Chapter 19
“I can’t believe you defended him,” Brenda snapped as soon as Sam A entered the house. She was standing by the couch, giving him a death stare. “You made me feel like the bad guy. I never should have come home.”
Damage control, Sam thought. A setback, sure. But nothing I can’t handle.
“Brenda, I’m sorry,” he said, reaching a hand to her. “I’ve had my disagreements with Richie, sure. But we’re still family. I didn’t want to drive him away.” He brushed his fingers across her hair. “And I don’t want to drive you away either. What can I do to make it up to you?”
Brenda crossed her arms, evading his gaze. “I don’t know, Bobby. You’ve been a real jerk.”
“I know I have,” Sam said. “I probably said all the wrong things at the wrong time, didn’t I? I didn’t think before speaking.”
This was his assessment of Sam B in general, from what he’d seen. Brash, unfiltered. Rude. He could hardly believe he had it in him to act that way, but there it was, in flesh and blood: everything about him that held him back from reaching his potential. All wrapped up in a package that looked and sounded just like him.
“I promise you, Brenda, that I care deeply about you and our baby. And I’d like the chance to talk it out, if that’s okay.” He took a seat on the couch, and patted the cushion beside him. “Come on, sit down. I know you have feelings you’ve bottled up. I’d like to be a sympathetic ear for you. No judgement.”
Brenda cautiously sat, leaving a generous gap between herself and Sam. “I don’t really know what you mean…”
Sam wasn’t entirely sure either, he had to admit. He just had a strange feeling, like he knew something about Brenda that he couldn’t pinpoint. It was not unlike the feeling Sam B had described from when he was driving behind the protest march, or when Sam A had laid eyes on Harvey.
“I’m days from going to war, Brenda,” he began. “I might not return. Or I might return a different man than when I left.”
Almost certainly.
“And you’ll be carrying a baby all that time, on your own. And then you’ll give birth alone.” He placed a hand on her knee. “How are you feeling about all of this?”
Brenda looked down at her fidgeting hands. “What does it matter? You’ll be the one fighting for the country. Getting shot at. That’s all that matters.”
“Brenda…” Sam’s hand moved from her knee to her hands. “Your feelings matter to me.”
Her eyes lifted and met his, and their eye contact lingered for a moment, before her eyes became clouded with tears, and she wrenched her gaze away, a trembling hand rising to her face.
“I guess I’m scared,” she said. “Scared of you leaving. But it’s selfish of me to think that way, so forget it!”
I knew I was onto something.
“It’s not selfish, honey,” Sam said softly, shifting himself closer to her. “Your feelings are perfectly valid. You’re afraid of facing the future alone, right?”
Brenda wiped her eyes, nodding. “I don’t know how to raise a baby. And—and what if you die? I’ll be all alone with a child, and I don’t know how to deal with that.”
“I understand.” Sam wrapped an arm around her. “I do. The draft lottery messed up a lot of peoples’ plans for the future, and the uncertainty is causing a lot of people to worry. And for good reason. For better or worse, people are going to die or come back with injuries and mental health struggles. And one of them might be me.”
Brenda nodded, covering her mouth as she began to sob.
“It must be so hard to deal with the prospect of having to raise a child on your own. So hard that you need something to calm the nerves, right?” Sam was not immune from the emotion, and he brushed a tear from his own eye. “And so, the only thing that’s helping you to cope…”
…Is the alcohol.
“Okay, I admit it.” Brenda collapsed into his chest, weeping. “It makes things less painful,” she sobbed. “Not as… real. I don’t know how to… to face the day… without drinkin’… it hurts too much…”
“It’s okay,” Sam said, patting her on the back gently. “It’s alright. Shh.”
As he comforted the crying woman, he smiled through his own tears, knowing he’d reached the heart of the matter. Now he just needed to figure out how to rectify the problem.
But even if he did… Sam B could still ruin everything.
It wasn’t as though he could just take over Bobby’s life. He had work to do on the commune.
No, I can’t stay here. But maybe Al could make sure Sam B does what he needs to do. I won’t need his help; I’ve got everything under control.
