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I sat upright and gazed at her. “I suppose you haven’t changed your mind about…”
Sam rolled her eyes and kissed me. “You can’t ask me every hour, Beau.”
“First of all, it’s been more than an hour—I think. Secondly, I didn’t ask this time.”
“Asking if I’ve changed my mind counts as asking.”
“So, it’s a no, is it?”
She pushed past me and went in to take a shower, laughing all the way.
“You’re not being kind,” I called after her.
She stuck her head in the door. “Beau?”
“Yes?” I grumbled.
“I love you.”
I waited until I heard the bathroom door close before responding. “If you really loved me, you’d marry me.” Yes, I was petulant—a fact my beloved Samantha knew well.
“If only you were still around, Mum. No one would be happier about this than you,” I muttered, looking up at the sky before ringing Gerald Sokolowski Jr.
21
SAM
Warm water cascaded over my shoulders, releasing some of the tension that had settled there. None of it came from Beau. He eased my anxiety, made me feel safe and loved. But marriage? That would take a whole different level of trust.
I’d witnessed happy ones with Alex and Peyton and their husbands, as well as other couples I’d met while living in Cambria all my life, but as far as up close and personal, I had no role models for what being married to someone looked like on a daily basis.
My mother hadn’t married. She didn’t even know who my biological father was. Her mother had died before I was born, and I knew nothing whatsoever about my grandmother’s life or who my grandfather was.
I loved her name, though—Pilar. When I was growing up, there were many times when I’d wished my mom named me after her mom instead of Samantha. Mainly because of the endless teasing I’d endured because of all the words that rhymed with Sam—spam, ham, clam, jam, yam. I’d been called them all, plus a lot more.
To me, Pilar sounded gracious and beautiful, even elegant. I remembered realizing my grandmother was the same age as Manley Jr. How crazy was it to think Cena had outlived both of them. God, I would’ve loved to meet her. Both Cena and Pilar, actually. I had a feeling the stories each would tell of their lives would be fascinating.
While I doubted I’d ever learn anything about my mom’s mom, maybe once I had the chance to explore Cena’s house, I’d find out more about her.
As I lathered shampoo in my hair, I recalled Beau’s comment about her husband’s business acumen. I’d half jokingly suggested it was Cena who’d thought of replacing the horse-breeding operation with grape-growing. Considering the timing of the conversion, I wondered when Manley Sr. died. Their son and daughter too. Tomorrow, I needed to remember to call St. John’s Lutheran Church and ask the secretary what she could tell me about the family.
When I saw Cena’s daughter Blanche’s photo sitting on the piano, I’d been stunned by how much she looked like me at that same age. The attorney, Mr. Creola, said there were more pictures of Blanche throughout the house. I hoped I would have time to explore it.
That the house would soon be mine—which I still had a hard time wrapping my head around—filled me with something I’d never felt before.Belonging.
By and large, the community in Cambria was affluent. While people like Beau and his family, Alex and hers, had always been kind to my mom and me, we’d never been part of their inner circle. We worked for them; we weren’t their peers.
Now, I’d have people working for me. Not just as their boss, like at Stave, but as their employer. One more thing to boggle my mind.
I wished I could get over the feeling that as soon as I accepted this would be my life, the rug would be pulled out from under me.
The door opened, and I quickly rinsed the shampoo from my hair.
“May I join you?” Beau asked.
“Of course.”
“I’m not crowding you, am I?”
