Happily Never After. Kathleen O'Brien

his muscles brace. He’d seen Sam scurrying out of Jacob’s house today the minute she’d laid eyes on Tom. He assumed that meant she didn’t trust herself to be polite.

      So if she was coming back now, it must mean she’d decided it was time for a little therapeutic rudeness. He climbed down the stairs, down the front walk, hoping he could meet her on the sidewalk. She might get noisy—she had every right to. The important thing was not to wake Jacob.

      To his surprise, when she saw him her steps quickened. She reached him with hands outstretched. “Tom!”

      He allowed her to take his hands into hers. This wasn’t what he’d expected, but he certainly wasn’t going to complain if she’d decided not to claw his eyes out.

      “Hey, Sam,” he said, smiling. “I hardly recognized you, kiddo. You’ve really grown up.”

      Her pretty smile faded. “Yes. I look like Sophie now. Everyone tells me so. Does it—does it make you uncomfortable?”

      He laughed. This was really strange. But kind of refreshing. Was it possible she was willing to discuss Sophie openly? He wouldn’t do it, of course, but it was a novel feeling to think he could.

      “Of course not,” he said. “Sophie was beautiful. And so are you.”

      “Thank you.” She squeezed his hands. “I’m so sorry, Tom. I shouldn’t have avoided you earlier. It’s been so long, and I wanted so much to talk to you. I just didn’t know how to begin.”

      “Well, you’re off to a good start. What did you want to talk about?”

      She didn’t answer right away. In the moonlight it was difficult to tell, but he thought maybe she was flushing.

      “I—I think I just wanted you to know that, in spite of what Mother and Sebastian may have said, not everyone in our family hates you.”

      He smiled. “I think that just leaves you, doesn’t it? But I appreciate it, Sam. It’s generous of you.”

      She shook her head. “It’s not. It’s merely the truth. I don’t know why you didn’t marry Sophie, but I do know that we’re—” She bit her lower lip, as if she couldn’t think of the perfect word. “Mellons aren’t easy people. And look at Sophie—she can’t even live on her own. She’s not stable, and she never was, not really. So how could you have brought yourself to marry her? I wanted you to know I don’t blame you.”

      Now he was the one who didn’t know what to say. He felt as if he’d just received a papal blessing—a blessing he hadn’t asked for and didn’t deserve. “Sam, I’m sorry. I appreciate what you’re saying, but this really isn’t something I’m comfortable talking about.”

      She tilted her head to get a better look at him. “Not even to me?”

      “Not even to you.”

      “I see.” She dropped his hands slowly. “Of course, I understand. I probably shouldn’t have come all the way out here, bothering you when obviously you’re tired.”

      “It’s all right, Sam. I’m glad you came. It was good to see you again.”

      She still looked slightly crestfallen. He wondered what kind of reception she’d been expecting. Had she thought he would go down on his knees and thank her for the absolution? She must know that the only one who had the right to “forgive” him was Sophie herself. And that wasn’t likely to happen.

      She must also know that, in the past ten years, he’d found a way to stop tormenting himself about all of this. He was quite contented now to carry on unforgiven.

      But instead she seemed to feel oddly rejected.

      “Well, I should go home, anyway,” she said. “Mother will be wondering where I am. I’m the only one she has left now, you know. She gets possessive. It’s…it’s pretty hard.”

      “Sam—”

      She laughed, a little too loudly. He instinctively glanced toward Jacob’s window, hoping he wouldn’t hear.

      “I didn’t mean to whine,” Samantha said. “It’s not that bad, and I remember how you hate melodrama. Sophie told me about that—she said she would have to learn to control herself because emotion irritated you.”

      Had he said that? Probably he had. Sophie’s broad, unpredictable and, to his view, overindulged emotions had annoyed the hell out of him. She’d cried for hours, and he hadn’t felt a thing. But perversely, when Kelly had wept in his arms, every tear had been a little drop of fire.

      What a bastard he’d been.

      Correction. What a bastard he still was.

      Just ask Darlene, who had been crying on the telephone this morning. Knowing she could go on for hours, he’d set the phone on the bed and continued packing. When he came back, she’d been gone.

      “Sam, look—”

      “No, it’s all right, really. I still don’t blame you.” She seemed to be trying to find some middle ground between the eager welcome she’d started with and the uptight formality she’d briefly switched to. It obviously wasn’t easy for her to find the right note. In the end, they didn’t actually know each other very well, in spite of the fact that they’d come within twelve hours of being in-laws.

      “I just want to ask you one thing, Tom, and then I’ll go. It’s important. Have you seen Sophie lately? Do you know where she is?”

      “Where she is?” Tom frowned. “I thought she was either…in residence somewhere, or at home. Isn’t that the case?”

      “Usually. But—” She ran her fingers through her hair. “We don’t know where she is right now. Mother called the clinic in Raleigh, but Sophie is just a voluntary patient, and apparently she checked herself out. She said she was coming home.”

      “But she didn’t?”

      “No. At least—”

      A leaf skittered past. Samantha glanced behind her, as if she expected to see Sophie walking toward them. For some strange reason, the gesture made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

      “No, she didn’t come home. We’re not making this public, but Mother and I haven’t heard from her in weeks. And we need to find her. Mother is… She’s…” She reached up and began playing nervously with the buttons on her shirt. “Oh, you don’t care about all this.”

      “Yes, I do. What about your mother?”

      She looked at him with huge eyes, her fingers still picking at the top button. “She just found out she’s dying. It’s a brain tumor. Inoperable. Funny, I always thought that word was just too cliché. But it really means something. It means there’s no hope.”

      “Oh, my God. Sam, I’m sorry.”

      “No, you aren’t. She was terrible to you. She’s terrible to everyone. I’m the only one left now, though, and so I get it all.”

      For a minute he thought Samantha might cry, too. She deserved to cry, with everything she’d been through—and all the heartbreak that undoubtedly lay ahead, as she nursed a dying mother.

      But why bring her tears to him? Did she have no friends, no lover, no intimate of any kind? Surely she hadn’t kept her emotions bottled up for ten full years, waiting for him to materialize and listen?

      Or maybe she’d done exactly that. God, these irrationally emotional Mellons! He was sorry for her. No wonder she was on such an emotional seesaw. But frankly, he just didn’t know if he could take it right now. Being with Jacob had sapped him of any strength he had possessed when he’d arrived.

      “Sam, I’m sorry, but it’s been a long day, and I think I’d better—”

      “I know. You’re tired. I shouldn’t have come. But there’s something else I have to tell you. I hope—hope