Page 61 of Surviving You, Scotch and Sammy 1

Sammy: I love you.

Sammy: I’m so sorry.

Sammy: The baby is gone.

Sammy: I’m so sorry, Sam.

My stomach lurches as I hit redial, and I wait for her to answer. Half of me expects her not to, the other half hopes with everything I am that she does. My family watch on silently. Even the girls stop squealing and doing cartwheels to listen.

“Hello?”

“Sammy? Jesus, Ricci. What the hell’s going on?”

“I’m so sorry,” she sobs. “I’m so sorry for everything.”

“What’s happening?”

“The baby is gone. I’m so sorry.”

“Where are you? I’m coming to see you.”

“No!” she calls out in a panic. My heart instantly drops through my shoes, and tears spring and spill over. “No, Sam. You can’t come.”

“I wanna see you. Right now, Ricci.”

She takes a long, deep breath, even as she softly cries. “I’m sorry, okay? Please forgive me.”

“Sammy, I’m coming now--”

“No. I’m gonna stay here, okay? I’m staying with my family. And you need to stay with yours. Be happy, okay? Please,” she sobs. “Please be happy.”

“No,” I cry out, as tears spill over my lips like I don’t ever remember them doing before. “Don’t do this. They’re poison, Ricci. You and me, we’re real. But they’re not. They’re poison, and they’ll kill you eventually. If you stay there, they’ll break you. We made plans, remember?”

“Be happy,” she repeats. “I love you so much.”

***

Exactly three days after Sammy shattered my world then hung up on me, I snuck out from under my family’s eagle-eyed supervision, and I raced across town to see her. I can’t not see her. She’s my soul mate. She’s all I can ever love. And her vague goodbye just isn’t good enough.

I slide my bike along the loose gravel until my front wheel slams against the wrought iron gate, then not expecting a warm welcome from them, I climb the iron and jump onto the gravel on the other side. I sprint along the driveway for a hundred yards until I skid onto the front porch and slam my fist on the solid wooden door.

I squint my eyes and attempt to peek through the tiny frosted diamonds of glass running along the side of the door, but when no one answers and no movement can be seen, I run along the house, stopping at the first window I can find.

I’ve never been in this house before, but I know there should be furniture in the living room. Perhaps even a grand piano or something equally pretentious.

Nothing.

I sprint to the next window. Nothing. Then the next. Nothing! It’s fucking empty.

I run the entire perimeter of her folk’s giant house, and it’s not until I come full circle that I find the glaring sign sitting right at the foot of the front stairs. I ran straight past it in my rush.

For Sale. Then a red and white sticker slapped over top. Sold!

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