Autumn Getaway (Seasons of Love) (11 page)

“I’m fine,” she said quietly. Her expression was almost unreadable, but the flush on her face spoke volumes. She drank more water from her glass before she said, “I just want to go back to my room. I’m done.”

“I’ll take you,” Sam said. He paused. “If that’s alright with you.”

Lydia bit her lip, but then nodded. “Let me get my bag.” She went back to the loveseat.

“Everything okay over there?” Paige asked, curiosity discernible on her face.

“What happened?” Jeanette asked. “Seemed like things got a little intense.”

“Nothing, everything's fine,” Lydia said, her words clipped. “I’m tired. I’m going back to my room. Oh, Paige, I left your wine on the bar, sorry. Good night, everyone.”

“Good night,” the women echoed, but Lydia had already turned to head out. Her hands felt like they'd been submerged in ice water, thanks to the stress. Embarrassment seeped in, and she just wanted to get the hell out of there.

By the time she got back to the bar, Joseph and Mark had already returned to their game of pool. Alec and Sam were leaning against the bar, talking in low voices with John. Sam looked totally cool, calm, and collected. Lydia wished she felt the same. She felt off balance, in every way, and she hated that.

Sam looked up as she approached them. “You ready?” he asked.

She nodded at him. “Thanks for the assist,” she said to John and Alec.

“I wasn’t worried,” Alec shrugged. “Sam’s a hell of a fighter when he wants to be. You’d be surprised.”

Sam shot his brother a look that clearly wanted him to stop talking.

“Well! Lydia, it’s been a pleasure,” Alec said, apparently perceiving and heeding Sam’s unspoken message. “Sleep well, big day tomorrow.”

“Yeah, you should remember that and stop drinking now,” Sam remarked. “You’re gonna pay for this tomorrow, and it’s going to be a long day.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Alec said, waving a hand in dismissal. “Good night, kids.”

“See you in the morning.” Sam leaned over to firmly shake John’s hand. “Thanks again.”

“Any time.” John smiled back. “No problem. You both have a good night, now.”

Sam turned to Lydia and held out a hand towards the doors. “After you.”

Lydia gave a tight smile and walked out a step ahead of him.

They walked together to the staircase in silence. They went down the stairway to the third floor, and turned to descend to the second floor when he asked her, “You sure you’re alright?”

Lydia nodded. “Just a little… thrown. And I'm still very buzzed. And tired. Not to mention embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?” Sam’s brows furrowed as he studied her. “Why? You didn’t do anything wrong. That guy was too drunk, and a jackass.”

“I know, but you know what?” She shot quickly down the rest of the stairs. “That whole scene made
me
kind of feel like a jackass.”

At the bottom of the staircase, Sam stepped in front of her and grasped her arm very gently. “Hey. Lydia. Could you look at me, please?”

She looked up into his face. He was staring at her, obviously trying to read her, his expression a mixture of concern and confusion.

“Are you upset with me for what I did?” he asked.

“No,” she said firmly.

“Could you tell me what’s going on, then?” The side of his mouth curved up, but his eyes were still troubled, searching hers. “I only met you this morning, I don’t know you well enough to know how your mind works. And right now, I’m at a total loss. I don't know what's going through your head, and I'd really like to. So do me a favor and just tell me.”

She pressed her lips together and looked away from him for a moment.
Only met this morning. Why did that already feel like a long time ago?
Spotting an ornate, cushioned bench midway down the hall, she said, “Let's sit down.”

He followed her without a word and sat beside her. They leaned back against the wall for a minute in silence; then he turned to face her, and waited.

“You need to understand something,” she began softly. “You know I just got divorced. Like,
just
got divorced, like, three days ago, as I told you. It doesn’t seem real, that it’s finally done, but I'm so glad it is… it hasn’t been the worst divorce in history, mind you, but it’s been far from pleasant, or easy, or amicable.” She cleared her throat, fidgeted with the clasp on her necklace beneath her hair. “It was my idea. I wanted it. After nine years, the last three of which were pretty awful, I asked him to leave. We fought, then were going to battle it out for custody, but managed to work it out ourselves before it went to trial.

