Part 8 (1/2)
Sam slammed into the cabin. ”I'm going back to my bedroom,” she called over her shoulder as she headed toward the hallway.
”Fine, I'll come get you when I've finished straightening up the kitchen.” Anne flung her purse on the table and crossed to the counter. ”We're going for a walk today.”
The stress caused by the women at the beauty shop whispering about her and by being asked questions that she didn't want to answer was more than Sam could handle. She stopped short and turned back around. She didn't care what Anne wanted. She wanted to be alone, even if it meant locking herself in her bedroom. Narrowing her eyes, she studied Anne's biceps. Probably not a good idea. The woman looked more than capable of dismantling a door.
”I need rest,” Sam cried with a stamp of her good leg. ”You've been dragging me around all day. Can't you leave me alone for five minutes?”
”No problem,” Anne replied pleasantly. ”That's about how long it's going to take me to put away these dishes . . . then we'll go for that walk.”
Sam crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the other woman. ”I don't want to go.”
”Sure you do. It's a nice afternoon and a short trip up the lane will help strengthen your leg. Then, when we get back, I'll do another deep muscle ma.s.sage.”
Her self-a.s.sured tone had Sam gritting her teeth as she struggled to come up with a response. ”Don't you ever get tired of giving orders?”
”Don't you ever get tired of trying to hide out in your bedroom?” Anne fired back.
”I'm not hiding out.”
”You would if I let you.”
”I've done everything you've asked-no, wait, told me to do.”
”And b.i.t.c.hed about it the whole time.”
It was no use. Anne was like an immovable object and arguments bounced off her like raindrops on concrete. She didn't listen to Sam any more than her father and Jackson did. Sam felt hopelessness threaten to swamp her.
Suddenly a woman's squeal drifted up from the lake followed by the sound of a deep baritone voice.
”Just touch it.”
Her attention flew to the open patio door.
”No,” the woman shrieked. ”It's wiggling.”
”Oh, come on,” her male companion said. ”It's not that big. It's only ten inches.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Sam saw Anne's mouth twitch with a grin. ”My G.o.d, I hope he's talking about a fish.”
An absurd image flashed through her mind and something rose inside Sam like effervescent bubbles, driving away the hopelessness. Something so foreign, she'd forgotten what it felt like. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she laughed.
As Sam walked down the gravel path, the sun did feel good on the back of her neck, but she wouldn't give Anne the satisfaction of admitting it. The breeze blowing off the lake carried with it the smell of pine and honeysuckle. Ahead of them, a cloud of gnats whirled in the air. If Anne hadn't been with her, she might have stopped and let the sun soak into her body to warm the constant cold spot deep inside.
But if Anne wasn't with her, she'd be alone, outside, no longer protected by four safe walls. Out in the open, where anyone could find her. The cold spot inside grew and her steps faltered.
Anne noticed and halted. ”Are you doing okay?”
She didn't answer and kept walking.
In two long strides, Anne came even with her and took a deep breath of the pine-scented air. ”Doesn't this make us feel better?” She sounded like an adult talking to a little kid. ”Being outside in the fresh air and suns.h.i.+ne? Instead of cooped up in that old cabin?”
”Look, Nurse Nancy, don't patronize me,” Sam grumbled. ”There is no *us.' There's you and there's me.”
Anne shook her head, slowing her pace to match Sam's. ”You are a p.r.i.c.kly one.”
”I have the right,” Sam shot back.
”Maybe you do,” Anne said as her gaze wandered to the stand of pine trees growing along the road, ”but a good outlook can help the body heal.”
Sam lifted an eyebrow. ”Another lecture about my att.i.tude? You really do like playing amateur psychologist, don't you?”
”No, but I've worked with patients who've suffered trauma and I know how it can mess with your mind,” Anne replied calmly. ”Dr. Van Horn told me about how you were attacked.”
”At least you didn't call it an *accident,' ” Sam muttered, lowering her head.
”What?”
”Nothing.” Sam kept her focus on the ground. ”I don't want to talk about it.”
Anne ignored her. ”He said it happened two weeks before your wedding, and-”
Sam's feet skidded to a stop on the pea gravel. ”I said I didn't want to talk about it.”
”Talking helps. It's not good to keep it all bottled up inside.”
”Ha,” Sam said with an angry snort. ”How would you know?”
Anne lifted a shoulder. ”I've had my share of problems . . . maybe not like yours . . .” She paused, as if weighing her words. ”Before we moved here,” she continued, ”my son was running with a bad crowd and-”
Sam's hand flew to her throat. ”Bad crowd? What does that mean? Your son was in a gang?”
A gang had ruined her life, and now here was a woman whose son was just like them. Her heart pounded. She had to get back to the safety of the cabin.
Spinning on her heel, Sam stumbled, but Anne's hand shot out and steadied her.
”My son wasn't in a gang, yet . . .” She faltered. ”A friend-a coworker at the hospital-took the time to listen to me.” Anne dropped Sam's arm. ”She suggested we move to the lake, and coming here saved us. Maybe it will save you, too.”
”It's not that easy . . .” Sam's hand strayed to her weak leg. ”I've lost everything.”
”You're still alive, aren't you?”
Sam felt the bitterness crawl out of the cold spot inside. ”If you call this living-I don't.” She took a step forward. ”I want to go back to the cabin.”
”Nope,” Anne said, gently taking Sam's arm again and turning her around. ”See that cabin down the road? Today we walk that far . . . tomorrow a little farther.”
”Why do you have to keep pus.h.i.+ng me?”
Anne gave her arm a little tug. ”I was hired to help you and that's what I'm going to do.”
”I've had enough help for one day.”