Because less than three weeks later, something really terrible happened.
Eighty
IN SAM’S WORDS,life works like that sometimes.
Early in November I sat on the old blue velvet sofa in Sam’s living room. Brendan held one of my hands, and Doc held the other. “It will be all right,” Doc whispered, touching his chest with a shaking hand. “She’s safe inside us. Sam is at peace.”
Every minute or so, an umbrella would tip-tap the porch floorboards, then the front door would whine open and another of Sam’s friends would blow in on a damp gust of wind. Soon the house was filled with people from Lake Geneva and Chicago and even Copper Harbor, all looking uncomfortable to find themselves there on that unthinkable occasion.
As I looked around, I could see intimations of Sam everywhere.
In my cousin Bobby’s baby blue eyes, in the clusters of family photos on the walls, on my aunt Val’s tear-streaked face as she stared out the picture window to the broken surface of a rain-swept lake. It was so sad, and almost unbelievable that the person who had drawn so many people together in life wasn’t there with us.
Finally Doc leaned in close. “If you’re ready, I think we should start. Samantha wouldn’t want to keep everybody waiting. We shouldn’t, either.”
As Doc began to speak about his Samantha—though still not revealing their incredible secret—I pressed the side of my face into Brendan’s shoulder. Doc was so brave up there, so eloquent, and more touching than anyone else in the room knew. Meanwhile, the deaths of other people I’d loved flashed through my mind: Grandpa Charles, my mother, Danny. Brendan gently held me, and I listened to Doc and then Sam’s other friends, each telling a cherished story or remembrance.
Then there was a lull, and Brendan finally whispered, “Go ahead, Jen. It’s your turn.”
Eighty-one
I DON’T LIKEpublic speaking or being the center of attention, but I felt that I had to get up and talk. This was my grandmother, my Sam. I experienced the light-headedness that comes just before you faint as I walked to the front of the room.
I stood with my back to the lake, a favorite black-and-white photograph of Sam to my right. I looked out at all the sad yet expectant eyes of my grandmother’s friends. Brendan smiled encouragement. Doc winked, and a calm finally came over me.
This is what I said:
“Please bear with me. I’m not good at this, but there are things I have to say. When I was growing up, I spent my precious summer vacations in this house with Grandma Sam.”
I started to choke up the first time I said her name. Then I didn’t care if I was crying, and I surged forward.
“The two of us were best friends right from the start. We just clicked, had chemistry, shared a worldview, laughed and cried at the same things. I loved her more than anyone, and I admired her so much.
“I always told her my most private thoughts when we were in bed: Sam sitting beside me, her hand over mine in the dark. Some kids are afraid of the dark, but I loved it, at least when I was with Sam.
“It feels a little like that, now. I can’t see Sam, but I know she’s here.
“Not too long ago, I had retreated from life because, well, I think I couldn’t stand the pain of living fully. It was Sam who gently coaxed me out of my shell and removed my veil of sadness. It was Sam who showed me the way to find love again. Sam led me to Brendan, whom I love dearly.
“But there is a secret that I never got to share with Sam, so I’ll tell her now. Sam, dear—Samantha—I have something wonderful to tell you. Brendan and I are going to have a baby. Your first great-grandchild.”
Then I did start crying, but I knew I was smiling, too. I looked right at Doc, and he was beaming. So was Brendan.
“Can’t you all just see Sam’s face? The way it lights up, the way Samlistens,as if you’re the most important person in the world?
“Right now, I almost can’t believe that she will never see our baby, that she won’t find a way somehow.
“But I also wonder if he or she will have Sam’s beautiful curls. Or those sparkling blue eyes, or her amazing ability to love so many people, to have such great friends. Butthisis for sure. Our child will know all about his or her great-grandmother, what an incredible person she was. I have all of Sam’s stories to tell. I know exactly who my grandmother was, and that’s such a treasure.
“And boy or girl, no matter what, our baby’s name will beSam.”
Eighty-two
SAM’S FRIENDSand the family told stories about her for hours that afternoon; some close friends, and some not so close, stayed late into the night, and every story seemed a little better than the one before. Of course, I had more stories than anyone else. I had Sam’s letters. I just couldn’t tell anybody too much of what I knew. That was a secret among Doc, Brendan, and me.
Brendan’s uncle came up to me before he left for the night. Shep leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. “I wanted to wait until it quieted down some,” he said. “You did so great today, Jennifer. I loved what you said about your grandmother. Sam wanted you to have this. I’ve been keeping it for you at the law office.”
I took a white linen envelope from Shep. Was it one more of her letters? What did she have to tell me now? Another dark secret?
