Playing with Forever

Chapter 30: Crappy Bits of Past to Reveal

"I don't believe it!" I said.

"I am serious!" Sam laughed.

"There's no way you were friends with the salad dressing guy."

"His name was Paul Newman, and he was an actor and director before he was 'the salad dressing guy,'" Sam said, dropping a few lines about his past. We were sitting in the art studio like we usually did in the evenings, overhead lights highlighting his current paintings. Sam was telling me a story about his 'younger days' with Emile, animated and laughing while I drank hot chocolate and giggled along with him. I loved it when he was this happy. Which he hadn't been for a while.

Sam broke off in his story, and I noticed him looking at me with a secretive smile. "What?" I asked, suddenly self-conscious.

"You have whipped cream on your lip."

I laughed embarrassedly, and he reached out to me. He hesitated a second, then brushed his thumb across one side of my mouth. He was touching me, but my trauma response stayed hidden. Thankfully.

My gaze got caught on his as he stared at me, his golden honey eyes filled with affection as we got lost in each others eyes. A sigh was bubbling up in my chest while his hand lingered on my mouth when I finally noticed Paula suddenly standing in my periphery. I jumped at the sight of her. Sam's hand slid off my mouth, and I immediately missed it's warmth.

"Uh huh," Paula said, sounding smug. "What did I tell you?"

Sam rolled his eyes at me but grinned. "Thank you, Paula," I replied with a sigh, knowing she wouldn't leave us alone unless I admitted defeat. "You were right, Sam and I should be together."

"I know." She twirled back around and disappeared deeper into the house again.

Later that evening, while I was washing up my hot chocolate mug in the sink, I heard something suspicious from the TV.

I turned and stared bewilderedly at the screen where the evening local news was reporting a story of a drug deal gone bad, leaving multiple dead. "I know him," I breathed in surprise.

"Who?" Sam asked, drying my mug for me.

"One of the victims, Ron Tracy."

Sam came over from the kitchen after I sat down on the couch feeling numb. He sat and watched the news for a minute. "How do you know him?"

I replied mechanically. "He was my driver."

"Your driver?" Sam asked, turning to me with shocked incredulity.

I winced. Shoot. Why had I said that? It was a crappy bit of my old life to accidentally reveal. "He was a chauffeur back in Sacramento. He came and drove me to and from school every day."

"You're dirt poor but you could afford a chauffeur?"

Again I winced as I delved back into my past, back into things I just wanted to forget. "He arranged it," I finally explained softly. "He was very protective of me."

"Yeah, right."

I winced again. "Maybe protective is the wrong word. Possessive."

"Fat load of good he did, trusting you with a guy like him."

"Ron didn't do anything to me," I said. Well, except keep tabs on me wherever I went and reported to him when I tried to go somewhere else, or when I was late. Ron wasn't the only one, either. He paid students in my class to watch me and my movements when he wasn't around. I wasn't allowed to have friends, or interact with teachers or other adults unless necessary. Boys were completely off limits, even for assigned projects. I was to keep my head down and not draw attention to myself. When I broke a rule, the consequences were always painful. I cringed at the thought.

Useless. Always so useless.

Sam picked up the remote. "Let's change to channel."