I raised a hand to wave without a word. I didn’t feel like talking to her. Or anyone else. Sam’s betrayal had been the final straw.
“Sam called,” Mom said. She wiped her hands on her apron and crossed over to the notepad that we kept by the kitchen phone. “He left a number and an extension and asked that you call him back as soon as possible. He said he tried your cell, but it went straight to voice mail.”
I gazed at her in disbelief. Now he had called? After I’d been trying to reach him all week? Donna had probably called him and told him what had happened.
“Lacey?” Mom asked. “Don’t you want the number?”
I glanced at the pad of paper and then back at her. “No.”
She shrugged. “Well. I’m just about to put a soufflé in the oven,” she said, turning away from me and returning to the hand beater. “I thought I’d try something new for dinner.”
“Really?” I asked, surprised. Mom used to love to cook—she subscribed to Bon Appétit and Food & Wine and a few other cooking magazines—and before the accident, she would try something new and exotic at least once a week.
“Yeah,” she said. “I think I need to stop.”
“Stop what?” I asked.
She looked down at the bowl. “Stop wallowing. Logan was right the other day.”
The rain had started to fall harder now, and the fat droplets had given way to an insistent waterfall that made it look fuzzy and almost dreamlike outside.
“I’ve been awful,” she added, gazing out the kitchen window. “I’ve really failed you kids.”
“No, you haven’t,” I said. It felt like the right thing to say, but I realized, after the words were out of my mouth, that I meant it.
“Yes, I have,” she said. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It’s been almost a year, Lacey. A year of our lives that I’ve lost. Your father wouldn’t have wanted it this way.”
“I think he would have understood, Mom.”
“Understood what?”
“Understood that we all needed to figure out things in our own time.”
Mom blinked a few times. “Maybe it’s time to start living again.”
As I walked slowly out of the kitchen, I thought about the last thing she had said. At least we had the luxury to start living again. Logan and Tanner and Mom and I, Sam and his mom, even Sam’s dad, could start over at any time. It made me even sadder to think about it in those terms. Because it seemed unfair, like a betrayal of Dad, to be able to just reinvent ourselves any day, didn’t it? We’d all have a thousand—a million—second chances. Dad wouldn’t even have one.
? ? ?
When I checked my e-mail before going to bed that night, there was one new message waiting for me in my in-box. It was from Sam.
Lacey,
I don’t even know how to begin. I know you feel like I lied to you. And I don’t blame you. But I didn’t do it on purpose. I heard about the group you were starting, and I didn’t know until the end of the first meeting that it was only for people whose parents had actually died. But by that time, I felt so much better just being there. I know you might not understand, but it felt like my dad had died, just like yours. He wasn’t supposed to wake up, ever, and in a way, I felt sometimes like it would have been better if he did just die, because then we could at least have a funeral and say a real goodbye and everything.
I was with my dad when he had the stroke. The doctors said he would never regain consciousness. And then, Sunday night, we got a call from the hospital. The nurse on duty had noticed the call light from his room was on. She went in to check on him, figuring it was a mistake, and he was sitting up in bed, looking confused. He didn’t know where he was. They called the doc and then they called us. My mom hasn’t wanted to leave his side since then. We’ve been sleeping at the hospital. She keeps saying it’s our second chance.
I know you’re mad at me. I tried to tell you, but I guess I didn’t try hard enough. I was scared about how you’d react. I thought you wouldn’t believe anymore that I knew how you felt. But I do. I’m sorry. I can’t even tell you how sorry I am. But I never meant to hurt you. And it doesn’t take away the fact that I do understand you. Please call me.
Sam
I read the e-mail three times before closing the screen. My finger hovered over the Delete key, but finally, I hit Save instead.
I understood what he was saying. But that didn’t make his actions easier to understand. Or to forgive.
chapter 19