Premiere: A Love Story (24 page)

Sam went to turn over and Peter held her.

“What do you want me to say? It’s working, we are working. Why can’t that be enough for now?”

Sam got out of bed and wrapped herself in a robe. She didn’t know why. She was happy, but when he asked her again if she’d ever thought about marriage, something snapped. What was she doing? Was this going to end in happily ever after? Did she even believe in that anymore? Sam was a ball of confusion. Rather than open her mouth just to sound pathetic and needy, she got dressed.

“What? Where are you going?” Peter asked, getting up, and putting his jeans on.

“I’m going to head back to my parents’ house. I’m sure I’ll see you at breakfast in the morning. I’ve got some things to do.”

“Sam.”

She kept dressing, so he held her still.

“What’s going on, why are you doing this? Please talk to me.”

She didn’t know what to say.

“I need to take a break for a minute, okay.”

“Was it the marriage thing? I was only talking.”

“I know. We do a lot of that . . . talking.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sam slipped into Peter’s sweatshirt and her flip-flops, grabbed her dress, and walked toward the door.

“It doesn’t mean anything, Peter. I just need some space tonight. Lots of emotions and we’ve been busy with the wedding.”

She kissed him and left before he could offer to drive her home. Peter sat on the bed. He knew she was pulling away, but he had no idea why.
Terrific
, he thought.
A bunch of emotions and no explanation.
This must be what if felt like for her when he left. He didn’t like it, but he would give her some space. He had no choice.

The next morning the wedding guests were on their own. Some of them rented boats or bikes. Others, including the bride and groom, slept in. Sam had barely closed her eyes. She finally gave up trying around seven o’clock. She pulled on her running shorts and laced up her shoes. She needed to sweat. Her mother and Henry were sitting at the dining room table with a laptop in front of them, when she came down the stairs. Henry was showing their mother something on YouTube. Probably a clip of a project he was working on, or some new filmmaker Henry was discovering. They both looked up, surprised to see Sam.

“Hey, didn’t know you were here,” Henry said, looking suspicious and concerned.

“Yeah, sorry. I got back late last night.”

Sam tried for carefree, relaxed.

“Late? Sam, you haven’t slept here since we got to the island. Why would you? What’s going on?”

“Sam, honey, come sit. Is everything all right?”

She didn’t know what to say, she didn’t know what was wrong, other than this uneasy feeling that she was losing herself, that she was being swallowed up again. Her eyes burned from last night’s tears, and Sam searched her mind for a way to explain as she stood next to her mother.

“I . . . I can’t sit right now. I need to go for a run. Too much wedding cake.”

She joked, but her mother and Henry still looked like they were waiting for an explanation.

“What? I felt like coming home last night. Is that no longer an option? Why are the two of you looking at me like that?”

Her mother stood up.

“Of course it’s an option, don’t be silly.”

She hugged Sam.

“Good morning. We were just surprised to see you.”

Her mother looked to Henry, unsure what to say.

“So, what gives? You and Peter have a fight?”

Henry cut right to the chase, and Sam began to move toward the door.

“No, not at all. I needed a little space, my own bed. You know? No . . . we’re fine.”

“Fine, huh?”

Henry took a sip of his coffee.

“Henry, stop. We’re good. I need to run, I’ll be back.”

She kissed them both on the cheek and left before she’d have to continue talking about something she couldn’t explain. Henry and her mother looked at each other. After a beat, he said: “Okay, well, that was weird.”

“She’s figuring things out. Leave her be, Henry.”

With that they both returned to the laptop.

