Early Monday morning, after an obscenely short night—thanks to post-party hyper mental activity—Sam attempted three times to get out the door. First she forgot to put coffee in her travel mug, then she forgot the mug, then she forgot her briefcase.
The brain fog did not bode well for a productive workday.
“This is why we don’t make friends, Sam,” she muttered to herself. But the party had been nice.
Except now her final goodbye to Jasmyn would have to be cut short. Which was probably for the best. Getting all emotional was way too exhausting.
She pulled the door shut and stepped into the courtyard shrouded in coastal mist.
Jasmyn waited under the jacaranda tree, her dimples lighting up her face. “Good morning, Sam!”
“You look way too perky for saying goodbye.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry. You can be as perky as you want.”
“It’s not that I want it exactly.”
“You just are, naturally. Don’t apologize for it.”
“I’m going to miss you, Sammi.”
She heaved a quiet sigh. They should have skipped this meeting altogether. The paper towel bawling session should have been their final hoo-ha.
“You’re running late,” Jasmyn said. “Come on, I’ll walk you to your car.” She led the way toward the back gate. “Seriously, I am sorry for keeping you up so late last night. But I really, I mean really, really appreciated the party. Thank you.”
Sam decided not to tell her how many times she had already thanked her. “You’re welcome.” Again.
“I got the sense that you wanted to tell me something in private.”
Sam rolled her eyes. Liv’s clone was alive and well. “I did. I was just going to mention that I talked to my mom yesterday.”
“Whoa. I thought you only did that on Christmas and Easter.”
Winter and spring, Sam silently corrected. The holidays had nothing to do with her calls.
Jasmyn pulled open the tall privacy gate and they walked out into the alley. “This sounds significant. Can you give me the short version?”
“There’s never a short version when it comes to my mom. Except that I survived the conversation.” She stopped beside her Jeep and reached into her jacket pocket for the keys. They weren’t there. She shifted mug, handbag, and briefcase to her right arm and dug into the other pocket. She muttered a word that sweet, perky Jasmyn would never say, opened her purse with one hand, and continued the search. “I don’t have my keys. I don’t have my keys!”
“Well, we’d better go get them.”
They walked back to the gate.
“My mind should be in a drainage ditch behind a community center, not focused on getting out the door.”
“It was the party on a school night. Throw your next one on a Saturday.”
Next party. Right.
They stopped in front of the gate. And then looked at each other.
Jasmyn patted the pockets of her sweatshirt and scrunched her nose. “Oops.”
Sam groaned and they headed down the alley toward the front gate. Jasmyn trotted to keep up with her long strides.
Sam slowed. “You’re all set to go?”
“Yeah. I’m going to finish up some things in the office for Liv and then we plan to walk the pier. She wants to go the whole way, out and back. Keagan said he’d stand by with the guy who drives that little Gator out there for doing odd jobs. I used to have a Gator on the farm. One of those things I did not replace.”
In spite of herself, Sam smiled. “I bet Liv’s ready to walk the whole way.”
“I do too. So why did you call your mom before Christmas?”
They rounded the next corner, their half circle to the front of the Casa almost complete.
Sam shrugged. “It’s too complicated for my brain to put into words.”
“That’s okay. You probably just needed a family touch.”
A family touch? Hardly. More like information. “I was wondering why my Swedish grandmother ended up on the rez.”
“Hannah Carlson. Did your mom know?”
Sam opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She felt on the verge of tears.
“Good or bad?”
Sam croaked, “Good. Apparently she helped take care of me when I was born.”
“Wow. That’s beautiful, isn’t it? And you never knew this before?”
Sam shook her head at Jasmyn’s back as her friend punched in the code. They entered the courtyard and walked toward Sam’s cottage. “No. Mom said she came from Illinois. No town name, though.”
“Hey, maybe we’re related after all.”
“Sure. How big is the state?” Sam reached her front door, the yellow one. The goldenrod one. She thought about her keys on the other side of that door. They sat on the little table just inside. They were all on one ring: the Jeep key, the back gate key, the key to her office building, the key to her desk, the key to her locker at the gym, and the cottage door key.
She dropped her things, sank onto the yellow Adirondack chair, leaned over, and buried her face in her hands. Forget on the verge.
Jasmyn patted her shoulder. “I’ll go in the office and get the extra key. You want to skip work and walk the pier with us?”
Sam burst into tears.