The Law of Bound Hearts (14 page)

Sam

So we're watching this old movie on AMC,” Stacy said. “The one with—what's her name? The swimmer?” She shouted to be heard over the roar of the Hobart.

“Mmmm.” Sam was bent over the sketch for the Sanderson cake, tweaking the final details.

“Williams. That's it. Esther Williams. So Carl says, ‘If one synchronized swimmer drowns, do the others have to, too?' ” Stacy switched off the mixer and looked over at Sam. “And then he laughs like that's the funniest thing anyone's ever said.
If one drowns, do the
others have to, too?
That man's living on borrowed time. Skating on thin ice. I swear, between his sorry jokes and his toe fungus, we'll be lucky to last the year.”

Sam frowned, debating whether to set a couple of roses at the base of the cake, an echo of the spray on the top, or to stay with the double row of seed pearls that trimmed each layer. Normally she could have made this kind of decision in an instant, but this morning her brain felt foggy. It was hard to focus. All she could think about was Lee.

“Hello? Earth calling Pluto. Anybody home?” Stacy cupped her hands around her mouth. “Helloooo.”

Sam gave her a blank look. “What?”

“Okay, so maybe I'm not
Entertainment Tonight,
but you could at least pretend to listen.” Stacy lifted the beaters from the batter.

“I'm listening.”

“Really? I don't think you've heard anything I've said in the past fifteen minutes.”

“Yes, I have.” Sam closed her eyes, pulled the words from somewhere. “You said that between Carl's humor and his foot fungus, you don't think you're going to last.”

“I know you can recite the
words.
” Stacy swirled a rubber spatula around the rim of the Hobart's bowl, then dipped a finger in the mixture and tasted it. “I'm just saying I don't think you
heard.
”

Stacy was right, of course. “I'm sorry,” Sam said. “I was concentrating on this.”

Stacy looked straight at her, narrowed her eyes. “Okay. Spill it.”

“Spill what?”

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong. I told you. I'm just preoccupied with this cake.” Sam reversed the drawing so Stacy could take a look. “Whaddaya think? Should I put a couple of the roses at the base?”

Stacy ignored the sketch. “Try again.”

“What?”

“Listen, it's plain as sugar on powdered doughnuts that something's flying up your ass a million miles an hour.”

“What do you mean?”

“You haven't smiled once since I walked in. Not once.”

Sam sighed, then flashed a toothy fake grin. “There. Better?”

Stacy carried the beaters to the sink and rinsed them. Then she leaned back against the sink and crossed her arms. “Just tell me straight out. Is it me?”

“Meaning?”

“Are you mad at me?”

“Why in the world would I be mad at you?”

“You know. 'Cause I got drunk Saturday night.”

“Good God, no. If memory serves me, I was as drunk as you. No, of course I'm not mad at you.”

“Well, who then? Because you're sure pissed at something or someone.” Stacy cut parchment paper for the bottoms of four cake tins, brushed the sides of the tins with oil, and spooned batter in.

Sam paused. If she told Stacy about the argument with Lee, she'd have to explain about Libby and the whole story and she wasn't sure she was ready to have her history exposed. It was hard enough to keep some semblance of an employer/employee boundary with Stacy without opening up that mess.

“What'd you have a fight with the Hunk?”

So much for boundaries. The word wasn't even in Stacy's lexicon. “Not exactly.”

“Whoa. Wait a minute, here. ‘Not exactly'?”

Sam bit her lip, fiddled with a detail at the base of the cake drawing. “All right. We had a disagreement. Let's just leave it at that.”

Stacy left the tins half filled and plopped down at the desk next to Sam. “Jeez.”

“What?”

“You had a fight with the Hottie? Is that crazy or what? Half the women in town say a prayer every night that you two will split up. Believe me, they're waiting in the wings.”

Sam didn't doubt that for one second. “Not a fight. Okay? A disagreement.”

“Whatever.” Stacy paused. “Let's see. He's what? A Sagittarius, right?”

“I guess. December fifteenth.”

“Fire sign.”