“I’m very glad that Matt is now my ex-husband; I’m glad the divorce went through and that it’s finally over. But I’ve spent the last year dealing with a lot: him moving out, finding a new place for Andy and me to live, selling the house, the almost custody battle and all the other battles with Matt, getting my son adjusted to everything, getting myself adjusted to it. And I went back to work in September, for the first time in almost four years, and Andy started preschool, and it’s just been overwhelming. I’ve done what I’ve had to, I’m doing a lot by myself, and I’m… drained.”

Lydia paused, trying to get back on track with her original intent, her original point; but she couldn’t exactly remember what that intent had been. She still felt more intoxicated than she wanted to be, realized she was rambling, and instantly got frustrated with herself. She spat out, “Sometimes, lately, maybe I’m a little defensive, or even just walking around in a fog, but I’m definitely not at my best… and then tonight, I’ve also been drinking, which doesn’t help. Sometimes I’m a fun drunk, but usually I’m an emotional drunk, which is not so fun, and why I usually don’t drink enough to
get
drunk… dammit, I’m so much sharper when my head is clear.”

She shook her head at herself, still struggling to find the right words instead of what was unexpectedly pouring out of her mouth. “Anyway. That guy in the bar was a total jerk, and he caught me off guard, and I’d just been through Paige’s little jabfest, so I was already on edge, and I… well, I didn’t like how he made me feel. I felt like he was purposely being… I don't know, lecherous? Or trying to intimidate me, belittle me into submission, and I resented it. It pissed me off, that he was just so lewd. I mean, come on, who
does
that?”

Sam frowned. “Paige's what?”

Lydia just went on, caught up in the throes of her rant. “And then there were… witnesses. And a
scene
. And you were ready to… I couldn’t even believe it happened in the first place. Trust me when I tell you that I’ve never been the kind of woman that men fight over!” She tried to laugh, but it died in her throat. “Ugh. I’m totally rambling, I apologize. I don’t even know what I was trying to get across here… I’ve had too much wine tonight, and I’m just really tired, I guess. But, no, I’m not upset with you, let me at least make
that
clear. You were the nicest thing about tonight, actually. By a mile.” She looked away from him again, off into the distance, her cheeks burning and her eyes flat.

Sam had let her talk without saying a word, hadn’t taken his eyes off her face for even a second. But when she was finished, he leaned over and, with utmost care, took her hand in his.

“I’m sorry you’ve had such a hard time,” he said in a voice so gentle, so compassionate, that Lydia felt hot tears instantly spring to her eyes. Horrified at herself, she averted her gaze to the floor. He gave her soft hand a gentle squeeze before he released it and watched her, waiting patiently for her to recompose herself.

She didn’t move, just blinked back the unwanted tears until they were gone. She drew a shallow breath and grimaced at him. “Like I said. Emotional drunk. Not fun. God, I'm sorry.”

“You’re fine. Really. But can we back track a minute?” Sam asked. “You said ‘Paige’s jabfest’? What are you talking about? Did something happen at the lounge, did she say something to you?”

She closed her eyes, instantly regretful she’d let that slip.
Damned wine. Dammit.
“Ugh… yeah, but it was no big deal,” she assured him. “She was very subtle, but she just made it clear that she, um… well, I guess she disapproves of me. Or, at the very least, of you paying attention to a newly divorced woman.”

Sam scowled and shook his head in disdain. “What I do, who I pay attention to, is none of her business.”

“Yeah, well, all the same, I’d appreciate if you didn’t tell her I mentioned it,” Lydia said. “If I wasn’t so buzzed, I never would have told you. Wine makes loose lips, blah blah blah. It doesn’t matter, really. I was surprised at her brazenness, but whatever. You're in her family. She was just being protective, I guess?”

“Actually, in her objectionable way, she is,” Sam agreed, sounding resigned. “Her, Alec, my parents… they’re all a little… yeah, protective of me. I don’t like it, but I understand it, and I appreciate that they care about me. I just wish it didn’t sometimes borderline on obtrusive—especially tonight, with you. I’m sorry if she offended you or pissed you off. If she says anything else like that to you, just ignore her, okay?”

“It’s not your job to apologize for her. But don’t worry, I’ll ignore her if she does it again. Gladly.” She looked at him, puzzled. “Um… I don’t mean to sound snarky, but… you’re thirty-five years old. Aren’t you a little big for them to still be overprotective? Or am I missing something here?”

