Part 25 (2/2)
Me, too. I'm re-reading it. It's so beautifully written, and it reminds me of how lucky I am in my life. How much human beings can endure and still survive.
Jill felt exactly the same way, but didn't say so, thinking it would sound too cute. So, well, h.e.l.lo, Sam Becker. You're in diabetes research? How wonderful.
Thank you. Sam closed the book and set it aside. But I don't think of what I do that way. That permits the disease to define me and my work, and I concede nothing to the disease. I'm trying to beat the disease.
So then what do you do? How do you define your work? Jill felt awkward again, like she'd stuck her foot in her mouth, though Sam's smile was even warmer.
I'm not in diabetes research, I'm in people research. I research people, to help them fight disease, so that someday they'll live happy and healthy lives. They deserve that chance. At the very least, to survive.
Jill nodded. Like the book, I guess.
Yes, right. Sam blinked. I never made that connection, before now. Thank you.
Jill smiled, flattered. That's what books do, isn't it? That's why I love to read. They bring us closer to ourselves.
And closer to each other. Sam smiled, then laughed, flus.h.i.+ng. Wait, hold on. That's not a line or anything. I hope it didn't sound that way.
No, not at all, Jill a.s.sured him, meaning it, but she didn't add that she'd liked the sound of it, and when he'd said it, she'd felt a little thrill, a flash of emotion too small to warm her heart, but enough to fill it with light, and that was how she came to think about Sam himself, after she'd gotten to know him and had fallen in love with him, that his soul filled hers with light, and always would.
Jill was standing at the threshold of their bedroom, and Sam was packing his black rollerbag, which lay open on the bed like a thick book, one side filled with folded s.h.i.+rts and slacks, and the other with shoes. She stood at the threshold as if it weren't her bedroom, too. ”What's this?” Jill asked, her mouth dry.
”I'm going to Cleveland.” Sam looked up, his eyes cool and distant behind his reading gla.s.ses. He was still dressed from work, in a blue s.h.i.+rt, loose striped tie, and Dockers. ”Lee got sick and I have to help present his paper.”
”Oh.” Jill wasn't sure what to say. ”It's a conference, so you'll be back when? A day or two?”
”No.” Sam picked up a sneaker from the floor and wedged it inside the bag. ”I thought I might get a jump on it and go see Steve.”
”But that's this weekend.”
”Come on, Jill.” Sam stopped fussing with the sneaker and met her eye. ”We both know you're not going to Austin if Abby's still missing, and I a.s.sume she's still missing or you would have called me. Am I right?”
”Well, it's true, if she's still gone, I'd feel funny leaving-”
”That's what I thought. So why should I fly home for one night, then leave for Austin alone?” Sam zipped the black netting over his shoes. ”Megan's at Courtney's, and she's fine. She called you, but you didn't call back, so I told her it would be okay to sleep over. I thought it made the most sense for tonight, since I had to leave.”
”I dropped my phone, sorry.”
”Don't worry about it.” Sam closed the top of the suitcase, then zipped it, which for some reason, was never a good sound.
”Sam, I'm sorry. This is so crazy what's going on, with Abby gone. I found out William had a double life, a secret ident.i.ty in New York.”
”Really.” Sam picked two novels and his electronic reader off the bed, then slid them inside the exterior flap of the suitcase and zipped it closed.
”I went to the New York police but they-”
”Stop.” Sam picked the suitcase off the bed, set it on the floor, then brushed off the comforter. ”I have to catch a plane, and I'd prefer it if our last words to each other weren't about your ex-husband.”
”Okay.” Jill sighed, resigned. ”So you're still angry.”
”No, I'm not angry, I'm unhappy.” Sam hesitated, softening. ”This conference comes at a good time, doesn't it? Let's use the opportunity to go to our respective corners and think things over. We're in trouble, the two of us.”
Jill hated to hear him say it. ”No, we aren't.”
”Yes, we are.” Sam picked up the bag and walked to the door, giving her a dry peck on the cheek. ”Abby came to us out of the blue, a curve ball. Let's see what we both want from the future, given the new normal.”
”What's that supposed to mean?”
”Babe, we've gone over and over this.” Sam set down his bag.
”Are we still engaged?”
”Honestly, I don't know. You should answer that for yourself, and I'll answer it for myself, and we'll talk when we get back.”
Jill felt like crying, but she couldn't pinpoint why. Heartbreak. Anger. Fear. Sadness. All of the above. ”Really?”
”Really.”
”But what about Megan?”
”She doesn't have to know. Don't tell her.”
Jill tasted bitterness on her tongue. ”We can't disagree without breaking up?”
Sam picked up the bag. ”We can't go forward without agreeing.”
”And you're punis.h.i.+ng me until I agree.”
”How am I punis.h.i.+ng you?”
”Withdrawing, leaving.”
”No, no.” Sam shook his head. ”I have a job to do, just like you do, and this makes the most sense to me. I don't want to hang around like a puppy dog, waiting for you to come home.”
”But you're not.”
”Yes, I am.” Sam started to go, and Jill felt a twinge of anger.
”This isn't what I want.”
”Yes, it is.” Sam turned at the head of the stair, in front of his lineup of photographs, all of them taken in happier times. ”It must be, because it's the logical result of what you're doing. You couldn't have set it up any better.”
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