Page 58 of One Last Gift

He took a step toward her, and this time she made herself hold her ground. “Cassie, look, I’m sorry, I—”

“No.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry.” She held out the second gin, forced it into his hand. That small, crooked smile appeared as he took it, the one that reminded her so much of him as a teenager. One that was pure comradeship. “Look, I shouldn’t have reacted like that, I was just…”

“Surprised?”

She let out a short laugh. “Yeah. Surprised about covers it, I guess.”

Without really thinking about it, they started walking, passing what looked like a little shed in among a wild, overgrown garden and crunching their way on the gravel path toward the lake. An actual lake on the grounds.

Cassie couldn’t relax. Her shoulders were too rigid, fingers gripping her glass too tightly.

“So,” Sam said, “how was the brunch?” It gave her a jolt, to realize he knew already, that she’d told him, thinking she was telling someone else, over email.

“It went well, I think.”

“Do you have to do anything else today, or are you free?”

She checked her watch. “I have to chat to the manager before they go, at four p.m.”

“Will you come sit with me until then?” She hesitated, and knew that he clocked it from the way he watched her. But he didn’t push, didn’t ask again. Maybe that was partly why she nodded, followed him to a wooden bench that looked out across the lake, evergreen trees surrounding it.

She glanced at him when they sat down, a healthy distance between them. “Why?” she asked, a little more bluntly than she’d intended. He looked at her questioningly. “Why did you donate all that money?”

He grimaced—it was clear he’d been hoping that the why of it all would come up a bit later. “Are you angry?”

It wasn’t an answer, and her automatic response was to snap back with a yes, to prod at him some way with words. She realized she didn’t really know how to talk to him without sniping—it had been so long since she’d tried to. “I’m not angry,” she said eventually. It was hard to put into words exactly how she did feel. She sat up a bit straighter, looked out at the water, pockets of it sparkling with sunlight while other, darker parts rested in the shadows. “I just…I’d hung on to the fact that it was a stranger, I suppose.”

His expression twisted again, his face trying and failing to hide the emotion, and she continued, a little hurriedly.

“It’s not that it’s you, specifically, that’s the problem,” or at least, she thought to herself, not just that, “but the fact that it’s someone that I know…I don’t know.” She couldn’t really explain it, the way it had made her think maybe she’d be able to set something up herself, because there were people out there who still wanted the small, the independent. It had felt like fate, and now, knowing it was Sam all along, it took away from that. She didn’t say any of that out loud, though. She didn’t want to see him look at her incredulously or scoff at her.

“I did it because I thought it was what Tom would’ve wanted,” Sam said quietly. “I was trying to find a way to…I don’t know…Honor him.”

She nodded. That, at least, made sense. Because whatever she thought of Sam, she knew he’d loved her brother.

“I wanted to do it for you, too,” he added softly. “Because I knew how much that place meant to you.”

She glanced at him, and he met her gaze. She held it for a second, felt her pulse thrum against her wrist. Then she looked down. “I wish Tom was here now.” It was easiest, somehow, to admit it to him. Maybe it was because she knew that, of anyone, he might come closest to feeling the same.

Sam smiled, and it was tinged with sadness. “He would’ve loved it. He would’ve had all of us out here, exploring the gardens, getting you to pose for photos everywhere so you could remember the day.”

Cassie laughed softly. “And he would’ve forced group shots of the three of us, even if we were arguing.”

“And he’d be getting all excited about the little things, making sure that we really made the most of, like, the complimentary shampoo or something.”

“And we’d have champagne in hand.”

“Oh, definitely.”

Cassie was smiling, and she could picture it, him here with them right now. Would Sam still have been here, then? She found that she doubted it. Tom would’ve come, would’ve wanted to support her, and would have been set on her having the best day ever. But there would’ve been no reason for Sam to come.

She thought then of Amy, too. Would she have come with Tom? She was several months pregnant, with Tom’s child. Would he really have let her raise the baby alone? Or would he have come to his senses eventually? She wanted, so badly, to bet on the latter, to think he would’ve gotten up the courage to do what was right. But how could she be sure? She glanced at Sam. She could ask him. He was the only person who might be able to explain some of Tom’s state of mind around Amy and the pregnancy. Tom might have talked to him about it, where he didn’t talk to her—as much as she hated to admit it. But she couldn’t bring herself to. She didn’t want the confirmation, if it wasn’t the answer she was hoping for.

“I miss him too, you know,” Sam whispered, looking out at the lake.

Cassie nodded, a lump in her throat. “I know.” Because if nothing else, that much, at least, she knew to be true.

“There were times—still are times—when just the effort of breathing is difficult, painful.” She nodded again, felt tears burn the back of her eyes. But despite that, there was something weirdly comforting in it, in knowing that she wasn’t alone in her grief. Sam’s expression turned anguished. “Cassie, I need to apologize. I never meant—”