Chapter Twenty-Two
Sam wakes up before Melody, the morning sunlight filling the room from the small circular window that sits above the head board as the smell of lavender and coffee swirl around the room. He smiles, looking up at the guitar cord poster that he pinned to his ceiling back when he was in high school so he could play lying on his back.
Melody sighs in her sleep as she rolls closer to him, tugging the white sheets around her shoulders. He smiles down at her, resting his chin on top of her head as the warmth of her skin puts him back to sleep.
Something pushes the bedroom door open, casting a beam of light across the floor as his mother’s figure casts a shadow over the two of them.
“You little tramp! You persuaded my son to sleep with you…whore!” his mother yells more but it is just a bunch of random curse words all strung together.
Melody curls herself up in Sam’s arms, skittish from the rude awakening. His mother comes to the side of the bed, raising her hand ready to slap Melody, her lavender silk blouse rising with her arm. Sam leans over Melody, protecting her.
“Stop!” Sam shouts.
His mother puts her hands on her hips, huffing. “Excuse me? I'm your mother, young man, you listen to me! I know what’s best for you!”
Her long fingers interlace inside of Melody’s long red hair, balling into fists at her scalp, pulling her out from under Sam. Melody screams as she tries to pull her hair free from the middle-aged woman’s grasp while Sam fights his mother off. He shoves his mother to the floor, feeling horrible for doing such a thing, but she wasn’t listening, she never does.
“I am a grown man! I know what’s best for me now,” Sam shouts, holding Melody tight against his chest, blood boiling beneath his skin, “Don’t lay a hand on Melody EVER again!” He slides Melody off of the bed, keeping her at his side as he shoves the rest of their belongings into their back packs. He stands in the door frame, looking back over at his mother lying on the floor in shock. He bites his lip, he has never been so angry with his mother so this feeling is hard to deal with.
“Don’t ever call her something like that again. You hurt me by hurting her,” he starts to take a step forward, still worked up enough to add a little bit of hostility at the end of his words, “Oh and we’re getting married, whether you like it or not.”
Sam pulls Melody up the white carpeted stairs, his feet stomping against them, as he reaches the tan tiled landing next to the front door.
Mr. Winters sits in the dining room, a few dissected newspapers spread across the stained oak table.
“Sam, are you ok?” Mr. Winters asks, looking over the rim of his newspaper at him.
Sam shakes his head as his father stands from the table, walking over and pulling him into his arms. He leads him to the door.
“Come on you can leave after we go out and have breakfast,” his father says while Sam and Melody slide into the Station Wagon, following his father’s pickup.
Melody lays her hand on Sam’s stiff cheeks. “I love you, Sam.”
His face softens, a boyish smile spreading across his face. That smile could stop time if he let it, but right now it makes her heart skip three beats.
The two cars pull into the parking lot of the homely looking diner with its unlit neon sign that reads “Carl’s”. Sam turns the car off, leaning across the seat to gently kiss Melody. He holds her face a few inches away from his, searching her eyes for the strength to handle what his dad is going to say. Melody laces her fingers with his, leading him into the diner.
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Sticky, green leather booths line the walls next to dusty blinds hanging from the window, the smell of grease and spilled coffee tickle Sam’s nose. His father has never been one for fancy restaurants or snobby waiters, his mother is the one that’s always been longing for that high society life style.
Mr. Winters smiles, thanking the waitress as she hands them their brown vinyl menus and walks away.
“You really love her, don’t you Sam?” Mr. Winters asks.
Sam laughs a little, squeezing Melody’s hand. “Yes very much.”
He rubs a circle on her palm with his thumb as she looks through the menu. His father sloshes his black coffee in its brown mug.
“I'm not going to put this off Sam, I saw you shove your mother, and heard you yelling at her,” his father says.
Sam plays with Melody’s fingers; it has slowly become a nervous habit for him. “I didn't want to hurt her in anyway. She was just hurting Melody and I…”
The air around Sam grows tense and he begins to find it hard to breathe. Melody picks up on it, pulling him in closer to her as Mr. Winters nods and closes his menu.
“I understand.”
Sam puts his arm around Melody, pulling her into his side. “Is she okay?”
His dad laughs, small wrinkles at the corner of her eyes showing, the booth squeaking as he leans back. “She’s fine! It’s just her pride you hurt.”
The waitress comes back, pulling a yellow note pad out of her brown waist band, her hand moving fast as she scribbles down their orders. She smiles, taking their menus before she walks back to the kitchen.
“Make sure she knows that I didn't mean to hurt her, ok?” Sam says once the waitress is out of sight.
