Chapter 11
That night, Samuel did not leave the cottage. He slept in the room that Lucas and I used to sleep in. I didn’t know what he was thinking. It wasn’t as if he’d cared about us before, so why was he acting like a loving, mourning husband and father now?
Early next morning, Samuel drove to the town and bought a scythe and other gardening tools. When he returned to the cottage, he rolled up his sleeves and began weeding the yard.
It was July, right smack in the middle of summer. The sun was high, and the air was stiflingly hot, with no hint of a breeze.
And yet, Samuel didn’t seem bothered by the 100–degree heat as he continued weeding the yard and trimming the overgrown hydrangeas and briars. He drank from a disposable water bottle when he was thirsty and ate white bread he’d bought from the town to fill his stomach.
Using a rag, he cleaned the cottage interior, which had not been dusted or straightened for the last three years. The only thing he didn’t wipe was the chalk–drawn silhouettes of me and Lucas on the floor. Sometimes, he’d lie next to our silhouettes and reach an arm over them, as if he were cuddling us.
I watched his performance quietly and felt lighter. I thought I’d understood why I couldn’t go into the light even after all these years. The grudge between me and Samuel was too deep, and I couldn’t go into the light until we buried the hatchet.
In the last few days, Lucas was the happiest among our tragic trio. He thought Samuel was moving in with us, and he wouldn’t stop drifting around him while the latter tidied up our cottage. Lucas‘ tether was snapping. He’d probably go into the light before me. If he wanted to spend more time with Samuel now, I wouldn’t stop him.
Samuel was an odd one. He could’ve paid to keep the power on in this extreme heat, yet he did not.
He lay in the dark room every night, sweltering in the oven–like space. He sometimes cried in the middle of the night, and other times, he’d laugh. He was behaving like a lunatic.
Samuel had cleaned up the yard and the rooms. Even Ms. Nielsen from next door couldn’t help but be curious. When she caught him on his way out one day, she pried nosily, “Are you planning to sell the cottage? Considering that someone died in there, I doubt the cottage will sell…”
Samuel ignored her, spinning on his heels and returning inside. He closed the door with a sharp, dismissive thud.
On the seventh day since he’d secluded himself in the cottage, Francine came looking for him. She was a little taken aback by the newly–weeded yard, but her surprise quickly gave way to anger as she snapped at Samuel, “You didn’t pick up my call for days because you were busy tidying up Calla’s yard?”
Samuel made no reply and quietly did his chores. Incensed, Francine rushed forward to snatch the shovel from him. She tossed it to the ground and demanded, “What the hell are you playing at, Samuel? You made a joke out of me, and now that you’ve decided to make up with Calla, you’re just going to kick me aside?”
Slowly rising to his feet, Samuel glanced at her and said nonchalantly, “Calla and I will never make up.”
Francine froze. “Then what are you doing here? The doctor said my chronic myeloid leukemia flared up, and I urgently need a bone marrow transplant. Talk to Calla and have her agree to it. If she wants money, I’ll pay her. She only has to name her price!”
Samuel snorted. “If you want her bone marrow so badly, why don’t you go to hell and ask her yourself?”
Startled, Francine took a step back. “What… are you talking about?”
A humorless, grim smile played on Samuel’s lips. “Wouldn’t you know better? You said you were dying three years ago and desperately needed a bone marrow transplant. Calla was sick then, so why did the doctor you consulted fail to mention how the bone marrow aspiration would affect Calla?”
Francine went still.
Samuel continued, “You knew complications could arise if a donor underwent a bone marrow aspiration with a weakened immune system, but you urged me to convince Calla to go through the procedure anyway.
“Calla’s dead, Francine. She died a week after she contracted an infection from donating her bone marrow to you! Are you happy now?”
He was a little hysterical, as if all his pent–up rage had finally found an outlet.
Panic filled Francine’s gaze. She hurriedly denied any wrongdoing. “That’s impossible! The doctor only agreed to discharge Calla because she seemed healthy!”
Samuel stepped forward and wrapped his hands around Francine’s neck. “This is all your fault! Calla wouldn’t have died if it weren’t for you! You deserve to go through a leukemia relapse! This time, no one’s going to save you!”
Francine met Samuel’s gaze and sputtered. “Quit acting like a mourning husband, Samuel! You were the one who forced Calla into donating her bone marrow, remember? I might have urged you to do it, but you forcefully dragged her to the hospital!
“Did you think I’d stick with you all these years if I had no use for you? Only an idiot like Calla would love you so loyally and unconditionally!”
Rage flashed in Samuel’s eyes as he tightened his grip around Francine’s neck. Her face went from red to purple, and her hands, which had been clawing at Samuel’s, fell limp at her sides.
Yet at the very last moment, Samuel released her.
Franzine collapsed to the ground, coughing violently as she gasped for air. Samuel leveled an icy look at her, “I won’t kill you because I’ll only get my hands dirty I’ll let you endure the slow torture of the leukernis earing you away from the inside out before it fills you. It’s what you deserve.”
