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Seven missed calls and four voice mails in two hours. Sam took a guess - her mother and sister would account for most, probably all but one call and one voice mail. The other? In Sam’s world that call could have come from one of several women who thought they were the boss of her - her editor, her agent, or one of a couple ex-girlfriends. Safe money was on the needy most recent ex, but her editor probably had good reason to call.

“Ugh… I am not this fucking popular. Doesn’t anyone just text anymore?”, Sam mused out loud as she clicked on her iPhone’s call log. She set the phone down on the bench and continued to pack up her racket bag. A couple guys were waiting to take the court.

“You should feel lucky that people call you. No one ever calls me,” replied Jess, Sam’s doubles partner. They had just finished beating one of the best doubles teams in town. “Let’s go have a drink to celebrate. Dude, straight sets. I bet they’ll come down with injuries tomorrow to explain how they lost to us.”

“I wish I could, but I’ve got to pack for tomorrow and get to bed early”.

“What’s tomorrow?”

Sam hoisted her Head racket bag onto her shoulders and started walking toward the gate. The guys weren’t happy to be getting on court five minutes late. She nodded to the guys and called out to the dog laying near the bench, “Kate, let’s roll. It’s my annual Mom Visit. I was supposed to leave today, but this came up. That’s probably why she and my sister are blowing up my phone.” The gate latch clanged into place behind them.

“Girl, in that case, you need a drink”.

Sam laughed, “You’re damn right about that. I’m sure I’ve got something at home. Thanks for the suggestion”.

Sam split off and walked to the old silver Xterra parked near the back of the lot. Kate loped along beside her.

Jess called out, “Hey, when you getting back? Can I set something up for next weekend?”

“What’s today?” Before she could even answer her own rhetorical question, Jess replied, “Friday”. Sam smiled. Jess knew Sam better than she knew herself sometimes and understood on a level few ever would.

“Very funny. If I stay longer than four days you’ll see me on CNN. With driving and all, I’m hoping to be back late Thursday. I’ve got a Friday deadline for work to meet”.

“Right on. I’ll see what I can get us for next weekend. Maybe mixed with Grant and Gavin?”

“Whatever you want. I’ll holla when I get back. Have a good week!”

“Don’t kill anyone. There’s no tennis in prison. Though I’m sure you could write a great book about it. Drive safe!”

“Ha, ha. Later.”

Sam unlocked the truck, threw her racket bag onto the passenger side floor board, and held the door open for Kate. The dog jumped in with Sam not far behind. She plugged her phone into the long white USB cord attached to the after-market MP3 player and turned the key in the ignition. It was a well practiced move. Her phone didn’t hold charge very well and the country music radio stations in Austin sucked. This way she could simultaneously charge her phone and listen to decent music.

Sam looked down at her phone. She was right - her mother had called four times and left two voice mails and her sister called twice leaving one voice mail. She and her sister never spoke, unless Sam screwed up and Allison called to put her two cents in. Sam knew that today’s calls weren’t just to say hi, they were because she hadn’t answered with their mother called. Allison’s voice mail would be an even bigger bitch out than their mother’s. Unfortunately, the apple didn’t fall far from that tree and Sam had been paying the price for more than thirty-six years. In Sam’s opinion, she didn’t need one mother much less two, especially if those mothers were hell-bent on pointing out her every imperfection. “And they wonder why I live in Texas…”, Sam mused ruefully.

She turned to the gray and black face of the dog sitting next to her. “Looks like I have to call your grandmother back”, Sam said with an air of resignation. Kate tilted her head to the side and gave Sam a knowing look.

“Yes, you’re right. I should have called earlier or yesterday, but fuck… You can’t blame me for wanting to avoid hearing her bullshit. You know what she’s going to say and how she’s going to say it. It’s not going to be pretty.”

Part of the problem for Sam was that she had just returned from visiting her father and step-mother in California a few days before. They were delightful and accepting people who were so proud of her success, the polar opposite of her mother. When Sam first met Donna, she was excited for her father. After twenty-two years of marriage to her mother, her father deserved someone like Donna. She was open and loving and seemed to really enjoy life. After thirteen years, they were still unmarried, but insanely happy together. Her annual Dad Visits were always fun, comfortable adventures. Even though she seldom took them up on the offer, she was welcome to bring a ‘friend’ with her if she wanted. Her mother would never put out that kind of invitation. Ever. Her mother would also never introduce Sam to the waiter at her favorite Italian restaurant as ‘My daughter who is on the New York Times Best Seller List’, which is exactly what Donna had done just a week before. Her mother thought she should get a ‘real’ job.