Sam ran down the three front steps of the house. It was a foggy morning. As the sea air hit her lungs, she woke up and took off running. By the time she reached Pebbly Beach Road, her lungs were burning. She stopped by the boat terminal to breathe. The sun was barely peeking through the marine layer, and Sam heard the horn of a boat leaving for the mainland. Sam remembered being a little girl and coming over on the same boat. She used be afraid any time there were rough seas. Henry would tease her that it felt like the boat was in trouble. He would lean over and whisper: “If I were you, I’d start locating your life vest.” Sam’s eyes would get huge, she’d hold on to his arm, and then he would laugh and tickle her. Preparing to head up Claressa Avenue, toward the Wrigley Memorial, Sam realized she had never taken the boat to Catalina by herself. She was always with family, never had to worry about rough seas on her own. What did that say about her? She wasn’t sure and she continued running.

Sam reached the entrance to the Wrigley Memorial and Botanic Garden. Her shirt was drenched and her breathing was steady. She felt energized and stronger. The thin gravel crunched beneath her feet, and the smell of blooms from the garden whispered in the morning air. A memorial to William Wrigley Jr., the chewing gum magnate and father of Catalina Island, loomed ahead. It was a massive structure created out of all of the materials that made up the island. Michael Cathner, Sam’s grandfather, helped Mrs. Wrigley plan the memorial and Sam thought of her grandparents every time she saw it. They’d had a great romance, but it was not without bumps in the road and trouble. Sam’s grandmother, Gwendolyn Ross, grew up during a time when women were only expected to be wives. She was spunky, graduated from Mount Holyoke, and seriously thought of becoming a doctor. Instead she modernized and expanded the island hospital. Sam remembered her grandmother always smelled like lavender, remembered she had an unbelievable laugh that took over her whole face. Sam’s grandfather had big hands and always hated wearing his reading glasses, so she would read to him. They must have been scared as well, when they fell into the desperation and need of love, she thought. Or maybe not, maybe it was easy for them. Was it supposed to be easy?

God, Sam wished she was still naive. She longed for the girl who willingly wrapped her arms around Peter and simply gave in. She would never have her back. She’d been hurt and that scar would stay. Sam knew it made her stronger and she knew she loved Peter, could trust him even, but she felt as if she had climbed back onto the diving board. She was scared again.

At the top of the memorial, Sam looked through the arch out to Avalon.

“Incredible what one person can accomplish,” Peter said from behind.

Sam spun around and saw him standing, hands in the pockets of his tan pants. He was wearing a jean button-up shirt, left out. He hadn’t shaved and he looked tired.

“What?”

She held her hand to her chest to ease the surprise.

“How did you know I was here?”

“I went by your house. Your mother said you went for a run. I knew you’d come here. I took the golf cart. Rough night, so I didn’t feel like running.”

His mouth curved just a little as he walked toward her.

“Yeah,” Sam took a deep breath.

“Sorry about the rough night.”

“You don’t need to be sorry.”

He stood behind her and gently ran his hands up her arms.

“I’m sweaty.”

“I can see that.”

He kissed the back of her neck.

“Do you want to talk about anything?”

“Sure, what’s your next play about?”

“Whoa, not what I expected.”

Sam smiled, and they both kept looking through the arch out to sea.

“I’m tired of talking about the past, our past, people in the past. I want to look ahead. What’s coming up, instead of what’s already happened.”

“Okay. It’s a comedy.”

“Thank God!”

They both laughed.

“Yeah, I thought so too. I’m getting a little tired of myself. Too much introspection is not always a good thing.”

“I’m getting a little tired of you too.”

“Are you now?” he joked, turning her around for a kiss.

“Not completely, but you’re pushing it.”

Sam took his hand, and they started back toward the gardens.

“Tell me about it, where does it take place?”

“It’s about four men. They play chess at the Chinese Culture Center of San Francisco. Four different nationalities, four different backgrounds, and chess.”

“Doesn’t sound like a comedy.”

“Oh, it is. It’s funny, but of course there’s a message.”

“Of course. You wouldn’t be you, if there weren’t some sort of message or lesson.”

