“He may have misspoken…” the reporter apologized for his tightlipped colleague.
Sam shrugged him off. “I’m sorry, I have far more important matters to deal with, like this meter maid giving me a parking ticket…”
“I’ll pay it for you,” the reporter insisted.
“I’m dying to know what suddenly makes me newsworthy.”
“You singlehandedly took down Thomas Cook’s pharmaceutical company and relaunched Women’s House Magazine—the first all-women-run magazine. That’s news if I ever saw a story! So is that a yes?” the reporter asked.
“Only if your cameraman apologizes to me,” Sam offered. “For harassing me on March 18, 1970.”
“Uhhh, that’s a very good memory you have,” the reporter muttered, then tossed a pleading glance at the cameraman, whose mouth dropped open in disbelief.
“Getting a black eye and going to jail because of him are extra memorable,” Sam explained. “So? Do we have a deal?”
The cameraman stepped forward, forced to wave the white flag of defeat if he wanted this much-needed interview. “I am genuinely sorry. I’ll have you know I never heard the end of it from my girlfriend after I told her I was at your sit-in and got you arrested. She almost left me over that.”
“And not because you were hitting on another woman while you had a girlfriend?”
“Well, I didn’t tell her that part. Anyway, we’re married now and she’s a big fan of your column, I should add. So, I can say with absolute honesty that I regret what I did.”
The interview only lasted ten minutes, eight of which were dedicated to asking questions about Thomas Cook and his crimes. But those precious remaining two minutes spotlighting her real work in renovating an all-female-run magazine would become the first of many.
“Everything good?” Raul asked as Sam handed the cameraman her parking ticket, then hopped in the driver’s seat.
A passing breeze winded through the skyscrapers. It whipped her newly grown brown bob—which even Sam preferred, as it was almost long enough to pull back into a ponytail—and wafted over her the faint fragrance of her mother’s borrowed Ô de Lancôme that Sam still wore and had no plans of returning.
“It’s more than good. It’s perfect,” Sam said. “And by the way, as one journalist to another, I understand why you did it the way you did—protecting me by slandering me, which I suppose fit your modus operandi. So I forgive you, and I hope you can forgive me for keeping mum about your dad. You had your secret, and I had mine. But going forward, I hope we can skip all the subterfuge and just call it even?”
“Even Stephen,” Raul answered, though he was more hung up on her phrasing going forward. They had yet to formally establish the nature of their reunion—Friends? Lovers? Pen pals?—as Raul was too nervous to ask directly and Sam had only hinted vaguely.
“Now, are you ready for the biggest adventure of all?”
“I think so.” Raul nodded, but he felt sick to his stomach. He wasn’t sure meeting his estranged father and brother was the best idea. After all the hurt and all this time. “Thank you for planning this and setting it up. I couldn’t have done it without you. I’d have chickened out. You make me stronger, Sam.”
Sam squeezed his shoulder, as she had done a lot recently, playing the role of Raul’s pseudo-therapist while she talked Raul down from his fearful ledge the past few days every time he felt the urge to cancel on their trip. He would give a million reasons why it would only end badly, but Sam continued to give him one reason that always outmatched his: No matter what happens, I will be right by your side. Her being here was all Raul needed to feel okay again.
“I promise you’ll like your dad. Gabriel Smothers has been waiting a long time to see you.” When Sam had called long-distance to see if Gabriel would be interested in meeting Raul while they were already in New York signing the magazine paperwork, he eagerly jumped at the chance.
“Got any sage advice to make sure he likes me?”
“He’s already obsessed with you! Did you know he watches Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood every day just to see your name on the credits?”
It was a beautiful image, his father, now an old man, sitting by the tube every evening for thirty minutes, venturing into the Land of Make-Believe along with thousands of children, anticipating the closing song just so he could see his son’s name roll up the black screen in the credits. For so long it was the closest Gabriel could get to his son. The thought made Raul smile as he unfolded the atlas for directions.
“Do you know where we’re headed?” Raul asked as Sam cranked the ignition.
Although that wasn’t the question he truly had on his mind. At least not in the directional sense. He wanted to know about them, where they were headed: If they were, or ever would be, Sam and Raul or SamRaul.
As if understanding the question buried under the question, Sam answered, “Does one ever really know where they’re going?”
“I guess not, but I’m guessing the unknown doesn’t scare you.”
“The unknown is what makes life exciting.”
“And treacherous.”
“And full of surprises.”
“But you hate surprises, Sam,” Raul reminded her.
“Yes, but sometimes we don’t realize we need them. And they do make everything more interesting, don’t they?”
Sam shifted the gear into drive and touched the gas. They lurched forward to the next intersection, slowing at the red light.
“So…” Raul began tentatively, “I know we’re not technically going steady anymore, but what word should I use to describe you in case my father asks? My quirky best friend? My road-trip navigator? My therapist?”
They sat for a moment as the stoplight turned green and a yellow taxi honked behind them. With Raul, Sam had never felt like she had to smile to look pretty, or hide her quirks to fit in. Sam knew without a shadow of a doubt that a dose of Raul Smothers was the only medicine she would ever want, or ever need, his love the pill that kept her heart beating. Only for Raul would she finally, yes, take her medicine like a woman.
There were a million words Sam could have offered Raul in answer to his question of who they were to each other, but only one came to mind:
“What do you think about the word fiancée?”
