Page 24 of As a Last Resort

AUSTIN

SAM: Any chance you’re dying to show off your knight in shining armor capabilities again?

ME: Another bubble incident?

SAM: Something like that. Don’t wear nice shoes.

ME: ?

SAM: Need help with mom if you’re okay with it.

ME: Of course. Whatever you need.

SAM: Are you sure? I don’t want to interrupt your night.

ME: Sam.

SAM: OK. I’ll pick you up in five.

Won’t take long.

Promise.

She pulled into my gravel drive ten minutes after midnight.

I climbed into her rental car and she was silent as she backed out.

She wore an oversized sweatshirt that made her look like she was thirteen again.

Her gaze bounced around the road and the surrounding street, and she hadn’t looked at me yet. Her knee jerked from side to side.

“So.” She laughed awkwardly and wiped her hand on her jeans a few times. “How’s your head?”

“Feeling much better, thanks to you.” She was still nervous, biting her lip and looking anywhere but at me. “So, want to fill me in or is this a surprise?”

“Apparently the Zoom call was the hey-welcome-back-to-reality opening scene. You said earlier I could call you for anything, right?”

“Of course.” I wondered what the hell I just agreed to.

“Mom apparently passed out at some house. A man called me from her phone and since I didn’t recognize the address, I figured backup couldn’t hurt. Wouldn’t want to voluntarily walk into a kidnapping situation.”

“There’s a lot of those around here.”

She gave me a shrug and a small smile. “I can’t lift her by myself when she’s completely passed out like this.”

Something in her voice gutted my soul.

During the rest of the drive, she kept her eyes on anything but me. To think she dealt with these little bombs all throughout high school made my stomach twist. Every family has their shit but mine didn’t include picking my drunk mother up from strangers’ houses after my father died.

We pulled into a small quiet neighborhood with tiny shell lawns and colored shutters. She parked and waited for me to walk her to the door. A man was waiting in the shadow of the front alcove.

“Mr. Johnson?” she asked. Her voice climbed an octave as she walked up to the open door that was waiting for us after we pulled up.

It was our old high school principal. “God, what is with her and this teacher fetish?” she said under her breath to me.

Later was all I got when I gave her a questioning look.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Good to see you, Marcs.” He reached for my hand. “I’ve been following the Mariners. You know, I had my money on you taking over the helm but Rex is doing a fantastic job.” I stood there awkwardly not quite sure of the best route to take.

“You remember Samantha Leigh?” I put my hand on the small of her back.

“How could I forget.” His voice was sincere, but laced with pity. She flinched under my fingertips. “It’s a miracle to see you up and walking. I retired a few years ago.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” she replied.

Cue the awkward silence.

“So, Sam’s mom?” I asked.

“Ah yes, right there on the couch in the living room. Good and passed out.”

We walked into the living room where Sam’s mom was face down on the couch, a drool stain puddled on the fabric near the corner of her mouth. There was a blanket draped over her, tucked in at her sides.

“Don’t worry about that, it’ll disappear in a few minutes,” Mr. Johnson said from behind me, like this was a normal weekly occurrence.

“So,” he directed his attention back to Sam, “your mom told me you’re in New York City.

Not a surprise there, you were always such a great student.

Landed on your own two feet. Like when you throw a cat. ”

She looked like she wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Mr. Johnson was a good guy, just lacked a bit of social intelligence. “I’m doing well. Thanks. Yeah, I landed in New York City.”

“Big city corporation or something like that, trying to take over the world? How do you like it?” he asked as I picked up Sam’s mom like a baby with her head resting on my chest. She snored loudly on my shoulder. She was definitely drooling on my shirt.

“Umm, so sorry about this.” Sam awkwardly turned toward the door. “I don’t think this is really the best time to catch up fully, but thank you for calling about her.”

“Oh, of course, you should get her home, but don’t worry, she’ll be fine in the morning. It was nice seeing you!” he called out as we walked down the driveway back to her car. “Go Mariners!”

“Isn’t he married?” she asked me as she opened the back seat door.

“Divorced a few years ago,” I answered. “And unofficially voted most eligible bachelor on the island last year. He’s a bit of an awkward dude but he means well.”

