You’ve Reached Sam: A Novel
You’ve Reached Sam: Chapter 2

“Can you hear me…” he says. “Julie?”

The ocean fades and his voice comes through more clearly.

“Are you there?”

I blink off raindrops. I must have played one of his voice mails by mistake. But I thought I deleted them this morning.

“If you can hear me—say something. Let me know if this is you…”

I don’t remember that line from before. So this must be something else. Maybe I hit my head and am suddenly imagining things. My vision blurs, so I close my eyes again to stop the trees from spinning. I’m not sure if his voice is coming through the phone or my own head, but I answer it anyway.

“Sam?”

Silence fills the woods. For a second, I think he’s gone. That he was never there. But then I hear a breath that isn’t mine.

“Hey…” he says with an air of relief. “I thought I lost you there…”

My eyes crack open to reveal a sliver of the world. I’m too numb from the cold to know which way is up or down or where the sky is. I reach into the back of my mind for some sense and come up empty.

“Sam?” I say again.

“Can you hear me, okay? I wasn’t sure if this would work.”

“What’s going on?”

“I wondered if you’d ever call me back,” he says, as if nothing is out of the ordinary. As if we are continuing a conversation we left off yesterday. “I missed you. I missed you infinity.”

I can’t think straight. I don’t know what’s happening.

“Did you miss me, too?”

I take in his familiar voice, the rain against my skin, the feeling of my body sinking into the ground, the sudden dizziness in my head, and try to make sense of what’s happening. As strange as this all seems, I can’t help asking, “Is this … really you, Sam?”

“It’s me,” he says, and laughs a little. “I thought I’d never hear from you again. I thought you might have forgotten about me.”

“How am I talking to you?”

“You called me.” His voice is as calm as water. “And I picked up. Like I always do.”

Always.

“I don’t understand … How is this possible?”

The line goes quiet. Raindrops roll off my skin like sweat. Sam takes a moment to respond.

“To be honest with you, Julie, I don’t understand this, either,” he admits. “I don’t know how this is happening right now. Just know that it’s really me. Okay?”

“Okay…” I manage to say.

I decide to go along with this, let his voice cover me like an umbrella, even though this can’t be real. I feel my mind slipping, and myself sinking deeper into the earth as I hang on to Sam’s voice like rope. Even though I don’t know where it’s coming from. I want this to be him, but it can’t be. It’s impossible. And then it hits me. “I’m dreaming…”

“This isn’t a dream,” Sam says, his voice filling the woods. “I promise.”

“Then how else are we talking?”

“The same way we always have. Through the phone, just like this.”

“But Sam … I still don’t—” I start.

“I know,” he goes on. “It’s a little different this time, but I promise to give you a better answer soon. But for right now, can’t we just enjoy this? This phone call, I mean. Getting to hear each other again. Let’s talk about something else. Anything you want. Like before.”

Before. I close my eyes again, and try to go back there. Before I lost him. Before any of this happened. Before everything was ruined. But when I open them again, I’m still here in the woods. And Sam is still a voice on the line.

“You still there?” he asks. His voice is so clear, I turn my head, expecting to see him.

It’s only me out here. A question comes to me. “Where are you?”

“Somewhere,” he answers vaguely.

“Where?” I ask again. I adjust the angle of the phone, listening for background noises on his end, but the rain drowns everything out.

“It’s hard to explain. I mean, I’m not entirely sure if I know myself. Sorry I don’t have all the answers. But none of that matters, okay? I’m here now. And you and me are connected again. You don’t know how much I missed you…”

I missed you, too. I missed you so much, Sam. But the words won’t come out. A part of me still thinks I’m dreaming. Maybe I’ve fallen through some rabbit hole and entered an alternate reality. Or maybe I hit my head harder than I thought. Whatever it is, I’m afraid that if our conversation ends, I will lose him again and never get my answer.

The rain continues. But the sky has reduced it to a soft drizzle.

“What’s that sound?” Sam asks, listening. “Is that rain? Julie, where are you?”

I glance around. For a moment, I forgot how I ended up here. “Somewhere outside.”

“What are you doing out there?”

“I don’t remember…”

“Are you near your home?”

“No … I—I’m not sure where I am.” I’m not really sure of anything at the moment.

“Are you lost?”