In spite of herself, Sam's interest was captured. “Which means what?”

“Slow to anger.” That was Lee all right. “And idealistic.”

“So where's the bad part?”

“Carried to an extreme, Sagittarians can be condescending or dogmatic.”

Try self-righteous, Sam thought.

“So what happened?”

“It's ridiculous, really.” Sam pushed aside the sketch and fought back the tears that suddenly threatened.

Stacy gave her a quick look and rose. “Wait a minute. This
is
serious.”

“Let's forget it.” Sam focused again on the sketch. “I'm okay. Really.”

“Really, you're not,” Stacy said. “Believe me. I know the signs, and I'm not talking zodiac.”

“What signs?”

“The trouble-in-paradise signs. God knows I've been there often enough.”

“We've had a disagreement, that's all. We'll work it out.” Sam prayed this was true.

Stacy crossed the kitchen and rooted through the cupboard.

“What are you looking for?”

“Coffee. This conversation definitely calls for coffee.”

What it called for, in Sam's mind, was a reestablishment of boundaries. “I think there's some on the bottom shelf.”

“I opened that last week.”

“Then I'm out.”

“No prob. I'll just hop over to the General Store and get us fresh-brewed to go.”

“Please, don't bother. Really, there's no need.”

“Regular or Irish cream?”

Sam surrendered. “Hazelnut. If they have it. If not, regular. Tall. With skim.” As if problems could be resolved with a jolt of caffeine. “Take some money out of the drawer.”

“This one's on me. Anything else? Bagel or Danish?”

“Just coffee's fine.”

“Be back in twenty.”

Sam left the desk and finished up with the cake tins Stacy had left half filled. She put them in the convection oven and set the timer.
We'll work it out.
She wanted to believe this, but her heart felt stone-heavy. She pictured the hurt look on Lee's face, the stubborn set of his mouth when he left. She would have given her left foot to be able to retract some of the words she'd flung at him.

“After you came home and found them, what did she say?” Lee had asked. They were lying on her bed.

“I don't know. I never spoke to her again,” she said.

“You didn't give her a chance to explain?”

Sam looked at him. “Explain? How could you explain something like that? I never wanted to see her again.”

“I can understand that. But didn't she want to talk to you?”

“I wouldn't take her calls.”

“Jesus, Sam.”

He raised himself on one elbow and looked down at her. “You have to call her, Sam.”

“No way. Forget it.”

“Why?”

“I can't.”

“Why not?”

“I just can't, that's all.”

He fell back against the pillow. “Just tell me what's so difficult about picking up the phone.”

“Look, Lee. I don't want to talk about this.”

“My God, Sam, it's been six years. When will you want to talk about it?”

Try never.

“She's your sister. Your only sister.”

When she didn't respond, he stared at the ceiling, considering. “Is it about punishing Libby?” he said after a few minutes.

She could not believe he was asking her that. “Wrong question, Lee. The question here is, why are you acting like it's my fault? I'm not the one in the wrong.”

He reached over and stroked her cheek. “It's not about who's at fault, hon.”

She pushed his hand away. “The hell it isn't. That's exactly what it's about.”

“No, it isn't, Sam.”

“Then what is it about?”

He drew her to him, held her. She could feel his heart beat against her skin.

“I'd say it's about being hurt,” he said. “It's about pride.”

“Pride?” She pulled away. “How can you even say that? Shit, I just finished telling you what she did to me and you think I'm not calling her because my pride is hurt? Jesus. I can't believe you think that. She
betrayed
me, Lee.”

“Sam?” He cupped her face in his palms. “Listen to me. It's true. She did betray you.”

“In the worst way.”

“Okay, okay. But sometimes people who love each other do that.”

“Well, they shouldn't.”

“Maybe so, but they do.”

“Oh, please.”

“They do, Sam. It's called being human.”

“Spare me the platitudes.”

He fell silent, then, after a moment, stood up and started to dress. “What are you doing?” Fingers of panic brushed her chest.

He buttoned his shirt, found his shoes. “Just tell me this, Sam. Don't you think you've punished her enough?”

