All-American Girl (5 page)

He poked his nose through the crack in the door and kept a keen eye on Samantha as he strained to hear their conversation.

“It’s so good to see you,” Candice said as she ushered Samantha into a seat at the counter. “Can I get you anything? Coffee, maybe?”

“Sure.”

Candice poured the coffee and set it in front of Samantha. “How have you been? You look…well, aside from the dirty clothes, you look great. Been working hard today?”

Samantha gave a strained laugh. The knot in Lance’s stomach tightened.

“Yes, well…I spent the day cleaning up Gram’s shop.” She rubbed her arms, looking uncomfortable that someone had noticed her appearance. Lance had to admit, her appearance was quite fascinating—petite features, creamy skin, bright green eyes, and thick, auburn hair pulled back in a ponytail. Little tendrils had escaped, some covering her right eye, and his fingers itched to brush it away. No matter the stained clothes, she looked amazing, just as he remembered her.

“How is Dorothy?” Candice asked.

“Good.” Samantha put the cup to her lips and took a slow drink.

“I went to see her last week and meant to go this week, but with summer coming up, the diner is getting really busy.”

“Umm…”

“So tell me. What’s life like for a busy New York writer? I’ll bet you have tons of fabulous stories.”

Samantha’s shoulders slumped over the counter, and she frowned deeply. Life must not be so good in New York; maybe that’s why she was so irritable. New Yorkers had a tendency to be rude; at least that’s what he’d heard. Maybe it had rubbed off on Samantha.

“I’ve missed you,” Candice said kindly after Samantha didn’t answer her. “I’d love to hear all about it.”

“Yeah.” Samantha stared at her coffee. “Well, I’d better go. I’ve got a lot of stuff to do.”

As Samantha got up from the bar stool, Candice reached out and took her hand. “Wait. Don’t go yet.”

Samantha tugged her hand out of Candice’s grasp. “Really,” Samantha said, brushing the hair out of her face. “I need to get to Gram’s before it’s too late.”

“But you just got here.”

Frustration flashed in Samantha’s eyes. Lance guessed she didn’t like anything touchy-feely or small talk in general. She jammed her hands into her pockets and shook her head. “Listen, Candice, it’s been a long day and the last thing I want to do is play catch up right now.”

“But—”

“I haven’t seen you in ten years, so please don’t act like we talked yesterday. I wasn’t planning a trip down memory lane when I walked in here. I’ll be around for a few weeks, so I’ll stop and see you another day—when I feel more up to it.”

Lance was about to swing the door open and hassle Samantha for being so rude to his sister—her old best friend—when something stopped him in his tracks. Samantha, with her dirty clothes, agitated posture, and angry eyes dropped into the bar stool again. Her head fell into her hands.

Was she having a panic attack?

But when she lifted her head, there was no panic to be seen. There was fear and pain.

When she spoke, her voice was choked. “God, Candice…don’t listen to me. I’m a mess right now.” She shuffled back to her feet, swiping shaking hands over her shirts and jeans. “I didn’t mean those things. Really. You just caught me at a bad time.”

Were her eyes getting teary?

“Jesus.” She shrugged, not meeting Candice’s wary expression. “I should go. You don’t need to see me like this. No one should.”

She spun around as Lance swung open the door and stepped out. “Is everything okay out here?”

Samantha snapped her head around. The gloomy face from moments before was wiped away in an instant. Now she faced him with an ice cold glare.

“You know, you are really good at butting in where you don’t belong,” she grumbled, her voice back to that aggravated pitch.

Lance shrugged carelessly as his eyes wandered over her outfit. Yes, it was dirty, but the curves of her body distracted him. She’d filled out well. He let his gaze travel back up to her eyes. She crossed her arms over her chest and shuffled her feet. Did he make her uncomfortable? Nervous? She’d just been on the verge of tears, almost apologizing to Candice, and now she looked like she could scratch his eyes out. Did she just really not like him? The answer didn’t matter. He’d known from the first moment he saw her that something was wrong.

“I was just leaving,” Samantha said.

Shaking his head, Lance stalked in her direction. He paused when she took several steps back. Space. She needed her space; he got the point. But he needed to know if her pain-in-the-ass attitude was just focused on him. If Sam felt bad for being mean to his sister, surely she would feel bad for doing the same to him?

He only needed six strides to close the distance between them. She flattened herself against a booth when he moved in front of her. “I heard you in the back room. Were you upset when you came in here? Or was it something Candice said?”

She stayed silent.