I think about this question. There are so many ways I could answer it. Instead, I close my eyes to shut out the rest of the world, focusing on Sam’s voice, trying to hold on to it for as long as I can.

“You should get out of the rain, Julie … Find someplace safe and dry, okay?” Sam says. “And as soon as you do, give me a call back.”

My heart jolts and I open my eyes.

“Wait!” My voice cracks. “Please don’t hang up!”

I’m not ready to lose him again.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere,” he says. “Get somewhere safe and call me back. As soon as you do, I’ll pick up. I promise.”

He’s made promises before that he didn’t keep. I want to refuse but I can’t seem to speak. I wish I could keep him on the line forever. But Sam repeats these words over and over until I start to believe them.

“As soon as you call me back … I’ll pick up.”

I can’t stay out here forever. I’m drenched and am beginning to lose the feeling in my hands. I need to get out of these woods, and out of the cold, before the sun goes down and I can’t find my way back.

I don’t remember how the call ended or what happened after. That part remains a blur in my mind like a missing page from a book. All I know is that I kept walking until I made it out of the woods and found the main road again.

It’s late evening by the time I reach town. I hurry along wet sidewalks, passing beneath store canopies to avoid the rain. The lights from the diner where I met Mika this morning are off, but the café down the street is still lit up. It is the only light on for blocks. I cross the street and make my way inside. Even at this hour, the place is half filled with students from the university, coupled together beneath Moroccan lamps. Raincoats hang over the backs of bar stools. Laptop screens illuminate blank faces. I make my way toward a table in the back without ordering anything. Once I settle down, I turn my chair away from the others and face the window. There are no mirrors in this café, so my pale reflection in the glass catches me by surprise.

I blow out the tea candle and the image of me vanishes. I run a hand through my wet hair. My clothes are dripping onto the hardwood floor. Maybe I should have wrung them out a little before I came in. Thankfully this corner of the café is dark enough to keep me unnoticed.

I take a few deep breaths to calm myself, and glance around the room. The woman at the table near me is reading a book. I don’t want her to overhear the phone call, so I wait a little. She is sitting alone, dressed all in black, and I wonder if she works here. Maybe she’s reading on her break. She sips her tea slowly, making me anxious. It isn’t until she gets up to leave that I breathe easier. I pull out my phone. It’s almost nine. How did it get this late? This is the first I’ve been aware of the time since I left the house. There are no new messages or missed calls. I guess no one noticed I was gone.

I set my phone down on the table and pick it up again. I do this several more times until I lose count. The smell of caffeine and chai singes my nose. Now that I’ve made it out of the woods, and am thinking more clearly, the thought of calling Sam again seems ridiculous. Whatever happened out there was probably all in my head. At least, I think so. Have I completely lost it?

I must have, because I pick up the phone again and dial his number.

The call goes through. I hear the first ring and hold my breath. But he picks up almost instantly.

“Hey … I was waiting for you.”

The sound of his voice floods me with relief. I bring my fingers up to my mouth to contain a sound. I don’t know whether to feel confused or relieved or a mixture of both.

“Sam—” I say his name without thinking.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d call back,” he says. “Thought you might have forgotten.” sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ Find_Nøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“I didn’t forget. I wasn’t sure where to go.”

“Where did you end up?”

I turn my head and look up at the stained-glass transom above the door without thinking. From inside the café, the mosaic letters reflect backward in gold and blue lantern light.

“Sun and Moon.”

“The café where I used to work?” he asks. I almost forgot. It’s been a while since I’ve been back here. Sam goes quiet for a moment, and I feel him listening to the background noises through the phone. Suddenly I become aware of them, too—the sound of stools scratching against wood floor, the clink of a spoon on a ceramic plate, the low murmurs of a conversation from across the room. “That’s where I first talked to you. You were sitting in the back of the café. Do you remember?”

My mind flashes back to that day. A black apron, the steam from a warm latte, a paper lily on the front counter. Sam brought over my drink before I could order and we talked for hours. That was almost three years ago. This is the same table, isn’t it? The one in the back, by the window. I almost didn’t notice.

“You used to order a honey lavender latte. I still remember. You never order that anymore, though. You drink coffee now. At least, you try to,” he says with a laugh.

It feels like yesterday we were sitting here together. But I can’t think about this right now. “Sam…” I say to bring him back.

