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her lip and felt something akin to embarrassment whoosh through her. “I didn’t mean to dredge up bad memories,” she said, repentant. “I’m so sorry.”
    “No, no, don’t apologize,” Sam said quickly. “I’m fine. I’m the one who should apologize. I just got caught up, started rambling… you know what? Let’s get something clear from the start, okay? I loved my wife very much. And I will always remember Chelsea lovingly… she was a part of me. But it’s been eleven years since she died. That’s a long time already. I went through a lot, but I eventually, and genuinely, came to grips with all of it.” He paused to take a deep breath, and she waited. “I have a good life now—because after some time, when I was ready, I chose to go on and have a good life. And she wanted that for me. I'll always miss her, but it doesn’t hurt like hell to think about her now. It doesn’t hurt to talk about her or that whole time period. You don’t have to be careful with me, and I don’t want you to be. I don’t need to be… handled. Don’t tiptoe around me. There's no walking on eggshells on this subject. If it comes up, if you ever have a question, I’m really fine. I'm not fragile. Alright?”
    “Alright,” Lydia said. “Actually, I’m glad you said all that. Because I wasn’t sure.”
    “I know. It’s a hard thing to try to feel out.” Sam sighed. “I always feel bad when it comes up and makes other people feel bad. I mean, it was a part of my past, and I’m not trying to hide it or shy away from it. But when it comes up, it… um… makes people feel uncomfortable or awkward, as though they said or did something wrong. Then it makes me want to put them at ease. But hey, I guess I’d rather people be compassionate and sensitive enough to care about what they say, as opposed to people being careless and insensitive and not giving a crap. Right?”
    “Right. Yes. That’s a good way to look at it,” Lydia said with admiration. “Your attitude, on all of it, is wonderful. Not everyone would be able to get through what you went through in one piece, much less come out stronger.”
    “Well, hey—I’m not trying to be a poster child,” Sam said. “Seriously. I was a wreck, a real mess, for a long time. A few years . But once my head was in a decent place again, I had a choice to make: would I let that one catastrophe shape the rest of my life, or would I find a different path, put the past behind me, and move on? We all make choices.” He laughed ruefully. “Wow! That totally sounded like some crazy seminar leader or something, huh? Jesus, I’ll get off my soapbox now. Sorry. I’ll shut up.”
    “No, no, don’t shut up,” Lydia said. “I agree with you. I admire your choices, and your honesty about it all, and your strength. Some people don’t see going on with their life in spite of something terrible as a ‘choice’. They turn bitter and look at it as something that’s happened to them , you know?”
    “Well, forging ahead after something bad has happened is really hard,” Sam said. “It’s hard work, picking up the pieces. Some people don’t get up again. They can’t. It’s all too much, too big. That happens. But some people… just don’t like hard work. They’d rather sit, bitch, and be victims. Maybe for them, that’s easier. But that’s not me. That's not who I am.”
    Lydia cleared her suddenly parched throat. She got up from the couch and went to her kitchen for some water. “You know… not that I would ever, ever compare our situations, but I think I kind of get you in regards to the tiptoeing stuff. I mean… I’ve been getting something like that ever since Matt and I split up.” She reached into the cupboard and grabbed a glass. “Sometimes I feel like people—people who’ve known me for a long time, even—don’t know what to say to me anymore, or are too aware of what they say and are afraid of offending me. As if they’re walking on eggshells when