looked so eager, so happy. Three years, she thought. Three years later it was all over. She sighed, moving on. By the door frame were a few photos of a blond baby.
“Jamie?” she asked, looking over at Sam. He was still clutching the empty glass and staring vacantly out the window.
“Hmm?” He roused himself to turn toward her. She was truly alarmed by what she saw. His face was gray and slick with sweat.
“Sam!” she cried, “let me take you to a doctor. Right now. Please!”
He shook his head, then pointed an index finger to a chest of drawers opposite the table. “Top drawer. Bottle of pills.”
Leigh yanked open the drawer and rummaged through an assortment of greeting cards, buttons, ends of candles and miscellaneous junk. She found a plastic vial of small white pills. Nitroglycerine. She handed him one, which he slipped under his tongue. He’d done this before, she realized. How often?
In a few moments some color returned to his face. “At least let me help you to bed,” she said.
The old man didn’t argue. Leigh led him to the room behind the kitchen. Sam’s bedroom hadn’t changed since she and Jen used to bounce on his brass bed. Same old chenille bedspread, too. She pulled it down and tucked Sam in.
“I’ve made a casserole for dinner, Sam, and I’ll go get some for you. Save you the trouble of making a meal. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”
“It’s okay,” he murmured. “Pills make me drowsy. I’ll sleep now, then get some dinner later. Thanks, Leigh. Go ahead.” He dismissed her with a feeble wiggling of his fingers.
“I’ll be back,” she said, closing the door behind her. Then she was outside, running to the car and speeding down the highway. She passed her house, feeling a twinge of guilt about her lie to Sam, but knowing he’d have argued about her fetching Spencer. Her car scattered gravel all the way into Ocracoke village. She wasn’t certain where Spencer’s fishing-charter office was, but knew the village was small enough to locate it on her own. Two circuits around the Silver Lake Harbor road and she spotted his red pickup outside a squat box-shaped building sided with white aluminum. The sign above the eaves trough read McKay-Cowan Charters. About as eloquent as Sam’s sign, she thought.
Leigh parked next to the pickup and pushed open the white screen door. Spencer was sitting behind a desk, feet propped on its Formica top and a sweating can of beer in one hand. Another man sat in a chair opposite and next to the door. Leigh barely glanced at him, heading straight for Spence.
“It’s Sam!” she blurted.
He shot to his feet, beer slopping out the top of the can and beading across the desktop. “What? Where is he? What happened?” He grabbed her arm with his free hand.
Leigh stumbled backward. “Careful,” she protested, dabbing at the drops of beer on her clothes.
Spencer plunked the can down on the desk and wiped the corner of his mouth with his forearm. “Sorry, you scared the dickens out of me. What’s the matter?”
“I met Sam riding his bicycle up from the village. He was carrying two bags of groceries. I think he’d have passed out if I hadn’t driven him home.” She couldn’t keep the accusation out of her voice.
He swore. “Leigh, believe me, I’ve told him many times to call me when he wants to go shopping. I’ve taken him a lot this past year and I will anytime.”
“He said you were out on an important charter.” Leigh glanced at the man sitting behind her, then looked pointedly at the cans of beer.
Spencer flushed slightly. “Yeah, well, we’ve been out all day and now we’re back—cooling down.”
The glint in his eyes warned Leigh to lay off. She stared down at the floor while the other man got to his feet and mumbled a quick goodbye. Spencer brushed past her to walk his customer to the door. There was a snatch of conversation about money and dates and then the door slammed shut. Leigh didn’t turn around.
After
“Jamie?” she asked, looking over at Sam. He was still clutching the empty glass and staring vacantly out the window.
“Hmm?” He roused himself to turn toward her. She was truly alarmed by what she saw. His face was gray and slick with sweat.
“Sam!” she cried, “let me take you to a doctor. Right now. Please!”
He shook his head, then pointed an index finger to a chest of drawers opposite the table. “Top drawer. Bottle of pills.”
Leigh yanked open the drawer and rummaged through an assortment of greeting cards, buttons, ends of candles and miscellaneous junk. She found a plastic vial of small white pills. Nitroglycerine. She handed him one, which he slipped under his tongue. He’d done this before, she realized. How often?
In a few moments some color returned to his face. “At least let me help you to bed,” she said.
The old man didn’t argue. Leigh led him to the room behind the kitchen. Sam’s bedroom hadn’t changed since she and Jen used to bounce on his brass bed. Same old chenille bedspread, too. She pulled it down and tucked Sam in.
“I’ve made a casserole for dinner, Sam, and I’ll go get some for you. Save you the trouble of making a meal. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”
“It’s okay,” he murmured. “Pills make me drowsy. I’ll sleep now, then get some dinner later. Thanks, Leigh. Go ahead.” He dismissed her with a feeble wiggling of his fingers.
“I’ll be back,” she said, closing the door behind her. Then she was outside, running to the car and speeding down the highway. She passed her house, feeling a twinge of guilt about her lie to Sam, but knowing he’d have argued about her fetching Spencer. Her car scattered gravel all the way into Ocracoke village. She wasn’t certain where Spencer’s fishing-charter office was, but knew the village was small enough to locate it on her own. Two circuits around the Silver Lake Harbor road and she spotted his red pickup outside a squat box-shaped building sided with white aluminum. The sign above the eaves trough read McKay-Cowan Charters. About as eloquent as Sam’s sign, she thought.
Leigh parked next to the pickup and pushed open the white screen door. Spencer was sitting behind a desk, feet propped on its Formica top and a sweating can of beer in one hand. Another man sat in a chair opposite and next to the door. Leigh barely glanced at him, heading straight for Spence.
“It’s Sam!” she blurted.
He shot to his feet, beer slopping out the top of the can and beading across the desktop. “What? Where is he? What happened?” He grabbed her arm with his free hand.
Leigh stumbled backward. “Careful,” she protested, dabbing at the drops of beer on her clothes.
Spencer plunked the can down on the desk and wiped the corner of his mouth with his forearm. “Sorry, you scared the dickens out of me. What’s the matter?”
“I met Sam riding his bicycle up from the village. He was carrying two bags of groceries. I think he’d have passed out if I hadn’t driven him home.” She couldn’t keep the accusation out of her voice.
He swore. “Leigh, believe me, I’ve told him many times to call me when he wants to go shopping. I’ve taken him a lot this past year and I will anytime.”
“He said you were out on an important charter.” Leigh glanced at the man sitting behind her, then looked pointedly at the cans of beer.
Spencer flushed slightly. “Yeah, well, we’ve been out all day and now we’re back—cooling down.”
The glint in his eyes warned Leigh to lay off. She stared down at the floor while the other man got to his feet and mumbled a quick goodbye. Spencer brushed past her to walk his customer to the door. There was a snatch of conversation about money and dates and then the door slammed shut. Leigh didn’t turn around.
After
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