She sat upright, her back rigid. “You think that's what it's about? Punishing her? Christ, whose side are you on?”

“I'm not taking sides here.”

“The hell you're not.”

He sat on the edge of the mattress. “Forgive her, Sam,” he said.

“I can't.”

“You can. Forgiveness is a choice we make. You won't. That's the choice you've made. So don't say you can't.”

“Don't you understand, Lee? There are some things you can't forgive.”

His brown eyes were steady on hers. “There's nothing that can't be forgiven.”

“Well, thank you, Mother Teresa.”

“Jesus, Sam. Don't let's do this.”

“Do what?”

“I don't want to fight with you, Sam. I just want you to call your sister. It's been too long. You know I'm right.”

“You're not right. You're self-righteous.”

“Sam—” Lee's voice was low and it held a warning she was too angry to heed.

“You're self-righteous and smug and just because you found it so goddamn easy to forgive the father who walked out on you, that doesn't make you the authority on forgiveness. For sure, it doesn't give you the right to tell me what I should or shouldn't be doing.”

“Okay,” Lee said. “I'm getting the message.” He crossed the room, turned to her at the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I'll be at the yard. Call me when you're ready.”

“Ready for what?” she said.

“To grow up.”

Her hands clutched the pillow, but by the time she threw it, he had left the room.

“Here we go.” Stacy set the bag on the counter. “Two hazelnuts, one skim regular and one with the works.” She passed a coffee to Sam.

“Thanks.” Sam pried the lid off her cup.

Stacy reached back into the bag and took out a paper-wrapped pastry. “And one Danish. Cream cheese and cherry. To split.”

“I'll pass.”

“Oh, come on. How bad can half be?” Stacy broke the pastry in two and handed Sam one half. “So I was thinking,” she said. “I don't know what happened with you and the Hunk, but I think you should just pick up the phone and call him.” She took a bite of the Danish.

“Wait a minute. Why should I call Lee?”

“To apologize.” Stacy finished the pastry, licked her fingers.

“I should apologize? You don't even know what we argued about.”

“Listen, you're both stubborn. Right? So the question is, do you love him?” Stacy plowed right on without waiting for Sam to answer. “Of course you do. Anyone who's been around the two of you can see that. You're crazy about him and he's mad for you. So don't screw it up. Are you going to eat that or not?”

Sam slid her Danish across the counter.

Stacy took a bite. “Or go over and see him.”

Sam sipped her coffee. “I think we need some cooling-off time.”

The telephone cut off Stacy's response. “Want me to get that?”

Sam nodded. She hoped it was Lee.

“Golliwog's Cakewalk,” Stacy said. “Yes. May I tell her who's calling?”

Sam blew out a breath of disappointment.

“Sure,” Stacy said to the caller. She held the phone toward Sam. “It's for you.”

“Who is it?” Sam mouthed the words.

Stacy cupped her hand over the receiver. “Cynthia,” she said. “She says she's your sister-in-law.”

Sam's hand rose to her throat and she automatically noted the time. Eleven o'clock. Nine o'clock in Denver. Even now, after all these years, whenever Cynthia called, Sam's first reaction was to check the time. It had been Cynthia, not Josh, who had phoned with the news about the plane crash and her parents' deaths.

“Hi,” Cynthia said.

“Hi,” Sam said. “What's happening? How are the kids?”

“They're fine. Both on varsity again,” Cynthia said. “Jeffrey's playing goalie this year. Robert's still at center.”

“That's great.” Would she even recognize her nephews? Cynthia sent a picture every Christmas, but Sam hadn't actually seen them since her parents' funeral. She did a quick calculation. They were eight and nine then, so they had to be sixteen and seventeen now. “How's Josh?” It had been weeks and weeks since she'd spoken with her brother.

“Crazy,” Cynthia said. “Training like a madman.”

“Another marathon?” Josh had started running after their parents died. He'd done Boston four years ago and Sam had been in the crowd at Chestnut Hill to cheer him on for the final miles.