“Mom?” I call.
But she continues without stopping or acknowledging me, and she makes her way into the front lobby and out the door, car keys jangling in her hand.
I have been forgotten. Again.
When I catch up to her outside, she simply says, “You look bizarre. Wait over there for me,” and she points to the far end of the parking lot. “I need to get some of Amy’s things for her because the doctor has insisted that she stay overnight.”
I have little reaction to what she just said, and I watch her march away through the downfall of wet snow. The snow, however real to anybody else, is basically nonexistent to me. The bitter cold should cause me to shiver, but I can’t get myself to even bother with tucking my hands into my pockets as I head in the direction of my assigned pickup spot. The roaring wind bellows my name, and it’s not until I’m halfway down the sidewalk when I realize it’s not the wind but an actual person calling me.
I turn and see Sam.
Lights from the emergency room entrance highlight one side of his tall, lean body. His already damp hair, the shape of his silhouette, the way his posture delivers an air of such confidence and competence—more than all that, I see familiarity and safety.
Everything about him beckons me.
Without thinking, I run to him. I don’t feel my throbbing feet anymore or the miserable Chicago winter or the way my heart is so full of pain tonight. All I feel is the desire to close the distance between us. Icy pellets hit my face and blind my vision, but I don’t care. As I run to him, Sam Bishop steps forward, hesitantly at first, but then he walks quickly and lets me crash with full force into his hold.
I wrap my arms around his chest and dig my fingers into his back. The warmth of his body passes to mine as he holds me, perhaps clinging to me as tightly as I cling to him. His arms are over my shoulders, crossing behind my neck, sheltering me from everything. If it were possible to stay in the dark and in the safety of his protection forever, I would.
I let every precious second here draw out. I drown in it, savor it, and commit it to memory.
The sound of a car horn makes me want to retch. I have to go. Reluctantly, I drop my hands and try to step away from him, but Sam only gives me a few inches.
With his arms still encircling my neck, he dips his head down, so we are nose-to-nose. “Everything will be okay. Good things last, and the bad things will fade away. So, go find your good.” His lips touch mine, barely brushing against me, before he presses his mouth harder and kisses me.
Only seconds probably pass, but they are seconds that will stay with me over the upcoming years when there is no Sam Bishop.
“Go find your good,” he says again.
But I can’t. I’m not strong enough.
