We all deal with things in our own ways. Me. I wanted to bury it, hide under my covers until the wounds vanished, and ignore the ones that wouldn’t. This was the Delilah Duffy way. But, I wasn’t just Delilah Duffy anymore. At least so I hoped. I wanted to be Delilah and Sam.
Sam went to work. While I hid in sleep, Sam, Williams, and a few other officers sectioned off fifty square yards of boardwalk and beach starting from where Henry found me. Sam backtracked. Patchy partial shoe treads and drag marks allowed him to visualize our movements, though none were substantial enough for evidence. Sam discovered the point of attack, marked by the remnants of Willie’s poop bag. At the edge of the parking lot on the left side of a city trash shed, a pile of like-brand cigarette butts were found and collected for evidence. Someone had been lying in wait.
But, I didn’t know about all this until later.
When I woke up, early afternoon, I found the apartment empty. I heard muffled voices. I sat up, rubbed my eyes, careful of my swollen face, and glanced around the room. No one was there but still, I heard talking.
I went to the kitchen where I’d left the window above the kitchen sink open six inches for fresh air. I rubbed my temples. The voices drifted in the window again. Outside, on the porch Sam stood with his Aunt Beverly.
“I’d be happy to stay with her,” Beverly was saying, “so you can go to work.”
“I can stay for a while,” Sam returned in a heavy sigh. “I want to make sure she’s okay. Thanks for bringing over breakfast.”
“My pleasure,” Beverly replied. “You know, I wouldn’t mind if you invited Delilah to stay with us for a while, especially given the circumstances. She can… um, stay in your room with you, if you’d like. I may be old, but I know how things are these days.”
Sam chuckled at his aunt and her difficulty in making the offer. “Thanks, but she’d never go for that. Besides, our relationship, it’s not like that.”
“Is everything okay with you two?” Beverly asked, as if reading my mind.
Sam sighed again. “I love Delilah,” he said, “but it’s hard to move forward when you have to keep looking back.”
My mouth dropped open, and my heart did a sputtering, puttering type of thing, like a car about to stall out. He was having second thoughts about me. I overheard Sam telling Beverly he’d see her later. Even though his words had blitzed me, I still managed to ballet-bolt back across the room and topple into bed. Doing so was a mistake. Pain shot through my gut, and across my forehead from all the movement, and I tried to keep myself from whining.
He entered the kitchen, and shuffled around. I pretended to sleep for a few minutes, and then stirred, nervous energy rushing through me. He fiddled with the coffeepot and soon the rich aroma filled the room. I let my eyes open.
Sam stood, back to me, at the sink. He wore a dark blue t-shirt, jeans, and socks. I got out of bed, and made my way across the room quietly. I had no idea how to digest his words to Aunt Beverly, or how to construe his absence, his secretiveness or how to make him see that I was worth the trouble, especially since I didn’t believe that myself. All I knew was what I wanted at that moment. I slipped my arms around him, and laid my head against his back. He turned the water off, and held my hands against him. Then, he slowly turned around.
My eyes had filled with tears, and upon seeing his smiling face, they just started streaming again. Could this be the last time he lets me hold him? I just kept thinking, things fall apart, the center cannot hold and imagining that if I didn’t have Sam, there’d be no point in staying here, not after all of this.
“Are you okay?” he sputtered out, taking my face into his hands gently, and then quickly added, “That’s a dumb question. I’m sorry.”
“I’m okay,” I spilled anyway. He eyed the bruise on my face, his eyes squinted in concern, and I said, “It doesn’t hurt too badly. Just a headache.”
He leaned against the sink and pulled me even closer to him. “What can I do?” he asked, his eyes desperate.
“Just this,” I whispered, tears streaming again. I laid my head against his heart, trying to memorize how it felt to be here so that I could relive it when the offer to do so was rescinded. He rubbed my back.
“I hate seeing you hurt,” he told me. “Sorry I wasn’t here-”
“Not like you could’ve known,” I argued lightly. “There’s nothing you could have done.”
His jaw clenched, and he looked over my shoulder toward the window. “I’ve been in war zones, bullets whizzing by my ears, seen buddies walk onto land mines and get blown to pieces, seen a freakin’ civey, um, civilian, smile before pulling out a gun to shoot me in the face.” His hands dropped, and I took a step back from him. “But, I’ve always kept perspective, kept my reason.” He paused, unable to look at me. With an exasperated chuckle, he admitted, “I ain’t feeling so reasonable right now.”
Sam’s voice trailed off. He didn’t look at me, but stared down at his feet. In a whisper, he asked, “I know you. I know you sugarcoated it, but you have to tell me. Delilah, did he hurt you?” Though he didn’t explain, I knew what he meant.
“No.” Even as I assured him, a shiver ran down my arms. “No, Sam. He didn’t, not like that.”
Sam breathed out heavily, “Thank God.” Sam shook his head, and added, “We’ve been through bullshit like this before-”
“I know, I know,” I sputtered out. “I’m sorry.”
“Delilah, that’s not what I mean,” Sam replied, grabbing my hands. “I’m not blaming you. Life with you is never going to be boring, and I wouldn’t want it to be.”
“Then, what are you trying to say, Sam?” I expected the answer to be something like he didn’t want a life with me, that it was too much for him, and sadly, I would’ve understood. He caressed my fingers.
“Just when I think I can’t love you more, I do.”
“You do?” I repeated, eyes growing heavy again.
He tugged me to him, and met my lips with gentle kissing. “Every look, every touch, every kiss, every second I have with you is a miracle.”
His words came between kisses and tears. And I let myself forget what he’d told Aunt Beverly, forget the frustration of his secret trips, forget everything so I could just lose myself in him.
“I will get the shit who did this,” he promised, “and I’ll teach him what it’s like to feel powerless.”
I nodded, unwilling and unable to argue. I knew there was nothing I could say to deter his temper, and selfishly, I didn’t want to. I wanted to feel safe. I wanted revenge. But, the truth is that Sam could’ve said anything at that moment, could have asked me anything, and for fear of losing him, I would’ve agreed. Together, we were permanently beached on that dwindling sandbar, completely at each other’s mercy.