“Remember that time you wanted an espresso to finish your paper, but I said it was way too late for that?” he goes on, almost reminiscently. “You kept insisting, so I made it anyway, and you couldn’t sleep the entire night. You got so mad at me…”

“I wasn’t mad at you. I was just cranky.”

“Remember the concert, that night I got my guitar signed? We ended up at the café, too, isn’t that right? We shared one of those half-moon cookies … you know with the white icing? The ones you said don’t look like moons at all? Remember that?”

Of course I remember. The memory is fresh in my head, sending a flutter to my stomach. I was wearing his denim jacket, the one I threw out this morning. We were soaking wet from the rain. Exactly like I am right now. My heart is pounding. Why is he bringing these things up again? These memories. I don’t think I can’t hear any more of them. “Why are you doing this?” I ask.

“What do you mean?”

“Reminding me of all this…”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Sam—” I start.

Something interrupts me. A shoulder with black sleeves emerges as someone pulls a chair around, taking the table behind me. At the same moment the door swings open as another couple comes in, folding down an umbrella. It’s getting too crowded in here. I turn back to face the window, and lower my voice. “I wish you could tell me what’s going on,” I say. “How do I know if this is real?”

“Because this is real. I’m real, Julie. You just have to believe me.”

“How do you expect me to do that? I feel like I’m going crazy.”

“You’re not crazy, okay?”

“Then how am I talking to you?”

“You called me, Julie. And I picked up. Like always.”

It’s the same thing he said before. But it isn’t enough.

“I didn’t expect you to answer. I didn’t expect to hear from you again.”

“Are you disappointed?” he asks.

His question surprises me. I’m not sure how to answer it. “That’s not what I meant. I only meant … I—” I don’t know what to say. My mind is too far away and scattered to concentrate. Someone drops a spoon and it echoes across the room, and I hear laughter at the other tables. It’s getting too loud in here. More people pour in through the door, and I feel the café shrinking and myself about to get crushed.

“Julie…” Sam’s voice pulls me back. It’s the only thing holding me together. “I know nothing makes sense right now. The two of us talking again. I’m sorry I don’t have all the answers for you. I wish I did. I wish there was a way to prove this is real. You just have to believe me, okay?”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

More voices fill the room. Then comes the sound of footsteps, followed by a blur of jeans and blond hair. The couple who came in appear with hot drinks, taking the table across from me. I try to steal a glance from the corner of my eye without them noticing. The second I recognize a voice, my stomach drops.

Taylor settles into her chair as Liam sets their drinks down. Sam’s old friends. They’ve been dating for almost a year now. They were there at the bonfire the night he died. I turn myself toward the window and lower my head a little, letting my wet hair fall across the side of my face. Of all the people from school I could have run into, it had to be them. I’m sure they noticed I wasn’t at the funeral. I bet they have a lot to say about it.

Sam practically grew up with them. They formed a close-knit group that used to hang out before I moved here. The group fizzled out a little once Sam and I started seeing each other. I suspect Taylor had her own reasons for this. When I asked Sam why they didn’t like me, he said people around here have a thing against those who grew up in the city. Probably because of our families’ “political” differences. Taylor’s dad drives a gas-guzzling truck while mine drove an environmentally friendly car. Kids rolled their eyes when he used to drop me off in front of school. My dad hated it here. He couldn’t wait to leave this place.

Maybe they haven’t noticed me. I’m too scared to check. I’m deciding whether to wait until they leave or move to the bathroom when a bright light blinds the side of my face, and I look up. Taylor lowers her phone that’s pointed right at me. Her eyes widen as she realizes she forgot to turn the camera flash off. Liam sips his drink, pretending nothing happened. They don’t apologize or say a word to me. My body trembles.

I can’t deal with this right now. I just can’t.

“Julie, what’s wrong?”

Sam’s voice comes back and I remember he’s still on the phone.

A car appears outside and throws headlights into the café window, illuminating me like a spotlight. I have to get out of here. I rise abruptly from my seat, nearly knocking over my chair. Taylor and Liam are silent but I feel their stares as I move between tables, bumping coats and shoulders as I make my way toward the door and throw it open.

It finally stopped raining. People are moving toward me from all sides. I duck beneath someone’s umbrella and hurry down the sidewalk with the phone pressed to my chest. As soon as I reach the corner, I break into another run. I run until the café noise and lights are behind me, and not a single passing car is in sight.

