Goodnight Beautiful(54)

A four-inch putty knife. The sharp metal edge is sticky with wallpaper paste; the sturdy wooden handle is emblazoned with the logo of the hardware store on Main Street. Hoyts Hardware: Open Every Day ’Til 6!

He hears Albert’s tread on the stairs, and slips the putty knife under his hip, then scoots his chair back in place next to the table. He gets his legs onto the ottoman just as the door opens. Albert enters backward, pulling the cart behind him.

“Good evening, Doctor,” Albert says, pressing the brake on the cart. “You’re looking robust.”

Sam smiles. “Feeling great,” he says.

“That’s what I like to hear. Time to get you into bed.” Albert approaches him, arms outstretched.

“Would you mind . . .” Sam gestures toward the bottom of the cart.

Albert stops abruptly. “Already? You went an hour ago.” He shakes his head as he gets the bedpan. “I knew I shouldn’t have given you that extra glass of milk so late in the day.” He places the bedpan on Sam’s lap. “I’ll wait outside.”

Albert closes the door behind him, and Sam waits a moment before easing the putty knife from under his hip and sliding it down the front of his sweatpants. His hands are shaking as he picks up the bedpan and waits.

“All good?” Albert says, opening the door an inch.

“False alarm, I’m afraid,” Sam says.

“Probably stage fright,” Albert says, entering. “I’ll leave it here on your table.”

Albert pushes Sam’s chair close to the bed, hoists him up, setting him gently onto the mattress. “Either I’m getting weaker or you’re gaining some weight,” Albert says, standing up and massaging his lower back.

“It’s all the good food,” Sam says.

Albert laughs and pats Sam’s arm. “You keep it up, you’ll be able to get up and walk right out of here in no time at all.”

As Albert grips the handle of the cart and heads toward the door Sam chuckles, feeling the hard edge of the putty knife against his thigh. “Won’t that be something?”





Chapter 38




Thistle, I scrawl.

Lavender.

Oil of—



A thick black box appears on the screen, covering the rest of the list.

Natural Remedies to Get Rid of Moths is available to subscribers only. To keep reading, log in or sign up.

I close the website and shake my head. The Pigeon was right: consumerism is destroying our culture. She wrote that on Facebook yesterday, posted it under a photograph of a large pile of plastic floating somewhere in the Pacific. Only someone without a soul could see that and not respond with a frowny emoji. (I recently read online about a growing movement of people who believe emojis were created to stifle humans’ ability to express emotion, which is certainly something to consider.)

I return to the search bar and am typing in What is thistle? when the alarm on my watch beeps. I drop my pen and reach for my blue apron. Back to work.

*

“Come in,” Sam calls when I knock.

His face brightens when I walk in. “Good morning, Albert,” he says, and then sees what’s in my hand. “Is that a coffee in my favorite mug?”

“Yes it is.” A Le Creuset mug, identical to the ones next to the Nespresso machine downstairs in his office, which cost an astounding $34 apiece. (I’m loath to say it, but it’s exactly these kind of exorbitant purchases that explain why Sam’s photo was on the front page of the paper yesterday next to a story about his “financial troubles,” but I certainly don’t have the heart to tell him that.)

I push the cart closer to his bed and step on the brake. “Guess who slept with a call girl?”

Sam struggles to swallow a mouthful of coffee. “Wait, what?”

Seeing the look on his face, I burst into laughter. “No, not me,” I say. “Sam Seaborne, deputy White House communications director in the Bartlet White House. Rob Lowe’s character.” I empty the pitcher of warm water into the basin and reach for a washcloth. “I’m watching West Wing.”

“Is that right?” Sam says. “That’s my favorite show.”

“No kidding?” I feign shock. “Mine too.” (This is not a lie. I finished the series last night, and I’m so hooked that as soon as the last episode ended, I went back to the beginning to watch it all again.)

“In fact, I’m kind of a West Wing fanatic,” Sam says, animated. “The woman’s name is Laurie, and she’s played by the actress Lisa Edelstein. She’s a law student, trying to pay her way through law school. Sam Seaborne didn’t know she was a prostitute when he slept with her.”

“At least not on a conscious level,” I say under my breath as I dunk the washcloth into the water.

“Sorry?” Sam says. “What did you say?”

“Sam Seaborne hasn’t had a stable relationship in his life. And okay, fine, while he says he wasn’t aware of her profession, it’s clear that deep down, on some level, he knew she was unavailable. That’s why he was attracted to her.”

“Huh,” Sam says. “Interesting.”

“And you want to know why he’s like this?” I continue, wringing out the washcloth. “Because of his father’s affair. When Sam Seaborne found out that his father had been having an affair, for twenty-eight years, while married to his mother, it deeply shook his idea of what he can and cannot depend on. And don’t even get me started on Josh Lyman.” I approach Sam’s bed. “What?” I say, noticing the look on his face.