Page 24 of Without You, Scotch and Sammy 2

“Your name isn’t Scotch?”

I shake my head silently.

“Your name is Sam?” she whispers. “That feels strange to say.”

I nod, then shush her with my finger over my lips.

“Please,” Sammy calls out. “Open the door right now. I have a baby and she’s cold.”

Quickly pushing Nancy back against the wall, I swing the door wide with a flourish. Without thinking my actions through, I grab hold of her thin wrist, and tug a shivering Sammy inside my apartment. Slamming the door shut as flurries of snow drift in, we all stand in a circle, and we stare at each other in muted shock.

Sammy’s hair is as long as I remember, possibly longer, and though it’s sleeker than it used to be, straighter and smoother, the top is slightly frizzed as snowflakes melt into her scalp.

She wears a baggy sweater, chocolate brown with black stripes, and one side hangs just off center, revealing soft pink skin covering a delicate clavicle. My eyes zero in on an almost hidden tattoo she has working its way up and over her exposed shoulder, but a strange squeaking noise has me frowning and my eyes continue on. She’s wearing jeans not unlike some she would have worn back in high school. Light blue with trendy little rips around the knees and thighs, then down to black ankle boots with little ‘V’s’ cut out to reveal the pale flesh around her ankles.

“Umm, Scotch--”

I ignore Nancy as my eyes travel up Sammy’s left side, then I stop at the giant black… baby carseat? Charlie is always being carried around in one of these, but usually it’s Jack’s stronger arms lugging it around, not thin arms attached to a heavily breathing woman. She watches me as I watch her, then as my eyes leave the carseat, since the hood is up and a blanket is thrown over top, our gazes meet as she bends down and places the heavy load on the floor by her feet.

“Sammy?”

She bites her lip and pushes loose strands of hair behind her ear. I wonder if she’s sick. Her face is paler than I’ve ever seen it before, even paler than that last night I saw her.

The last night I saw her…

When she was mine. Pregnant with mine. Then she wasn’t anymore…

Red hot anger washes through my body as memories slam over me. “What are you doing here, Samantha?”

She steps back an inch, as though my words were a physical blow. Good!

“Sam. I --”

Whoever or whatever she has in that carseat is too small to belong to me. This isn’t my problem, and her reentrance into my life only serves to remind me what she took. “No. Get out.”

Her eyes flash wide with hurt.

I step around her and open the door. That strange squeaking noise is loud, so loud, its unnerving. I stand with my hand on the frame and glare. I nod back toward the stairs. “Go.”

“Please, Sam. We need--”

“Someone else. I have nothing for you, Samantha. Please leave.”

“Just five minutes of your time, please?” She glances between Nancy and me awkwardly, but she’s not nearly as hurt as I know I’d still be if I saw her and a man together. Which just proves my point. She and I are different people now, and she doesn’t care about me.

Her desperate eyes come back to mine. “Please Sam. This is important.”

“Can’t help you, Doll. Fuck off. Don’t come back.”

Her eyes fall with disappointment, then firing with something else, she bends and picks up the baby seat. I’m dying to look inside. Desperately, in pain, itching palms, dying to lift the cover and look inside. Will the baby look like her? Will it look like me? Is it a boy or girl? And what the fuck is that noise?

She steps toward the stronger wind outside, and the snow spins and swirls in tiny cyclones. I’m sending my Sammy and a baby into what might turn to a blizzard. Fuck!

“I’m sorry I interrupted your evening.” She glances between me and Nancy one last time, then with a tiny, nervous curtsy, she leaves the way she came and I slam the door behind her. I don’t want to watch her walk away. I’ve seen it too many times in my dreams. I don’t need more material to ruin the next decade of my life.

I storm away from Nancy and slam doors as I pass through my kitchen. Fucking bitch! My breath comes out heavy and pained. My chest heaves as though I’ve just run a marathon. My hands shake and my eyes literally water, because I’m a fucking pussy!

“Scotch…” Nancy follows me to the living room, but I ignore her words and slump onto the single recliner. I rest my elbows on my knees and dangle my head low. I breathe through my teeth and the nausea that settled in my belly as soon as I saw the headlights illuminate my driveway.

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