Page 91 of Sing it, Sam

“Yeah, look at me.” Sarcasm drips from each word.

I playfully poke him in the arm. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. So, when you moved out here, did you come alone?”

“I came with Flick ... Felicity. Deep down, I knew she wasn’t a hundred percent committed to the move. I got the feeling she thought it wouldn’t be long before I’d be on my way to stardom, straight back into the arms of the city. While I was prepared to travel, I needed a place to stay grounded.”

I offer Sam an open bottle of water. He skulls down a mouthful and hands it back to me.

“When I came off the incubator in hospital, she was distant. The doctors told me that I was possibly in for years of recovery, and then she told me she didn’t love me anymore. It was kind of earth-crushing.”

I reach out and cup Sam’s face in my hand. “I can’t imagine.”

“Yeah, well, that’s life, I guess.” Sam reaches for his sunnies and slips them over his eyes. He hooks both arms behind his head, his naked chest bared to the sunshine. “Tell me more ’bout your family?”

I’m grateful for the change in subject. “My dad took over the orchard when his dad died. My parents gave it everything and made a success of it. Two years ago, they sold up and retired. They were determined to see Australia before they got too old.”

“Cool. And what about your nan? The author?”

My heart swells with family pride. “Violet Rhynehart is the reason Willow Creek has a library.”

“Impressive,” he says and hums.

“And after she died, the mayor renamed one of the rooms ‘The Violet Wing’ in her honour.”

“That’s pretty cool.”

As Sam relaxes in the sun, I continue to tell him all about Nan and how she is an inspiration to me. It still astounds me to this day that she gave up her spare time to teach English to some Italian families who’d moved into the area, and how she lobbied with the local council for funds to enrich our town with a library and facilities for students after school.

After a while of no response from Sam, I crouch up on my knees and lean closer to him. He doesn’t move.Is he still listening or have I bored him to death?

“Sam?” I whisper.

No response.

I reach out and peel back his glasses, resting them on his forehead. His eyes are shut, his long lashes sitting atop his light pink cheeks. I probably should have brought some sunscreen.

“Perfect,” I mumble.

A light rumble emanates from the back of his throat. I nudge his shoulder.Nothing.

I pull my phone from my bag and check the time. We’ve been two hours already?

I dial Kathleen’s number. The call connects after the second ring.

“Everything okay?” she asks, trepidation in her voice.

“Hi. Yeah, it’s just Sam’s fallen asleep.”

She huffs. “Oh, is that all.”

“He looks so tired, I’d hate to wake him up.”

“As long as you’re both safe—that’s all I’m concerned about.”

“I’ll give him half an hour, and then I’ll try to stir him.”

“That’s fine,” Kathleen says. “We’ll see you a bit later.”

I soak up the sun, snuggled into Sam’s side. His rattles and moans never turn into full-blooded snores. It makes me wonder what it’d be like sleeping next to Sam, feeling the heat of his body close to mine. I practically drool at the thought. But could I keep my hands to myself if given the opportunity to be in the same bed as him?

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