; about Paul and how he’d be proud of the way my life had been moving on; and now, we were talking about Sam.

“Yes.” I nodded solemnly, my legs curled up under me on the couch.

“Wow,” she breathed, leaning forward to reach for the wineglass I’d placed on the coffee table in front of her.

“And I was such an idiot, all of those times Paul would go to AA meetings and tell me he was going to ‘play poker with the guys.’ I believed it.”

“He never gave you reason not to, Zoë. Did he?” Kate took a small sip of her wine, burrowing further down into the couch.

I shook my head. “But he never drank. It should have tipped me off,” I replied.

Kate arched an eyebrow at me. “So you should have realized that Paul was a recovering alcoholic because of that? You’ve got no argument with that one, sweetie. A lot of people don’t drink because they don’t like the taste. Try another.” She took another sip of wine, bigger this time. “The deeper concern here should be why he didn’t trust you with this information.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “And what else he might have been hiding. Like other wives,” she said, her eyes widening ominously.

I reached out and smacked her arm, feeling my stomach lurch as her merlot sloshed dangerously close to the rim of the glass.

“Hey!” Kate squealed in protest. “I’m just trying to cheer you up!”

“Not helping,” I muttered, burying my face in the back of the couch.

“Okay. You’re right, I’m sorry,” she mumbled dejectedly, replacing her wineglass on the table. “Really, though, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Paul loved you, and he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. Maybe he was just ashamed of that part of his life, so he kept it from you.”