Heaven and Hell (Heaven and Hell #1)(101)

And Sam, being Sam, knew this and I knew he knew it when he stated, “Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“You did,” I reminded him and suddenly he stood. Using his toe to flip closed my wedding album, he walked from the room and into the kitchen.

Stunned by his actions, I stared after him and kept doing it so I saw him come back with a big, black garbage bag.

Then he crouched by the photos and shoved them and the album in the bag while I kept watching. He left it at my side when he was done, straightened and looked down at me.

“The rest go in that bag. You get done with that shit, I burn it or I take it somewhere and dump it. You need help goin’ through the rest?” he asked then tipped his head to the three albums I hadn’t yet done stacked up on the floor.

“I’m not fired up for you to see my life with Cooter in pictures,” I answered.

“And I’m not fired up to do it but that wasn’t what I asked. I asked if you need help goin’ through the rest.”

Okay now, wait. Weird.

He sounded testy.

I tipped my head to the side and asked quietly, “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, and it’ll be great when you answer my question.”

Oh man.

Definitely testy.

“I think I got it.” I kept talking quietly.

“Gonna put on the game, you watch baseball?”

“Not unless there’s someone wandering by my seat offering to sell me a beer or cotton candy.”

The firmness that had set into his features softened and his lips tipped up. Then he turned, walked to the table beside Cooter’s easy chair, nabbed the remote and snapped on the TV. Then he looked at the chair. Then his eyes came to me.

“This where he sat?”

Oh man!

I nodded.

Then I felt my lips part when Sam tossed the remote on the couch at my feet, he rounded the chair and shoved it across the living room. Then he opened the door and shoved it outside, going with it. Five seconds later (I counted), he came back.

Then, without a word, he retrieved the remote, sat in the cushion at my feet, stretched an arm along the back of the couch, stretched his legs out in front of him and turned his eyes to the TV.

All right, it was safe to say I had no idea what to do with that, any of it starting with Sam not sharing (again) when I turned the direction of the conversation to him and ending with the rather dramatic act of shoving Cooter’s chair in the front yard.

I sifted through all of this in my head, trying to decide which one I had the courage to tackle.

Then I noted, “Uh… I don’t have an HOA but I’m thinking my neighbors are not going to be hip on me having an easy chair in my front yard.”

Yes. I wimped out.

“I’ll get rid of it tomorrow, first thing, on my way to the gym,” Sam replied, not taking his eyes from the TV.

“Okay,” I said softly.

Totally wimped out.

Then I went back to my albums. It took awhile but I got through them all, dumping all the photos in the bag Sam provided for me all the while not sure how I felt about that. Sam was clearly in no mood for me to disagree with one of his decisions and one could not say Cooter’s parents were dear to my heart but it didn’t do anyone any harm taking the high road.

Still, they weren’t burned or dumped yet and maybe the next day Sam would be in a better mood and I could approach him about it, explain where I was coming from and then talk to Dad about taking them over to Cooter’s parents’ house.

When I set the last album down, Sam’s voice came at me.

“Hopeful.”

My head turned and I saw his eyes were on me.

“What?” I asked.

“You looked hopeful.”

My brows drew together. “Sam, I’m not following.”

“In your wedding picture.”

Oh God.

I pulled in breath.

“Now, something good happens to you, you look surprised and like you can’t believe it and you act like you’re preparing for it to go away. That piece of shit took that from you too and, until I saw that picture, I didn’t get it. Now I do. And it pisses me off.”

Well, I was glad to know what was behind his mood except for the part about me not knowing what to do about it.

“I don’t know how to respond to that,” I told him the truth.

“That makes two of us, honey, ‘cause the ass**le’s dead and I can’t hunt his ass down and cave in his face.”

Yikes.

“I survived,” I reminded him quietly and added, “And I’ll heal.”

He didn’t speak but something was working in his eyes, I saw it and I waited but again he didn’t give it to me.

Instead he muttered, “Right.” Then he looked back at the TV.

I licked my lips then pressed them together, calling up the courage and when I had it, I called, “Sam?”

His eyes remained glued to the TV. “Yeah?”

He didn’t want to talk, it was clear. Sam always wanted to talk but he didn’t now and I debated pushing it but decided against it. If he needed space, I had to give it to him and find a more appropriate time to try to get him to open up to me.

So I asked, “You want a beer?”

“No.”

“Okay,” I whispered got up and got myself a beer.