Finding Sam (Featured)

Chapter 6 - Mister Right

That night, after I tucked Michael into bed, I called Chuck.

It had been a month since I last spoke to him and I hoped he was still awake. He and the kids had moved to an private community next to a country club and so far, Trevor and Lindsay were loving it. The club had everything they needed, and it reminded them of the one they left in Manhattan Beach. Trevor got to play tennis while Lindsay enjoyed doing laps in the Olympic sized indoor pool. Chuck, who found a job similar to the one he had in El Segundo, worked on his golf game.

Like Chuck, it was painful for me to remember the times I spent with Rosie. A year after her death, her memory often came to me when I was doing the most mundane things, like scrubbing the bathroom or knitting a shawl. Sometimes I'd start crying when I'd see a rerun of a movie we'd both watched together. Sometimes it would be a whiff of her perfume, Chanel No. 5. I could only imagine how it felt for Chuck.

So we tried not to talk about Rosie as much as we could. Our topics were usually on the weather, surf conditions (even though I or Chuck didn't surf), or what Michael was into now. But that night, after talking about the weather, surf conditions and that Michael had discovered Chuggington, all I wanted to talk about was Erik Maystrom.

"If you've been to his house, then you know about my painting?" I asked. "The one on his wall?"

There was a long sigh at the other end of the line. "I promised Rosie I'd never say anything about it to you, but since you apparently have already seen it, then yes, I saw the painting."

"Yet you never told me?"

"Rosie made me promise not to, Sam. She told me she'd talk to you about it during those famous dinners of hers, only it never happened because you cancelled at the last minute." He paused for a few moments. "But I guess you finally met him then."

"What does he want from me, Chuck?" I asked. "I mean, why would he want me to paint again?"

There was a pause on the line, but I was willing to wait.

"The same reason Rosie and I wanted you paint again, Sam, because it's part of you - like your hand. If someone chopped it off, you'd know," Chuck replied softly. "But he really loved that painting. Strands. Wasn't that the name you gave it?"

"Yes, it was. I'm relieved that at least one piece survived David's tantrum." This time my voice was barely a whisper as I fought to control the tears from falling.

"You and I know that was no tantrum, Sam," Chuck said, his voice clipped. "Look, I'm so sorry you had to find out about Erik this way, Sam," Chuck said. "I hope you can forgive Rosie for not telling you, but she did try to get you two together-"

"It looked so beautiful up on his wall, Chuck, that painting. It was just perfect. I couldn't have wished for a better home for it."

"Then it's where it needs to be," Chuck said softly. "That's what matters, right?"

I nodded. "He asked me to paint again, Chuck. He even has a room planned out where I could paint if I wanted to. It faces the ocean."

"And are you?"

"I don't know. I don't even know what to think about his offer. Why would he do that? He doesn't know a thing about me."

Chuck sighed. "He knows you through Rosie, Sam. And through your painting." I heard him stifle a yawn but it came out anyway. "I remember hearing him say that to Rosie when we first saw the painting, that he liked the way you see things."

"Which is?"

"I'm sure he must have told you."

"Tell me again. He could have said something totally different to you, guys, and for all I know, he's just trying to get lucky."