Page 67 of Sing it, Sam

Chapter Twenty-Three

After I remove the unwanted stripper, the rest of the afternoon is tame.Thank goodness. Paige helps residents who need assistance back to their rooms, including Sam, as I clean up after finally convincing Mrs Cassidy it was time to end the session. And what a mess we’ve made—bits of cut paper, edging, and glitter are scattered everywhere. The joyful mood amongst the group by the end of the session was something to truly be proud of. Maybe it was the strip show that got them loosened up—who knows? I’m slightly scarred by it, but one good thing came out of it. Sam laughed. He laughed so hard that tears sprang from his eyes. Even amongst the panic, the sound of the joyous chorus melted my insides. It’s a pity I couldn’t truly appreciate it by laughing with him.

One thing that’s evident is how each and every one of the people here, gets a smile on their face from the little things. Not everyone feels comfortable making an effort to socialise, but when the opportunity arises to participate in something, it’s as if they put their worries aside.Mr Thompson sure felt comfortable.

This is their last place on Earth—their final stretch of highway. I hope more than anything I help make it a great place to be, for however long they might be here.

***

When it’s nearing five-thirty, I barge into Sam’s room. “Oh my god,” I bark out, and close the door and dump my bag on his bed.

“How’d you go with the crazy cat woman?” Sam chuckles from his cosy spot snuggled beneath the sheets. He pats the covers beside him.

I give him a stern look of warning. “Don’t even.” Mrs Cassidy was the last to leave. I had to practically drag her away, which meant clean-up took way longer than it should have.

“Tried to tell ya,” he says and grins.

A loud rush of air spills from my mouth as I park myself on his bed, wriggling my bum back so my feet no longer touch the floor.

“Yeah, yeah,” I say, and poke him in the chest. “The afternoon was just craaaaazy! And what about Mr Thompson?”

“And you wonder why I don’t like it out there. For once, though, I’m glad I went out. Your face, babe, was priceless.” He chuckles and holds up his hand just like I did.“Please, stop,”he taunts in a feminine voice.

“Okay, that’s enough,” I say and laugh.

Sam diverts his attention to the wall beside his bed. My eyes follow the direction of his gaze.

His work of art from this afternoon is fixed to the wall. Sam has managed to stick the photo corners on reasonably straight and has placed the photo in the middle of a piece of decorative red card, bringing out the red in my costume. I would’ve loved to have helped him with it, watch him craft it, but a certain cat-crazed lady demanded my full attention.

The picture of Sam and I is the only personal item on display in his whole room. My heart booms at the realisation. I place my hand on my chest as if the pressure will stop it from pounding.

Sam juts his chin towards the photo. “You reckon the bad boy did good?”

“I love it,” I say, and then look back to him. His face is flushed. It wasn’t when I walked in.Awwwww.

I trace my finger down his cheek and touch his lips. He kisses the pad of my finger and then groans.

“Oh!” I gasp.

His brows bunch up. “What?”

I draw in a sharp breath. “Wait!” I say, remembering the surprise in my bag. “I have something for you. For us.”

“Something more important than what my lips have in store?”

I look up to the ceiling. “Um, not really, but just humour me, ’kay?”

“Sure,” he says through an exhale.

I reach into my bag and pull out the cool stainless-steel vessel. “Did bad girl do good?” I tip the hip flask from side to side. The slosh of the sweet liquid inside causes Sam’s eyes to light up like the giant Christmas tree in town square in December.

His tongue darts out and coats his bottom lip with moisture. “Oh, Janie,” he says, his voice hoarse. “You bad, bad girl.”

I hand him the bottle. Mischief dances in his eyes as he unscrews the cap.Wait.Should I really be doing this?

I tilt my head and regard him. Sam doesn’t look like he belongs here. But he’s in a nursing home, which says something about his health.

“You reckon you’ll be okay to have some? I mean—” I stop short and let out a heavy sigh.

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