Patchwork Paradise(42)

Sam wouldn’t have rolled over at the first sign of trouble, and I didn’t plan to either.

One night I dreamed about him. I couldn’t quite see his face, and his voice was muffled as if we were having a long-distance phone call. I missed Sam in an abstract way. I missed Thomas in a painful way.

At last I found a bank that would give me my loan, even though it meant tightening my belt just about everywhere else for . . . the rest of my life, most likely.

I emailed Stan.

Thomas texted me on Thursday. You want to go for a drink tomorrow?

Sure! I replied. What time and where?

I’ll pick you up at seven.

Huh. That was unusual but definitely not unwelcome if it would save me a tram ride.

Sounds great.

I slipped into a pair of jeans Sam had always loved on me, combined them with a short-sleeved slate-gray button-down, and slapped some cologne on my neck. My hair was getting too long again, so I tried to tame it a little and left it to flop around my ears. At seven my doorbell rang. I was surprised Thomas hadn’t honked like he usually did, but maybe he’d found easy parking.

“Hey!” I yanked the door open and smiled too brightly, but f*ck it—I was so happy to see him. “Oh wow, you look great.”

“Um, thanks.” He stuffed his hands in a pair of really tight jeans. They hugged his thighs lovingly, and I envied them a little. I also wanted to gnaw on the biceps straining the sleeves of his button-down.

“How have you been? We haven’t heard from you in a while. Do Cleo and Imran know where we’re meeting up? Oh, Imran has a late shift tonight, doesn’t he? Well, maybe he’ll join us after.” I closed the door and looked up at him. His mouth was parted as if he’d been about to say something, but he just stood there, looking at me. “What—”

My phone rang, and I glanced at the screen and froze. “Oh, it’s Sam’s mom. Do you mind if I take it?”

He seemed to shake himself from whatever was keeping him tongue-tied. “Of course not. Go ahead. I’m parked right here.” He clicked his key, and his car unlocked about three spaces down from where we stood.

“Okay.” I brought the phone to my ear, my heartbeat fluttering with nerves. Were they going to try to talk me into giving in? Was I even allowed to talk them about it? I had no idea. I answered cautiously. “Hello?”

“Oliver? It’s Martine.”

“Yes, I know. Is everything okay?” Despite the whole situation, I hoped nothing was wrong. I didn’t wish them any more tragedy in their lives.

“Yes. Well, that is to say . . .” She sighed softly. “Simon doesn’t know I’m calling.”

“Oh.” I leaned against Thomas’s car and wrapped one arm around my middle. “What’s this about, Martine? If it’s about the house—”

“It’s not. The thing is, the trial starts in two weeks. For Sam’s killer. I . . . We won’t be able to go. It’s too much. But I wish someone would be there. For Sam, so someone’s present for him.”

“And you want me to go,” I said.

Martine didn’t answer for a long time, then whispered, “Yes, Ollie. I wanted to ask you if you could go.”

I ground my teeth together. “You have some nerve asking me for favors,” I said quietly, unable to contain my anger. Part of me felt bad because I didn’t think she was the catalyst in the house situation, but I couldn’t help it. “That house is mine. Sam wanted it that way. You are going directly against his wishes and making my life unnecessarily difficult.”

“I know,” Martine said, crying. “It’s not—”

“But I’ll go,” I interrupted her, not wanting to hear it. “I’ll go for Sam.” I left the and not for you unsaid, but I thought she heard it regardless.

“I have to go,” she suddenly said. “I’ll email you the details.” And just like that the line went dead.

I was shaking by the time I managed to open the passenger door. Thomas smiled up at me, but his face fell when I sank into the seat.

“What is it? Ollie?”

Slowly I turned to stare at Thomas. “The trial for Sam’s killer starts in two weeks. Sam’s mom wants me to be there.”

His hands made the steering wheel creak. “And what do you want?” he asked.

“I . . . I don’t know. I never thought about it.” The killer had been caught thanks to CCTV footage during my month of near-unconsciousness following Sam’s death. I hadn’t given it much thought beyond, Good. I stuffed my hands between my thighs. The seams of my jeans dug into my skin. “It’s not something I normally would’ve done. I mean, what good will it do? It’s not going to change anything. But it’s for Sam. So I said I would go. And I think I will, but . . .” The idea scared me so much my palms were already sweating.

His jaw flexed, and he stared resolutely ahead. “I’ll come with you.” He pushed the gear stick into first.

“Thank you,” I said after a while, and he threw me a half smile.

We drove in silence until Thomas found a good spot in the center of town. “Are you hungry?” he asked. “I haven’t eaten yet.”

“Yeah, sure. Do you want to get pitas? I haven’t had pitas in forever.”