Dead Write Ch. 05

*A repost of an old romance story with a fresh edit.*

Chapter 5

Anxious dreams pushed Sam to consciousness. Finding himself alone in bed, he bolted upright. The green teddy was draped over the back of the desk chair and Sherry's clothes were gone. He ran to the window. Her car was gone, as well. After pulling on shorts, Sam searched for a note, or any sign that she left without regrets, but found no clue. In his mind’s eye, Sam replayed their after-cuddling for hints of trouble. They had snuggled spoon fashion, cooing appreciation to one another. He had kissed her neck and shoulders, hugged and caressed until she’d drifted off to sleep inside their warm cocoon, or so he thought. Maybe he had fallen asleep first, and she was angry.

'Was I insensitive? God, I hope I didn't make her feel used. Everything happened so naturally. It felt so right.' He picked up the telephone to dial and realized he didn't know her number. Running downstairs, he looked it up in the church directory. Four rings later, the answering machine picked up.

'What can I say? Who would hear this?' Sam hung up before the beep.

He looked at the clock and read 3:00 p.m. 'I have time.'

Sam grabbed the directory, jumped in his truck, and sped the twenty miles to the city. On the way, his fingers would drift up, and he’d enjoy a sniff of Sherry's sweet residue, to indulge the memory.

Stopping at a new florist shop, he asked the clerk to help design a simple arrangement of Forget-me-nots and roses.

On the card, he wrote:

Dear Sherry, Thank you so much for your gift. I hope the sting wasn't too painful.

With great affection,

The Green Hornet.

He sealed the envelope and gave it to the clerk, asking, "How soon can this be delivered?"

The florist glanced at the wall clock and then read the address on the delivery receipt. "For an extra $25.00 we can deliver it tonight. Otherwise, we’ll deliver it tomorrow."

"Add the twenty-five and deliver it tonight, please." Sam handed over his credit card, not caring if he was being ripped off.

She smiled, and taking an educated guess said, "Good luck, I hope it works."

"Me too," he said, and walked out.

The future in fate's hands, Sam headed to his mother's farm to pick up Chris. While he drove, he thought about his parent’s 41-year marriage. Most of what he held true about love and relationships came from watching them care for each other. His father taught him how to keep his priorities straight, how to focus on your wife as the only woman in your life.

As Sam approached the rolling fields of the family homestead, he was reminded how wonderful growing up in the farming community had been. There was a unity within families and between families, and he wondered if he’d made a mistake when he chose not to farm the land. It was something special to work only one field away from home -- and something monotonous.

Since his father's death ten years ago, his mother had rented the pastures to neighbors, so she could afford the upkeep and stay independent. Instead of milkers, the barn was filled with city folk's horses -- weekend cowboys, buying a slice of the country life.

Sam turned into the driveway. His mother sat on the porch swing, reading the newspaper, like every summer night. Parking the pickup in back, Sam entered the kitchen. Chris was at the table, dunking fresh baked oatmeal-raisin cookies in a tall glass of milk.

The smell transported Sam back to second grade. "How's it goin', Son?" He kissed the top of his head, then walked to the sink, and sadly washed Sherry off his fingers.

"Good Dad. I helped Grandma make some cookies. Want one?"

Sam picked one from the top of a warm pile and it melted on his tongue. "Mmmmm, you guys should start a bakery." He tousled Chris’s hair. "I'm goin' out to talk to Grandma."

"Okay... Hey Dad, what's a spider's favorite place on a computer?"

Sam stopped, played dumb, and said, "I give up. What?"

"A website! Get it?"

Sam laughed. "Very funny. Stay in school."

"Daaad."

Out on the porch, Sam walked over to his mother and kissed her curly white hair. "Hi, Mom. How ya doin'?" and sat down in the wicker rocker.

"It's a good life if you don't weaken," she said, without removing her eyes from the paper. "How's everything with you, Son?"

He didn't answer right away, and eventually felt her eyes burning into him over the top of the paper. "What's eating you?"

Noncommittal, he asked, "How many years difference was there between you and Dad?"

Mom was good at reading between the lines. "Who is she, Sam?"

Lying, he said, "No one in particular. But I’ve been thinking about the single women I know... and most of them are a lot younger. Someday I plan on dating again, and I don't want to make a fool of myself."

"Why not? That's what a woman does to a man. Makes him think with that head in his pants first, then she convinces the one on his shoulders that he can't do no better. How do you think we control you oafs?"

