Winter Hopes (Seasons of Love) (5 page)

“Huh! Well, there you go. He’s into it. He digs you too. I hate to tell you this, but it all sounds good so far. I say let yourself enjoy the ride.” Jane dipped another carrot into the hummus and crunched on it. “Are you capable of doing that, my favorite control freak and over thinker extraordinaire?”

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see,” Lydia sighed.

Jane pondered as she chewed. Then her eyes flickered, almost
bitterly. “Hey. Did you tell Matt you met someone?”

“NO!” Lydia squeaked. “I’m not telling anyone about this except for you and Tracey. Let’s see what even happens first, alright? Sam could be full of crap, turn out to be not so great, or cancel the trip out here, or decide this long distance thing isn’t going to work and end it before it starts, who knows. Usually something that seems like it’s too good to be true—it is. So let’s just take it easy, okay?”

Jane shrugged. “I don’t think any of that’s going to happen, Miss Glass Half Empty. Call it a hunch.” She stretched her arms over her
head. “Not that you won’t think up the worst, dream up every bad scenario, and have it over in your head before it’s even begun. You’ll make yourself crazy if you’re not careful. Try to decide not to do
that, okay?”

Lydia sighed again. “You know me too well.”

“I sure do. And guess what?” Jane smiled a big, teasing, wide
smile. “I love you anyway. You big slut.”

Lydia snorted and threw a baby carrot at her big sister.

“WELL,” SAM SAID.
Lydia could hear muffled sounds—he must have been balancing the phone between his head and shoulder to
free his hands. She remembered he was very expressive when he
talked,
and knew he also needed to pace the room. “Now I’ve got a better
idea of what your job is like, what you actually do with your students day to day. Cool. Thanks for that.”

“Um, you’re welcome?” Lydia said.

“What? I was truly interested. That’s why I asked.”

“Okay.” Lydia curled farther into her corner of the couch and
tucked her feet underneath her legs. “Well… it’s nice that you were
interested enough to ask.” She glanced at the clock. They’d been on
the phone for over twenty minutes already. Third night in a row. This was getting to be a habit that she liked.

“Well, now I also know that I’ve been keeping you up a little
later
than you’re used to on school nights,” Sam said, his smile coming through in his tone. “And I’m sorry about that. You should've said something. You must have been really tired the past couple of
mornings.”

“I was fine,” she said easily. “As long as I get to sleep by eleven at the latest, I’m okay. And I haven’t been going to bed past that. I’ll let you know when I get too tired, or need to get going.”

“Good,” Sam said. “So, before that happens tonight, let’s do
some dopey stuff.”

“Like what?” Lydia asked, amused.

“I don’t know. Silly questions.” For a second, he sounded like a
teenager who’d just suggested they play Truth Or Dare. “Um…
what’s your favorite color?”

She giggled. “What are we, thirteen?”

“It made you laugh, didn’t it?” he said cheerfully.

“Yes, it did. Okay. Purple.”

“Ah. Any particular shade?” he asked. “Lighter, like lavender? Or a deep violet?”

“I like all shades, but a deep, rich violet is my favorite,” she said. “And yours?”

“Blue,” he said. “I know, boring. I’m a guy and I like blue, how original. But then I’d go a step further by clarifying that my favorite shades are the bold ones, cobalt and royal.”

“Spoken like a true artist.”

“Well, I’m slightly passionate about colors,” he said, almost as though he were admitting a secret. “And yeah, it’s a part of what I
do.”

“I’ve never heard a man talk passionately about colors,” she
said. “Not a straight man, anyway.”

“Great,” Sam cracked. "Thanks a lot."

She laughed lightly and purred, “Don’t worry; I know
very
well that you’re straight.”

“Well, thank you!” Sam laughed. “I should think so!”

“Next silly question?” Lydia said, smiling at his reaction.

“Hmm,” Sam said. She could picture him pacing. “Favorite season?”

“Fall," she answered. “Wasn't that obvious, the way I stared at the trees that whole weekend like a big dork?”

He laughed. “Yeah, a little.”

