Like a wounded animal, Sam nursed her misery, sinking further and further into depression, until she knew she had to get away. Barbara, at her wits end, Sam guessed, wrote to Joanna, an old friend in Melbourne, who willingly agreed to let Sam stay with her—for what everyone thought was a temporary visit.
Sam fled to the mainland, where she moved in with Joanna, who lost her only love weeks before her wedding day and years later still remained single.
The months crept past and most nights Sam awoke with a searing ache around her heart and her pillow soaked with tears. She came to realize the bond she’d forged with Mac at an early age was unnatural. And a folly. Not that the realization made life any easier.
The problem of whether to go home for the first Christmas was solved by Barbara deciding to spend the holiday in Melbourne, with Robert, who’d never met Joanna.
Barbara tactfully didn’t mention what was going on in their home town, but on her last evening before returning to Tasmania, she said, “Mac asks after you often, Sam. He wants you to write to him.”
Sam nodded. They both knew she would not. Barbara appeared to be saddened by this fact.
Sam met a girl of her own age—a loner like her, and they decided to share a flat. Joanna proved excellent company, and insisted Sam could stay as long as she liked—but Sam felt she’d encroached on her good nature long enough. It was time to go out on her own.
Sam and her room-mate seldom did anything together and so Sam became something of a recluse, growing more reserved and introverted. When she went home nothing could have prepared her for the crippling spasm of pain that gripped her when she saw Mac.
About to leave the news agency, she almost bumped into him where he stood in the doorway. Framed by the sunlight pouring in the window he looked like a golden statue. She swayed and her heart began to thud noisily.
“Sam.”
“Mac.”
He moved to one side to let a lady enter the shop and Sam walked out to the footpath where she’d tied Rusty to a post. She bent to unclip the dog’s leash. Mac followed her, and he stood very close as he patted Rusty’s head. She wanted to move away but seemed to be held transfixed.
“How’s Clare these days? Is she still the perfect lay?” The words slipped out and Sam wondered how she had ever uttered the blunt remark.
Shock and something else clouded his expression. But instead of answering her query he asked. “So, how are you?”
“On top of the world.” Her voice rose and a woman walking by eyed her and Mac curiously. “There’s a lot to be said for living in the city. No wonder you were always so reluctant to come home to this dull hole.” As the lies tumbled out, Sam wept inside.
“You’ve changed your tune.” He thrust his hands in his trouser pockets.
No, no I haven’t, she wanted to yell. How had they come to this? Facing each other like enemies?
“Look, we need to talk.” His stare was so intense she felt sure he must see into her lonely soul.
“Talk? What on earth could we possibly have to say to each other?” She had to tug on Rusty’s leash as the dog seemed reluctant to leave. As she turned to walk away Mac laid a hand on her arm. She shook it off.
“You’re going to listen to me whether you want to or not.” He said a rude word Sam had rarely heard him use.
“I don’t have to listen to your lies.” When he put a hand on her shoulder Sam glared down at it and he dropped it to his side.
“I did not encourage Clare. Lord knows what her motives were,” he said.
“If you don’t know then I’m sure as hell not about to tell you,” Sam shot back.
“I thought you trusted me.” He sounded weary and sad. “Even a condemned man gets a chance to explain...”
Sam bit out a curse that would have shocked her mother. “I did trust you. I followed you around like a puppy for years, panting after any smidgen of your affection, and for that adoration I was betrayed. You broke that trust.”
“No!”
Sam walked away from his denials. Somehow she managed it, impatiently tugging Rusty along when the dog wanted to linger.