She smiles and drops the pencil and pad onto the dresser. She throws herself into my arms, and we repeat last night’s performance several times.

“GARRETT?” SAM ASKS AS I NUZZLE into her breasts.

“Hmm?” I respond sleepily.

“What are you going to tell Kai about me?” she asks, and I’m suddenly wide awake.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, how are you going to explain me to him when he gets older? He’ll see me in pictures and will assume I was a major part of his life. I just want to know what you’re going to tell him.”

She’s serious, and I can’t think of what to say.

“Are you assuming you won’t be able to tell him yourself?” I ask.

“Well, maybe?”

“You’re going to tell him because I’m not letting you go. Ever.” I can’t picture Kai’s life without Sam in it. And I can’t picture my own without her next to me.

“We’re family,” I say to her, and she sucks in her breath.

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I just said. We’re family. You’re not just Kai’s nurse. You helped him heal, and you love him as if he were your own. So, yeah. Family.”

She smiles through happy tears and snuggles next to me.

“I want to know more about your family,” she says. “Your parents are great. I want to know more. Do you have aunts, uncles, cousins?”

“My parents are amazing. Mom and Bill have given me a great life. They supported my dreams of becoming a musician and never once questioned my choices. They helped create a stable and loving home that was torn from me when my father left so many years ago. I didn’t realize until recently how lucky I am to have them in my life.” I pause and reflect once again how lucky I am to have them. “My mom’s family is huge. I have four uncles and about a dozen cousins, all living in North Carolina. I’m glad they’re all so close to each other down there.”

“That’s amazing. You’re lucky to have all of them.” Sam met my parents about two months ago. I could tell that my mother adored her, and she kept throwing looks my way. I think she could sense something I wasn’t yet aware of. She looks a little sad, and I hope the talk of my big family doesn’t upset her. I don’t even know anything about hers. Maybe she has cousins out there somewhere too?

“What about your family?” I ask.

“I don’t have a huge family like you. My mother was an only child, and my father’s only sister is Aunt Peggy. I miss my parents so much and I hold them close to my heart. My mother gave me so many gifts, but the most important gift she gave me was to give of myself to others. I know she’s looking down on me right now, thrilled that I’m a nurse. She always told me that I had a higher purpose and I never believed her until I took that oath in nursing school.”

She pauses to reflect on the love she has for her mother.

“When my father saved me from drowning, he also gave me the desire and push to be brave. He gave me the gift of unconditional love and understanding. His gift allows me to open my heart to anyone, and it gives me the desire to help heal. He was a wonderful man, and Heaven is a better place with him there.”

“I know you’re right,” I say, and realize that my father is probably in Hell.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t pretend my life was a fairytale when I was younger, but I have to believe in the gifts my parents gave to me in order to make sense of their deaths.”

“Can you tell me about it?” I ask, expecting she’ll decline.

“About their deaths?” she responds.

“Yes.”

“They were murdered.” She tenses next to me, and I softly run my fingers up and down her arm.

“I know. But how?” My morbid curiosity takes control as well as my sudden desire to take this awful memory from her forever.

She inhales deeply and says simply, “They were blown up in their own home by a deranged man looking for money and drugs.”

My head begins to spin as the reality of what she just said sinks in. “What?” I ask, and I’m not prepared to hear anything more. I sit up in bed and place my head on my knees. Her voice becomes distant and is replaced by Bill’s voice.

“He killed himself,” Bill says to me solemnly through the phone.

I almost crumble in place as his words hit me in the chest. “How?” I ask again, but know I don’t want to hear anything more.

“You should come home,” he says, and I immediately deny his request.

“No! What good will that do? He’s dead. I haven’t seen him since I was seven, and he killed himself before he could see me now.”

“Garrett, you don’t understand. There’s more that we need to tell you,” Bill pleads with me, and I can hear my mother sobbing in the background.

“What more could you possibly say? He’s dead, Bill. He’s been dead to me for years.”

“He killed himself along with two other people. It was a murder-suicide.”

“What?” I ask, barely audible to myself.

“He was in a treatment facility not too far from here when he disappeared. They called your mother the other day to see if she’d heard anything from him. She explained that she hasn’t heard from him in years and had no idea he was even in this facility. They told her she was listed as his only relative and that if she should hear from him, they needed to know immediately. They explained that he was a danger to himself and others.”

I can’t take this all in. It’s too much to comprehend.

“Who did he kill?” I ask.

“A husband and wife in Newtown on Hickory Avenue.”

“How?” I ask in disbelief.

“The police believe he filled their home with gas from their stove and used a lighter. The explosion leveled the house.”

I drop my phone and make a mad dash for the bathroom. I puke up everything in my stomach and more. How could my father do this? Why would he do this?

I curl up in the bathroom stall and try to drown out the noise from the bar. Animated voices joking and flirting. People who have normal lives with normal families. None of them are related to a murderer.

None of them have to look in the mirror and be forever branded with the sins of their father.

“Garrett?” Sam’s voice echoes in my ears and I snap out of my daze. I flinch when she touches my shoulder.

“Oh my God, are you okay?” she asks, and her concern turns to fear.

“Sam…” I say weakly and place my hand over hers. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Garrett. Even though it was difficult, I’ve come to terms with their deaths in the best way that I can. Please don’t look at me like that. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s a look filled with pity.” She pleads with me, and I can’t help but feel worse.

I need to tell her.

“I’m sorry,” I say again.

“Stop,” she says, begging me not to continue. Her eyes are huge with fear.

“My father… died in a similar way. Sam, he’s killed people. He died at 842 Hickory Avenue.” I almost choke on the words that come out of my mouth.

Her eyes widen in disbelief, and she whimpers next to me. She begins rocking in place on the bed and shaking her head violently from side to side. “Stop. Stop talking,” she screams. “This isn’t true. No. No. No. NO!” she yells and starts hyperventilating. Her breathing is erratic and shallow.

I don’t know how to calm her down, and the memories of the days that follow are so vivid and clear.

“June McAllister, reporting live from 842 Hickory Avenue in Newtown. The scene of an apparent murder-suicide. Benjamin and Katherine Weston, unsuspecting parents of a teenaged girl, were overtaken in their own home by John Horton. We’ve since learned that Mrs. Weston was several months pregnant, expecting their second child. Family of Mr. Horton was unavailable for comment, but his former wife Claire Armstrong released a statement through her representative.