“And yours?”

“Spring.”

“Really?” she said, intrigued. “Why?”

“Because everything becomes beautiful again. Grass gets green again, trees come back, flowers bloom… everything feels new, filled with life and potential. Rebirth.”

“Wow. Okay. I like that perspective,” she said.

“Now you ask me a dopey question,” he coaxed.

Lydia chuckled. “Um… what’s your favorite sport?”

“Baseball,” Sam answered without hesitation.

“Are you a fan, or a fanatic?” Lydia asked.

“Just a fan. I like sports, I follow them, but I don’t get insane over them.”

“Okay. Who’s your baseball team?”

“Cubs, baby. I love to suffer.”

She laughed. “I don’t have a favorite sport, so you don’t have to bother asking. I’m not a big sports gal.”

“But if I wanted to take you to a baseball game, or something like that,” Sam asked, “would you go and be okay with it? Or would you go but sit there simmering, secretly hating it?”

“I’d go,” she said. “And I’d be fine. I like sitting outside. And a live ball game is really different from a game on TV. I wouldn’t hate it at all.”

“Cool. Thatta girl.”

“What else…” Lydia tried to think of something to ask. “You
backpacked all across Europe. Which was your favorite country?”

“Good question. Hmm… tough choice,” Sam said. She could
hear
him tapping his fingers against something, maybe a tabletop or a window. She imagined him staring out the window while they talked. “I’d have to go with Italy. My God, what an amazing place.
I’d really like to go back someday. Do like a three week tour, see as much of it as I could.”

“How long were you there?”

“About ten days, give or take?” He paused for a second, as though reflecting on the trip, which she knew had been over a
decade ago. “I
was in Rome for a few days, then Venice. Meant to go to Florence,
but
didn’t make it. I spent most of my days in museums. Spent my
nights
eating and drinking myself into oblivion in tiny, out of the way
places. Definitely had my favorite food of the trip there, that’s for sure.” He
let out something like a sigh. “The art, the architecture, all beyond
incredible, as you can imagine. So I really immersed myself in that.
The museums were magnificent. And something about the coolness, the stillness, the quiet… being surrounded by such greatness, and not understanding the language at all when people chattered around
me…
it was beautiful isolation, and what I needed at that point. I mean, I didn’t really go to Europe to socialize… it wasn’t a good time for
me.”

He stopped talking again, and she could only guess how hard it
must be for him to reflect. He cleared his throat and said, “You have to understand… that whole trip, I was deeply grieving. I was
not
good
company. I varied daily between overwhelming despair, rage, and being numb. The whole two plus years of watching Chelsea slowly
get sicker, watching her die, had taken everything out of me…

“I had to get away. The impulse to go hit me right after the
funeral. I set up the whole trip in two days, and left for Europe less than two
weeks after she died. So, needless to say, I was something of a walking zombie. I didn’t really talk to people. I kept to myself and
was in a haze
for those three months. Which is why I’d like to go back someday and experience those places—Italy in particular—as a living,
functional human being. Someone cognizant, with a decent personality, and a positive outlook. Not a zombie.”

Lydia bit her lip and felt something akin to embarrassment
whoosh through her. “I didn’t mean to dredge up bad memories,” she said, repentant. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, don’t apologize,” Sam said quickly. “I’m fine. I’m the one who should apologize. I just got caught up, started rambling…
you know what? Let’s get something clear from the start, okay? I loved my wife very much. And I will always remember Chelsea lovingly…
she was a part of me. But it’s been eleven years since she died. That’s a long time already. I went through a lot, but I eventually, and
genuinely, came to grips with all of it.” He paused to take a deep breath, and she waited. “I have a good life now—because after some time, when I was ready, I
chose
to go on and have a good life. And she wanted
that for me. I'll always miss her, but it doesn’t hurt like hell to think about her now. It doesn’t hurt to talk about her or that whole time period. You don’t have to be careful with me, and I don’t want you to
be. I don’t need to be… handled. Don’t tiptoe around me. There's no
walking on eggshells on this subject. If it comes up, if you ever have a question, I’m really fine. I'm not fragile. Alright?”