Headed for home, Sam realized that it was now or never. She picked up her phone and pulled up the recent call log. She took a deep breath, exhaled a whispered “Jesus Christ”, and punched one of the entries that said ‘Mother’. After a slight hesitation, the phone rang. Three rings, four, five, six, seven? “Really, Mom,” thought Sam, “cut the passive-aggressive bullshit and pick up the phone”.

“SAMANTHA JANE!!! WHERE ARE YOU???”, Jean Stephens’ voice boomed. As a practiced reflex, Sam pulled the phone away from her ear. It could have been on speaker for as loud as her mother was talking.

“I’ve been so worried. Even your sister called. Why can’t you pick up your phone? We thought you were dead! Dead, Samantha! Dead.”

As Jean went on, Sam pretended to listen. After years of attempting conversation, Sam had learned. It went a lot smoother if she just let her mother say what she needed to say without interruption. Sam knew that all of her protests, apologies, and explanations would fall on deaf ears. Her mother had never been a very good listener, but when she was talking or had a point to make, she was even worse. In this particular instance, Jean was going to have a lot to say. Eventually, Sam would capitulate and apologize for not calling, but it was going to take listening to a lengthy tirade before she found the right opening. Even at that point, her apology would be worthless. Jean would simply add this incident to the ever-growing list of fuck ups Sam had committed over the years. In her mother’s eyes, Sam could do nothing right.

It hadn’t always been like that. Once upon a time, they had been a lot closer. When Sam was playing junior tennis, they spent many weekends traveling to tournaments together around Southern California. The summer after she turned sixteen, she and Jean had gone to the U.S. Open, something her mother had dreamed about doing for years. While they had never gotten along perfectly well — Jean was always a bit too critical and meticulous for the laissez-faire and easy going Sam - their relationship seemed to grow more and more strained as the years went on.

Sam couldn’t understand why her mother thought she was a complete failure. She had graduated from college with a degree in English, certainly not with honors like her sister, but Allison had done nothing except study for four years. Sam played college tennis and wrote for the school paper. In those days, Sam wanted to be a journalist, not a novelist. Thanks to an old high school friend of her Aunt Jane, Sam got a job immediately after graduation working for the Muskegon Chronicle in her mother’s old home town of Muskegon, Michigan. When her parents divorced a year later, her mother returned home to Michigan. She and Jean got along fine in the beginning. Jean even seemed proud of Sam’s burgeoning journalism career. After filling in when one of the staff writers was on maternity leave, Sam was offered a permanent writing position with the paper. On more than one occasion, Sam had overheard Jean telling a friend or co-worker about her latest article. She still didn’t like the way Sam cut her hair or where she kept the silverware at her apartment, the location of which she liked to change around when Sam wasn’t looking, and constantly bugged Sam about finding a boyfriend. But all and all, things were decent between them. For the first time in her life, Sam thought that her mother might actually be happy and Happy Jean was a hell of a lot easier to get along with.

Then it all went downhill. Sam remembered seeing Hadley Bennett on her first day at the Chronicle. As she strode through the newsroom, Sam was transfixed. She had to know who the young woman with curly blond hair and the perfect runner’s body was. This wasn’t Sam’s first attraction to a woman - she’d dated several women in college after coming out to her friends her sophomore year. This, though, was different than anything Sam had ever experienced. Yes, Hadley was the most beautiful woman Sam had ever seen, but it was more than that. Sam felt an instant and powerful connection with her. Apparently, Hadley felt it too because it wasn’t long before Sam and Hadley were inseparable friends. Not long after that, they began sleeping together and using words like ‘girlfriend’ and ‘forever’.

Through all of this, Jean was oblivious. She had met Hadley and really loved her photography. She was even more impressed when she found out that Hadley also a painter and that she had degree in fine arts from the University of Michigan. Sam never knew that her mother enjoyed art, but she listened to Jean and Hadley talk at length about different painters and the museums they dreamed of visiting. Jean seemed to genuinely like Hadley and Sam couldn’t have been happier.

