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“I wanted to.”
Reluctantly, I put Norman down, and he immediately ran to the screen room, to where Molly sat watching us. The last I’d seen her, she’d been asleep in her pot on the stove. I was going to have to ask Dez if he’d give me that pot, because I didn’t think Molly would move in with me otherwise. I opened the door and let Norman inside, and the two of them started bumping noses and rubbing heads.
Sometimes we found friends in the unlikeliest places.
“Come on in, out of the mosquito zone,” I said to Sam.
He lunged forward to hold open the door for me, and I brushed past him, picking up his scent, that mix of citrus and hazelnut. I ached with wanting his arms around me, with wanting things that seemed impossibly out of reach now.
I sat in one of the cushioned chairs at the table and he sat in another, and for a moment, we simply watched Norman and Molly tumble and play. Then Sam handed over the package he held.
I took the gift from him and shot him a look as I ran my hands along the shape of it. “What in the world?”
He smiled as I carefully tore the paper, revealing a maracawith a wooden handle and green egg-shaped head dotted with yellow polka dots.
Sam leaned forward, clasping his hands. “Baby’s first instrument.”
I smiled as I shook the maraca, listening to the beads or beans or whatever it was inside make a beautiful, soothing sound.
“It’s basically a glorified rattle,” he added.
I fought tears. I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want to make a scene. I didn’t want to beg for nothing to change between us. I couldn’t.Everythinghad changed. Weakly, I said, “Thank you.”
“I debated between that or the tambourine, but the tambourine isn’t as baby friendly—the edge on jingles can be sharp sometimes. It’s a better gift for an older child, so I’ll save that idea. I’m happy to teach him or her any instrument they want to learn, though.” He took a breath. “I mean, if you want.”
A spark of hope ignited. My heart thumped so loudly I could barely hear his words. I slid him a look. “I want.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t go to the hospital to see you. I didn’t want you to think I was trying to step in and take over your care; though, God’s honest truth, I wanted to make sure the doctors were doing a good job. And today, I spent most of the day trying to think of just the right words to say to you. I didn’t want to get it wrong.”
Not trusting my voice, I simply nodded. I didn’t want to get it wrong, either.
“I overthought it, because seeing you was all I needed to find the right words.”
He was watching me carefully, now twisting his hands.
I waited for the words, but he stayed silent.
Finally, I said, “Are you keeping the words to yourself?”
He laughed. “You’ll hear them soon enough.”
Some of the tension eased from my shoulders. “That’s rather mysterious.”
He hesitated a beat before saying, “I haven’t been voted Driftwood’s Mr. Mysterious two years running for nothing.”
He reached a hand out to me, palm up. I laid my hand in his. His fingers closed around mine and we sat there listening to the night songs and the water’s sweet melody until Dez came home with dinner.
Hours later, I turned off the light, more than ready for a good night’s sleep. Molly was curled up at the foot of the bed, but when I slid under the covers, she made her way up to my pillow, climbed atop it.
I reached up and scratched her chin, and she let out the shortest purr I’d ever heard, a brief rumble of happiness that I felt deep in my heart.
In the darkness, I smiled. And I waited, listening for what I knew was coming.
It didn’t take long.
Sam played the guitar tonight and I focused, wondering what song he would choose in our little game of instrumentalName That Tune. The song that would have all the right words.
But as he strummed, I was having trouble placing the song. There was definitely a country vibe to it, with its three-chord pattern. I sat up in bed, tossed the covers off, and walked to the front window. I looked out in the darkness, toward Sam’s place, as if being closer would somehow help me identify the tune.
