Twelve Days (13 page)

It was an unusual meal for them all, the room echoing with conversation and laughter. The kids had all new clothes on, and Emma thanked him rather shyly for everything they'd gotten the day before. She had on a soft, pink sweater and a matching skirt, and it looked like Rachel had braided her hair, because the style looked like one his wife sometimes wore. She was a pretty girl, he realized, thinking that she seemed impossibly young and somehow very hopeful, reminding him long, long ago of his wife the first time he'd seen her coming out of church one Sunday with her family.

He'd been standing in the park across the street—anything to get out of his grandfather's house—and he heard her laughing and turned around to see who'd made that sound. She looked like a girl who'd been pampered her whole life, which was true he found out later. But instead of turning up her nose and looking away or staring at him as if he were some foreign creature caught under a microscope, she smiled at him, just as shyly as Emma was now.

Sam had to look away for a moment, too caught up in the past to say or do anything. He hadn't believed then that Rachel could truly be his, and before too long, she wouldn't be.

They finished their dinner and all of them helped the kids pile into coats, hats, mittens, and boots to go outside and watch the Christmas parade. It came right past the house.

Sam hadn't intended to go, but Frank was here and he suspected Frank would think it was odd if Sam didn't go. So they all traipsed out into the cold, and Sam stood there on the fringes of the scene, Rachel holding the baby, rubbing her nose against Grace's tiny one, and Grace laughing at that. It took Emma and Frank to keep Zach out of the street and out of the way of the parade, he was so full of energy.

The whole scene was so perfect. He had the oddest sensation of standing on the edge of what his life with Rachel might have been. That he'd found a wrinkle in time, and slipped through. That somewhere, this was his life, completely different and as full and wonderful as anything he could have ever imagined. One step to the right, he thought. Or to the left. And this is what he could have had?

Instead, he was about to end up with nothing.

"Sam?"

He heard Rachel calling his name and realized he'd turned and started walking away. He couldn't let himself get any closer, couldn't stay.

"I have to go inside," he said and fled.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Frank caught him and said, "I think you and I have some things to talk about."

Sam hesitated a moment, then looked his father-in-law in the eye. Instantly, he felt every bit as guilty as he had the night he and Rachel had gone to tell her parents that she was pregnant and that they intended to get married. Frank had never forgiven Sam for daring to touch his precious little girl.

"What can I do for you?" Sam asked.

Frank's gaze narrowed in on Sam's, his big bad father expression coming across his face. "Anything you want to tell me, son?"

Sam took a breath and squared his shoulders. "About what?"

"You and my little girl. Because she hasn't looked too happy lately, and I've been hearing some things, things I don't like."

Damn.
It was starting to come out.

Sam hadn't remembered until after he'd agreed to take the room above Rick's garage that Frank used to play poker with the guy who was currently renting that room from Rick. And his buddy Rick never shut up. He could just see Rick saying something to the man who was moving out of that room about the fact that Sam was moving in and the news getting back to Frank.

He wondered if it was too late already but tried to brazen it out. "I don't have anything to say, Frank."

There'd come a day when he'd have to explain himself to his father-in-law. This wasn't it. Not when he hadn't even told Rachel yet.

"You promised me," Frank said, scowling at him and suddenly full of fatherly outrage. "You promised you'd do anything in the world for her."

"I would," Sam said, but there were some things that were simply out of his reach.

Frank swore softly. "One thing about you—I've never known you to turn around and run when things got tough, and I know, things between you and her have never been easy. But you never ran out on her. You better think about what you're doing, son. You better think long and hard."

Sam had thought about it. He'd thought of nothing else, it seemed.

"You told me you'd always be there for her," Frank said. "That you were going to take such good care of her."

"Well, we all know how good a job I've done at that," Sam said, leaving unspoken their memories of what until now had been the worst day of his and Rachel's lives.

He still remembered the look on Frank's face when Frank had rushed into the emergency room after learning about the car accident so many years ago. They were quite civilized in front of Rachel's mother, who was scared to death, but the minute she was out of sight Frank backed Sam up against the wall. With sheer terror and a burning anger on his face, he demanded, "This is how you take care of my little girl? And my granddaughter?"

Sam still felt sick thinking of it, of how he'd failed them and how everything his father-in-law had worried about when he'd surrendered his daughter to the likes of Sam had come true that day. Their baby was gone. They'd almost lost Rachel, as well. And now, years later, there were no children. Rachel had been flirting with depression, and they were headed for even more heartache than before.

Sam had done a hell of a job of taking care of Frank's little girl. He couldn't blame the man for hating him. He looked up at his father-in-law now and knew he hadn't seen Frank looking so devastated or so angry since Rachel's mother had died, and he was sorry. But Frank adored Rachel, and Sam honestly thought he might be relieved to know she was finally done with Sam.

He thought about trying to tell Frank he'd done his best, that he just couldn't do it anymore, and asking him to take good care of Rachel when Sam was gone, but Sam didn't have to ask. Frank would do that.

Finally in frustration, he said, "What? Do you want to hit me? Go ahead. Get it over with."

"No, I want you to get your head on straight, boy. For some reason, my little girl loves you. She's always loved you. And I may not have approved of her choice at first, and I certainly worry about her being happy, but dammit, at least you've always been there for her. I never worried about that."

* * *

Rachel came inside with the children and found her father and Sam in the middle of a shouting match.

"What in the world is going on?" she asked.

They clammed up the minute they heard her, both looking guilty.

"Nothing," her father said, glaring at Sam for another long moment, then turning to her and the startled children. "Why don't you let Sam put them to bed, Rachel. And you can walk me to the front door."

"I can do it," Emma volunteered.