Soon, though, she would have to tell her mother the truth. Sam wasn’t sure why she was worried. Jean never seemed to be homophobic. She watched the ‘Rosie O’Donnell Show’ and laughed at the comedy of Ellen Degeneres. She thought Rock Hudson turning out to be gay was a horrible ‘waste’, but Jean never spoke negatively about gays or lesbians. Jean even chided Aunt Jane for her occasional close minded comments. One time when Aunt Jane said that there weren’t any gays living in Muskegon, Jean laughed and assured her that there were gays everywhere and that it would be ok. Privately she had called her sister a ‘dumb ass’ and marveled at how she could be so ‘small town’.

Sam knew, however, that things could be a different story when it came to her. When she was playing junior tennis, her mother would laugh openly at the antics of the other kids and berate her in shouted whispers as she came off the court for doing the same thing. Likewise, her sister Allison could get a B on a test without major repercussions, but the same grade from Sam warranted a half hour long diatribe that always began with her first and middle names. In her mother’s mind, Sam was ‘better than’, ‘smarter than’, ‘more skilled than’, and ‘more capable than’ everyone in the world, including her sister. Jean expected Sam to be Super Woman, the best of the best. In other words, nothing short of winning a Pulitzer Prize for Journalism, marrying a (male) doctor, and raising a Wimbledon champion future presidential candidate was going to be good enough. As such, Jean demanded a perfection that Sam knew she would never be able to deliver.

Announcing that she had girlfriend wasn’t going to help her case any. She knew that Jean would see it as a step backward, an affront, a weakness, an imperfection. Sam silently thanked the Universe that her mother was an atheist, so at least she wouldn’t have to battle God along side with her mother. Jean Stephens was quite plenty all by herself. Sam knew what was coming and hoped to avoid it as long as possible. Hadley didn’t get it and threatened to tell Jean herself which caused a few issues between them. Sam wasn’t going to be able to avoid the conversation forever.

As luck would not have it, the decision was made for Sam early one Thursday morning. As she and Hadley stood on Sam’s driveway kissing goodbye, Jean’s car rounded the corner. Sam saw her coming out of the corner of her eye but it was too late to do anything. Jean slowed as if to see if she was seeing what she thought she was seeing then hit the accelerator hard. Sam remembered her mother’s eyes being as big as saucers in a look of shocked horror. Jean must had stomped on the accelerator because her tires squealed as she sped away. At that point, Sam knew that any kind of plausible deniability was dead and gone. She was out.

 
~
 
 
“Mom, yeah… Hey, I’m sorry. I meant to call. I’m leaving in the morning,” Sam heard her voice say into her phone.

“Samantha Jane, you’re an adult. You need to be more responsible…”. Blah, blah, blah. Her mother’s invective continued as Sam pulled into her apartment complex. The phone buzzed indicating that another call was coming in.

Thank God, thought Sam. “Mom, Mom, MOM!”, Sam’s voice grew more stringent with each ‘Mom’. “I’ve got a call on the other line. It’s business and I need to take it. I’ll call you from the road. See you late tomorrow night.”

Sam muttered, “Jesus Fucking Christ”, as she clicked the phone over to take the other call.

“Really, Samantha. Really? When were you planning to call me back? I’ve called twice in two days. You have a deadline rapidly approaching. And I know how you can be with deadlines…”. Her voice trailed off. It was Emily, Sam’s editor. This was about as fiery and angry as Emily ever got. Bookish, pale, and soft spoken with wispy blond hair, Emily Brigance seemed every bit the nerd the cool kids would have made fun of in high school. In fact, Sam had learned, she was the nerd the cool kids made fun of in high school. Now, at barely thirty-three, Emily was counted among the elite commercial fiction editors in the U.S. and abroad. In fact, some in the industry said that she had the magic touch that created best sellers. Sam couldn’t argue.