“You know, Sam, I don’t quite understand this vibe you’re giving off. There’s a strange Jekyll and Hyde thing going on here. First I saw how sweet you were with your grandmother, and now with Candice—
after
you realized what a pain you were being, I mean. Then there’s what I heard you said to the hospital staff.”

Her mouth dropped open. “I didn’t mean—”

“Doesn’t matter.” Lance inched closer. He’d learned his lesson from the night before at the hospital and positioned his legs between hers, allowing her no room to kick him. “What’s bothering me is that, no matter your mood, you always seem ready to snap my head off my shoulders, and I’m not comfortable with that. If you want, we could talk about it.”

“Back off, Lance. I don’t need any lessons from you, thank you very much.” Her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

He wondered briefly if she would hit him, but then he thought better. She had a temper, but the anxious look in her eyes gave her away. She was angry, but she looked like prey as well—nervous and afraid. Guilt for boxing her in stuck in his gut. It would take a while to crack through her shell. He stepped to the side. She shifted quickly, lost her balance, and fell back into the booth seat. He suppressed the urge to laugh at the adorable look of surprise that crossed her face.

He leaned over her. “Looks like you got your way.”

“Funny. Real funny.”

He reached a hand down to help pull her up. “Hey, you’re the one who can’t stand me being so close to you.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she said dryly, pushing his hand out of the way and using the tabletop to stand back up. “Now if you don’t mind, I was just leaving.”

Lance leaned forward. He let his eyes skim over her face, but he stifled the urge to touch her. “I don’t care if you’re less than pleasant to me, although at some point, we’re going to have to work that out. But please don’t be rude to Candice. My sister and you were best friends—she’s just trying to be nice. Although I’m glad you realized your mistake before stomping out the door, next time try simple words…like thank you.”

Candice interrupted them. “Umm…Samantha,” she said carefully, “why don’t you stop by for breakfast tomorrow? You should be well-rested, and we could talk then.”

Lance stepped away from her, and she huffed out a breath, inching farther away from him. It hurt him to see her struggling like this, like she didn’t know what to say or do.

Samantha looked at Candice. “I’m sorry. Sometimes my mood gets the best of me. I’ll stop by tomorrow before going to Gram’s shop.” Then she turned on her heel and hurried out of the diner.

When the door closed behind her, Lance looked at his sister, who had a confused expression on her face. “She needs someone to talk to, Candice.”

“I can see that. What happened to her?”

“I don’t know.” The provoked man inside of him wanted to shake that disgusted look right off Samantha’s face and make her swallow all those sarcastic remarks. The other part of him, the part that had stirred from silence since being in her presence, wanted to cradle her in his arms and kiss her until she melted against him and all her problems floated away. “But I do know people don’t get like that unless they’ve had a bad run of things.”

“I know.” Candice dropped into an empty seat.

“She’s got that wild look in her eyes, and I’m afraid if she doesn’t get it together, she won’t be able to help her grandmother like she needs to.”

“You’re right. Dorothy means a lot to the both of us, and Samantha probably doesn’t know that.”

Not only that, but Samantha meant a lot to him as well. “It’s about time she figured it out.”

“Each person’s task in life
is to become an increasingly better person.”
~Leo Tolstoy

W
HEN
S
AMANTHA
C
ROSSED
T
HE
T
HRESHOLD
of her grandmother’s house, she breathed a sigh of relief. She was finally stepping into familiar territory. The neat and tidy house hadn’t changed. Antique furnishings gave the house a classic and comfortable feeling. The dark wooden floors looked recently polished and were gracefully littered with intricately designed rugs. All the curtains were open, allowing light to trickle over the bold red, gold, blue, and green fabric on the chairs and the paint on the walls in the living room. The kitchen gleamed white with a splash of red linoleum on the floor. Everything was bright and, most importantly, clean. That surprised Samantha the most. She frowned as she recalled the disarray of the antique shop. Why was it such a mess and Gram’s house was spotless?

Samantha shucked her shoes and carried her bag upstairs to her old room. She opened the door, paused, and entered. It was just like she’d left it: girly and sunny with lace curtains, pale yellow walls, and a flowered quilt. Her white furniture hadn’t been moved from the far wall, and her bed still sat in front of the window. It reminded her of how good things had once been. How easy. And after being rude to her old best friend earlier at the diner, Samantha wished she could go back to that simple time when her anger and irritation didn’t get the best of her. A time when she could hold her tongue and be happy to be around people she’d once loved, enjoying their compassion and the comfort of their company. She didn’t want to admit it, but she was actually happy Lance had come in when he had. It gave her an excuse to duck away and think about how to handle herself. She was ashamed of her behavior.

