Friends and Strangers - J. Courtney Sullivan Page 0,58

four, two, and one. A stay-at-home mom who did everything around the house, she was the disciplinarian. Ann was a doctor. She worked long hours. When she came home, she did things that made Jessica angry, like reaching into her coat pocket to pull out handfuls of gummy bears and giving them to the kids after they had already brushed their teeth.

Jessica often complained to Sam about it.

At the time, Sam was not yet over her high school boyfriend and spent many evenings staring at his screen name on Gchat, willing him to contact her. She was not exactly an expert on marriage. Still, she offered feedback when Jessica asked. Jessica hugged her after, saying, “What would I do without you?”

But it was Jessica who refused to let Ann drive her home the night it snowed and Sam’s clunky old Cutlass got stuck in the mud outside their house. They didn’t have a driveway. They parked in what was basically a field. The same thing had happened twice before, and both times, Ann had pushed her free while Sam sat in the driver’s seat with her foot on the gas.

The night of the snowstorm, they were hosting five lesbian couples and their children for dinner. Jessica was in a tizzy. She said she couldn’t spare Ann for as long as it would take to give Sam a push, and certainly not long enough to drive her home and get back.

She said, “I’m sorry, Sam, but why do you drive that thing? It’s not safe. Call a cab and we’ll pay for it.”

Sam called and went outside and walked down the steep hill that led to their property. The hill dropped right onto a dark country road. Soon, several pairs of headlights slowed as they approached, but all of them turned in front of her. The dinner guests.

She waited and waited. The snow picked up. She wondered if the cabdriver had gotten lost, or decided not to go out in this weather. Sam hadn’t brought her cell phone, since there was no service out here.

Rage bubbled up in her chest. She wanted to cry, but remembered a story her brother told her about a guy he knew whose eyelids had frozen shut. Sam wasn’t sure whether Brendan had made the story up, but she wasn’t willing to risk it.

She waited until she couldn’t feel her toes inside her boots. When she ran her hand over her hair, it was caked in snow.

Sam told herself she would sooner freeze to death than ask Ann and Jessica for help. But eventually, she had no choice but to hike back up the slick hill and knock at their kitchen door.

The looks on everyone’s faces when they saw her there.

“Sam?” Ann said. “What on earth?”

It turned out she had been waiting in the snow for an hour and a half.

Dinner was winding down by then. The table was set with coffee cups and dessert plates, most of which had a bite or two of chocolate cake left on them. One of the visiting couples drove her home. The next morning, her RA took her back to dig out the car. Sam didn’t announce herself, and the Walkers didn’t come outside. She never spoke to them again.

Sam had cared for many people’s children. She was used to being treated like family when it suited them, and the hired help when it did not. But Elisabeth wasn’t that way. Elisabeth considered her an equal. It was what Sam needed now. A real adult in her life to call a friend.

* * *

—

Sam called her parents’ house one Sunday at the usual time. After two rings, she heard a new outgoing voicemail message recorded by her sister Caitlin.

You’ve reached the O’Connells. We’re not home right now. We will probably cry when we learn that we missed this call, so please leave a message at the beep. Tell us everything. Do not leave out a single detail.

Strange, Sam thought.

The line went silent. She couldn’t remember if she’d heard a beep.

“Hi, Mom,” she said. “Umm. I was calling to—”

Suddenly, the sound of Caitlin’s laughter broke through.

“Sam, it’s me. I was kidding.”

Sam groaned. “Put Mom on.”

Her mother sounded pleased when Sam told her Elisabeth and Andrew had started inviting her to Sunday dinners. She insisted Sam not go empty-handed, that she bring them flowers, at least. Sam understood the sentiment, but felt certain this would be awkward. She wouldn’t know where to get flowers, other than the Stop &