"C'mon, Ma!" Her frankness always flustered him.

"Oh, you want a serious answer." She put down the paper. "Your father was eleven years older. Not that it mattered much."

Sam waited, expecting more.

"When he got back from the war, he needed time to settle down. They didn't give emotional problems fancy names like Post-traumatic Stress Syndrome back then. He suffered nightmares a long time after. Other girls just passed him by year after year, their loss."

Her eyes were swimming. Embarrassed, she picked up the paper and talked through the headlines. "It's a matter of understanding each other, and loving the person's heart. We all make mistakes... but down deep where it counts, we don't change much. Once a good person, always good. Your father had problems, but his heart was in the right place."

The paper trembled slightly in the bony grip.

Sam broke a lengthy silence. "I remember one summer, when Dad and I were coming back with a wagonload of hay. He stopped at a hedgerow to pick some wild flowers for you, and taught me the best lesson about choosing a wife. He said, 'Son, when you marry, pick a woman that's too good for you, and then spend the rest of your life proving you deserve her. You'll live a happy life'."

A choked whimper floated over the paper.

"Thanks for watching Chris. I'd better get home. See you tomorrow."

A weak, "Goodnight," followed Sam in the door.

***

Sam checked the answering machine for messages, and there were none.

Chris went to bed at 9:00.

At 9:30, Sam listened to Sherry's phone ring, then the answering machine message, and the tone. "Hi, Sherry. It's Sam Colton. I was wondering..."

A rattling sound and then, "Hi, Sam," she answered, in a voice soft and distant.

"Hi, Sherry! How are you? I'm sorry I didn't get to say goodbye." He paused, but no explanation was forth coming. "Did you get a delivery this evening?"

"... Yes, thank you, they're beautiful... The note was cute...Green Hornet, huh?..."

This was going no where. "What happened? Did I offend you? I thought everything was fine between us, in fact, we were spectacular." He waited, wishing he could see if she was turning pink.

"...You were wonderful, Sam... I felt so special... I just don't think you're ready for this... I'm not ready..."

Softly he said, "Please... just tell me what went wrong."

"Sam... you talk in your sleep." Once she started, the truth broke through the dam of her hesitancy. "You tossed and turned, repeating Jan's name. You obviously aren't comfortable with anyone else yet. And frankly, I think we rushed into this. We let our circumstances control our emotions. I don't want to be a fling. Our behavior goes against our faith... I believe in that old adage, 'If you give away the milk, no one will want to buy the cow'."

Sam understood her feelings, the last statement maybe the most telling. "Sherry, I hate that saying... But, I'll use the analogy of women as cows for a minute. Some idiot that lived in the city must've made that stupid thing up, because I'm a country boy and I don't think that way. Granted, there is truth in not giving away something precious to fools. But, as a farmer’s son, I know the value of a good cow.

Pretend there was a farmer who could only afford one cow. And let's say he owned a cow that produced the most delicious, life-sustaining milk he'd ever tasted. Then his cow dies, and he thought he'd never taste milk so delicious again. One day, a miracle happens, he has the chance to sample milk that rivals the taste of the beloved first cow. He feels better than he ever thought possible." His volume increased as he made his point. "Wouldn't he want to buy that cow, to possess that life giving milk all for himself? Care for that cow, cherish that cow, never want to lose that cow?"

She laughed, "All right, all right, don't have a cow!" She paused. "What about Jan?"

This was a tougher question. "I honestly can't remember what I was dreaming. But I know when I woke up I was thinking of you. Listen Sherry... Jan will always be with me. If it wasn't for her I may not have had the pleasure of your company. So, to say that I'm not over her is unfair. I'll never forget her. I can only move on... She seemed to believe you and I might be on the same path."

After a lingering silence, Sherry said, "Sam, I know that you'll never forget Jan... Neither will I. I don't expect that. I think part of my problem is guilt I have for trying to be like Jan to attract you. I don't want you to think of me as a copy. I want you to like me for who I am."

"Well, I like everything I've seen so far... in every sense and variation of the word." He smiled, thought about her blushing, and wondered if she'd ever stop. "If you want to keep your milk in the cooler, I understand. Just don't throw me out of the barn. And at least let me feed you occasionally... maybe Friday night? I have to know that you are well taken care of."

A soft giggle reassured Sam that all was not lost.

"Friday would be great."

"Okay, then, I'll call you."

"Thanks again for the flowers."

