My dad gives us a little more space, but he’s supportive in his own ways.
The first time he got his first look at Samantha, he had me go to the pub up the street to have a few shots. I left her in the capable hands of my mother with some reluctance.
The tone of this afternoon together is different. I try to keep her spirits up with board games and books, but I find her staring off into the distance, my parents looking on with paired worried expressions.
My mother tells me as they leave that, “She just needs time.”
I can’t help but think returning to New York might help. The normalcy of her store, and her friends’ support will do her good.
I make plans.
The next day comes, and her mood stays the same. My parents decide to stop by early and have breakfast with us. My mom makes decadent waffles, topping them with fresh berries and cream. Sam nibbles, not engaging with the conversation as much as usual.
After breakfast, I ask her to join me on a short walk. She says yes, but I can tell she really would rather not.
Once we are outside I broach the subject I've been thinking about for a while.
"Sweets, I think it's time you talk to someone."
"How do you mean?" She asks innocently, but I can tell she already knows what I'm saying. Her eyes don’t meet mine as she tracks a truck going by the main road.
"I think it would be good,” I struggle a bit with my wording, not wanting to use words that may have her thinking she is at fault. “It would be helpful for you to talk about what happened. About what happened in the past and about what just happened."
Her lips roll as she pretends to contemplate what I've said.
"I really don't think it'll help, Beau. I tried that route when I was a kid. Nothing I said, or they said, made any of it better.”
We stop walking, and she looks up at me.
“Do you think there's something wrong with me?" She asks. This is exactly the kind of thinking I was hoping to avoid.
"Baby, there is nothing wrong with you that wouldn't be wrong with anyone that lived through the shit you've been through.” My hands are braced on her shoulders as my eyes lock on her, “I think you need to talk with someone to develop tools for coping with it.” I wrap my arms around her, “I don’t want to lose you, Sammy. I feel like you’re slipping through my fingers, and I can’t do anything to stop it.”
Her lips twist down in a frown.
“Beau,” she sighs like there’s more to say, but she can’t put it in words. She reaches up, her hand wraps around the back of my neck. I feel each finger as they slip through my hair.
I drop my forehead to hers and close my eyes.
I feel her push up on her toes to place a soft set of kisses on my lips.
“Beau, I’m not going anywhere. I love you, remember?”
It’s the first time she’s said those words, since that first night she woke up in the hospital.
I chuckle, “I remember. I thought it might have been the painkillers talking.”
She clicks her tongue at me.
“I’ll come with you,” I offer. “I won't leave you unless you want me to. I just want all the shit going on in your head to be released. You relive it every night, and I can't stand that he's still hurting you…” I beg. “Please."
She sighs, pulling away, but laces her fingers of her right hand with mine.
“If that's what you want, I'm making you come with me." She threatens like I didn’t offer to already. We start walking again, still close enough to the sprawling ranch. I see my mom and dad spying on us through the windows.
I wrap my arms around her gently and kiss her forehead.
"Thank you, Samantha."
