Beau, Jasmyn, Keagan, and Sam said their good nights outside Liv’s door and veered off in four directions through the courtyard shadows.
And then Sam veered off to follow Beau down the path to the back gate.
“Beau,” she called out softly, not wanting to disturb Inez and Louis, whose open window she scooted past. “Beau!”
He turned and she caught up with him.
His size always struck her. In the dim glow of solar lamps along the walkway he appeared even larger, as big as the polar bear she’d seen at the San Diego Zoo the one time she went for a work-related event.
And as cuddlesome as the midsized brown teddy bear her dad had given her.
She jerked her head as if that would shake loose the sappy images glomming onto her mind’s eye. It didn’t work.
Bearkins was his name. She slept with him for years, clung to him during her dad’s funeral, whispered secrets to him, and screamed at age nine when her stepdad pitched him in the trash because Sam had head lice.
“Miss Sam?” Beau stood before her and lowered his chin to his chest.
The movement was a habit of his. She figured it helped him see faces rather than tops of heads.
She lowered her own chin, not wanting to see his face. The way his green eyes always sparkled was too…kind.
“Everything all right?” he said.
“Yeah.” No. “I just, um…” Wanted a hug.
A hug? Good grief. Where had that come from? From the stupid teddy bear link because Beau happened to be a big guy?
Or from Liv-induced thoughts? The woman had hugged them all goodbye, explaining that their emotional health needed twelve touches a day. Hugs were the best bet and, by golly, she was going to do her part to add to their tally.
Sam never got twelve touches a day. Nowhere near.
“Sam?”
Sam. Just Sam. No Miss attached. Exactly what she had asked him to do a while ago, at the potluck for Liv. Why had he waited until tonight to comply?
When he had done it earlier, at the dinner table, she hadn’t only heard it. She’d felt it, like a tug on a thread which, if pulled anymore, would unravel her.
And now he was tugging on it again.
“I, um, I…” She took a breath and risked a glance upward. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier. That’s all. Good night.” She spun on her heel and took off.
Beau’s chuckle followed her down the walkway. “Hey,” he called out softly. “Don’t you want to hear me accept the apology? Or not?”
She shook her head, zipped around the corner lickety-split to her door, unlocked it, and slipped inside.
His quiet laughter echoed long after she’d put on her pajamas and brushed her teeth and watched the news. Oddly enough, the sound didn’t set her off. He had not laughed at her. It was more like a friend letting her get away with being a hothead.
With being herself. Curious. Too curious to welcome sleep.
Thoughts poured in, the kind she always preferred to ignore. They were the heavy ones that took her down dark alleyways, asking ridiculous questions.
What did she mean, being herself? Who was she? Was she still Samantha Yahzi Whitehorse, acting out of fear as she had since her father died? A hothead spouting caustic remarks that kept the likes of Beau Jenner at arm’s length?
Couldn’t she be Sam Whitley, respected professional with a tiny dose of Jasmyn’s sweet naïveté to soften the edges?
That might be a bit much, though. It would be like a leopard changing her spots.
But still. Sweet, naive Jasmyn had changed into a more confident woman during her stay at the Casa. The passage of time since the tornado partially explained it. Managing the place for Liv had boosted her tremendously. Facing that stranger today and coming to terms with her heritage certainly made an impact.
There had been an obvious peace about her tonight. It was not exactly spot changing and her voice still dripped with maple syrup. Yet Jasmyn was in a new space. She had filled up that spare room of hers in her heart.
Spare room.
Nah. There wasn’t a spare room in Sam’s heart. It felt more like a hole.
Holes in hearts were not healthy. They just weren’t.
Sam got out of bed, grabbed a sweatshirt, and shuffled into her second bedroom, aka her second office. In one continuous motion she flipped on the desk lamp, slid onto the chair, and turned on her laptop.
Avoiding familial research no longer seemed an option.