“Alright,” Lydia said. “Actually, I’m glad you said all that.
Because I wasn’t sure.”

“I know. It’s a hard thing to try to feel out.” Sam sighed. “I always
feel bad when it comes up and makes other people feel bad. I mean, it was a part of my past, and I’m not trying to hide it or shy away from it. But when it comes up, it… um… makes people feel uncomfortable or
awkward, as though they said or did something wrong. Then it makes
me
want to put
them
at ease. But hey, I guess I’d rather people
be
compassionate and sensitive enough to care about what they say, as opposed to people being careless and insensitive and not giving a crap. Right?”

“Right. Yes. That’s a good way to look at it,” Lydia said with
admiration. “Your attitude, on all of it, is wonderful. Not everyone
would be able to get through what you went through in one piece, much less come out stronger.”

“Well, hey—I’m not trying to be a poster child,” Sam said. “Seriously. I was a wreck, a real mess, for a long time. A few
years
.
But once my head was in a decent place again, I had a choice to make: would I let
that one catastrophe shape the rest of my life, or would I find a
different path, put the past behind me, and move on? We all make choices.” He laughed ruefully. “Wow! That totally sounded like some crazy
seminar leader or something, huh? Jesus, I’ll get off my soapbox
now. Sorry. I’ll shut up.”

“No, no, don’t shut up,” Lydia said. “I agree with you. I admire your choices, and your honesty about it all, and your strength. Some
people don’t see going on with their life in spite of something
terrible as a ‘choice’. They turn bitter and look at it as something that’s
happened to them
, you know?”

“Well, forging ahead after something bad has happened is really
hard,” Sam said. “It’s hard work, picking up the pieces. Some people don’t get up again. They can’t. It’s all too much, too big. That
happens. But some people… just don’t like hard work. They’d rather sit, bitch,
and be victims. Maybe for them, that’s easier. But that’s not me.
That's not who I am.”

Lydia cleared her suddenly parched throat. She got up from the couch and went to her kitchen for some water. “You know… not that
I would ever,
ever
compare our situations, but I think I kind of get
you
in regards to the tiptoeing stuff. I mean… I’ve been getting
something
like that ever since Matt and I split up.” She reached into the
cupboard
and grabbed a glass. “Sometimes I feel like people—people who’ve known me for a long time, even—don’t know what to say to me
anymore, or are
too aware of what they say and are afraid of offending me. As if
they’re walking on eggshells when they talk to me, like you said you don't want me to do with you. It’s annoying as hell.”

“Yup. That’s
exactly
what I’m talking about,” Sam replied. “You
get it. So let’s make a deal right now. Let’s not walk on eggshells
around
each other on these subjects—or on anything. You can ask me
anything you want, and I’ll do the same, without ambivalence, without fear. Can we try that?”

“I don’t know,” Lydia quipped, only half joking. “But I’ll try.”

“Great. Hey, it’s worth a shot.” Sam’s breath quickened slightly, as if he were doing laps around his living room. “So… on that note, can I ask you a few more things?”

“Of course,” Lydia said. She stood by her sink and sipped her water.

“You said the divorce was your idea,” Sam started. “You asked him to leave.”

“Yes,” Lydia said.

“When was that?”

“Labor Day weekend, last year.”

“And did he leave right then?”

“Yeah, pretty much. He left two days after I asked him, once he realized that I was serious. He stayed with his parents for a while. But we had to sell our house, which actually happened faster than I thought it would. We found apartments in November, moved into them in December, and closed on the house in mid-January. We each got half of the money. I'm saving mine, hoping to eventually buy a new house for Andy and myself. I want him to have a backyard.” She sipped her water again. “Why do you ask? Did that answer what you wanted to know?”

“I was just wondering. I wasn’t clear on the exact time frame.”

Lydia took a deep breath, with Sam’s words about “no fear” lingering in her head. “I know you’ve said you don’t care that I just got divorced,” she said quietly, “but I can’t help wondering, with this line of questioning, if you’ve changed your mind?”