Read Online Stealing Second: Sam's Story: Book 4 in the Clarksonville Series by Barbara L. Clanton - Free Book Online
Authors: Barbara L. Clanton
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of tears ran dry, she let Helene hold her tight.
Helene spoke softly. “I remember when you were, oh, six years old, and you told me matter-of-factly you were going to marry your classmate Janet.”
Sam laughed quietly. “I remember that. First grade. Janet Baker.”
“Um hmm. You never announced these things to your parents, though.”
“I guess I knew better, even then.”
Helene nodded. “And then third grade, remember your crush on that cute little redhead?”
“McKenzie.” Sam sat up. “That didn’t last long. She borrowed some books from me and never gave them back.”
“I forgot about that. I’ve lost track of the others since then. And I’m sure there were a few you never told me about.”
Sam shrugged, but smiled sheepishly, admitting that she’d held back some crushes from her nanny over the years.
“And then you turned sixteen and developed a crush on a tall dark-haired girl from Clarksonville that, as far as I can tell, hasn’t gone away,” Helene teased.
Sam felt her cheeks get warm thinking about Lisa. Her chest tightened again, but she willed herself not to cry.
“This one’s not a simple childhood crush, is it?”
“No. It’s so unfair that I can’t tell anyone about her, about us.”
“You mean your parents.”
Sam nodded.
“Is your father letting you take your friends to the lake house?”
“I wish.” Sam shook her head. “That’s never gonna happen in a million years.” Labor Day weekend was only a week and a half away and then her senior year of high school was going to start after that. If she had any guts, she’d ask again, but when it came to pushing Gerald Payton, only fools tried it.
“And all of this has you playing the
Theme from Schindler’s List
?”
Sam nodded. “That and I seem to have forgotten how to play softball and Coach Gellar’s on my case about it.” She blinked back the tears brimming in her eyes, amazed that she had any more to shed. “I want to tell Mother and Daddy about Lisa and me, but I can’t. You know I can’t. They’ll never ever understand. They’ll send me away to get reprogrammed or something.” She smacked the armrest of the couch, but it didn’t make her feel any better.
“You’ll be eighteen in a few months. Tell them then.”
“I can’t,” Sam spat. “They’re so into their high-society image—”
“Samantha Rose, don’t be disrespectful. They’re your parents.”
“I know, but you’re the one who raised me, Helene.”
Helene looked away from Sam as if she couldn’t deny the fact that, whenever Sam was hurting, she’d run to her nanny. If Sam needed advice, she didn’t go to her parents, she went directly to Helene.
“If I told them about Lisa and me,” Sam continued, “they’d never let me see her again. They’re never going to let me be who I am.” Sam rubbed her temple at the start of a tension headache. “They want the perfect blond-haired blue-eyed Junior League debutante they can parade out for people. They don’t want a dyke for a daughter.”
Helene inhaled sharply, but didn’t respond to Sam’s harsh words. Instead, she pointed to Sam rubbing her temple. “Migraine?”
“No, thank God. Just lack of sleep.” Sam stood up. “Listen, I have to get ready to go to Lisa’s. Who knows how long they’ll let me keep going to Clarksonville.” She heard the resigned tone in her own voice.
Helene stood up and pulled Sam into a quick hug. She walked toward the door. “Promise me you won’t play Schindler’s List anymore today, especially because you were about to play
Chaconne
or
Vocalise
next. Am I right?”
Sam nodded. She never could hide anything from her nanny. “I thought you liked Rachmaninov.”
“I do, but you need to pick cheerier songs. Don’t wallow.”
“Oh, and you don’t wallow?” Sam playfully accused. “I heard Beethoven’s
Moonlight Sonata
coming out of your fingers on that piano downstairs the other day. Or how about Chopin? Which prélude is
Helene spoke softly. “I remember when you were, oh, six years old, and you told me matter-of-factly you were going to marry your classmate Janet.”
Sam laughed quietly. “I remember that. First grade. Janet Baker.”
“Um hmm. You never announced these things to your parents, though.”
“I guess I knew better, even then.”
Helene nodded. “And then third grade, remember your crush on that cute little redhead?”
“McKenzie.” Sam sat up. “That didn’t last long. She borrowed some books from me and never gave them back.”
“I forgot about that. I’ve lost track of the others since then. And I’m sure there were a few you never told me about.”
Sam shrugged, but smiled sheepishly, admitting that she’d held back some crushes from her nanny over the years.
“And then you turned sixteen and developed a crush on a tall dark-haired girl from Clarksonville that, as far as I can tell, hasn’t gone away,” Helene teased.
Sam felt her cheeks get warm thinking about Lisa. Her chest tightened again, but she willed herself not to cry.
“This one’s not a simple childhood crush, is it?”
“No. It’s so unfair that I can’t tell anyone about her, about us.”
“You mean your parents.”
Sam nodded.
“Is your father letting you take your friends to the lake house?”
“I wish.” Sam shook her head. “That’s never gonna happen in a million years.” Labor Day weekend was only a week and a half away and then her senior year of high school was going to start after that. If she had any guts, she’d ask again, but when it came to pushing Gerald Payton, only fools tried it.
“And all of this has you playing the
Theme from Schindler’s List
?”
Sam nodded. “That and I seem to have forgotten how to play softball and Coach Gellar’s on my case about it.” She blinked back the tears brimming in her eyes, amazed that she had any more to shed. “I want to tell Mother and Daddy about Lisa and me, but I can’t. You know I can’t. They’ll never ever understand. They’ll send me away to get reprogrammed or something.” She smacked the armrest of the couch, but it didn’t make her feel any better.
“You’ll be eighteen in a few months. Tell them then.”
“I can’t,” Sam spat. “They’re so into their high-society image—”
“Samantha Rose, don’t be disrespectful. They’re your parents.”
“I know, but you’re the one who raised me, Helene.”
Helene looked away from Sam as if she couldn’t deny the fact that, whenever Sam was hurting, she’d run to her nanny. If Sam needed advice, she didn’t go to her parents, she went directly to Helene.
“If I told them about Lisa and me,” Sam continued, “they’d never let me see her again. They’re never going to let me be who I am.” Sam rubbed her temple at the start of a tension headache. “They want the perfect blond-haired blue-eyed Junior League debutante they can parade out for people. They don’t want a dyke for a daughter.”
Helene inhaled sharply, but didn’t respond to Sam’s harsh words. Instead, she pointed to Sam rubbing her temple. “Migraine?”
“No, thank God. Just lack of sleep.” Sam stood up. “Listen, I have to get ready to go to Lisa’s. Who knows how long they’ll let me keep going to Clarksonville.” She heard the resigned tone in her own voice.
Helene stood up and pulled Sam into a quick hug. She walked toward the door. “Promise me you won’t play Schindler’s List anymore today, especially because you were about to play
Chaconne
or
Vocalise
next. Am I right?”
Sam nodded. She never could hide anything from her nanny. “I thought you liked Rachmaninov.”
“I do, but you need to pick cheerier songs. Don’t wallow.”
“Oh, and you don’t wallow?” Sam playfully accused. “I heard Beethoven’s
Moonlight Sonata
coming out of your fingers on that piano downstairs the other day. Or how about Chopin? Which prélude is
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