"No. Thank you for today."

In the darkened study, Sam thought, 'Here I am, falling for the first woman that shows me any affection, just like Jan predicted. But, at least it's the woman that she approved...' He smiled, thinking of Jan giving "The Good Wife-keeping Seal of Approval". 'I can't rush this.'

Up in the bathroom, soaping his ring finger, Sam pulled and twisted until, finally the wedding band slid over his knuckle. He made a mental note to collect boxes to put old clothes in.

* * *

Sam's life cycle of good-news-bad-news continued with Wednesday's mail delivery. Surrounded by shelves of worldly knowledge, he lacked some fundamental understanding of life. Chris's deplorable report card, along with a polite letter from his teacher, lay open on the desk. He picked up the letter and reread the disappointing news:

Dear Mr. Colton,

I understand that this has been a year of great sorrow for Chris and for you. The unfortunate loss of his mother seems to have left Chris without an interest in school. A formerly bright student, this year has seen his work slip to barely passing. I would recommend, in Chris's best interest, counseling and tutoring over the summer, so that he will be better able to cope with the challenge of school this fall.

Sincerely,

Mrs. Katherine Gridley

Sam covered his face, and thought, 'I've failed him.’ He’d idly watched Chris's grades plummet over the report periods, always hoping he would get back on track. Obviously, he'd made a critical error in judgement, thinking that if he ignored the problem it would heal with time. Sam hid under his own blanket of grief and abandoned his son's needs. The stupid jokes they shared were only a scab on the surface of Chris's immature, pained psyche. 'He doesn't know how to cope. I'm an idiot!' At times like these, Jan always knew what was best. His weakness was her strength. They completed each other.

Sherry's telephone number dialed itself using his finger. The answering machine picked up. "Hi Sherry, it's Sam--"

The line rattled, then, "Hi Sam."

The voice sounded like a smile, so he smiled back. "How are you? Am I interrupting anything?"

"Yes, you've rescued me from the boredom of folding laundry. So now you have to keep me company until I'm done."

"Okay, but you'll have to call me when I'm dusting."

"Yeah right, like men dust. You probably bring in the leaf blower and just move it around."

He laughed. Then the line became quiet.

"I called to ask your professional opinion as a teacher. I've just received Chris's year-end report card and it's barely passing. His teacher, Mrs. Gridley, sent a letter." Sam read the letter aloud then waited.

After a short pause, she said, "I know Mrs. Gridley. She’s a fine teacher and a lovely woman. So, I accept her opinion as valid. Has Chris ever had any counseling?"

"Well... after Jan's funeral, we sat down with the Pastor and talked about death and heaven. Where his mother is now and how she’s happy and not sick anymore."

A pause and then, "To be honest, Sam, I haven't noticed any problems with his Sunday school lessons. Mrs. Gridley is nearing retirement, and maybe she can't engage the kids interest in their schoolwork as easily as she used too." Another brief pause. "Chris is a very bright student... for me."

Sam thought about telling how Chris missed his mother less when she was around. That possibly her similarities with Jan made Chris feel closer to her and less depressed. 'No, I can't tell her that. It might make her feel anxious or sad or worse... Maybe she's already figured it out. I don't want to reinforce any negative feelings.'

"If you want, Sam, I'll come over and do some testing with him. I'd be happy to tutor him in area's that are weak. He'll be ready for the second grade in no time at all."

"Would you? That would be great." Some heaviness lifted from his heart. This seemed like a simple solution to a complex problem. "I'll pay you for your time. Are you working this summer? When would you want to start?"

"If it will ease your mind, I can see him as soon as possible. I'm not working." A moment passed, and she added, "I'm pursuing other interests this summer."

Moved by her offer to help, he didn't grasp the implication of her last comment. "How would this Friday be for you? I’ll give you directions to my mother's place, and then I'll pick you up there, to take you to dinner."

"Why Sam, are you asking me home to meet your mother already?" She laughed, then continued. "That'd be fine. Don't even think of trying to pay me. I'd be insulted."

Sam gave her directions and finalized the details. They lingered with small talk, neither in a hurry to say goodbye. Afterwards, feeling energized, Sam headed to the basement weight room to work off the pent up emotions the force of nature named Sherry had created.

Thursday, Sam called his Mother and informed her about Chris's bad report card, and asked if it would be okay for Sherry to stop by and work with Chris.

Once everything was set, time dragged.

