Page 299 of The Havenport Collection

Gio

O ver the next couple of weeks, we fell into a comfortable pattern. I spent most nights at Sam’s, sleeping in the guest room and getting up when she needed me. She refused my help daily, rolled her eyes at me, and told me to get out of her house, but I knew she appreciated it.

Because chemo was rough, and it took a huge toll on her, mentally and physically. The more time we spent together, the clearer my mission became—make her smile every single day and remind her that she was loved and valued and that the world was a better place with her in it.

Sometimes it was a silly meme. Other times it was her favorite kind of ice cream, hand delivered. Other days, we went for drives to the beach with Xena.

But I showed up for her every day. And gradually, she began to let me in more.

One day, she texted me that she needed more Imodium from the drug store, and another time she sent me out for the specific type of mango popsicles that helped soothe her sore throat.

Little by little, she let me in, let me see what was really happening.

It was a new type of intimacy. Something raw and real. Very different from the physical intimacy we had shared, this somehow felt even more precious.

“I think it’s time for me to shave my head,” she said, looking up from the couch. “This is just getting depressing. Meghan says I should do it sooner rather than later. Pull off the Band-Aid, you know?”

“I think you will look super sexy with a shaved head.”

She threw a pillow at me. “Can you think about anything besides sex?”

I threw it back. “Nope. Not when it comes to you.” I gave her an exaggerated wink and she giggled. Mission accomplished.

“But seriously. Will you do it?”

“Of course. But wouldn’t you rather my professional hair stylist brother-in-law do it for you?” Dante owned a successful salon and could work miracles with hair.

She considered that for a moment. “Yes. That’s a good idea. I’m not shaving my head out of sadness or because I have to. I want to shave it as an act of defiance. I want to celebrate this milestone.”

A plan began to take shape in my mind and I smiled. I resisted the urge to grab my phone and start executing my plan, instead choosing distraction.

“Grab a sweater and some shoes. I want to show you something.”

She sat up slowly, glaring at me. “I’m tired and feel terrible.”

I walked over, offering her a hand and pulling her to her feet. “That’s alright. We’re not going far.”

I led her through the backyard toward the tree house, watching her eyes light up.

“What did you do?” She grabbed my arm and looked up.

“Just a few little things,” I said, giving her a shrug.

“Hardly. Did you build stairs?”

“We are getting too old for that ladder. This is sturdier.”

I led her up into the tree house, letting her admire the improvements I had made.

I added actual windows, installed new floorboards, and got a giant beanbag chair up here.

I also hung some framed photos of us as kids on the walls to liven the place up.

On one wall, I added shelves for flashlights, snacks, and the plastic bins that held our sleeping bags and blankets.

“Is that a screen?”

I nodded. “I thought we could have movie night up here.” Matteo let me borrow his outdoor projector and screen. He used it frequently for outdoor movies with Valentina, and I thought it would be perfect for the tree house.

“You didn’t have to do all this.” She wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. She was always cold these days. I led her to the large beanbag chair, and she sat down and was instantly pulled into the abyss. The chair consumed her and I smiled; she was adorable.

“I did it for you. If you’re living in this house, you need a sweet tree house.”

“Hopefully I won’t be living here for too long.”

My face fell, and I instantly realized it and attempted to recover my cool. I knew she wanted out. I knew she wouldn’t stay. But I still didn’t like being reminded of those facts.

“You know what I mean. Once I’m in remission, I’m going to DC. There are good opportunities for me there.”

I ran my fingers through my hair, feeling the frustration bubble up within me. “But what about here? Aren’t there opportunities for you here? What about Boston? Portland? Hartford?”

“I don’t know,” she said softly. “I haven’t stopped to think about that.”

“I think you should.”

Her eyes narrowed, and her shoulders hunched defensively. I should have kept my mouth shut, should have kept the peace.

But I just couldn’t. She had to know that people wanted her here. She had to know that she could have a life that wasn’t thousands of miles away.

“I don’t know what to think these days. The future feels so far away.”

A lump formed in my throat. I was such a selfish bastard. I hated myself for putting pressure on her like that.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” I said, looking at my feet. “I’m an ass.”

“You’re not.”

“I am. You don’t have to stay in Havenport. But you also don’t have to run away either.”

“I know. But you know I will leave eventually, right?” She raised her eyebrows at me, and her look conveyed so much.

I could tell she was worried about me, wanted to soothe me, and didn’t want to disappoint me. I wanted to yell and stomp my feet until she agreed to stay forever and be mine. But I couldn’t do that.

So instead I stared into her eyes and clamped my lips shut to keep in all the things I wanted to say. Because I couldn’t burden her with my wants, needs, and feelings right now. That wasn’t fair.

I shook my head, hoping to reset this night. I brought her up here for fun, for escape, not to interrogate her about her future.

“I’m sorry. Do you still want to watch a movie with me?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Depends. Which movie?”

I grabbed the remote from my bag and sat down on the floor next to her. “Your fave, The Sandlot .”

She squealed with excitement. “That was our favorite! We spent so many summers quoting that movie and playing baseball.”

“It’s the best summer movie ever. And I figured you could use a little summer fun right now.”

She beamed at me. “I’ll make room for you.”

And before I knew it, we were both stuck in the ridiculous beanbag chair, snuggled up and screaming, “You’re killing me, Smalls!” at the screen.