WE DON’T TALK ABOUT THAT NIGHT, not until days later when we are on the beach in the late afternoon.
Sam’s parents put together an early picnic dinner for all of us, and I’m absolutely stuffed after three lobster rolls. They have to get back to the inn for the dinner rush, but they’ve made sure that we’ll all meet up once a week even during this busy season.
April is stretched out on a rock reef that juts into the ocean, watching the tide roll out, and Kelly and Costa are stomping through wet sand, looking for clams. I raise a hand to my eyes to block the sun and look out at the scene before me, complete with people who are in my life, whom I care about and who care about me. I’m so peaceful today, so entirely relaxed.
Sam sits, propped up against a boulder, and I lie on my side with my head in his lap, enjoying the feel of his fingers as they run through my hair. Whenever we’re together, we are inevitably touching. It seems impossible for us to break our physical connection.
Even when he got sick the day after his surge, I sat on the floor of the bathroom, holding a wet washcloth on the back of his neck. Costa had been smart to make that lasagna. Sam ate half and then immediately puked it up, but he went right back and polished off the rest. Then, he slept for twelve hours.
Costa came back that afternoon. He explained that death tripping could give a bit of a hangover sometimes, so he stayed and watched over Sam while I did some online work. He said that Sam wasn’t in bad shape, likely because it was only his second trip in a relatively short time. I could certainly vouch that Sam was perfectly fine when he woke up because we took a forty-five minute shower together, and I never got around to washing my hair.
“Stella, about that night,” Sam starts.
I breathe in the salt air and roll onto my back so that I can look at him. I’m surprised he’s bringing this up. “What about it?”
“Do you understand now why I had to stay away from you after that first trip during the storm?”
“I think so.”
“I was damned if I came back too early and damned if I came back too late. But I had to protect you. You see how it can get to be a little…much?”
“You didn’t hear me complain, did you?”
He smiles down at me. “No.”
“Is it always like that?”
“The surge? No, not always. And that was the strongest I’ve had. The thing with all of this is that nothing is really consistent. I know that sounds crazy. But dying, going under, surfacing, surging…they’re never the same. I think mood affects each stage—who I’m with or not with, how long it takes to die, how often I’ve been death-tripping.” He shakes his head. “Not much is clear.”
“That last surge was pretty clear.” I run a hand over his tanned bare chest. As much as I love these family gatherings, I can’t wait to get home. And all this talk of Sam’s intensity isn’t helping my patience.
Sam clears his throat. “That surge was pretty out of hand. Are you all right…with what happened?”
I sit up next to him and pull my legs in. Sam wraps an arm around me, and I softly kiss him.
“Yes. Areyouall right with what happened?”
“Yes.” He kisses me back. “Just so you know, that was the first time it was like that.”
“You and Costa don’t go around surging and seducing love-struck women on a regular basis?”
He laughs. “We do not.”
Sam looks out at the water when Costa starts whooping and yelling. “Oh God, what is he doing?”
Costa is in the middle of a ridiculous dance that involves lots of knee lifts and finger-pointing toward the sand. Then, he jumps up and down several times. “Kelly! Hurry! Clam! Get it before it eats me!”
Kelly shakes her head, but I can see her amusement from here. She heads his way, carrying a long bar with a claw on the end that she’s been using to dig in the sand, and Costa swings his bucket with exaggeration as though he’s a little kid.
Sam touches his head to mine. “He looks so happy, doesn’t he?”
“He really does.”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him like this.”
“You’re glad Costa’s back. I can tell.”
“Yeah, I am.”
