Page 68 of One Last Gift

Cassie frowned down at her plate. “That’s not—”

“I’m not saying it excuses it or whatever,” Sam said quickly. “I’m just…Well, I can kind of relate.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “You guys had Linda, and Claire, and—”

“Claire wasn’t exactly much of a role model,” Cassie said with a sigh, then immediately felt guilty about it. Claire hadn’t done anything explicitly wrong, had she? They’d been looked after, had a house, comfort. Had a place where they could stay together—because who knew what would have happened if Claire hadn’t taken them in.

“Well, Linda then. But there wasn’t, I don’t know, a ‘dad’ figure, you know? And Tom, well, when he talked to me about it, he was saying he didn’t know how to be a dad. And I guess I’m saying, I kind of know why.”

Cassie said nothing, though her heart ached at the idea that Tom had felt he could tell Sam all this, and not her. Maybe that was because, as much as she’d always tried to look out for him too, he’d usually been the one looking after her. So it was a different relationship from the one Tom and Sam had had. And maybe, instead of feeling jealous, she should feel grateful that Tom had had someone like that in his life.

“I really think he would have gone back to Amy, Cassie,” Sam said softly. “He loved her. And he wasn’t enough of a fuck-up to leave her alone with a baby.” He gave her that same crooked smile that she knew so well. “Not like me.”

She sighed. “You’re not a fuck-up, Sam.” He raised his eyebrows, and she laughed. “Well, not all of the time, at least.”

“I’ve ruined so many things, Cassie,” he said quietly. “Even if I didn’t mean to, I have.”

She didn’t say anything, wasn’t sure what exactly to say. Because she knew, didn’t she? She’d been there.

He took her hand, held it on the table. Her fingers laced with his automatically. “But I don’t want to ruin this.”

Cassie’s stomach lurched, a mix of emotions she couldn’t quite identify. She felt heat, more than just from the sun, flash down her spine, and she sat up straighter, more rigid. “Sam…” But she wasn’t sure what to say. She wasn’t sure she was ready for this conversation. “Let’s just enjoy the rest of the day, OK?”

He squeezed her hand, nodded, and let her fingers go. And even in the warmth of the day, her fingers registered the loss, the chill that took over from where his hand had been.

Chapter Thirty-Two

The sky was turning gray above them as they sat on the grass outside the lighthouse, close enough to see the sea but far enough back that there was no chance of accidentally falling over the edge. Sam had tried to make them sit a bit closer, but she’d refused—the view of the rocks below was beautiful, but not something she wanted to see up close. The gray sky didn’t mar the beauty of the place. Instead it took on a new character, going from peaceful to wild as the wind picked up and the air cooled, threatening rain. The sea below was moving from placid to angry—not a full-blown rage, not yet, but building toward it.

Cassie ate a third slice of the oven pizza that they’d found in Greg’s freezer. She sighed. “I’m a little sad this all has to end, that I have to go back to reality.” She was getting the first train back to London tomorrow. Because she was close enough to, she dropped her head on Sam’s shoulder, and he put his arm companionably around her.

“Me too,” he murmured, and she wondered if he felt it too, the sense that it all just worked here—that they worked here. It was like there was a spell around the cottage, the lighthouse, the coast, and while they were inside it, they were safe.

“What will you do now? Go back to being a lawyer? Go to London?” Up until now she’d tried to hold off asking him any of these questions, because she wasn’t entirely sure what she wanted the answer to be. She didn’t want him to disappear, but she also didn’t want to make it painful, and they both still had so much to sort out. For her part, she knew she couldn’t put herself in a vulnerable situation. Whether or not he’d changed, there was a part of her that still didn’t totally trust him, as much as she wished, in that moment, that she did. So would it be better or worse if he was close by? Could they work toward being friends, after this? Or would they drift apart, with only this memory of a few romantic days in Cornwall, like something out of a film?

“I’m not sure,” Sam said slowly. “I quit my job, remember?”

She nodded, although it wasn’t entirely accurate. He’d jilted the boss’s daughter at the altar, not quit his job, and there was a difference.

“Do you want to be a lawyer again, though? Did you enjoy it?” She shifted slightly so she could look up at his face, read his expression. She’d never actually asked him this before, she realized. He’d certainly acted like he’d enjoyed it, though—the money, the status, the social circle.

“Parts of it,” Sam admitted. “But I don’t know, now…Something about it doesn’t feel right anymore. But I’m not sure what is right. I’m not like you—I don’t have a passion, so without a job, a purpose, I’m worried I’ll just…drift.”

She couldn’t really imagine Sam drifting. He’d always seemed so sure of himself, of his place in the world. Sure of what he wanted, and how to get there, even if she didn’t like or agree with it. It was funny that he thought of her as the one with passion, drive, purpose. Did she have that? She supposed she did, to some extent. She loved being in events, loved the thrill of it. And once, she’d been so sure what she’d end up doing, before she’d gotten caught in the cycle of London life, work. But really, it hadn’t been her work, ever, that kept her grounded. It had been Tom. So she got it, that drifting feeling, even if she didn’t say it out loud.

“Another beer?” Sam asked, holding up his empty one.

“Sure.”

She pulled her knees to her chest as he went back inside, wrapping her arms around them. She wished she could stay here, listening to the sea, indefinitely. Back at her flat in London, all she had to listen to was the sound of banging doors, distant arguing, sirens, and traffic.

Sam came back out with two beers—and the envelope. “I found this,” he said, holding it up.

“Right.” Cassie cleared her throat. “Greg dropped it round earlier.” It had been stupid, to think he wouldn’t notice it, or would forget about it. It was the whole reason they were there, after all.

He handed it to her with the beer, sat down next to her. “So, are you going to open it?”

She stared at it, at the number in the corner. Then she looked at Sam. “I’m too scared to,” she whispered. When he frowned, she carried on. “If I open it, then that will be it, done. It’s been like…Well, not like having him back, but it’s been something of him to hold on to, you know? And when I finish it, when I get to the end, that’ll be over.” And what if she couldn’t handle it? What if she broke?

“I get that,” Sam said. “Really, I do. But, Cass, you can’t let fear rule you forever. That’s what Tom has been trying to show you, right? That you’re braver than you think?”