Let It Be

Chapter 9

I sat on the desk in Study Skills, swinging my feet gently under my desk. The class had dissolved into a daily party. Coach Wilson had stopped caring. Not that he ever had, but he'd stopped pretending. I took advantage of that, catching up on homework while Sam read or sketched intently.

But today I was curious. "Sam, can I ask you something?" I said.

"Maybe."

"Well, I heard you live with your cousins—"

"Cousin," he replied automatically, finished the sentence in his book, and looked up at me. "Singular."

"Cousin," I corrected. "Why don't you live with your parents?"

Sam blinked. "Because they are dead."

Great. Nice going. "Oh, I'm so sorry," I apologized quickly. "I shouldn't have asked--"

He shrugged. "It's okay." But I saw a thickness in his eyes that said that it most definitely was not okay. But he brushed past it, as if he had trained himself to do so. "They died in a car crash after my freshmen year. That's why I moved here from France, to move in with Emile, my cousin. He and his wife were my only living relatives, even though they weren't all that older than me. When I turned eighteen, I just didn't feel like leaving... And here we are."

"I didn't know he was married, your cousin."

"Well, sort of." He sighed like things were complicated and he wasn't sure how he could summarize it in a way that made sense. "His wife died a little while ago."

"Oh no," I breathed.

Gosh, this was turning out to be a horrible conversation.

Sam continued, "That's partially why I didn't leave-- he really needed me. And because he's my best friend. But Jane's death nearly killed him, he absolutely adored her. That's the only reason why we're still here: Jane died here in Hartford, and Emile couldn't bear to leave now."

"I feel terrible for him; for both of you."

"We are fine. But thank you."

"Tell me about Emile," I asked, the French name feeling lovely in my mouth.

Sam looked at his book, considering for a moment. "He is quiet and has become a lot more serious now that Jane is gone, less impulsive. But he and I are a lot alike, same humor. He's great. Clever. He's a surgeon in Green Oak."

"How much older is he?"

Sam looked up at the ceiling, as if he was figuring out the math. "Emile is twenty... six."

"Oh, he's really young. When did they get married?"

"Young."

"I'd like to meet him sometime."

He nodded, then looked at me with urgency. "Abby, I need you to promise me something."

"What?"

"Promise that you will never ever come to my house."

I laughed. "Sam, trust me, I know what a dirty house looks like."

"No, it is not that."

"Then what?"

"Just promise me." Fear twinkled in his eyes, making me extremely uncomfortable.