Page 21 of Sing it, Sam

“Can you stay for a bit?” he asks, staring expectantly into my eyes.

I glance at the black and white clock above his bed, and then back to him. I have fifteen minutes before I finish and reception closes for the day. I would stay, but I know Kathleen is covering for me until I get back from the activity clean-up.

“If you give me ten minutes or so. I need to go back to the office. Then I’ll be back.”

“It’s cool. Don’t worry about it. You probably can’t wait to get out of here at the end of the day,” he says, a hint of sadness in his eyes.

I place my hand over our entwined fingers and give him a reassuring smile. It seems like he finally wants to reach out to me, wants my company, and there’s no way I’m going to ditch him.

“Like I said, I’ll be back.”

One corner of his mouth tilts up. “Cool.”

Standing, I reach for the books on the foot of the bed, then turn them around and display them on his lap.

“I tell you what. Why don’t you start one of these? Give you something else to think about while you wait for me.”

He scans over each of the books, and slowly trails his eyes from my waist, over my chest, and eventually up to my face.

“You’re doing a pretty good job of giving me something else to think about. Don’t worry about that, Janie.”

When heat prickles at my chest and my nipples perk up, I take it as my cue to get the hell out of there. I can’t be thinking inappropriate thoughts at work. What is my body doing to me? I silently reprimand my boobs all the way back to reception.

Down, girls.

***

When I return a short time later, Sam is seated farther up the bed. His focus is in between the pages ofThe Associateby John Grisham. He actually started a book? Is Sam only the opposites boy when it comes to Ben or the people in charge here asking him to do things?

“You know what I’ve decided?” I tell him and hook my hands on my hips.

He looks up lays the book flat on his lap. His eyes are watery, as if he’s been struggling to keep them open. His lips stretch slowly into a smile. It looks as if it pains him to do so. “You decided to take that stupid thing off your head. Good choice.”

I roll my eyes and move a chair closer to his bedside. “Well, yeah. There’s that, but I’ve come up with an idea.”

“Better than the headpiece, I’m guessing.”

“Shush,” I say with a wave of my hand. “I’ve decided that once you’ve read this book, you can chat to Shirley from room twenty-six about it.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “And why would I do that exactly?”

“Oh, I don’t know, human contact? Venture out of your cell?” I wait for a reaction but get nothing. “Shirley’s actually very well read. She runs the book club. I hear she’s often the only one in attendance, but we can change that.Youcan change that, Sam.”

“I appreciate you trying to change the world, but I prefer humans my own age.”

It’s kind of strange he’s young and in the home. Maybe that’s why he finds it so hard to socialise. “Yeah, less wrinkly and flatulent. I can understand that.”

He rubs at his eyes and lets out a weary sigh, sinking lower under the sheets. Each slight movement of his upper body and legs draws blood from his face. He doesn’t look well. He tugs at the pillow behind him. I help him take it away, slipping it in the gap between the bed and his table.

“You like the book, then?” I ask, because it doesn’t feel right to ask him if he’s feeling okay. I know from Paige’s earlier rant that he’s not. It’s obvious he’s in pain.

“I guess. It’s got a good beginning; I’m just tired. Can’t focus.”

I pull the cover up closer to his T-shirt-clad chest, and pick up the book. It looks like he’s finished the first chapter. “Chapter two. How about I read out aloud from here?”

He reaches out his hand and places it on my forearm. His touch is clammy, his grip soft. “Sure,” he whispers.

When I finish reading one chapter and go to start the next, I look up to find his eyes closed. His breathing has tapered off, and there’s a slight rattle in the back of his throat.

In sleep, he looks less pained. The crease between his brows isn’t as defined. I take a moment to take in his baby face. Soft-looking lips. Long dark lashes. I reach out to brush his hair from his forehead and then freeze.

What the hell am I doing?I’m creeping on a sleeping person, about to touch him while he’s out to it.

“Sleep well, Sam,” I say as I exit the room.

I take the book home and read from chapter one. If it stops Sam staring at the ceiling, I’ll be happy to read to him whenever I get the chance. Once we’re done with the book, or before, if I think I can swindle it, I will get him out of that room.

I will.

As I start the book from the beginning, I wish I knew the first chapter of Sam’s story, and every chapter that led him to that home in the first place.

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