Landing Emily as her editor four years before had made Sam’s career. It was Emily who looked beyond the sexuality of Sam’s protagonist and pushed Sam to flesh out a multi-dimensional every-woman type hero with universal appeal. All of Sam’s previous editors had encouraged her to add more sex scenes so that they could market her work as ‘lesbian erotica’. After her most recent release, which was currently on the New York Times Best Seller List, Sam was hailed by reviewers as the next great female mystery-thriller writer. More and more, her name was being mentioned with the likes of Patricia Cornwell, Tess Gerritsen, and Sue Grafton. In fact, the book reviewer for a small paper in Olympia, Washington, actually likened Sam to Agatha Christy if ‘Mrs. Marple had been a sharp-shooting, former world champion tennis player with a black belt in aikido working for the CIA’. Sam believed that, without Emily’s hard work and belief in her, none of this would have been possible. Because she owed Emily a lot, Sam immediately felt bad for not calling her back.

“Emily, I am so sorry. I meant to call. I did. I promise.” It was the voice of sincere contrition. Of all the women in Sam’s world, only Donna, her step-mother, and Emily could make her stand down. She heard Emily sigh on the other end of the line. They had worked together a long time and Emily knew all of Sam’s tricks and what made her tick; there was no fooling her.

Sam went on, “Ok, so I’m not as far as I’d like to be. We have until next Friday, right?”

Before Emily could answer, she continued, “I’ve got the annual Mom Visit starting tomorrow, but I’ll be back easily by Wednesday and I know I can get it done.”

“Look, Sam, I know you work best when the deadline is right in front of you, but it still scares the ever living shit out of me. We can’t afford any delays at this point.”

Sam still wasn’t used to hearing Emily curse. She just didn’t seem like the type. Sam stifled her usual giggle.

“I know. It’s all going to work out. It always does. Even if I have to pull an all-day and all-nighter,” Sam laughed at the last part knowing how it would freak Emily out.

“For fuck’s sake, Sam. You’re why I need health insurance. One of these days you’re going to give me a heart attack.”

“Ha! You know you love me”, Sam said.

Regardless, Emily couldn’t help but chuckle. For as aggravating as Samantha Stephens could be, she was even more captivating. She was smart and talented and had a certain charisma that drew people in. Warts and all, she was insanely likable. Even though Emily was her editor, she was also Sam’s biggest fan. She attributed much of her career success to the woman from Texas who showed up to their first meeting late, ate far too much Chinese food, and whose best friend was an Australian Cattle Dog. Sam’s success solidified Emily as more than a one-hit-wonder-child in the industry. They were considered two of the best and brightest. Emily hoped to continue their partnership and their friendship indefinitely.

“Yes, I do,” Emily replied and she meant it, probably more than Sam would ever guess.

“I’d tell you to have fun at your Mom’s but I know that won’t happen,” Emily continued, “Hey, what did she say about The Bucket List wish thing?”

“I haven’t told her about it yet. She’s so damn negative and I just didn’t want to hear it. It’ll be easier to talk about in person. She won’t be as excited as my dad and Donna were though. That’s for sure.”

“That sucks. Be safe. Don’t forget about Friday!! Oh, and say hi to Malin for me.”

“Never you mind about her,” Sam laughed. Malin. Damn it.

Sam hung up. She’d been sitting in her car her carport outside her apartment for the last ten minutes. She contemplated what to do now. Should she go to her office and work a little or just go home? That was the good and bad part about having her office in her apartment complex. When Sam was able to quit her job and write full time three years before, she rented an efficiency apartment a short walk away from the one bedroom apartment she and Kate shared. At times, like this one, it was far too convenient.

“Well, Kate, should we work tonight?” Kate looked back at her and blinked.

“Yeah, I agree. Hell no. You feel like Chinese?” Sam found the number for Hao Hao, her favorite South Austin Chinese place, and ordered the usual as they got out of the SUV and made the short walk to the apartment.

~


Sam woke up early as planned. She was no stranger to 3:30am. She often got up long before the rest of the world to write. Today there would be no writing. Today was a road trip. Sam had a long drive ahead of her, but she loved to drive. The previous year she had done Austin to Lindstrom, Minnesota in nineteen hours. Sam thought she could shave an hour off if she planned her stops and if weather and construction cooperated. She did the calculation in her head one more time - on the road by 4:00am at the latest could get her to her mom’s by 10:00pm. It would be a rough day, but stopping along the way was tough with Kate. Many hotels didn’t welcome pets and there was no way she would leave her best friend in the car. Her mom always pestered her to fly.

