Patrick ate all of his breakfast and wanted to go to school. Emily was uncertain about sending him, but Adrian was pleased and praised him repeatedly for being 'a strong boy,' which made me wince. While Patrick waited for Emily to finish a note to his teacher, I went out to get the car. I stepped into a soft gray day, the warm air and melting snow blanketing the land with fog.
'Good morning.'
'Sam!' I exclaimed, startled to see him leaning against his car in the Westbrooks' driveway.
I got home too late to call you back,' he said.
'Your mother told me you were out.'
'She told me that she gave you Sara's number.' He cocked his head. 'Why didn't you call?'
'I didn't want to interrupt anything.'
'Anything like what?' he asked, laughing.
'Anything.'
He moved closer, examining my face, his own becoming more serious. 'You don't look like you got a lot of sleep.'
'Right you are, Sherlock.'
'What happened?' He opened the front door on the passenger side of his car. 'Have a seat here in my office. Talk, Kate.'
I sat sideways, keeping my feet outside the car, and told him about the poisoning of November, the dessert intended for me, and the sudden appearance of the cough syrup.
'I think Adrian is losing faith in me,' I concluded, lapsing into silence. I was more tired than I had realized.
Sam's verbal explosions woke me up. His eyes flashed and he kicked the tires of his car. 'You've got to leave, Kate. Do you hear me?'
'I hear you. I can't.'
'You've got to!'
'I will not abandon Patrick,' I said firmly. 'I know how it feels to be left as a child.'
'Like I don't? You keep forgetting about my father.'
'That's different,' I argued. 'Your father didn't choose to leave. Something happens, Sam, happens to your heart, when you know a person has chosen to leave you. You keep waiting for the next person to go.'
He kicked bits of dirty snow out from under his car's tires. 'Okay, maybe I don't understand that part,' he said.
'But here's the thing: If your goal is to help Patrick, I'd like to know how you are going to do that dead.'
'Dead?' I shook my head. 'Is there something you know that I don't?'
'The steps were a warning-I think they were just a warning. The pie, if you had eaten the whole piece-' 'Think about it,' I interrupted. 'It wouldn't have been very smart for someone to kill me with a piece of pie. An autopsy would have shown I was poisoned.' It was the argument with which I had been trying to reassure myself since last night.
'Some poisons show up, some don't.'
'All the same, I think you are getting a bit melodramatic,' I said, borrowing Emily's line.
'You haven't yet seen melodramatic,' he replied, suddenly pulling me out of the car. He held me tightly in his arms. I could feel the blood pulse beneath my skin each place where his body touched mine.
'Why can't you drop the act, Kate?' He pulled back his head to look at me. His black eyes burned and became liquid with tears. 'Don't you get it?' he asked, his voice trembling. I will go crazy if something happens to you. Don't make me any crazier than you already have.'
'Hi, Sam.'
At the sound of Patrick's voice, Sam released me. We both sagged against the car. I felt as if I'd had the wind knocked out of me. My eyes burned, my throat was dry.
I had thought your heart was supposed to break when someone left you, not when someone wanted in, but I felt as if Sam were chipping away, putting deep cracks in mine.
He rubbed his mouth. 'Hey, short stuff. How's it going?'
'Okay,' Patrick replied.
'Yeah? Is it?'
Patrick dropped his book bag next to the car, then shrugged.
'You think you might like another lesson in ice skating?'
'Okay,' he said, with only a touch of enthusiasm.
Sam knelt in the snow. 'I'm going to be straight with you. I heard that yesterday wasn't okay. I heard it was tough when you got home.'
Patrick didn't reply.
Sam put his hand under Patrick's chin, gently lifting it. 'I'm sorry about November.'
Patrick took deep, sniffly breaths.
'It hurts bad; huh?'
Patrick nodded, and Sam put his arms around him. 'It's okay to cry. When my dog died, I cried my eyes out. I cried when my friend's dog died. Heck, I cried when my friend's grandmother's cat died!'
I laughed quietly, but the kindness in Sam's voice and the tender way he held Patrick made my own eyes warm with tears. Patrick suddenly gave in, sobbing against Sam's shoulder. Sam stayed quiet till he was done.
'Feeling better now?'
'Yes,' Patrick said softly.
'So, here's the bad news: You might want to cry again. And that's okay. Sometimes crying comes and goes.'
Sam took out a package of tissue to wipe Patrick's tears, then handed him one. 'Big blow,' he said. 'We don't want no boogies hanging out. No boogies for you, no boogies for me,' he chanted, then blew his own nose.
Patrick giggled. 'I like boogies.'
'They are interesting. But girls don't like them. I bet Kate thinks they're gross.'
'You bet right. Need more tissue?'
'What'd I tell you,' Sam said to Patrick, and stood up. 'Have a decent time at school today. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.' He leaned closer to him.
'That still leaves you with a pretty long list.
'I'll call you tonight, Kate,' Sam went on, turning to me. 'Do you have a direct line?'
I wrote down my cell phone number. As he slipped it in his pocket, he glanced toward the house and gave a casual wave. 'Just saying hello to the nice people watching us-someone upstairs, someone down.'
I turned quickly, but all I saw was a blur as a figure withdrew from the library window.
Sam drove off, leaving greasy black snow where his car had been parked. Patrick and I trudged silently toward the garage as if we were already at the end of a very long day.
I think I woke up Joseph. He sounded a bit cross when I phoned him from the school parking lot, but recovered quickly when he realized I was the one calling. We agreed to meet at Tea Leaves. Twenty minutes later he arrived at the bakery and cafe, looking like a rumpled schoolboy who had overslept 'I shouldn't have called you so early,'' I said as we placed our breakfast on a table by the window and sat down. 'Middle button,' I added, and he fastened his shirt.
'No, no,' Joseph replied, 'I had planned to be at the shop by now. I should be wrapping things up faster than I am and getting back to my job in Baltimore. Ah, coffee.' He took several sips, then examined the china mug. 'I wonder if Jamie would buy off any of my mother's collection? Nothing else here matches.'
The owner had painted the cafe's furniture in a rainbow of hues, making no effort to match the sets of tables and chairs. With the fog enveloping the town, pressing against the cafe's street-front windows, the room was a cheerful island of color and warmth. I watched Joseph eat his muffin with a knife and fork. I bit into mine, messy but content.
'Did you talk to Jim Parker?' he asked.
