Premiere: A Love Story (27 page)

Sam said nothing. Grady rose to get more coffee.

“Sam, please relax and rest.”

Chapter Thirty

T
he Cathners brought Sam home from the hospital later that afternoon. The doctor gave her pain medication, but she was tired of feeling whacked out, so she was sticking with Tylenol. Her body was sore, but with the exception of her right arm, everything worked. Sam’s mom pleaded with her to stay in the main house, but she wanted to be alone. She was fine. Her mother said she would send dinner over and to call if she needed anything. Sam walked her parents to the door, assuring them she was going to lie on the couch and rest. When they left, she curled up on the couch, resting her cast across her chest.

Peter knocked on the door as the sun was going down. Sam was sleeping, propped up with pillows. She opened her eyes and knew immediately who was at the door. She took her time getting up, partly because her body would only move so fast, but mostly because she was angry, and didn’t want to have the conversation.

She opened the door. Peter was standing in front of her, bathed in the setting sun, and her heart began to fall apart. He looked worse than she felt. He took in her scraped-up face and then stared at her arm. He wasn’t sure how to reach out to her without hurting her, but before he had a chance, Sam shook her head in disgust, and walked back to the couch, leaving him in the doorway. Peter closed the door.

“Sam.”

“You know what, save it. I’m not sure why you’re even here.”

“Sam, I’m sorry . . . I . . .”

“Sorry? You’re sorry for what exactly Peter? Sulking at the fundraiser because you didn’t want to be there? Flying off to your precious New York without so much as a goodbye?”

Peter was well into twenty-four hours without sleep, so he interrupted before this got out of hand.

“I was going to call you from the airport, I couldn’t find you, and I really needed to . . .”

“Just don’t!”

She held up the hand that worked and winced at the pain in her shoulder. Peter moved to sit next to her.

“Please stop. You’re in pain. Can’t we talk about this later? I’m here. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I had to leave, but I turned right back around as soon as I spoke to Grady. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Sam said nothing.

“Grady told me what happened on the phone. Jesus, Sam, you guys were so lucky.”

He touched her knee and then went to brush her bangs off her face, and Sam moved away. Peter had a bad feeling, a very bad feeling, as she slowly stood.

“I can’t do this. I can’t love like this. I don’t want to.”

Peter closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Aw, Christ, Sam, what does that mean?”

“It means I’m done. I don’t want this relationship. I don’t want to compete with New York and your precious life. I don’t want it, I don’t want any of it.”

Peter stood. She was hurting, and he needed to find a way to calm her down. She was talking crazy. She moved away again.

“Don’t. You shut down, think of yourself, and I’m left hanging. That’s not a relationship, that’s not going anywhere. I’m tired of hanging on for you. I have a life, I need things, and I need you to be . . .”

“Where the hell is this coming from? Because I had one bad day, I got on a plane, and so now you can’t do this?”

He tried to be gentle; she had a cast and the bruise on her head looked awful, but damn it, he was tired of apologizing.

“How long is this going to hang over us, Sam? How long am I going to have to pay for leaving you?”

She turned and her eyes bore right through him.

“What?”

“I’m serious, I mean: what’s it going to take? I’m in love with you, we’re together, and you still can’t let it go.”

“I can’t let it go? I can’t . . . are you kidding me? I’ve let it go, Peter, I let you back in. The problem is you’re the same selfish son-of-a-bitch who left me the first time. You just have better excuses now. You’re still running, hiding behind New York or your job. You still cringe at some stupid fundraiser. You’re always first in your mind, Peter, and hell, I don’t know, maybe that’s because of your past.”

She sat back down on the couch, her face was warm and her head was starting to throb. Peter took a deep breath and kneeled in front of her, resting his hands on her knees.

“That’s not true. I put you first, you are first, but I have responsibilities. I’m not hiding, I mean, sure I have issues being home, but we’ll work those out. Once the play opens, we’ll figure it out. This is crazy, Sam. I love you.”

He looked up at her, and her eyes were cold. She was gone.

“Sure, we’ll figure it out. It will all work out.”

She was mocking him.