His father smiles as he pours a packet of sugar into his coffee. “She’s your mother, Sam. You know she won’t hold this against you.”
Once they have made it through their breakfast, well more like lunch considering they ordered two burgers and a steak, Mr. Winters walks them back to their vehicle, the sun beating down on the gravel and pavement.
“Well, I hope to hear from you two again soon,” Mr. Winters says as he brings Sam and Melody into a tight bear hug.
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They watch as the pickup pulls out of the parking lot, waving as his father drives down the street back to his home. Melody leans her head against the side of the leather seat, her eyes still tired from the rude awakening they had this morning.
“I think I like your dad way better than your mom,” she admits.
She pulls her legs up onto the seat next to herself. Sam laughs, even though he feels like what had happened is no laughing matter.
“Yeah, my dad’s always been the one who treats me like an adult, even when I was a little kid he treated me like that,” Sam agrees. Melody smiles, closing her eyes as her skin soaks up the vigorous morning sunbeams that shine in through the windshield.
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Melody jerks awake a few hours later, the sound of a train whistle sending her pulse racing. Sam looks her over, seeing her surprised face as the train crosses the tracks.
He laughs, reaching across the seat and squeezing her leg. “You ok?”
She sighs, seeing the blinking lights that signal the train leaving. “Yeah, um, can you stop by the grocery store before you get to my place? I need to pick up some food if you’re going to be staying with me.”
Sam nods, pulling into the parking lot of the white and green grocery store. Melody slips out the car door, grabbing her purse from the back seat.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes I just need a few things,” she says, getting ready to turn on her heels and walk into the store.
Sam turns the engine off, reaching across the seat, pulling her back into the car.
“Sam…” she whines.
He smirks, reaching up and gently pulling her face down to his. “Be back quick.”
She blushes, pushing her hair behind her ear as she begins to walk into the grocery store. Dim, florescent lights, sticky linoleum flooring and bad elevator music greats her as she walks pass the line of cash registers. The bag boy stares at her blushing face as she pushes the shopping cart, one of its wheels squeezing, through the aisles of breads and cheeses.
&n
bsp; Sam sprawls his legs out across the seat of his car, pressing his face against the window, almost ready to fall asleep, when a hauntingly familiar face in the driver’s seat of a black Honda s2000 driving towards him. Sam cranes his head to get a better look out the window, his eyes widening as he reaches for his keys.
“Jet!” his scream slips past his lips too late; Jet crashes into the driver’s side of the orange Station Wagon.
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“Paper or plastic?” is the last thing Melody remembers hearing, her debit card is held in between her pointer and middle finger, as her eyes watch the black Honda slam against the Station wagon.
Time slows as the black crunches against the orange driver side door.
“SAM!” Melody screams, her debit card slipping from her fingers.
The plastic card clatters against the floor as Melody breaks down in a puddle of tears. The Honda backs out of the parking lot, its wheels squeal against the pavement as it shoots down the intersection.
Melody runs through the automatic doors, pushing pass on lookers as they gawk at Sam’s car. The whole driver’s side is folded in towards him.
“SAM!” she screams out, her fingers grabbing at the crinkled metal, the sharp edges pointing out and slicing her fingers as she pulls on them, trying to get to Sam, but the door won’t budge.
She slumps down next to the car, ignoring the throbbing pain that comes when blood drips from tips of her fingers, as she cries. A few kind hearted men walk over to her, guiding her away from the car while the rest pull the door clean off of what is left of the car.
Sirens wail, her legs shake as she clumsily makes her way over to the car, kneeling in the little shards of glass as she takes in a few sharp breaths, her fingers trembling as she reaches into the car.
Sam lays there, immobile, with blood running from his brow to his cheek. Melody grabs on to his shoulders, pulling his torso out of the car and laying his head in her lap.
“Sam? Can you hear me? Sam, wake up! Sam?” she cries, tears burn as they use her cheeks for their stomping ground.
The paramedics lift him from her lap, gently laying him on a stretcher as someone checks Sam’s pulse.
“We still have him,” a man with a buzz cut hair shouts as he holds an oxygen mask to Sam’s face.
Melody stands next to the stretcher, holding Sam’s hand tight in her shaking fist as a wave of relief flows over her like cool rain, but is quickly washed away with a dizzying realization: The paramedic left open options of what could happen to Sam, plenty of things for Melody to worry about.
“What if they lose him before we get to the hospital? He only said that they still had him, but he didn't say that he was going to make it…” These thoughts send mental blows to Melody’s sickened gut. The pain is so overwhelming; she feels bile working its way up her throat, right before she faints.
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*Beep.*
Something is beeping.
*Beep.*
It’s close.