His Dream Role (2 page)

T
wo days later, as Free was leaving the health club straightening his tie, Cary called out, “Hey. Before you go, I gotta know. What's going on that you pulled out Doctor Who? You usually save him for special occasions.”

Free slid into his brown overcoat. “I have to see a girl about a cup of coffee.”

“Seriously? Does she have a sister?”

“I haven't asked. And even if she did, I'm not working on getting you a date.”

“Come on. Hook me up.”

Free waved at his brother. “Later.”

Minutes later, when he walked through the door of the coffee shop, Samantha was standing near the entrance. Waiting. For him? He smiled. “Hello again.”

She eyed him up and down, taking in his pin-striped suit and his red Converses. He extended a hand. “I'm the Doctor.”

“Doctor who?”

“Exactly.” He turned toward the register. When the cashier looked at him, he ordered his usual black, no cream, no sugar and a large caramel macchiato for Samantha. As he reached for his wallet, she jumped in front of him.

“I've got this. I owe you for the other day.” She paid for the drinks. As she tucked her wallet back into her purse, she turned to face him. “So really, what costume is this?”

She didn't get it. “
Doctor Who
. British TV show. Time Lord. Daleks. TARDIS.” He watched her face for any sign of recognition. He found none. Sweeping a hand over himself, he added, “I'm the tenth doctor.” Still nothing.

“I think I've heard of it.” She smiled. It was enough to make his day, even if she was clueless about
Doctor Who
.

When their coffee was ready, he handed her the cup and was at a loss for what was supposed to happen next. He sucked at this.

Samantha pointed toward a table. “I have my books over here if you want to sit.”

“
Books! The best weapons in the world!”
As soon as he said it, he knew it was a mistake, but once in character, he couldn't always stop. And the Doctor's words always sounded better than his own.

Samantha giggled a little. “I agree with the sentiment, maybe even your enthusiasm. It's one of the things I try to get across to the kids I work with.”

“Kids? Are you a teacher?” He followed her to the table, knowing he couldn't stay long because he had to go to rehearsal, but he wanted to hear more.

“No. I'm studying to be a social worker, so I volunteer at a shelter for victims of domestic abuse. I see a lot of kids who are utterly hopeless, so I try to give them some hope, teach them that things can be different.” She sat and slid her books toward the edge.

He took the seat across from her and waited. He hoped she would continue the conversation. She sipped from her cup and then licked a bit of foam from her top lip. Free stared at the tip of her tongue and her pink lip, entranced. Then she smiled again.

“You're in need of books for your kids. What kind?”

“We take anything. I'm working mostly with little kids right now. Hence the paint and glue stuck to me all the time. It's just that they come to us with so little, except for the number of problems.”

“Books are an excellent escape.” He drank his coffee and thought about where he could get books for her. His mother would know. She knew the ins and outs of many things when it came to charity. “What was your favorite book at that age?”

“
The Little Engine That Could
.”

Even as a child she was prepared to save other children and make a difference. “Then I guess we'll have to start with that one, won't we?”

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice so quiet it was nearly a whisper.

“
The hoper of far-flung hopes and the dreamer of improbable dreams
.”

She leaned forward and propped her chin in her hand. He became uneasy beneath her scrutiny, so he stood. “I have to get going. I have rehearsal.”

“So you're an actor.”

He nodded. “Until next time.”

“Wait. What are you rehearsing?”

“
A Christmas Carol
. I'm Scrooge's nephew, Fred.” Free left the coffee shop with a great sense of accomplishment. Not only had Samantha talked with him and asked him to sit with her, she'd told him about herself. Even he knew that if she wasn't interested in him at all, she wouldn't have bothered.

Samantha finished her coffee and drove to her parents' house in Lake Forest. The drive home always did something strange to her. She found comfort in the sights, but that nagging feeling still pulled at her. She hated feeling this way. It was time to put her foot down and be her own person.

Instead of leaving her car parked in the circle drive, she pulled in near the garage to make it easier for her parents to put the car away. It wouldn't be coming back to the city with her. She let herself into the house and called, “Mom?”

“In here, honey.”

She followed her mom's voice to the kitchen. She found it funny that her mom so often sat in the room, because Sam couldn't remember a time her mother ever cooked.

“Hi, Mom.” Sam walked through the room and kissed her mom on the cheek.

Vanessa closed the book she had on the table and removed her reading glasses. “What are you doing home? We didn't expect to see you until the holidays after finals.”

Her mom acted like the drive from the city took days. She came home occasionally on the weekends just to visit, but her mom seemed to forget that.

“I've made some decisions and I want to talk to you and Dad about them.”

“Your father's not home yet. I don't know when he will be. Why don't you stay for dinner and wait with me?”

“I can't. I have studying to do.” She sat across from her mom. Nerves roiled and the coffee in her stomach splashed uneasily. “I'm leaving my car here.”

“Is there something wrong with it? I can call the mechanic now.” Vanessa reached for her phone.

“No, Mom. It's fine. It's just ... I hate driving that expensive car when I'm working with people who aren't sure where their next meal is coming from. I have twenty kids in the shelter right now who can't count on Christmas.”

