Something About Sam

Chapter 2

Walking through our back door, I entered the kitchen in a raging sweat, attempting to use an old gym towel I found in the garage to mop up the pool that had formed at the base of my neck.  I had tried to avoid coming home for as long as possible. I usually didn't like to interfere with my dad's business, as politics wasn't always the most honest field. When it came to my dad's job, I preferred to turn a blind eye to whatever was happening under our roof, for the sake of my own values. Sam Ford was no exception.

So in order to avoid the situation at home, my "run" lasted two and a half hours, at least one of those hours consisting of me passed out under a willow tree, Winnie panting aggressively by my side. I figured Sam would be gone by the time I got home. I figured he would have celebrity things to attend to. Like usual, I was wrong.

The back door led to the kitchen, and as soon as I entered I heard my mom's doting voice.

"Oh good. You're finally back. I made a grilled chicken salad for you boys, eat up now."

Pulling the towel away from my face, Sam's seated form swam into my vision. He was placed at the country-style wooden table as if he were a prop, his hands resting gently on his lap, his eyes shifting around the room as if he were looking for an escape. An untouched plate of salad was placed in front of him.  The empty seat across from him was adorned with the same thing, only for me. 

I cleared my throat, pulling out the chair and assuming my place across from him. The two of us sat at my kitchen table in complete silence. It was after a few of my attempts to make polite conversation that I realized the celebrity in front of me was either undeniably awkward or simply, a prick. 

"So, are you here for just one week?" I probed, taking a sip of the lemonade my mom had set out for us. All he did in response to my polite question was nod. He didn't even have the manners to open his mouth.

As if the blaring silence couldn't be worse, my mother hovered just behind us, watching the two of us take each and every bite like we couldn't be trusted to sustain ourselves without her supervision.

A few moments later I tried again. "Just for vacation, then? Y'all paying a little visit back down to the Southern US of A for old times' sake?" My accent was not as deep as my father's, who grew up in Texas, but I emphasized my pronunciation to mimic his in an attempt to get Sam to smile.

He didn't.

 "I'm here because your dad asked me for a favor."

A pregnant pause filled the space where I was supposed to respond. The suspicious feeling in my gut from earlier returned. 

"Well, that's nice of you. I know you're probably real  busy." I couldn't help the fact that the words were lemon sour coming off my tongue, wondering exactly what kind of favor a 21-year-old superstar could offer the Governor of Virginia.

 My mother gave me a narrowed stare at my response, probably asking Jesus to forgive my lack of manners.

I had grown too uncomfortable with the silence and so beyond frustrated with his pompous attitude and ambiguity regarding this favor, that when I excused myself from the table to the bathroom just to get a breath of fresh, non-toxic air in my lungs, I did the one thing I promised myself I wouldn't do. I called Marley.

"Hi sugar," she sounded out of breath. "I'm in the barn, are you home?"

I swore. When she said, "the barn" she meant my family's barn. Since she helped out on our farm, she was here more than she was at her own home. "Oh, I see your truck in the driveway! You can't escape me now, Taite Jefferson!" She let out a giggle I would have found endearing on any normal occasion; however, Sam Ford was eating an arugula salad at my kitchen table and I had neglected to tell my best friend (and Sam Ford super fan) that he was, in fact, eating an arugula salad at my kitchen table.