A single streetlamp barely lights this side of the block as I lean against it. The bulb flickers above me as I catch my breath. I remember Sam is still on the line. I put the phone back to my ear.

“Julie—what’s wrong? Where did you run off to?”

My head is pounding. I don’t know what to say, so all that comes out is a breathless, “I don’t understand what’s happening to me—” I am never like this, even when Sam died, I held myself together.

“Julie … are you crying?”

It isn’t until Sam asks this that I realize I am. And I can’t stop. What’s wrong with me? What am I doing out here? Nothing makes sense anymore.

Sam’s voice softens. “I’m sorry. I really thought that if I picked up, everything would be better. This is all my fault. I wish I could fix this.”

I take in a deep breath and say, “Please tell me what’s going on, Sam. Tell me why you picked up.”

There’s a long silence before he finally answers this. He says, “I wanted to give us a chance to say good-bye.”

I nearly crumble to the floor. There’s a lump in my throat that makes it almost impossible to speak as I fight back more tears. “But I never wanted to say good-bye,” I manage to get out.

“Then don’t. You don’t have to, okay? You don’t have to say it right now.”

I wipe my eyes and keep breathing.

“Listen,” Sam says after a moment. “How about this. Let me show you something. I think it’ll make you feel better, okay?” Before I ask what it is, he says, “Just trust me.”

Trust him. I don’t think Sam realizes how much trust I’m already giving him by staying on the phone. I don’t know what else to say so I say nothing at all. I stand there in silence beneath the light of the lamppost, as I hold on to Sam’s voice and tell myself everything is okay when I’m no longer sure what’s real and what isn’t anymore.

I take back what I said earlier about the lake. This is the last place I expected to end up tonight.

Sam’s driveway is empty of cars. Not a single light shines from the windows of the house. His family must be staying with relatives outside of town. I’m not sure what I’m doing here. Sam asked me to come get something he’s been meaning to give me. “Trust me,” he kept saying. There is a spare key taped beneath the mailbox, just like he told me. I find it and open the front door, hoping no one’s inside.

It’s too dark to see anything. The scent of flowers and incense overwhelms me. I step over his little brother’s shoes as I feel around for a switch. A single lamp flickers on and I look around. The living room is filled with flowers that are beginning to wilt. A beautiful wreath of chrysanthemums hangs near the mantel. This must all be for Sam.

Sam’s voice comes on the line. “Is anyone home?” he asks me.

“I don’t think so. It’s too quiet in here.”

“That’s weird. Where is everyone?”

“There are a bunch of flowers for you, though,” I tell him. “The house is full of them.”

“Flowers?” Sam repeats, a note of surprise in his voice. “Interesting … Are yours there, too?”

“Mine?”

I look around the room anyway. Knowing full well nothing here is from me. Not even a card. A knot of guilt forms in my chest, and I feel terrible again. “I don’t see them here,” is all I say.

“I’m sure my mom kept them somewhere else,” Sam says.

“Maybe…”

I don’t want to be in here anymore. So I take my shoes off and head upstairs. It’s so strange to be alone in the house. I tiptoe past his little brother James’s room, even though he isn’t there. Maybe it’s out of habit. Sam’s room is at the end of the hall. His door is covered with band logos and NASA stickers. The doorknob is cold to the touch. I take a deep breath before I twist it open.

I don’t need to turn on the light to know something is different. The curtain is drawn, giving me enough moonlight to see the boxes in the room. Some of the shelves have been cleaned. It looks like Sam’s parents have started to pack things, leaving only the bedsheets and the smell of him. I take another breath. I never thought I would be back here again.

“You still there?” Sam’s voice brings me back to him. “Sorry if my room’s a mess.” He always said this right before I came in.

“What am I looking for?”

“It should be somewhere on my desk,” Sam says. “I wrapped it up for you.”

I go through his desk. Behind the computer, under folders, in the drawers. But nothing’s there.

“Are you sure? Try the middle drawer again.”

“Nothing’s there, Sam,” I tell him. I glance around the room. “It might be in one of the boxes.”

“What boxes?”

I almost don’t want to tell him. “There are boxes in your room. I think your parents are packing things up.”

“Why would they do that?”

I give him a moment to think this through.

“Oh … Right. I guess I forgot for a second there.”

“I can look through them, if you want me to,” I say.

