Unfinished Business
Chapter Twenty
Robyn watched Sam for a few moments while he flipped over to a new page in the sketched pad and allowed his charcoal to simply hover. He seemed much calmer than when she'd first come into the room, and she almost wanted to tell him to wait and do the sketch in the morning. He looked so very tired, as if after the initial fright of seeing the man on the balcony, the ebbing of the adrenaline rush had taken even more out of him. But she knew how important it was to get the fine details now. By morning they could become blurred - especially given his level of tiredness.
She might have left the room to give him a little privacy while he worked, but there was a strong urge within her to remain near. It wasn't logical, but she felt a waiting sensation in the air about them. Something was coming. When Sam continued to only allow the charcoal pencil to hover over the paper, she asked, "Would you like me to leave? I'm told that not everyone can draw with an audience."
"No. Don't leave." Sam looked over at her. He drew in a half breath as if suddenly coming to a decision and then he smiled. "I'm one of those people who can work either way. I can even talk and draw if the image is clear in my head. It's like my brain is communicating directly with my fingers to get it on the paper."
"Really?" Robyn was amazed by that. She had never developed a talent for sketching, or painting, or any type of creative art. She had never considered the concept that it simply poured from the artist from with in. Being a person who needed a clear plan, bulleted, if only in her mind, she couldn’t work that way.
"Yes," Sam answered with a chuckle, drawing the first line on the paper. "Used to drive Sandra nuts. She had to have complete quiet so that she could concentrate. Mark didn't need complete quiet, but he couldn't carry on a conversation at the same time. Come to think of it, when he's drawing is the only time he's quiet."
Robyn nodded with a smile, noting the way he smile at the memories. His hands seemed to move more swiftly over the paper as he spoke, more sure.
"You've all known each other for a long time?" She knew the answer without asking by his expression alone, but she wanted to keep him talking. She wasn't sure if it was the fact that his brain was communicating with his fingers, as he'd said, or simply because of the events of the night, but it seemed as if the wall he'd seemed to have built between himself and the world was not in evidence. She would have to test the theory as to whether or not it was the sketching some day.
"We basically grew up together," he answered. "Mark and I. Sandra moved into the neighborhood when I was about eleven. We became like the three musketeers. We went everywhere and did everything together."
"Were you interested in art, even back then?"
Sam smiled broadly, showing off his dimples, but his eyes never left the paper and his fingers never slowed. "Only in an adolescent kind of way. We used to make up our own super heroes. Sandra drew Barbie Girl. We used to dream that we'd grow up and draw comics and be very rich and famous. I still have some of our old sketches and stuff around here someplace."
"Wow, really?" Robyn was delighted. She had loved comic books as a child. Her father had been something of a superhero to her and she'd chosen that same type as reading material. She continued, "I've a confession to make. I was a closet comic book fan. My favorite was Marvel, in particular the X-men. I wanted to be Jean Grey."
Sam chuckled. "I could see you as Jean Grey."
"Ha. I'm sure. So, will you show them to me sometime?"
"Sure, I'll show them to you. But don't expect too much. Plot wasn't exactly our strong point. And don't sell yourself short on the Jean Grey thing. Not that I think you're a telepathic mutant, but you seem very good at reading people. Understanding them."
Robyn felt an odd sensation curl in her stomach. His voice had become more serious, quieter. She wasn't sure how to respond, so she made light of it. "Well, if I'm Jean Grey, then my dad is Professor X. Once you meet him you'll know what I mean. I've never been able to keep anything from him."
"My mom was that way," Sam confessed.
Robyn caught the 'was'. "What happened to her," she asked gently.
"Cancer. Ten years ago. My dad died a year later. We figure it was from a broken heart."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. They were happy together for almost thirty years. It was a great way to grow up. I'd always thought that I would have a marriage like that someday." A heartbreakingly sad up curling of his lips. "I'm glad they didn't get to see my marriage fail the way it did."
"I admit to not knowing the whole story," Robyn said. "But from what I do know, it wasn't your fault. You can't make a person behave the way you want them to."
Sam looked up at her then, his hand frozen over the paper. "I wouldn't have made her behave any certain way. I loved her, just the way she was. Her life and light and joy of living. But she couldn't love me back the same way. And she couldn't love me more than the drugs. But in the end I loved her enough to want to help her with that. Then I found out that help wasn't what she wanted. She wanted her freedom. And so I gave it to her."
Robyn felt her heart breaking for the pain he'd suffered. She was beginning to have a better understanding of Sam, and the reason he reacted the way he did to things. He and his ex had been friends and then partner's in life. She'd abandoned him, her marriage, their friendship and their child. More than half a lifetime of memories. After having seen the perfect relationship his parents had, and then to be betrayed by a person who was closest to him, and had been such a part of his life must have turned his entire world, much of his belief system on love upside down. No wonder he worked so hard to protect himself.
"She was a foolish woman." Robyn allowed the words to slip out, though she knew it probably wasn't the best idea in the world to say them. Sam needed to know how valuable he was, how attractive. "She took you for granted. If I had been in her position, I would never have let you go."
Sam's eyes widened, and he looked at her for a long moment, his blue eyes stormy and intent. It made her feel a little breathless. He was going to think she was trying to hit on him. But that was a chance she was willing to take if it meant clearing away even a little of the scar tissue left from his marriage.
"Thank you for saying that," he said finally.
"I wouldn’t have said it if I didn't mean it." Some perverse bone in her body wouldn’t let her leave it as it was. She wouldn't let him wave off the comment as if it was merely a platitude.
"Then I wish it was you," Sam said softly.
It was Robyn's turn to be speechless. She had no idea how to respond to that. 'Me too' didn't seem appropriate given her position. She was already beginning to feel as if she was throwing herself at her client. But she wouldn't, couldn't take back what she'd said.
Sam saved her by placing the finished sketch in her lap. He then covered one of her hands with his and leaned in slightly. "Thank you. I'm glad you're here." He squeezed her hand gently and smiled a sweet smile. "But now I think we should go to bed."
Robyn flushed beet red. The moment the words were out of Sam's mouth, he realized what he'd said and tried to fix it.
"I meant. . . uh. . . separately. I meant. . . "
Robyn laughed. "I know what you meant." She let him off the hook since that also meant letting herself off the hook. She was the one who'd turned red in the first place. "And I agree. I'll send this out to my father in the morning. We'll also contact the police tomorrow. There is really nothing to be gained by calling tonight."
"Okay. Whatever you say, ma'am. As soon as I get my foot out of my mouth, ma'am." Sam spoke dryly as they both stood and headed for the stairs. They left the light on in the den.
When they would have parted at the top of the stairs, Sam caught hold of her hand, stopping her. She turned toward him, barely able to make out his expression in the dim light emanating from his room. "Robyn, I'm sorry for the way I was . . . before. I really, truly am glad you're here." His voice was only slightly above a whisper.
"You're forgiven," Robyn replied. "And I'm glad, too. Good night, Sam."
He held her hand a moment longer. Then, "Good night."
Robyn turned and walked into her room, and thus began her first night in the Wright household.