Page 82 of Lucky Strike

“We got out early today. Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving.”

It was? How had the weeks come and gone already?

The rule was, the more time that passed, the easier things were supposed to get. Life continued to chug along no matter how much Sam wanted it to stand still. When he was first released from the hospital all those years ago, he had been struck by how much his world had changed, but the rest of the world continued forward as if nothing had changed at all. There were still kids having birthday parties in the park. The couple argued in the grocery store over what to eat for dinner. Cars raced along Highway50 to spend a weekend gambling at the state line. Slowly, Sam established a new normal until he slipped in step with the rest of the world once again.

He was waiting for the same thing to happen again. But it got worse. The longer they were apart, the more he missed her. His whole body yearned for her.

Sam had finally established this amazing connection with a beautiful woman, who tasted of watermelons, smelled like flowers and cotton candy, and was creative and funny and honest. How was he supposed to forget all of that and go back to normal?

Perhaps he was wasting his time. Maybe the world was again trying to push him into a new normal, to let him know it was moving on whether he was ready or not. This could be one more time where he didn’t know it was too late until it was.

The following day Sam went to his mother’s house for their annual Thanksgiving meal. They heated the rotisserie chicken his mother had purchased the day before to eat along with deli macaroni salad, buttered corn, and some fruit Jell-O marshmallow thing. The sickly sweet fruit salad dish had maraschino cherries in it. Luna would have hated it.

“This is nice, right, Sammy?” his mother asked as they cleared a corner in the kitchen for a small foldable card table and chairs.

“Sure, Mom,” Sam replied. “Maybe for Christmas, you can come to my place and I’ll pick up Chinese food or something.”

It was then he noticed a couple plastic Tupperware containers that he recognized because of the purple lids and severe discoloration. They were garbage and he had negotiated with his mom for two hours to toss them. Now they were back on her overcrowded dining room table.

He did his best to push down the frustration that threatened to bubble up. Leaning over, he grabbed the top one and held it up, looking at his mother expectantly.

His mother released a sob, covering her face.

Sam’s heart stopped. While he wasn’t happy, the last thing he wanted was to make his mother cry.

“I’m sorry, Sammy. I’m really trying. Please don’t be mad at me.”

He wanted to reassure her, but he was so damn tired. “I know. It’s not your fault, okay?”

“I don’t want to make you unhappy.”

Sam rubbed his jawline with his knuckles. “I’m unhappy because I…I was seeing someone, and I screwed up. I really hurt her instead of telling her I loved her. I feel like I’m caught in this slow-moving avalanche and no matter how much I want to escape, I can’t. And I caused the avalanche in the first place. I want to protect her, and I want to protect you, but the truth of the matter is I can’t protect anyone. The avalanche is larger than any of us. I can’t do this anymore, Mom.”

His mother’s eyes grew wide. “You’re not going to help me?”

“This isn’t something that you and I are going to be able to manage—because we’re both stuck. I love you. I will do anything for you, but I need you to do something for me. Come with me to therapy. I need it because I can’t stop feeling guilty about everything and how can I help you when I can’t even help myself?”

“I don’t know—”

“If you want to keep all of this, if this place works for you, then fine. I just want you to be happy. But if it doesn’t work anymore, if you want it to change, please come with me.”

His mother sighed. “Okay. I’ll go.”

And there it was.

The smallest glimmer of hope.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Luna sat nearthe large dog bed, stroking the ears of Hermes the dog. She’d gotten into the habit of spending time in the jewelry workshop, Ross’s domain, to chat about things happening in their life. He usually didn’t say much, but it was nice to have someone to talk to.

“Oh, I got another email from Amy.” It was the second one from her. Luna was surprised to get one email, let alone a second one.

“She say anything interesting?”

“She spends a lot of time bragging about her kids. I know they’re technically my sisters, but it still feels like I’m getting stats on strangers. I read it more out of curiosity and the hope she might drop something really interesting, but so far the emails have been pretty generic, like she doesn’t know how to talk to me.”

“At least it’s something,” Ross said as he hunched over his workbench and focused on repairing a watch.

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