Charlie apologized again when he picked me up for my last shift at the Tavern a day later, and I nodded, but that was the last we spoke of what had happened between us.
When I returned to the city, my parents immediately broke the news that they would be putting the cottage up for sale in the fall. I should have seen it coming, paid more attention to the way my parents had been sniping at each other about money. I burst into tears when they explained how our Toronto home needed renovations and, besides, I could always stay with the Floreks. It felt like punishment for what I’d done.
Sam and I had only exchanged emails since the night with Charlie, but he called me as soon as he read my message with the news, saying he was sad but was sure I could spend the next summer at their house.
“I know how upset you must be,” he said. “You won’t have to say goodbye alone. We can pack your things together over Thanksgiving and move a bunch of it to my place. The Creature from the Black Lagoon poster can go in my room.”
Neither of us mentioned his email. And I said nothing of what had happened with Charlie.
What I needed was to talk to Delilah, but she had already shipped out to Kingston. I wanted to confide in her, I wanted her to give me a plan for how to make everything better, but I couldn’t do that via text, and I didn’t want to do it on the phone, to hear her voice but not see her reaction.
I don’t remember much about those first weeks of school. Only that Sam began to write longer emails between our scheduled Sunday calls. Now that Jordie and he were rooming together and he was getting used to the campus and the city, he was feeling more settled. Also, while his workshop wasn’t graded, he had received a glowing review from the supervising professor and an offer to work part-time on his research project. He hadn’t yet bumped into Delilah, but he was keeping his eyes open for a head of red hair.
He explained how lonely he’d been when he first got to school, how he kept his notes short so as not to worry me. He apologized for the drunken state he’d been in when I called him, and told me that when he thought of building a future, it was always a future with me in it. He also apologized for not making that clear. He told me I was his best friend. He told me he missed me. He told me he loved me.
Sam’s classes ended early on Fridays and he wanted to take the train to Toronto to see me on weekends, but I pushed him off, telling him my professor had asked for a twenty-thousand-word short story to be completed in a matter of weeks. It wasn’t a lie, but I also finished the assignment well ahead of time without letting Sam know. By the time Thanksgiving rolled around, I was humming with nervous anticipation. I still hadn’t told Delilah what had happened, but I had talked myself into telling Sam the truth. I would do anything I could to make it right between us, but I couldn’t lie to him.
I drove up Friday, not even stopping to pee, so I could make it to the cottage by the time Sue got back to Barry’s Bay with Sam. My parents had already moved most of our knickknacks out of the cottage and weren’t coming back for the holiday. They left my room for me to take care of. The Realtor would be there the following week to stage the place and start the showings.
I had emailed Sam that I had something important to talk to him about as soon as he got home. That’s funny, I have something I want to talk to you about too, he wrote.
I kept myself busy waiting for him, my stomach in knots and my hands shaking as I untacked the Creature from the Black Lagoon poster from over my bed. I cleared out my desk, flipping through the clothbound notebook Sam had given me, and running my fingers over his slanted inscription on the inside cover, For your next brilliant story, before packing it in a box. I set the wooden box with my initials carved on its lid on top. I knew without having to peek inside that it still contained the embroidery floss I made our bracelets with.
He has to forgive me, I thought to myself, over and over, willing it to be true.
I was just getting started on the nightstand when I heard the back door open. I flew down the stairs and threw myself into Sam’s arms, knocking him backward and against the door, his laugh reverberating through me, our arms tight around each other. He felt bigger than I remembered. He felt solid. And real.
“I missed you, too,” he said into my hair, and I breathed him in, wanting to climb inside his ribs and snuggle up beneath them.
We kissed and hugged, me through tears, and then he led me over to the middle of the room and leaned his forehead against mine.
“Three updates?” I whispered, and his eyes crinkled with a smile.