They walked through the vast collection of indigenous and imported trees and plants, then stopped for a while to marvel at the hundreds of different cacti that formed only a small part of the entire garden. Peter noticed he was again standing in a garden with Sam. They’d both always liked gardens, were both interested in collections and different regions. Maybe that came from growing up in California or maybe it was simply something else they shared. Sam seemed less agitated, more at ease, and Peter let their conversation from last night lie. He was sure she still had doubts or fears, but she was still with him, moving forward. She didn’t want to talk about it, and he didn’t push.

Peter gave Sam a ride back into town, and they talked about
Looking In
and the premiere, less than a month away. They would be flying back to Pasadena in the morning, and Peter would again fly back to New York later that week for meetings and to check in on the play there, as it had been picked up for six more weeks on Broadway. Sam decided to head back to her house. At the wedding reception, Henry had mentioned wanting to take her sailing before they left the island. She felt like taking him up on that offer. Peter was going to meet Grady at the country club before he left to head back to Los Angeles.

Peter kissed her outside the Cathner house.

“Movie tonight?”

“What’s playing?”

“Does it even matter? You only go there for the theater and snacks.”

“True. Sure, we’ll have Movie Dinner, so don’t eat before you pick me up.”

“Ugh, I’m always sick after Movie Dinner.”

“Your point? It’s . . .”

“Tradition, I know. I’ll pick you up at seven, and we’ll walk over. I’ll even spring for the M&M’S.”

“You are a prince.”

Sam kissed him again and turned toward the door. Peter started to walk away when she turned.

“Hey, I love you,” she said softly.

He knew he would never tire of hearing those words slip off her perfect lips.

“I’ve loved you longer.”

She bit her bottom lip as if figuring out a tough math problem.

“We’ll have to argue about that later. See you tonight.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

H
enry was already out with a potential rebound girlfriend he’d met at the wedding, when Peter arrived at the Cathners, so he was spared the third degree regarding his intentions toward Sam. Henry wouldn’t have dared bring it up at Cynthia’s wedding, but in the privacy of their own home? Most definitely. Henry loved to watch Peter sweat, always had. They all secretly got along, but the Cathner men loved to jibe. After Peter had tasted Mrs. Cathner’s zucchini muffins and talked baseball with Sam’s father, they were free to go.

“You dressed up,” Sam said as he closed the door behind them.

It felt like a date. The day they had spent apart created a newness in Sam, and it slowed things down. They were dating, that was the plan. Peter’s hair, still wet from a shower, was brushed back off his face, and he had on dark jeans and a navy linen shirt. It was open at the neck, and Sam noticed he’d gotten sun while they were on the island. Every time Peter tanned, the green in his eyes seemed to lighten. Standing in front of her, he was the very best-looking date she she’d ever seen.

“You too.”

Peter was carrying her sweater. As they hit the night air, he stopped to put it over the green cotton dress she had put on for their movie date. He paused to lay a kiss on her bare shoulder and then covered it with her sweater. She smelled like the sun and Chanel. Her smell had become part of his life again. It was everywhere, on his clothes, in his bed. It was becoming as much a part of his life as she was. Peter had switched from convincing Sam that everything was fine to . . . wooing her. He’d decided when she left the night of the wedding that maybe he needed to earn her back, put in some effort.

“The dress is new. I just felt like I wanted to . . .”

“Yeah, me too.”

Peter pulled her to him under a dimly lit street lamp and kissed her. The moon was huge and Sam could hear the ocean crashing on the beach below.

“I have a surprise,” Peter said, easing back, and brushing Sam’s hair out of her freckled flush face.

“Extra M&M’S?”

He laughed.

“I do have extra M&M’S, but that’s not the surprise.”

Peter put his arm around her. As they walked toward the movie theater, she tried to wrangle the surprise out of him, but Peter did not budge. He was good at secrets. The Avalon Theatre sat beneath the casino where they’d held Cynthia’s wedding reception. It was never a real casino in the modern-day sense, but the word
casino
actually meant “large room used for entertainment and dancing.” There was only one casino on Catalina and beneath its grand ballroom was the most spectacular movie theater either of them had ever seen.