She threw her bag on the bed and took out her clothes before walking to the dresser and putting her stuff inside. Her yearbook sat tucked in the top drawer, just where she’d left it when she’d run away. She hadn’t wanted to take it with her—too many reminders of the things she was leaving behind.

She smiled as she remembered packing up her bedroom some twelve years ago. She had just learned she’d received a scholarship to the Premier Writing School in New York City. It had been her lifelong dream to write and to live an upscale, urban lifestyle.

It hadn’t taken her long to get wrapped up in the New York City life. Naïve as they came, she had married an eccentric musician a year after moving. That hadn’t lasted long. Then came her big moment: Her second year of college, a novel she had written was chosen as the winner of an up-and-coming writer award. It was published, became a bestseller, and then life steamrolled after that.

She’d come home for a brief celebration and then dove feet first into the life she’d always wanted.

At twenty-five, everything seemed to fall into place when she met and married Ryan Douglas. He was a journalist, handsome and more suave than any man she had ever met. He’d captured her in a fairy tale life, but after finding Ryan in bed with her own assistant, that marriage ended, too. When she found out he’d also emptied one of Samantha’s bank accounts, she felt like she’d hit rock bottom. Then he’d refused to let Samantha see her stepdaughter—the final nail in the coffin.

She closed her eyes. She was oh-for-two. Men were obviously not her strong suit and not worth any more of her time.

A year had passed since the last divorce, which had given her some time to let her feelings of unease and failure grow. Simmer. Boil over.

Samantha picked up the yearbook, trailing her fingers across the cool, smooth cover. Flipping it open, she came to the first page—graced with a very large picture of her. Underneath her senior picture, the caption read:
Voted Most Likely to Succeed
.

She rolled her eyes. Two failed marriages and a crumbling career. Nobody would want that. If that was success, she was the pope. Her life had been better in high school, though. She’d been valedictorian and prom queen, played sports, and had been a member of numerous clubs. She’d been the epitome of small town East Coast life: the all-American girl with a bright future and big dreams. So much for that.

She turned the page, and a small photograph fell into her hand. It was of her, Cole, Candice, and Lance, taken sometime before she’d graduated high school. As she grazed her fingers across the faded faces, she thought about how much easier life had been back then and how quickly things could change.

Lance was a stark reminder of that. Then and
now.
He had been four years older and her best friend’s brother, so he was off-limits in more ways than one. But that hadn’t stopped her from wanting him since she was fourteen. Lance was dark, mysterious, and wickedly handsome. His dark gray eyes would change to almost black when he was angry. She’d always wanted to tangle her hands in his thick, black hair and run her fingers across his firm chest. He’d treated her like a little sister, though, teasing her and pulling on her ponytails. She’d hated more than anything how he thought of her as a tomboy and barely glanced in her direction. And that damn nickname:
Sam
. Just like what he’d call a little brother. That said it all.

She’d gotten what she wanted, though. Once. And then everything had fallen apart.

She sighed as she tucked the picture back in the yearbook. She’d never been good with men from the get-go. Big dreams didn’t mean a wonderful life, and reality wasn’t what she’d expected it to be.

There wasn’t always a bright future for the all-American girl.

She put the book back in the drawer and headed for the bathroom. She needed a long, hot soak in the tub to help her forget about the tightness in her chest.

“Good morning.” Samantha beamed at her grandmother as she walked into her hospital room. Gram sat on the bed, her favorite blanket draped across her knees.

“I’m surprised to see you this morning.”

Samantha frowned and sat down on the chair next to the bed. “Why wouldn’t I come to see you?”

“I thought you’d be catching up with old friends.”

Samantha sighed. She did need to see old friends. Mend bridges. Fix her attitude. But while that would be nice, that wasn’t why she was here. “There’s no one I’d rather see right now than you.”

Gram’s eyes flickered brightly before squinting. “That’s sweet. And you’re lying.”

“I…am not.”

“Honey, I can see through you like a piece of Reynolds Cling Wrap. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Where should I start?
Gram was still fragile and healing. Samantha didn’t want to add to the recovery by dumping all her problems on her. That wouldn’t be fair; she had to deal with her own problems first. And she would, too, just as soon as she figured out how.

“Let’s not talk about me right now. Let’s talk about you. How are you feeling?”

Gram sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “Samantha, you can’t hide from me,” she said, and Samantha hung her head. “I know you. Better yet, I know when something is wrong. I can help you—if you’ll let me.”

