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I stop chewing, wondering if this is another one of those times where Sam totally screwed Saxon.
“He may have given you that, but I was the one who paid for it. I saved up all year, not spending a cent of my allowance to buy you a gift I thought you’d like. Sam found it hidden underneath my bed and then he gave it to you without me knowing. It was my fault for not finding a better hiding spot.”
“That’s impossible,” she declares, shaking her head.
“No, Kellie, it’s very possible. I’m pretty sure I told you this until I was blue in the face. You just didn’t want to believe that Sam had forgotten to acknowledge you as his mother.”
I bite my lip, while Sam watches on.
“How long will you be staying, Saxon?” Kellie asks, not even bothering to look at him.
“He can stay for as long as he likes,” I answer for him, unable to hide my annoyance.
Kellie’s eyes widen ever so slightly, not expecting my reply to be filled with such force.
“I just meant, the garage—who will look after it while you’re gone?” she quickly amends. I’m surprised she knows where he works.
“It’s under control, Kellie. Thanks for your concern.” He doesn’t take his eyes off me, which makes me nervous.
“Right, how about dessert, honey?” Greg says. He’s forever the mediator. She nods and stands, clearing the table. I help her in silence, thankful that this nightmare is almost over.
She puts on some coffee and passes me a delicious smelling orange up-side-down cake. I place it into the center of the table, wishing I could pass on dessert. I slump into my seat, never feeling more alone as Sam talks to Greg about the latest basketball scores, totally ignoring me.
My wine is my only savior and as I reach for it, I steal a glance at Saxon. He’s inclining back in his seat, his arms intertwined behind his neck. If he had ear buds inserted, I would compare tonight’s dinner to the one we had so many nights ago. However, tonight we appear to both be uncomfortable.
He watches me closely, just as I watch him, and just as I’m about to turn away, he pokes his tongue out at me. I blink, unsure if I’m hallucinating, but when he places his thumbs to his temples and waves his hands out childishly while sticking out his tongue, I know that I’m seeing things clearly for the first time in a long time.
He’s pulling a funny face at me—the same face I pulled at him. He remembers. And just like he did to me, a ghost of a smile touches my lips. My strangled giggle attracts the attention of the room, but Saxon is as cool as a cucumber as he sips his beer. No one saw the exchange but me. It’ll forever be our secret.
I instantly feel better.
“Coffee is served,” Kellie announces, just as Samuel’s cell pings.
He turns the screen away so I can’t see it. His action makes me instantly suspicious. He taps out a quick reply to whoever just messaged him and replaces the phone in his pocket with a smile.
A wave of dread passes over me.
“Samuel, how are things going with Dr. Yates?”
I spin to look at Kellie, shaking my head subtly. This conversation is not fit for a dinner table. Or any table for that matter. She doesn’t get the hint however.
“She seems like such a lovely lady. Have you discussed with her…what happened?” She places a hand to heart dramatically.
I can feel Sam’s good mood shift immediately. “Yes, we have. I hope that motherfucker fries,” he snarls. “Or better yet, give me five minutes with him and I’ll show him what it feels like to be in a coma.”
“Sam,” I whisper sympathetically, gently touching his leg. But he yanks it out from under my touch, scowling. And out comes Mr. Hyde.
“Samuel!” Greg scolds. “Watch your language around your mother.”
But the warning sends Sam off. “I’m sure she’s heard the word fuck before, Dad. And besides, in this circumstance, I think it’s warranted. I don’t remember who I am because that asshole took my life away from me! How is that fair?”
Sophia was right. This topic is one best left to therapy. I can hear Samuel’s pain, frustration, but most of all anger at being in the situation he’s in.
My heart bleeds for him. “You may not remember who you are, Sam, but I do. I’ll never forget.” My nostalgia has the opposite effect on Sam.
“Well, that’s great for you, Lucy—” my name sounds dirty “—but I don’t remember a damn thing. I don’t remember you, or this house, or anything of my adulthood, for that matter.” I can see his frustration at not remembering.
Saxon glares at Sam. “How about you stop whining and feeling sorry for yourself and man the fuck up? Sophia wants to help you, but of course you’re being a stubborn asshole about it. We’re all trying to help you,” he concludes, angrily.