“Sweetheart, if you need a donation for your work, just ask. You don't need to make some noble gesture. We'd be happy to help.”

Sam sighed. “It's not about donations, Mom. It's about who I am. I need to stand on my own, to make my own life. I can't do that if I'm driving your car and living in the apartment you pay for.”

“That's ridiculous. Your father and I have worked hard to provide you with a good life. You can do whatever you want with your life, but you don't have to throw away all of the advantages we gave you.”

Sam pinched the bridge of her nose. “I'm not throwing away the advantages you've given me. I'm using my education to get the career I want. I just don't feel right flaunting my family's money in front of people who have nothing.”

Her mother reached out and took her hand. “Money isn't evil.”

“I know that. But it clouds things. That car is an invitation for trouble in some of the neighborhoods I travel.”

Vanessa sighed. “So you'll keep your apartment then? That can't possibly cause trouble.”

“I'll stay at least through graduation, when I can get a job. Then I don't know.”

“Your father and I feel so much better with you in an apartment with a doorman. It seems safer.” She patted the hand she held. “We worry about you.”

“I'm a big girl. I need to be able to take care of myself.”

“We both know your father isn't going to like this, so I hope you're prepared for a fight.”

The words weren't lost on Sam. She'd have to fight her dad, but her mom was in her corner.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Now, tell me more about these kids who have you all worked up.”

Sam went to the stove and started to boil some water for tea. “The shelter does amazing work. Women leave horrible conditions to come to us. They've been beaten down, physically and emotionally, yet they somehow find the courage to run. But it seems like the run itself is all they had energy for. So many of them are still lost when they arrive. They don't know who they are anymore, if they ever did.”

“What exactly do you do?” Her mom had shifted so her complete attention was on Sam.

Sam loved that about her mom. No matter what they talked about, Vanessa always gave her total focus. As a teen, she resented it because she felt like she could never get away with anything, but after seeing how other people lived, she'd grown to appreciate it.

“Right now, I mostly play with kids and talk to them. The hours I put in at the shelter work toward my degree. Once I graduate, I don't know that they'll have a paying position for me. In fact, I doubt it. I'll have to look somewhere else, but right now, I can't imagine not being there, so I might continue to volunteer.” She walked around the kitchen and pulled out teacups and tea bags while she waited for the water to boil.

“But if you had your degree,” her mom continued, “what could you hope to do for these women and their children?”

“I hope to help them realize there is life after abuse. That not everyone is out to hurt them. That they can be valuable members of society. That they can raise their children to have a better life.” As she spoke, tears pricked the backs of her eyes and her throat thickened. She thought of the women she saw with such hollow looks in their eyes and her heart went out to them, especially because she knew so many would return to their old lives.

The kettle whistled and Sam turned her attention to the tea. Her mom came up next to her and put an arm around her shoulder.

“I'm proud of you. I had my doubts when you declared your major and told us you wanted to be a social worker.”

“Why?” She knew her dad hadn't loved her decision, but her mom never let on.

“I knew you would excel at it. You're empathetic and love to help people. But you're so softhearted that I worried that it would tear you apart. Social work isn't for the faint of heart. But seeing you now, hearing the conviction in your voice, I'm not sure what to think.”

Sam poured water into the waiting teacups and handed one to her mom. They sat back down at the breakfast nook. “I've enjoyed the work I've done at other locations, but this one just feels right. I don't know how to explain it. When I first walked in, I thought it would be horrible. I mean, what do I know about abused women and kids?”

She looked around the kitchen that was nothing short of lavish with its stainless steel appliances and marble counters. Life here had been easy. She never had to worry about anything.

“What changed?”

What
had
changed? At what point did walking through the doors of the Hope Center become normal for her? “I don't know.” She thought back and knew. It had been Alex. The girl had been only eight when she and her mother came to the shelter.

Because she didn't have her degree, Sam was told she was there to offer support not counseling. She could play with the children or aid with homework, help women with their résumés or filling out job applications. During a spur-of-the-moment art project with a few kids, Alex drew a picture and then blurted out that her mother's boyfriend had molested her.

Sam had frozen, knowing she wasn't supposed to counsel the child, but Alex had looked up with her big brown eyes needing some reassurance. Sam simply said, “That was wrong and it wasn't your fault.”

Then she'd taken Alex to her supervisor and together with Alex's mom, they got the details. Alex hadn't told her mom out of fear of retribution from the boyfriend.

“Where did you just go?” Sam's mom asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

“I was thinking about when things changed for me at the Hope Center. It was actually a who. I helped a little girl and her mom. They had a terrible story and they trusted me to help.”

Sam called a cab to get her back to the city. As she and her mom drank their tea, she filled her mom in on school and friends. Before long, the cab arrived.

Her mom stood. “Are you sure you won't reconsider? It's just a car. We could probably talk your dad into trading it for something less . . .”

Sam shook her head. “It's okay, Mom. I live near the el stop and there are always buses running. I can get anywhere I need to with very little hassle. The car is more trouble than it's worth most of the time. Trying to find parking is horrible, and then there's rush hour on the expressway.”