Samantha folded her arms around her body, hugging herself as hard as she could. Her grandmother was the one person she could rely on, but Samantha had snapped that lifeline years before. She didn’t deserve her grandmother’s love. She wasn’t prepared to take the hand that was offered.

“Soon,” Samantha whispered. “Let’s worry about you for now.”

“I know enough about me. I’m eighty-two years old and recovering from a misdiagnosis. Don’t think I can’t see what you’re doing, young lady.”

Gram’s suddenly sharp voice made Samantha sit up straighter.

After several silent beats, Samantha spoke. “A lot has happened since the last time I was here, Gram. There’s a lot I’m dealing with, and I don’t want to stress you out about it.”

Gram’s eyes flitted to the open blinds. “Did you know that when your father proposed to your mother, she ran away?”

Samantha’s eyes went wide. She hadn’t heard anyone talk about her parents since…It had been a long time. “N-No.”

“It must be a girl thing.” Gram’s voice went soft, her eyes still focused on the swishing tree right outside the window. “Although you couldn’t have pulled me away from your grandfather after he and I got engaged. So, maybe it’s just a thing from your mother’s side of the family.” The humor in her voice was evident, making Samantha smile.

“I miss them.” The words were out before Samantha could even stop them.

Gram’s hand slid over hers, giving it a soft squeeze. “We all do, dear. But you’ve done well for yourself, even with the loss, haven’t you?”

Her cheeks heated. “Mostly. But I had you, Gram. Cole and I both. Without you, we wouldn’t have made it.”

Gram nodded, her eyes getting a little dewy. “I’m grateful that I was able to care for you both. Teenagers are hard, you know.”

Samantha grinned. She couldn’t even imagine how hard it was to take in two kids, one fifteen, the other sixteen. Her grandmother had been so strong during that time. It was a trait Samantha had always longed to have.

“You did a wonderful job on us, Gram.”

“But you ran away anyway.”

And there it was. The words Samantha had never wanted to hear. “It wasn’t you. It was never you.”

“I know. I know. You were chasing your dreams. Your timing was what had us all so confused.”

The heat in her face returned, this time with a vengeance. “It was time.” It had been past time if you asked Samantha. If she’d left earlier, then Lance wouldn’t have been able to—

“You left for the same reason your mother did.”

Samantha coughed. “What?”

“A boy.”

“Gram, no.”

“I don’t need details, I have memories.” She leaned back, pulling the covers up to her chest. “The underlying reasons may be different, but it’s the same on the surface.”

Samantha’s throat constricted.

“And I’ll tell you the same thing I told my soon-to-be daughter-in-law back then.”

Samantha gulped down the lump in her throat and stared deep into her grandmother’s aged eyes.

“Things can only get better, dear. Men aren’t made overnight—they are grown, and sometimes it takes them a while to get to where
they are
going.” Gram chuckled.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just think I should have told you this before you left twelve years ago; then maybe—”

“I still would have left, Gram. It was my dream.” A dream that had shattered, but she still had to chase it—didn’t she? “My dream changed me.”

“I know.”

“How do I fix it?”

“You’ll have to figure that one out on your own, but I will tell you this: Until you deal with your emotions, you won’t move a step forward.”

Forward.
Samantha didn’t know if she wanted to move forward. She wanted to move back—
way
back—to when she was normal and things were easy.

Samantha exited her car and walked toward the Queen Diner. She still didn’t want to see Candice, but Gram had convinced her to go.

After talking with Gram that morning, Samantha had been forced to deal with her guilt. If she had been in Burlington, she could’ve taken care of Gram and made sure she got her medications or helped Gram through the misdiagnosed dementia. Just being there would’ve made all the difference in the world.

But she hadn’t been there. Samantha’s remorse weighed heavy on her hardened heart. Gram was so willing to let her right back in, even after all those years of silence, and Samantha didn’t know how to handle it. Samantha had wanted to talk, like old times, and Gram had been all too willing to oblige, but Samantha knew, deep down, she wasn’t worth Gram’s trouble. Not after she’d left without looking back.

As she swung open the door, a nervous twitch in the pit of her stomach had her reconsidering the visit. What had Dr. Wade told her?
Rebuilding bridges helps rebuild the soul.
It was amazing how much stuff she actually remembered from her sessions with Dr. Wade when she’d never thought any of the information would be useful. And with Gram’s encouraging words in her ear, Samantha finally had the nerve to tackle her own emotions and fears.