“Once the play is up, I’ll know what the hell we’re doing. Who’s going to make those decisions, Peter? You? Will you dole out the next scene when it’s written? Will you tell me what’s coming up when you’re good and ready?”

He stood up and so did Sam. They were face to face, and he could feel her anger, years of it that she’d never let out.

“No! You won’t do that to me. I’m done waiting for you, done figuring you out, done trying to understand your next move. I know it sounds crazy, but you were on a plane when I needed you. You never even told me you were leaving. You said nothing. My heart was resting in your hands, and you left. Sound familiar?”

“I’m sorry,” was all he could say.

“I’m sure you are. I’m done. Please leave.”

Peter began to shake, physically shake.

“You can’t be done. Sam, we love each other, we need . . .”

“No. I don’t need, I can’t. It hurts too much. I’m not made like you. There is no plan, there never will be, because you can’t find a way to me without dealing with everything else. You dodge and avoid, that’s you, Peter. The only one who loses in that deal is me. You’re skimming the surface, you always have. You risk nothing.”

“Bullshit. I don’t live my life that way anymore. I came back for you. I’m trying, damn it. I know you think I’m self-centered, and you’re probably right, but I never pretended to be anything more than completely screwed up. Your father blows his brains out and your mother basically abandons you for a bottle of whatever she can get her hands on, yeah, it leaves a mark, and I know I’ve hurt you. I’ve hurt myself, but this is going to work, Sam. I can’t live without you anymore. I need you too much.”

Tears burned Sam’s eyes. There was no fixing this.

“You, you, you. What else do you need, Peter?”

“That’s not what I meant. Stop it. We love each other. Why are you doing this? There isn’t a choice here?”

“There is. You can leave. I choose to not let it in anymore. It’s a matter of survival, Peter, and if it means hurting you, I’m sorry, but I tried.”

Peter drew his hand over his mouth and watched Sam give up.

“What are you saying?”

“I’ll take your play to the premiere, do my part, and then you need to go back to New York where you belong.
I
need to get back to my life, and
I
can’t do that with you here.”

Peter wasn’t going to win. He could see it in her face. He stepped closer, careful not to hurt her, and said: “Look who’s running now, Sam. You are. Closing the door. You can’t let yourself love me because you’re afraid I’ll take too much, or I’ll hurt you. Those are the messy parts you’re always preaching about Sam. You’re not jumping off the board with me. You’re still at the bottom of the ladder because I don’t have a plan, and you forgot how to trust me.”

His breath was warm on her face, and Sam felt like she was going to pass out.

“I’ll leave, fine, but you’ll never escape this; you’ll never be able to fully get this out of your system, no matter how much you close down. I’ll always be here.”

He gently touched her heart, and Sam recoiled in pain that had nothing to do with the accident. The tears spilled down her cheeks.

He touched her face gently as she started to turn away.

“Samantha Cathner, I’ve loved you my whole life, and I know you love me. Losing you, watching you walk away this time, that doesn’t change anything. I’m letting go of what happened to my father, I’m moving through my childhood on my way to a plan, but maybe you’re the one reliving the past, maybe you’re the one that’s letting it paralyze you.”

Sam looked away.

“I can’t promise you something won’t happen to me or you won’t get hurt. I can’t tell you that you won’t be left behind, but . . .”

Peter took her face again.

“I can tell you that I love you more than I ever thought was possible, and I will never willingly leave you. I’ll probably disappoint you from time to time, but I’m here. I may not be standing on the stage yet like you want me to, but you’re not the only one who is scared. There’s no other path for us, Sam, is there?”

As her tears touched Peter’s hands, she pulled away, walked to the door and opened it. Peter hung his head and walked out without another word. He had given it everything he had and she was gone. Sam closed the door and collapsed to the floor. She no longer cared that her body ached from the accident. Her heart was broken again, but this time the optimism of youth was not there to soften the blow. This was a very adult heartbreak, and she had done it to herself.

Chapter Thirty-One

T
wo weeks passed. Sam’s physical bruises had healed, and she was no longer working on Peter’s production. She used the accident as an excuse, and Candice took over for the final three weeks of rehearsals. The play would premiere in a week.