"I'll help," Sam said, taking Zach by the hand and heading for the stairs.

Rachel walked her father to the front door. "What was that with you and Sam?"

Her father took her chin in his hand. "I asked him if he was taking good care of my girl."

"Oh, Daddy," Rachel said, her heart sinking.

"I'm your father. I have a right to make sure my girls are being looked after properly, and you... You're worrying me right now, little girl."

"I'm not a little girl anymore, Daddy. And Sam..." She fought back tears. What had he said to Sam? "This isn't his fault. None of it."

"You're sure about that?"

"Yes." Oh, she was upset because he was leaving, but she couldn't blame him for that. She blamed herself. "He's a good man."

"I know that, baby girl."

"And he's my husband." Rachel felt the need to point that out even now. Sam and her father had never gotten along the way she would have liked.

"I know that, too. But I've also got eyes of my own, and I know when my little girl's unhappy. I'm wondering what he's going to do about that."

Rachel knew. He was going to leave. She could just imagine what her father would have to say about that, and again, she felt the need to defend Sam.

"Did you ever really accept him, Daddy? I know we disappointed you years ago when I got pregnant and we got married, but it wasn't just Sam. It was me, too. I loved him. I always have. Right from the start."

"You were just a girl."

"And he was only two years older than I was. He was just a boy. And it wasn't like anybody took advantage of anybody else. If anything, it was my fault. I went after him, and I wasn't fair to him. He tried to stay away from me, because he knew how you all felt about him. How the whole town did. And it just wasn't fair. Don't you see that now? No one was ever fair to him."

"Well, life isn't fair to us, is it? You know that. And I wish you didn't."

"And I wish you could really accept my husband. He's been so good to me, and he's worked so hard."

"I know that, Rachel."

"Did you ever tell him that? Did you ever apologize to him and try to make him feel like he really was a part of this family?"

"Maybe I do owe him an apology for that," her father admitted. "But I think you owe me an explanation. At least, one of you does."

"What are you talking about?"

"I think you do know, Rachel. I didn't want to bring it up earlier with you, especially not with you already being upset. Besides, I thought this was for me and Sam to settle, but I think something's going on here. Something between you and him—"

Oh, no,
Rachel thought. Her father knew. Somehow, he just knew. Maybe he was just guessing and maybe he wasn't. It was a very small town, and it was hard for anything to happen without everyone knowing sooner or later. "That would be between Sam and me," she said.

"Rachel, I'm worried about you. I have a right to worry. I'm your daddy."

"Then you can worry," she agreed, then insisted, "but that's it. And I want you to be nice to my husband."

"All right, baby girl. I will. But I want you to promise me something. If you need anything, you come to me. And bring that little boy to see me. The girls, too. My house is too quiet these days. I need all the grandchildren I can get to liven the place up."

"They're not your grandchildren, Daddy."

"Not yet," he said. "But you can bring them by anyway. You could come see me yourself sometime. You still know where I live?"

It was the same house she'd lived in her whole life until she'd moved in here with Sam. She knew.

"I think I can find it," she said as he finally walked out the door and into the night.

So, it seemed he knew and there was no telling who else did. She wouldn't be able to hide from it for much longer. She had to figure out what she was going to say to Sam, what she was going to do.

Rachel stood there for a long time, heard Sam's footsteps on the stairs and then the back door open and shut. So, he'd gone out. She wasn't surprised. He was always going somewhere these days.

She had just about given up on seeing him again that night. She was just making a final check of all the locks and turning out the lights when he came back inside. He had snow in his hair, and she remembered times before when they'd come in like this, and she'd brushed it away for him. When she'd taken his hands in hers to warm them and drawn him to the front of the fireplace, and how often on those nights they curled up here in front of the fire.

Here he was on a cold night with snow in his hair, a fire in the fireplace.

Oh, Sam,
she thought, finally knowing what she was going to do.

She reached up and brushed the snow away now, and he froze, just staring down at her, and then she let her hand linger there, in his damp hair, against his cool cheeks, his chin.

Gathering her courage, she raised up on her toes and planted her hands against his chest and pressed her mouth to his. His lips were cold, and she felt his quickly indrawn breath, felt him brace himself, as if he had to before she touched him. He hardly seemed to do much more than breathe after that, and his breath, like his lips, was cold, too. She wondered if she left him cold, wondered again if there might be someone else, some woman he did want.

Rachel pulled back instantly, shaking and hurting and staring up at him. Could it be that? Another woman? She felt so stupid for how long it had taken her to think of it in the first place, how little weight she'd given the possibility. She'd never have believed Sam would cheat on her, but why did men leave their wives? Wasn't there always someone else?

He stared down at her, obviously puzzled, maybe a bit embarrassed, seeming as unsure of what to say or do next as she was.
How incredibly awkward we've become,
she thought bleakly.

"I..." What could she say? She knew she'd made this mess, that it was mostly her doing. Didn't that mean it was up to her to fix it, if it could still be fixed. And then told him again, "I do miss you, Sam."

Just in case he hadn't believed her the night before. Just in case he wondered if she missed touching him, holding him, making love to him.

He seemed to draw himself up even more painfully erect, more distant, more closed off than before.

"I do," she rushed on, worried that it didn't mean a thing to him, that it was too little, too late. "And I'm sorry."

"For what, Rachel?"

"Everything," she blurted out, meaning everything she'd done wrong. It seemed now that over the years she'd done everything wrong.

And it was only later, once he'd recoiled as if she'd slapped him and then turned and walked away from her, that she realized he might think she meant absolutely
everything.

Marrying him.

Having a baby with him.

Loving him.

Every moment of their lives.

Chapter 7