He smiled softly, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes; it was a somber, yielding expression. “I can explain it easily, if you really want me to.”

“Yes, please. I’m interested.”

“Alright,” he said. “I was married once.”

She looked at him, taken aback. “Huh. You were?”

“I was.”

“Okay. For how long?”

“A little more than two years.”

“Okay.” Now she was the one doing the scrutinizing and trying to figure someone out. “Only two years and you split up? That was fast. So, what—it ended badly, and your family was mad?”

“We didn’t get divorced,” he said calmly. “She died.”

Lydia felt the color drain from her face. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”

“No, don’t be, you had no idea,” he said, his voice even and steady.

“I’m an idiot,” she sputtered. “Sam, I am
so
sorry.”

He took her hand again, squeezed it, and gave her a genial grin. “It’s fine, stop it. Seriously. Okay?” He sighed. “I wish there was a different way to tell people that, so I didn’t always get this kind of reaction, but there just isn’t. It’s kind of a shocking thing to hear.”

She just nodded, afraid of what other gems would fall out of her mouth. “What happened?” she managed to ask.

“It was a long time ago, we were really young,” Sam said. He seemed calm and composed, not at all bothered or upset. She sensed he’d told this story enough times that he’d gotten to a point of acceptance, where it didn’t hurt as much as it once must have. “Chelsea and I met at college. We were together for the last two years of school. And we actually weren’t really sure what we were going to do after graduation—should I move to Virginia to be with her, should she move to Chicago to be with me, did we want to get married or not… and a month after we graduated, she was diagnosed with stage three breast cancer.”

“Oh my God,” Lydia breathed. “How old was she, twenty-two?”

“Just turned twenty-two, yeah.” Sam nodded slowly. “So I did what I thought was right: I put her on a plane, took her to Vegas, and we got married.”

Lydia smiled at him, a mixture of kindness and sadness, as she pictured it in her mind.

“I moved to Virginia, where she’d grown up, so she could be near her family. We got an apartment five minutes away from her parents and she started chemo and radiation and all that fun stuff.” He shrugged. “Chelsea had an aggressive form of cancer, and although she put up a good fight, she didn’t win.”

“God, I’m so sorry,” Lydia whispered. Her skin prickled with a chill. “I can’t begin to imagine what you went through, what you
both
went through.”

“Thank you,” Sam said. There was no trace of self-pity, sadness, or anything remotely sorrowful in his tone or his expression—just simple clarity and acceptance. “I, uh… well. It wasn’t just losing someone I loved that changed me, although I won’t deny how awful that was. Wouldn’t even try to. But for me, the worst part was watching someone I loved just wither away; someone so young, who had been so vibrant and so full of life… deteriorate slowly, in front of my eyes, for twenty-seven painful months. Watching that firsthand…” Something flickered in his eyes. “That stays with you. It changes you.”

Lydia nodded. “Of course it would,” she murmured.

“Yeah, but you know what? Pain transforms anyone who goes through it. I guess that’s what I’m talking about now, why I even brought any of my past up to you, beyond explaining why my family feels protective of me—which they are because they saw me go through hell, and they don't want me to ever get hurt again. Like that's even possible, or realistic. Whatever. But that's not even what I'm getting at now.”

Sam rubbed his jaw, momentarily lost in thought. “That fog you mentioned—I stumbled through a fog like that for a long time after Chelsea died. Been there, done that. So I understand what you mean.”

“Sam.” Lydia’s voice was hushed, deferential. “I would never, ever compare what I’m going through to what you must have gone through.”

“Pain is pain, Lydia,” Sam said evenly. “You feel yours as acutely as I felt mine, as anyone feels theirs. You don’t have to minimize yours to me just because nobody died. You’re hurting, you feel your pain, and that’s it. And I’m just trying to say that I’ve been in that fog too, so I get it.” He shrugged. “You just feel… lost. Right? You isolate yourself. You feel numb. But then, when you
do
feel something—anything, good or bad—it can sneak up on you, and maybe feel more intense than it would have, and it can throw you for a loop, because you’re already on shaky ground. Then
that
makes you edgy. Because you’re sick of fighting, and it drains you, makes you tired, like you said. And you don’t really want anyone to help you, because it just makes you feel as vulnerable as you did before, and you don’t want to feel that way again.”