“This obsession with my former teachers is so weird.” She pulled out of the driveway with her mother fast asleep lying across the back seat.

It was after 1:00 a.m. before I laid her mom down in her own bed. Sam led me back out to the living room.

“Here, you take these,” she said, handing me her car keys. “I’m going to stay here on the couch just in case she needs anything. And you know, doesn’t randomly stop breathing on me.”

She kept looking at the floor like she wanted to pull up the carpet and burrow underneath. I could see water pooling in the corner of her eyes but she kept blinking it back. “Thank you, by the way. I didn’t know who else to call who would actually be able to carry her.”

Her laugh was small. She looked like such a kid in her oversized sweatshirt. This was the first time she felt familiar to me, this shy awkward girl unsure of herself. I wanted to shelter her from this, take away whatever was making her shrink into herself.

“Are you saying you think I’m buff?” Her laugh was just a breath of air. I kicked myself for trying to lighten the mood a little. Now is not the time. “Seriously, it’s no problem.”

Her keys weighed down my hand like they were made of lead.

I walked to the fireplace, where a row of pictures lined the mantel.

There was one of Sam and her mom at her high school graduation.

Sam was still in a wheelchair but her mom was hugging her, squishing her face to the side.

There was one of a little blond girl in pigtails on the beach, rosy cheeks and nose, squinting into the camera lens holding a shell out.

“This little blond thing you?” I asked.

“I had blond hair up until fifth grade, then it turned dark overnight, to my mother’s dismay.”

I walked down the row of pictures. They were all of Sam at various stages of life—baby pictures, Halloween costumes, Christmas morning. Another frame held a young teenage Sam posed next to some boy band icon, her smile so big it forced her eyes into tiny slits.

“First boyfriend?” I teased.

“Please tell me you know who that is.” She stared at me in disbelief.

“I have absolutely no idea,” I responded, trying desperately to hide a smile. Her jaw dropped.

“Taylor Hanson,” she snapped.

“Is he a cousin?”

The shock on her face was fantastic. Lexi’s room was decorated with life-sized posters of the Hanson Brothers during her high school years.

And I’m pretty sure she blew out speakers from two different boom boxes I bought with my own money because she blasted “MMMBop” so loudly.

So yes, I was fully aware of who Taylor Hanson was.

“I’m totally kidding. Of course I know who the Hanson Brothers are. Only the most iconic family boy band trio, like, ever .”

“Do you want to see something fantastic? It better still be hanging on the back of my door,” she asked, eyes alight with excitement.

“Wait, what’s still hanging on your door? Please tell me you’re not a weird mega fan that has a lock of his hair tacked above your doorframe in a plastic bag.”

She ignored me and took off down the hallway into what must have been her childhood room. The door squeaked open.

“Come here,” she called out.

I looked above her at the doorframe and hesitated.

“Oh stop, there are no body parts warding intruders away. In. Now.”

When I cleared the door I was greeted with Pepto Bismol–pink walls and a fluffy white duvet with lots of stuffed animals on the bed staring at me.

“Now this is like something out of a horror film.” I walked slowly into the room.

“Mom refuses to change anything in hopes it’ll entice me to come back. Okay, ready… look.” Her voice came from behind me and I heard the door click. I slowly turned around and a life-sized cutout of Taylor Hanson was taped to the back of the door.

And he was winking at me.

It took me a second to find my words. “I’m not sure what to say here.”

She was looking at the door, absolutely beaming.

“Isn’t it great? My dad bought it for me before my freshman year of high school and I refused to take it down.

He said I had Taylor, so I didn’t need a real boyfriend.

It was his last ditch effort to ward me away from teenage boys.

” She stood there soaking in all the cardboard glory.

“It was one of the few things that survived the purge.”

“The purge?” I asked.

She paused just long enough for the room to feel heavier. “He got sick my freshman year.”

She turned away from me and began to circle her room, her gaze brushing over the dust-layered trophies, the faded place ribbons tacked to her mirror, and the team photos that were probably still sticky-tacked to the wall.

Her movements were slow, deliberate, like she was measuring the distance between herself and the memories she wasn’t sure if she wanted to revisit.

“They gave him six months to live,” she continued, her voice steady. “It was a brain tumor. An inoperable one. He was gone in less than two.”