Friday night finally arrived. After stopping home to clean up, Sam pulled into the farmhouse driveway. Mother, Chris and Sherry sat at the picnic table, in the shade of a sprawling oak, playing a board game.

"Hi." Sam walked over and kissed his mother and Chris on the head, then resisted the strong temptation to continue on to the third. Sherry's head was down, appearing to concentrate on "Junior Scrabble".

"Hey Dad, Ms. Walker is coming over twice a week to teach me," Chris beamed. "I'm learning how to spell by playing Scrabble. And we did math by playing cards. I kept score."

Sam shifted his gaze from Chris to Sherry, who was still trying to figure out how to add a "V" to the word television. The effort made her blush.

They hadn't been physically near one another since they'd been intimate. Sam's heart pounded with recollection. The ability to remain cool waned. Soaking in her appearance, he noticed she'd cut her hair to shoulder length. It lay in soft layers around her face, as if the wind had combed it.

The silence was too long. His mother was staring at him.

Sam said, "Wow, Twice a week. By the end of the summer you'll have to skip second grade and go right to college!"

General laughter lightened the mood.

Sherry rubbed Chris's back. "You may be right, Sam. He's a quick study. You'd better call the Harvard Admissions office on Monday."

Chris basked in the attention, smiling and rolling his eyes.

"Sam, don't you have dinner reservations? You'd better get going."

"Yes, Mother." Sam rolled his eyes.

"Why can't I go?" asked Chris.

"Because, young man, someone has to help me with the chores. So, come on. Let's feed the nags." Grandma dragged the disappointed boy away, and headed toward the barn.

A heavy silence hung in their absence until, Sam said, "Now I know how Adam and Eve felt after they ate the fruit."

Sherry laughed. "You must be reading my mind."

They watched Chris open the pasture gate. The horses, anxious for the evening hay, thundered into the lane and headed to their stalls. A big sorrel curled out of the herd, tossed its head in their direction, and trotted over.

Sherry stood up. "Who's this beauty?" The animal approached her, and nuzzled into Sherry's hair with a soft nicker.

"That's Sadie Hawkins, Jan's mare. I think she smelled your shampoo, or maybe she's admiring your new hairstyle, which, by the way, looks lovely."

Smiling at Sam, she said, "Thank you." Making a sad face at Sadie, she asked, "Poor baby. Do you miss Jan too?" Sherry scratched its withers. The horse craned its neck and curled its upper lip in a sign of appreciation.

"Okay girl, now go eat." Sherry shooed her away. Sadie trotted off to the barn.

"Along with all your other charms, you're a horse whisperer too." Sam winked at her.

"I used to spend summers on my Uncle's farm in Kansas. It was my home away from home. I won a couple of ribbons for barrel racing at the State Fair." She lifted her chin with a how-do-you-like-that smirk.

'That's a face that should be kissed,’ thought Sam. ‘Starting over is tough. Once the delicious Sherry's been tasted, how do you resist the want of another sip?' He was staring and she was watching his lips, waiting. "I promised to feed you. Let's go, before I decide to eat you.” Embarrassed by the slip, he quickly said, "I’m sorry."

"Don't be." She poked his arm and bounced beside him, swishing her skirt on the way to the truck. "Where're you taking me?"

His mind whirled at the question. So many lewd answers teased the tip of his tongue. Answers he would've fired off to Jan without reservation. 'I'm taking you outside, inside, orally, vaginally, missionary, doggie, in the hayloft, on a mountaintop, on the beach, to the moon... Variety is the spice of life and I've been without my spice girl for too long.' He said aloud, "A new restaurant just opened on the lake, Hawthorne's. I've never been there. Have you?"

"No. It sounds nice."

The green tank top left Sherry’s neck and arms exposed. He wanted to put his arm around her, feel her naked shoulder under his palm. He opened the passenger door.

"Thank you, sir."

Wishing she would slide over next to him, Sam drove off, and reminded himself, 'This is not a date. This is a thank-you, for helping Chris. Now stay focused on Platonic relations.’

A half-mile later, he asked, "Sharon, how did it go with Chris. Is he in trouble?" In his peripheral vision, he saw her glance over with a slightly pained expression. 'Was that because I didn't call her Sherry?' He kept his eyes on the road and both hands on the wheel.

"Don't worry about his academics, Samuel. If there's a problem with school, it's because he's bored. Jan's death may have something to do with his poor performance, but I didn't see it today. I'll work with him and he'll be ready in the fall."