“No. The first time the ring was made of seaweed. The second time I was cock-blocked by her insane mother.”
The slightest grin playing out over his face. “She said no twice?”
“She did indeed.”
“You’re a determined fella.”
I shrugged. “You know what they say: the third time’s the charm.”
“Well, for your sake, I hope she saysyes, because this ring is a special order and can’t be returned.”
“Way to have faith in me, dude,” I replied, somewhat annoyed he’d brought the return policy into my otherwise landmark moment.
“Oh…” The man mumbled, realizing his mistake. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
“No worries,” I said, too happy to be vindictive. I turned Sam’s ring from side to side, examining its splendor. This was no ordinary diamond engagement ring I was buying for Sam. In the center lay a milky blue agate encircled by a bed of diamonds. It was beautiful and durable and delicate all at once – just like my girl. “Besides, this time, I’m not taking no for an answer.”
“Good for you.” Was that a hint of condescending asshole I heard in his tone? Why was I getting the distinct impression he wasn’t liking my chances? Did he know something I didn’t?
The jeweler placed my ring in a box and rang up the remainder of my purchase balance. As he was running my card, he glanced up at me several times.
“I thought you looked familiar. You’re one of the McKallister boys, aren’t you?”
Evidentially, I hadn’t gone far enough out of my county to buy an engagement ring in peace. I wasn’t even the famous one, and yet still I got recognized.
“Yep,” I answered, hoping my curt reply would put an end to our chitchat.
“Well, I take it all back. Your lady will say yes, for sure. Who wouldn’t want to marry a rock star’s brother?”
Okay, now I was officially pissed. What a shithead. Did he really think Sam would only consider marrying me for my pedigree? If that had been the case we would have been betrothed long ago. My phone rang. Perfect timing. Sam had effectively saved the opinionated jeweler from a tongue-lashing.
“Hey, babe,” I answered, leaving the shop and heading for my car. “What’s up?”
“Keith… help me.”
* * *
By the time I got to Sam, I had to peel her off the bathroom floor. As far as I could tell, she’d been there for hours. The tile was slick with her tears as I scooped her into my arms and I carried her out of the house. Only after I’d clicked Sam into the passenger seat did she ask me to go back inside for her purse and the paperwork from the hospital. Leaving her alone was not an option, and I was about to tell her that when Shannon screeched to a halt in her Prius and bolted for my truck.
While the two were tucked into a tight embrace, I headed back to the house to fulfill Sam’s request. It was only when I’d stepped inside a second time that I understood the full scope of what had happened. From her frantic sob-sodden phone call, I got that her mother had passed and that she’d gone to the house, but her incoherent comments made no sense until now.
My jaw twitched as I read the words Carol had left for her daughter. Scribbled on the wall were hateful words likeAbomination.Vengeance.Repulsive. But the words Sam had repeated over and over to me were the ones written in blood. The ones dripping down the mirror in an eerie warning.You’re next.
I’d never wanted to hurt someone the way I wanted to hurt that woman. As if it weren’t enough for Carol to wreak havoc in life, she’d found a way to reach her hand out of hell and wrap it around Sam’s throat. How could it be that the kindest woman I’d ever known had been raised by the devil?
* * *
Sam took the week off work and spent most of it curled up under a blanket with Murphy by her side. She seemed inconsolable at times, and although I knew people handled grief differently, I wondered why she was mourning a woman who’d treated her so poorly. My hope had been that once the funeral was over, we could get back to our normal lives. I’d propose, and we’d spend our days planning for the wedding that had been such a long time coming. But Sam didn’t get better. She cried a lot. Everyday. It had become noticeable enough at work that she was offered an extended leave.
But sitting home alone while I was at work was not helping her either, and slowly but inexorably, depression set in. Sam slept a lot and, when I attempted to comfort her, she always pushed me away. Even Murphy seemed at a loss to help her as no amount of face licks stopped the flow of tears.
So I was somewhat encouraged today when I arrived home from work to find her at the kitchen table, a pile of papers scattered about. She was freshly showered, an oddity as of late, and seemed more at peace than I’d seen her since her mother’s death.
“Hey, hun,” I said dropping my keys in the bowl and heading toward her for a kiss. She pulled back, and the thin line of her lips told me that perhaps she wasn’t doing as well as I’d thought. Maybe I’d just arrived in the eye of her storm? Proceeding with caution, I asked, “Are you hungry? You want me to grill up some fish for dinner?”
Her eyes met mine. She was not all right. In fact, Sam was the opposite of all right. How could I have read her so wrong? Lifting her to her feet, I held her in a tight embrace. Sam was like a ragdoll, limp and heavy in my arms. My hand ran along her back, soothing her in the only way I knew how, while speaking softly in her ear. “Sam, talk to me. What’s going on in your head?”
She pulled away and sank back into her chair. “I haven’t been honest with you, Keith.”