As Sam idly combed fingers through Brenda’s hair, his racing mind rapidly played out various ideas about how to help this troubled woman and the life growing inside her. And he found himself feeling quite riveted by his situation, as bizarre as it was proving to be.
He looked up to the heavens, smirking. You’ve certainly thrown me a curveball here, but I can’t say I’m not intrigued by all of this. It’s like a complex jigsaw puzzle I have to solve—highly stimulating. I just hope the other side of me doesn’t mess everything up.
* * *
Nervously adjusting the collar of her dress, Donna accompanied Verbena as she returned to the patient. She was fascinated by the idea that Bobby and Richard could have a variably blended mind, and wanted to see it for herself.
She hung back near the Waiting Room door as Doctor Beeks did her usual medical checks upon the merged twins. After several minutes of tests, Verbena took a seat at the end of the bed.
“Are you feeling any different, Mister Deleon?” she asked. Donna wondered if she had intentionally omitted calling him by a first name.
The patient moaned. “I dunno, man. My head hurts. I can’t think straight.”
“And your stomach?”
“Feels like I just smoked bad hash.”
Verbena shot a momentary smirk at Donna, before returning her eyes to the man in the bed. “I’m sorry to hear that, Richard.”
“It’s Richie.”
“Oh, I see,” Verbena said, smiling down at him. “Richie. Listen, I’ve been meaning to ask you about your brother. Bobby.”
“I don’t know where he is, okay?” Richie said quickly, rubbing his eyes. “And if I did, I wouldn’t tell you anyway.”
“I don’t need to know where he is, Richie. I just wanted to know how you feel about him, that’s all. I’m just curious.”
“How I feel about him?” he squinted at her with clear suspicion. “Why?”
Verbena chuckled. “Believe it or not, I’m trying to help you both. And this has nothing to do with the draft. Cross my heart.” She drew an ‘X’ over her chest with her fingers.
Richie’s head rolled to one side. “Well, I dunno what this is supposed to accomplish, but… I love my brother, ya dig? I don’t want him to get forced into fighting in some war that doesn’t even make any sense. What if he dies?”
Verbena nodded. “I understand.”
“But he’s also kind of an ass.”
“Go on…” Verbena met Donna’s eye with amusement.
Richie sighed deeply. “Well, for a start, he despises everything I stand for. I’m against what America is doing, and he thinks I’m some kinda traitor for it. Because of that, I was too scared to tell him where I was going when I went to hide ’cause I thought he might rat me out.” He laughed bitterly. “Looks like you found me anyway, so that was pointless.”
“You really thought your twin brother would turn you in?”
“Well…” Richie frowned. “I wasn’t gonna risk it. I mean, he was angry enough that I never contacted him.”
The corners of Verbena’s lips curved ever-so-slightly upward, and she winked at Donna. “How do you know he was angry if you never contacted him?”
Richie’s face clouded over. “Of course he would have been angry.”
“But you said it as if you knew,” Verbena observed. “Were you planning to say goodbye to him before he was deployed?”
Richie shook his head. “I didn’t know he was going on the twentieth. If I’d known, then maybe I would have called him or something. But I can’t show my face back in San Diego…”
Donna frowned as she began to realise that Richie knew things that he wouldn’t know unless there was some bleed-over coming from Bobby.
“But don’t you live in San Diego, Bobby?” Verbena asked, eyes returning to Donna, who raised an eyebrow at the sudden change in address.
“Well yeah, but—” the man in the bed furrowed his brow. “Wait, do I?” He rubbed his forehead.
“You live with your wife, right? Brenda?”
“Yeah. Brenda. I really love Brenda.” The man—now seemingly Bobby—closed his eyes. “My head hurts.”
“Okay, Bobby. You get some rest.” Verbena stood, and strode across the room to Donna.
“That was… really something,” Donna said, eyes wide. “You can talk him from one side to the other?”
Verbena grinned. “I’m not just a pretty face, you know.”
“You’re amazing, Doctor Beeks,” Donna gushed. “This is going to help Sam so much.”
She leaned to the psychiatrist, and pulled her into a tight hug. Now, just maybe, this terrible leap might start to improve.