Sam doesn’t hear me. “Why would they pack my things up so soon…” he says more to himself than to me. “I haven’t been gone that long, have I?”

“You know, I can’t speak for your parents … but sometimes, it’s just hard to look at these things,” I try to explain.

“I guess so…”

I turn on the desk lamp to see the room better. The boxes are half filled with Sam’s clothes, books, CDs and record collection, and rolled-up posters—so many things I thought I’d never see again. I suddenly remember the things I threw out this morning. Here they are right in front of me. Sam’s Radiohead T-shirt. His Mariners hat he bought when we were in Seattle, even though he knows nothing about baseball. It all still smells like him. For a second, I forget what I’m even looking for.

“Did you find it yet?” Sam asks again.

I open another box. This one’s full of recording equipment. Sam must have spent the last six months saving up for this microphone. He always talked about recording his own music. I told him I’d help him with lyrics. Sam wanted to be a musician. He wanted his song to play on the radio someday. He wanted to make it in the world. Now he’ll never get the chance.

I find the gift eventually. It’s wrapped with magazine pages and filled with tissue. It’s heavier than I expected.

“What is it?”

“Just open it, Jules.”

I tear it open, letting the wrapping paper fall to the rug. It takes me a second to realize what this is.

“Wait a second…” I turn it over in my hand, trying to make sense of what I’m holding. The winged bookend. The same one I threw out this morning. But it can’t be. “Sam … where did you get this?”

“At the antique shop. It’s the other half you were missing.”

I examine it closely. He’s right—this isn’t the same one I kept in my room. It’s the long-lost half we couldn’t find. “But, I thought someone bought it by the time we came back.”

“That was me.”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s the surprise,” Sam says with a laugh. “I went back and got the other piece for you. I let you think it was gone. That way, it would be more special when you finally get to put them together. When the wings are complete. It’s pretty romantic, right?”

Except I don’t have the other wing anymore. Because I threw it out, and now the two pieces will never be reunited. I can’t believe I ruined his gift. I ruined everything.

“I was expecting a big reaction,” Sam says, noticing my silence. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, you didn’t, it’s only, I—” I swallow hard. “I don’t have the other piece anymore, Sam.”

“Did you lose it?”

I clench his bookend. “No … I threw it out.”

“What do you mean?”

“I threw everything out,” I tell him. “All of your stuff. I couldn’t look at it anymore. I was trying to forget you. I’m so sorry, Sam.”

Silence fills his room. I know he’s hurt by this, so I tell him, “I tried to get them back. But it was too late. Everything was already gone. I know, I’m terrible. I’m sorry—”

“You’re not terrible,” Sam says. “Don’t say that. I’m not mad at you, okay?”

My eyes water again. “But I ruined your gift…”

“You didn’t ruin anything. You can still keep it. It’ll be like before.”

Before. What does he mean by that? There’s no going back there anymore. “But the rest of your things are still gone. I’ll never get those back again…”

Sam thinks about this. “Well, how about you take something else of mine? Anything you want from my room.”

I had already thought of this. But I was afraid to ask. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. Anything at all,” he says. “I want you to have it.”

I keep him on the phone as I go through the boxes again. This is so strange, a complete reversal of what I was doing this morning. I take the Radiohead T-shirt and a few other little things—a guitar pick, band bracelets, the hat he bought on his trip to Tokyo. Then I head to the closet, and slide it open. There are still some clothes hanging, but I find it immediately. There it is, his oversized plaid button-down shirt. Sam wore it almost every day, regardless of the season. I guess even his parents couldn’t throw it away.

I take the shirt from the hanger and put it on. For a brief second, I feel his hands on me, but it’s only in my head. I wipe my eyes with his sleeve. After a moment, I walk over to the bed and lie down. The phone feels warm against my cheek.

It’s been a long day, and an even longer week, and I don’t realize how exhausted I am until my body rests on the mattress that feels as safe as my own. Sam tells me I can stay in his room as long as I need. I don’t even have to say much. I just stay on the phone, listening, and feel him there on the line with me. After a moment, almost out of the blue, Sam says, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” I ask him.

“For all of this.”

At first, I still don’t know what he is apologizing for. But then I realize what he meant. At least, I think so.

“Me, too,” I whisper.

Sam stays with me on the phone for the rest of the night and we talk until I fall asleep. Just like we’ve done a thousand times before.

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