Читать книгу Sam is Dead - Hannah Kirkell - Страница 8

Chapter Three

Sam is still dead. It’s been just about two months, and I’m already starting to forget how his voice sounded and what he looked like when he smiled.

I’ve been struggling to remember how nice Sam could be when he wanted to. Whenever I hear Sam’s name or think about him, I only think of how angry he looked, the disappointment in his voice, and the tired, defeated look in his eyes.

Sam.

Sam is dead.

It seems that I can’t fall asleep without seeing Sam in some way: being zipped up into a body bag, standing near our regular table, carrying Sam’s casket. I’ve even found myself walking past the place he used to live, standing outside his door. Once, I even knocked.

But Sam is dead, and he’d never again answer the door.

*****

The third time I saw Sam, he accused me of stalking him.

It was a warm day in January, and I was sitting at my usual table in Jay’s Café, the coffee shop. I was drinking coffee and staring distractedly out the side window when the doors opened, and the shop fell silent. I knew who’d walked in even before I turned my head.

There stood Sam in all his five-foot-seven intimidating glory. The room began to slowly fill with hushed voices. Sam’s back stiffened, but he pointedly ignored the whispers and hissed insults.

He repeated the routine I’d seen once before—the barked order, placing exact change on the counter, and drinking his coffee the instant it was handed to him. But instead of walking out after finishing his drink, Sam locked eyes with me and headed toward the counter by the window I was sitting at.

“Are you stalking me?” he asked, amusement seeping through his deep voice.

“No! I was here first!” I sputtered out. My face flushed when he laughed at me.

“Calm down, kid. I’m just messing with you.”

I hope the shudder I gave wasn’t too evident. “Please don’t call me kid.”

Sam arched an eyebrow. “But you’re a kid.”

“My name’s Eric.”

“Sam.” He extended his hand, and in my panic, I completely missed.

“Yeah, I know,” I blurted out before I could stop myself. I felt my face flush again.

“Oh?” Sam arched his left eyebrow again. “Do you now? Because you’re stalking me, right?”

“Uh, no, no, I heard the barista call you Sam, and I…” I met Sam’s gaze and saw amusement evident in his dark eyes. “Oh. You’re messing with me.”

“Damn straight.”

We stood there in silence for a few minutes before I stood.

“I, uh, I’ve gotta go.”

Sam nodded and turned his attention to something outside the window. I threw away my cup, crossed the room, and felt someone behind me. When exiting, I turned around to hold the door.

The look of shock on Sam’s face will stick with me forever.

“H-have a good day, Sam,” I stammered, feeling my face flush once again.

The look that crossed his face wasn’t exactly a smile, but I felt with alarming certainty that for Sam, it was pretty damn close.

*****

Sam is dead. He will never again smile at anyone who had the nerve to hold the door for him, and he will never again slam the door in anyone’s face.

Sam is dead.

And it’s all my fault.