I didn’t tell Sam that part. I was sure he already knew the basics, about my supposed jaunt out onto the deserted ski slope that fateful night with my grandfather’s old sled. About the ensuing disaster that befell not only Olympic hopeful Langdon Goode but also the very town itself.
Including my own parents.
“I missed her when we moved away,” I admitted. “I think part of her wanted to come with us, but she would have hated it in Durango.”
“What was it like there?” he asked as he finally levered out the giant block of concrete that held the gate post. My eyes were glued to his bulging arm and back muscles like I was in a trance. It took me a minute to realize he’d asked me a question.
“Not great,” I admitted, moving over to where the water bottle lay forgotten on the tailgate of the SUV. I picked it up and handed it to him, watching every movement of his throat as he took large gulps of it.
“Thanks, sweet,” he mumbled, handing it back. It took me a moment to realize he’d been using my last name. At least I thought that’s what it was. If he’d called me sweetheart again, like he’d done the first night in Mikey’s kitchen… well, I would probably have to beg him to try out some of those dirty things he’d mentioned.
I squeezed my eyes closed and tried to reset my brain from horndog to reasonable human mode. “My dad got a job as a manager for a hotel there. It wasn’t bad, actually. At least… I didn’t think it was a bad job for him. He manages one of the biggest hotels in town. It runs along the river and has great occupancy rates. It’s owned by a national chain, so the benefits are good, too. At least, that’s what my mom always says when he complains about his job.”
“But it wasn’t the same.”
“No. It wasn’t. It’s almost seven hours away from here by car. And my mom missed her friends. I think she missed having someone to help her with me the way Aunt Berry and my grandparents did.”
Sam found the water hose and began mixing concrete in a bucket. “Do you get along with your parents?”
I thought through my answer. “We have what you’d call a polite distance now. We’re cordial enough for visits, but we’re certainly not close. They resent my moving back to Aster Valley because they thought it opened back up a large can of worms that was better off buried.”
Sam gestured for me to come help him hold the new post in place as he poured the concrete around the base. “Do you have siblings?” he asked.
I nodded. “My sister, Trinity. She’s three years older than I am. She’s an assistant dance professor at the university in Grand Junction.”
“Oh, wow. It’s not often you hear of someone pursuing a career in dance. Do you see her often?”
I shrugged. “No, but that’s okay. She’s happy. Moving to Durango was better for her in the end, so that’s a good thing. She made it into an elite dance company that led to her pursuit of dance as a profession.”
“Why don’t you see her?”
I had to stand on tiptoe to keep the post upright as he moved around me with the cement.
“We were just never close. My parents were pretty miserable after the move, so I tried to avoid being at home. I spent a lot of time at the local library, and Trinity spent more time at dance. It’s hard to be close to someone when you rarely see them.”
I didn’t want to talk about my sister or my family anymore. And I didn’t want to talk about anything related to the incident.
“Do you have siblings?” I asked, shifting the subject slightly.
Sam’s face darkened. “Mpfh.”
Okay.
“Sorry. That was personal,” I said. “I didn’t mean to—”
“I have two sisters. You didn’t do anything wrong by asking.”
I clamped my lips together and stayed quiet, so the ball remained in his court.
“Sophie and Kira. They’re… they have issues. Hell, who doesn’t? But Kira is an addict, and she’s been struggling lately. Sophie is a single mom, so she has it rough in a different way…”
He seemed to be paying a little too much attention to how he described them to me, as if he was worried about my reaction.
“It’s okay,” I said softly. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. But if you do want to talk about it, I’m hardly one to judge.”
Sam took over holding the post and indicated I could go back to my perch against the other side of the gate and relax. Then he continued.
“Okay, straight truth. Kira is an addict and a felon. She showed up high and ranting at my jobsite last week.”
I winced, but before I could say anything, he kept going. “And she refuses to go to rehab, so I have to enforce some boundaries with her at this point. Which upsets my mom very much. Mom expects me to fix everything.”
“Where’s your dad?”
Sam’s jaw tightened, and I knew right away I shouldn’t have asked.
“Prison,” he said. “Has been for a long time and will be for an equally long time.”
He took a breath as if considering whether or not to say more. Then he did.
“He was a mean drunk. Violent, even with us. Anyway,” he said, clearing his throat. “One night it went too far. Thankfully, the girls were at a sleepover. But I wasn’t. I’d come home from football practice and was going to grab a bite to eat before doing my homework. But when it got really bad between them, I bolted. I called the cops, then went to Mikey’s and hid in his basement. Like a chickenshit.”
“Like a scared kid,” I countered, defiantly.
“Yeah, well, I know that now.”
But I wasn’t sure he did.
Sam’s eyes flicked upward. “The cops came, and it was bad. My mom went into the hospital for a while, and Dad went to jail. After that, it was just the four of us.”
Even though he was still holding the post steady, I walked over to him and wrapped my arms around his middle. “I’m sorry.” For once, the word was exactly right.
“Thank you. So am I. It’s a longer story, but he ended up getting a life sentence,” he said.
“Good,” I said softly, extracting myself from the hug when I realized he was having trouble keeping the post steady. “But it must have put a lot of pressure on you and your mom to hold the family together.”
For a split second, Sam’s face was full of raw emotion. Grief, hurt, anger, resentment, helplessness. It was like a heavy blanket of horrible feelings he usually kept hidden away. The weight of it almost staggered me back, and my heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest and wing its way over to settle into his chest in case he needed it.
I opened my mouth and stepped forward again, but his face quickly shuttered, and he turned away from me.
“Yeah. So anyway, that’s life, right? You ready to cook? I could use a sous chef in the kitchen.”
I almost continued my way toward him, to slide my arms around him from behind and press my body against his back just to let him know I was there, to pay him back in kind for the comforting embrace he’d given me earlier.
But I wasn’t that brave.
So I did the expected thing instead.
I told him the etymology of the term sous chef and chattered nonstop on our walk back to the house about the history of Escoffier’s kitchen brigade in the London Savoy hotel.