Sam was speechless. It was a lie? The whole summer, what he thought they had meant to each other...none of it was real?
“Goodbye, Sam.” She cleared her throat. “The summer’s over, so...”
“No, Maya. Let me explain. The coin—”
She shook her head. “I don’t care about that coin.” She swallowed. “Or you.”
Sam stepped close enough to her to be enveloped by her honeysuckle scent. It made him light-headed and he longed to feel her body against his and undo whatever it was that he had done. He knew his eyes were frenzied and his voice was severe. There was only one way to get the truth. “Tell me you don’t love me.” He leaned in, daring her, through gritted teeth, “Say it.” There was no way she could say the words. He knew it.
Her face was stoic. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I don’t love you.”
Sam stared at Maya in disbelief as a wave of nausea flooded over him. She turned and gracefully walked back into the house without so much as a goodbye. He stood on the porch, paralyzed.
Once, when Sam was five, Arjun had been very angry and had kicked a soccer ball at him with all his might. The ball hit young Sam dead in the belly, the force throwing him backward to the ground. The wind was knocked out of him, his head pounded from hitting the dirt and he had the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. Sam did not cry, but he remembered wondering how someone he loved could hurt him so.
What happened next occurred in a fog. He pounded on the door, called out to her. An older woman with skin the same color as Maya, and eyes as fierce as the depths of night, stepped out and told him to leave. She repeated herself until Sam finally turned on his heel, leaped down the two porch steps and headed toward his car.
If she didn’t love him, there was no reason for him to stay. He tapped the coin in his pocket. It had never steered him wrong. Until now.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
SAM
New York, 2012
SAMHESITATEDFORa beat just before turning the knob to enter his apartment. He’d barely just made peace with Samantha, and now he had to face Paige. And his parents. No doubt all three of them were here waiting for him. He walked into his apartment and confirmed what he already knew.
“Hello, everyone.” He tossed his key on the hall table and headed for the bar. His mother was murmuring to Paige, who threw furtive looks in his direction as his mother continued to pat her hand. He needed at least two fingers of bourbon for this conversation. “Dad, bourbon?” he called out.
“Uh, no, son. We were just leaving.” He stood. “C’mon, Hema. Let the kids talk.”
His mother did not budge.
“How about it, Mom? Bourbon?” Sam grinned at her as only sons could to their mothers when they knew they were in trouble. He sipped. The liquid was cool, almost soothing.
His mother finally stood and faced her son. “Don’t you grin at me like that, young man!” Suddenly Sam felt like he was eight years old and had broken a dish, or like he was sixteen and had had a fender bender. Or maybe he was twenty-three and had fallen in love with the wrong girl. “Start talking.”
“It’s pretty clear, Mom. Maya was pregnant when we broke up.” He shrugged in a grand gesture of sarcasm and nonchalance as he took a gulp of soothing bourbon. “She didn’t tell me, and she went on her merry way.” Paige’s eyes were red-rimmed. That was his fault. He softened and moved toward her. “Paige, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you—”
His mother blocked his way, his fiancée’s guard. “You can apologize to her later. Tell me, what reason did that Maya give for keeping this secret?”
Sam had rarely seen his mother so agitated. Her words shook, and her Indian accent got thicker with her mounting rage. Pretty soon, she’d give up on English altogether.
“Mom, calm down. You can’t get all worked up like this.” Sam looked to his father for support.
“He’s right. Take it easy, Hema. I’m sure Sammy got all the answers he needed. He’s right—getting this worked up is not good for you.”
Hema turned on her husband. “You two always play the cancer card to get me to back down. I’ve been fine for years!” She approached Sam, her eyes wild. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her so upset. “What. Reason. Did she give?”
Sam downed his bourbon and set down the glass. “She said—” He hesitated as he looked to Paige. Her sad eyes brimmed with tears, her bottom lip trembled. Her normally perfect red tresses were flat and tucked uncharacteristically behind her ears. Guilt stabbed at him. He answered his mother, unable to turn away from Paige. “She said it was because of Bridget and that coin.”
Paige was confused. “What coin?”
“Bridget was trying to get you back. Not to mention she was lying,” Sam’s dad said.
“Yeah, but I was twenty-three. I was stupid and I didn’t handle it well. I never told Maya what Bridget was up to—she assumed the worst.” Sam remembered it well. He had been annoyed that Bridget wouldn’t just let him be. He’d known she wasn’t pregnant, but he had wanted to focus on Maya at the time.
“Doesn’t seem like enough for her to keep your daughter from you.” John sounded confused. “There’s got to be more.”