After the senator’s fundraiser and a nasty fall down the stairs, Peter’s mother had asked him to put her into an alcohol treatment facility. She was out now. According to Grady, she looked ten years younger and actually seemed happy. Sam was glad that she was finding her way back, but she was surprised when Mrs. Everoad called and asked her to come over for tea. Sam still received the rehearsal schedule, so she made sure Peter would be in rehearsals when she agreed to meet her later in the day.

Sam had not been to the Everoad house since Peter had left for New York over four years ago. Even now, standing in front of the large wooden door with the brass pineapple knocker, she felt small, young all over again. Peter’s house was huge, even by Pasadena standards, but it was welcoming. There was always a wreath on the door and beautiful planters filled with flowers of the season.

Their house was yellow when Peter’s father was alive, but once Mr. Everoad was gone, Peter’s mother had redone the entire house from top to bottom and painted the outside white. Peter had never understood why his mother made all of the changes, none of them did. At the time it had been whispered she was a cold, heartless woman.

Now, as a woman herself, it occurred to Sam that maybe his mother couldn’t live in the same house. Age has a way of introducing experiences and all sorts of shades of grey. Nothing appeared black and white to Sam anymore, not even Peter’s mother. Why she’d invited her for tea, Sam wasn’t sure, but she felt privileged that she wanted to talk to her alone.

As Sam rang the bell, she realized that she had never even hugged Peter’s mother when his father died. To her knowledge, no one had. Sam’s mother had taken April’s hand. Her father had offered to help with the arrangements. But, had anyone hugged her? Wrapped their arms around her and allowed her to collapse? Sam did not remember that happening, and as Vivvie, their housekeeper, answered the door, Sam felt deep sadness for Peter’s mother. She had spent so much time feeling bad for Peter, and it had never occurred to her that his mother was in pain.
Oh, she must have been so alone.

“Miss Cathner, I haven’t seen you in years.”

Vivvie, short for Vivian, hugged Sam and ran her hands down her hair, just as she had done when Sam was a child.

“Your hair has grown. Well, you’ve grown. Into such a beautiful woman.”

Her eyes were filled with the years she’d spent in this house and the things she had seen from the sidelines. Vivvie was now a little shorter than Sam, but Sam would always see her as taller. She had tiny little feet and long, slender fingers.
It
’
s funny the things you notice as a child,
Sam thought. As an adult, Sam noticed the grey in her hair and her incredible, almost golden, eyes. Sam had probably not spent much time looking into her eyes as a child, but she sure noticed them now.

“Vivvie, so good to see you. You look exactly the same.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you need to come around more often. My aging ego loves you.”

Sam laughed.

“I’m here to see . . .”

“Mrs. Everoad. Yes, I know dear. I set up tea on the patio. She’s putzing in her garden. Been a little obsessed of late, if you ask me, but . . .”

Her voice lowered to a whisper.

“She hasn’t touched a drop for almost a month now, so I say, ‘Garden away!’ Right?”

“Absolutely, that’s wonderful.”

“Ever since Mr. Peter brought her home from that treatment place. She spent two days in bed after that and woke up a different woman.”

“Really?”

Vivvie looked out toward the patio to make sure they were still alone.

“Well, not exactly a new person, she’s not been her old self, since before the mister died. She’s got something behind those eyes again. She’s, well, let’s say it warms my heart.”

Vivvie changed the subject before Sam could even comment, careful not to be disrespectful or say too much.

“It’s lovely out today, you’ll have tea on the patio. Still drinking black tea? Mr. Peter’s into the green tea now.”

At the mention of Peter’s name Sam’s pulse tripped. She smiled and recovered.

“I’m a traditionalist, Vivvie. Tea is black.”

She patted Sam on the shoulder with a laugh and gestured her out to the patio.

“You’ll see her out there, elbow-deep in dirt. Make yourself comfortable, and let me know if you need anything.”

Vivvie pulled the French doors toward her and left Sam on the patio. She turned and saw a big, bright green hat shading matching gloves digging in the planters along the stairs off the patio.

“Mrs. Everoad,” Sam called out, not wanting to startle her.