Page 129 of Sing it, Sam

Chapter Forty-Five

“Mondays suck,” I tell Butch when I finally get home at six-thirty.

I look around at the hurricane that was yesterday. When I sat down to write, I blocked everything out. It was liberating. Another four thousand words to add to the count, and I couldn’t be more thrilled.

I snuggle on the couch and dial Sam’s number. It rings out and goes to voicemail.

“Hey Sam, just got home. Been thinking about you all day. Miss you. Give me a call. Mwah.” My phone is in my hand for a few minutes as I scroll through my Facebook feed, but he doesn’t call back.

I contact Kim and have a chat about Ed. When I tell her that Sam’s moving back to Willow Creek, she promises to take good care of the dog until Sam returns. I can’t wait to see the look on his face when I tell him he’ll get his precious Ed back.

After dinner, I strip my bed, even though I hate the thought of washing the dreamy scent of Sam’s aftershave from my sheets. Once I’ve tidied up the house, I join Butch on the couch.

I scoop up my phone and can’t believe it’s already ten o’clock.And no response from Sam. Disappointment floods my veins. I just wanted to hear his voice, if only for a few minutes. Saying goodbye to him yesterday hurt my heart. I decide to send him a quick text because it’s too late to call.

Me: Sorry, you’re probably asleep. Give me a call tomorrow xxx

I make myself a hot chocolate and sit down at my laptop. Butch curls on my lap, keeping me warm as the words flow once more. Before I know it, I’m in the early hours of Tuesday.

***

I don’t hear from Sam all the next day. When I get home, calling Sam is the first thing I do.

It rings out. I ring again.

“Janie,” a croaky voice finally answers. He doesn’t sound so great.

“Finally,” I blurt out. “Shit, I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Nah, just got out of the shower,” he says, his voice slow and lethargic. “Sorry I didn’t call. Slept most of today. Trying to sleep off this cold that hit me when we got home.”

My heart beats faster.Is he sick because I kept him out at the dance?“Are you okay? Is Ben looking after you?”

A series of muffled coughs sound through the phone. “Yeah. Big brother’s on it.”Sniff. “He’s being all kind and shit.” Cheeky bugger.

“Good.” I breathe out until my lungs are empty. “You know if you didn’t live so bloody far away I’d bring you some homemade pumpkin soup. Help you through it.”

Sam laughs and coughs at the same time. “I gotta go, babe. My throat is killing me.”Cough. Cough. Cough.

“Okay, well, love you. Mwah.”

“Love you too. I’ll call you when I can talk.”

“Lots of vitamin C, water, and rest. Okay?”

“Yup,” he says and clears his throat. “Happy writing.”

Later in the evening when my fingers are bashing the keyboard, my phone dings with a text.

Sam: BTW, seeing the neurologist in two weeks :p

It dings again as I’m reading it.

Sam: You’ll never guess what Ben made for dinner …

I text him back.

Me: Great news. What was on the menu?

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