“Why can’t you ever just do things the easy way, Samantha? Wouldn’t flying be easier? And quicker?” Jean would ask. Sam’s usual reply involved Kate and the inconvenience of flying with a dog, but that wasn’t exactly the truth. Kate flew to California for the annual Dad Visit every year and didn’t seem to mind. Sam had learned the hard way that driving to her mother’s, even if it made for a really long day, was the way to go. Several years back she and Jean had gotten into one of their bigger fights on Sam’s second day there. Because she wasn’t scheduled to leave for three more days, Sam was stuck. Stewing in her anger and dealing with a decisive lack of freedom, Sam decided then and there that she would never fly to Minnesota again. And she hadn’t.

Sam lugged her carry-all, racket bag, and a bag of dog food to the truck. At times like this, she wished that the Xterra had remote keyless entry. In truth, the Xterra didn’t have much - no power locks, power windows, or cruise control. Still, though, it was Sam’s dream car and as much a part of her life as Kate was. It always sounded a bit pathetic when Sam thought about it. She loved her truck and her dog more than almost anything else in her life. Well, they were consistent, completely non-judgmental, and never bitched about anything. The three of them had been through a lot in the seven years they’d been together. Seven years. That was four years longer than any of Sam’s relationships, including her doubles partnerships.

With everything loaded and Kate in her co-pilot seat, Sam hit the road. After a quick stop at Whataburger for a burger breakfast, they hopped on I-35 and in mere minutes they were on the upper deck whizzing past downtown Austin. 4:00am was about the only time you could ‘whizz’ anywhere in Austin, a fact that Sam sorely despised about the city she otherwise loved.

“See ya in a few days, Austin,” Sam called out with a slight wave, “if I survive”.

~

Eighteen hours and fifteen minutes later, Sam slowed on the outskirts on Lindstrom, Minnesota. Sam could say what she wanted about hating to visit her family, but at least they lived in a beautiful place. Chisago County, Minnesota contained quite a few of the 10,000 lakes the state was so famous for so everywhere you looked there was water. Lindstrom, just one of several quaint small towns along Highway 8, didn’t have much besides an antique store, a pharmacy, and a Dairy Queen, but no matter what Hell went on at her mother’s place, she could walk the little downtown, get some ice cream, and end up feel better.
 

Sam looked at the clock on her car stereo - 10:15pm. Her mother wasn’t expecting her for at least another hour or so. Jean had called several times while Sam was on the road to check her progress. “Still on 35, Mom” was Sam’s stock answer. The last time she called, about an hour before, Sam had cleared the Twin Cities in reality was less than an hour away. She told Jean that she hadn’t even made it to the Cities yet. It was an out and out lie, but one made of sheer necessity. After a long day on the road, Sam needed to decompress and medicate a little before knocking on her mother’s door.

Sam passed through Lindstrom and continued up the highway to Center City. She’d discovered Al’s Bar after an extraordinarily horrible day shopping with her mother and sister about ten years earlier. She still remembered the hangover. Since then, Al’s had been a tradition. Sam always planned her drive so that she could spend a little time at Al’s before heading to her mother’s house. Sometimes she’d call Jeff and see if he could sneak out under the guise of some veterinary emergency, but this year she was content to catch up with Malin, Al’s daughter who had taken over the business two years before. Like many people in the area, Malin was of Swedish decent. Unlike many people in the area, Malin had actually lived Sweden and spoke the language fluently. Sam had had a secret crush on the tall, lanky forty-something blond since the moment they had met several years before. She even modeled a character after her just so she’d have an excuse to strike up a friendship with her. Malin Jonassen was good for her soul and, other than hanging out with her brother-in-law, she was one of the few things Sam looked forward to on her annual Mom Visit.

Sam hoped it wouldn’t be weird. Malin had come to New York the previous Fall for the book release party Sam’s publisher had thrown. One drunken thing had led to another and they ended up sleeping together. Malin was straight; ish, apparently. And Sam hadn’t spoken to her since. It wasn’t like they had cheated on anyone - they were both single - but Sam liked Malin far too much. She wasn’t safe and really where was it going to go anyway? Sam had a life in Austin and Malin had a life in Minnesota. Those facts were not going to change.

Sam parked in front of Al’s and she and Kate hopped out. That was the other great thing about Al’s. Kate didn’t have to wait in the car. Sam paused with her hand on the door.

“I didn’t have to do the calling. She could have called me, right? Here goes nothing.”