CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

February 19, 1993: Part II.

“Sam, it’s good to see you,” Ms. Dilinna says, shaking my hand. “Who’s your date?”

“Not a date,” I tell her. “This is my friend, Dr. Javier Torres. He taught at the college with Layne.”

“Oh, a professor,” she says, disappointment coating her words. “It’s good to meet you.” She turns back to me. “We were all so sorry to hear about Layne. I just don’t know what we’ll do without him. He was such a presence here.”

“Yes,” I say. “He truly loved this event and this hospital.”

She glances at my ring, but doesn’t comment. “I know Layne gave a speech every year, but I don’t want you to worry about that. I thought I would say a few words.”

My instincts scream that this is manipulative, not compassionate, but I can’t react without proof. “If you insist.”

“I don’t mean to be insensitive, I really don’t, but,” she lowers her voice, “do you know who got Layne’s money?”

Javier says, “Surely there was a more tactful way of asking that question, or maybe, not asking it at all.”

Ms. Dilinna stands straighter. “I didn’t mean anything offensive. I just wasn’t sure if there was a trust or foundation that we should be applying to now that he’s gone.”

“Simultaneously presumptive and callous,” Javier says.

I place my fingertips on his sleeve. “Actually, Ms. Dilinna, Layne left all of his money to me.”

She’s no longer a person, just a wide-eyed, slack-jawed statue. “T-to you?”

“Yes.”

She recovers quickly. “Well, have you given any thought as to what you might do with it?”

I shrug, “I gave, gosh, I can’t even remember now.” I look at Javier. “Was it five million to the college?”

“No, six,” he says, playing along.

“Right. Six million to BSU to build a new classroom building.” I fake chuckle. “You know, I just have so much money to give that I can’t even keep track of my philanthropy. I might have to hire an assistant just to keep up with all of it for me.”

As always, Ms. Dilinna does not find me amusing. “Yes, well, as you know, Layne truly loved this hospital.”

“As I said.”

“Yes, so maybe you and I could have lunch, or perhaps you could sit down with our major gifts officer, and–”

“Ms. Dilinna, I plan to continue to support all of the causes that Layne supported. Schmoozing isn’t necessary.”

“Oh,” she says, “great.”

“That being said, while Layne was in the hospital, I did receive cards and visits from people at the homeless shelter, animal shelter, and several other charities, but nothing from you all, which did strike me as strange. I hope that you all appreciate Layne’s support and respect his legacy.”

“Yes, of course,” she says. “We absolutely do.”

“Great. Now, are you sure that you don’t want me to say a few words tonight?”

“Oh, no, that’s fine. I don’t mind speaking. You just enjoy the event.”

“Thank you. We will.”

She runs off, and Javier places his hand on my shoulder. “I am so fucking proud of you right now.”

“Language, Javier!” I say in a high-pitched, posh accent. “You’re in the presence of a wealthy lady!”

“My apologies, madam,” he says, taking a small bow.

“You’re a delight,” I say without considering my words.

I know I’ve caught him off-guard because there’s a small but noticeable hesitation before he says, “So are you, Sam.”

We walk around the auction tables one last time. “Looks like you were outbid on every item,” he says.

“Darn,” I say, snapping my fingers. “I really wanted that mega-yacht.”

He shakes his head. “Could you imagine if you had actually won that? What the hell would you have done with it?”

“You can’t see me wearing a captain hat and taking ‘er out to sea?”

“Uh, no.”

“I would’ve just donated it back.” I run my thumb over my ring and clear my throat. “Okay, let me introduce you to everyone before dinner.”

“You know the people we’re eating with?”

“Layne and I were always at the same table. I assume they didn’t move me.”

Everyone is already seated. “Javier, this is Frank and Candice. Their oldest graduated from Stanford last year. And this is Kenneth and Sandra. Their son is now a doctor at this hospital.”

“Who could have predicted that, right?” Sandra says.

“Everyone, this is my friend, Javier. He teaches at BSU. He and Layne were co-conspirators.”

Frank smirks. “We all know that Layne could be quite the troublemaker.”

“In the best ways,” Javier says.

“Indeed.”

Kenneth sighs. “We’re so sorry, Sam. All four of us. I know we were all at the funeral, but I just have to say again how much we’ll miss him–how much we do miss him.”

“Thank you, Kenneth. I appreciate that.”

“Well,” Candice says, “Layne wouldn’t want us moping at his favorite event, would he?” She places her napkin in her lap. “Javier, what do you teach?”

“History, mostly to freshmen.”

“That makes you a saint, doesn’t it?” Sandra says.

“I remember when our youngest was a freshman at Stanford,” Frank says. “She called me one day, and…”

Javier takes the lead in the conversation as the group swaps stories about the challenges of kids adjusting to college life. Despite no one knowing him, Javier immediately blends, and I let myself relax.

But I truly miss Layne stroking my thigh.

***

As they do every year, the most powerful hospital officials make speeches that are too long, and the live auction begins.

“Did Layne bid on live auction items too?” Javier asks.

“Yes, and rarely won.”

“You could do that.”

Since Layne’s death, I’ve experienced moments when too many emotions come to the surface at once. They collide into one another and paralyze me.

And here it is again.

I clear my throat. “I need to step out for just a moment,” I tell the group, placing my napkin on the table. “Candice keep an eye on Frank; make sure he doesn’t buy any more boats.”

“No promises,” Frank says.

I walk to the exit, hoping Ms. Dilinna doesn’t spot my departure.

“Ready for your car, Sam?” Barney asks.

“No, I just needed some air.”

“I bet. Stay as long as you want; I won’t bother ya.”

“Thanks, Barney.”

I take a deep breath, but the feelings don’t subside. I place my hands on my knees and feel my heart pound.

“Sam!” Javier calls when he steps outside. “What’s going on?”

“Just needed some air.”

“Because of the auction?”

“I don’t know.” My heartbeat is faster, louder. “Go back in. I’ll be there in a second.” Waves of warmth travel up my body, and I unbutton my jacket.

“Sam?” Javier asks, standing somewhere closer.

“I’ll just be a minute.” I’m so warm that I need to take off my jacket, but nausea suddenly hits me, and I’m afraid to stand straight.

I crouch instead, thankful that I’m wearing flats.

“Sam?” Javier squats in front of me. “Hey,” he says gently. “Look at me.” When I convince myself I can look up without vomiting, he says, “Shit. Okay, you’re okay. We can do this.”

I don’t know what that means.

“Barney,” he says calmly, “would you mind getting us a damp towel or some water? Sam, I need you to stand up. You’re not going to vomit; it’s going to be okay. Stand up.”

The nausea is overwhelming, but I stand.

He places his hands on my shoulders, under my jacket, and pushes it down. It’s a surprisingly intimate gesture. “You can do this. Take off the jacket.”

I do, and he takes it from me. Then he loosens my scarf and unbuttons the first button of my blouse. If anyone comes out right now, they’ll think he’s undressing me in the street.

“Let’s walk down a little farther,” he says. “The last thing you need is Ms. Dilinna to see this.” He holds my elbow and walks me halfway down the block.

I don’t remember my heartbeat ever being this loud except when I was running. “What’s happening?” I wheeze.

“You’re having a panic attack, Sam–a bad one.”

“I don’t have… panic attacks.”

“You’re having one right now. If this is your first, it’s quite intense.”

Barney calls, “Javier?”

“Stay here,” Javier says before jogging back to the entrance. When he returns, he’s holding a damp towel, and he places a bottle of water on the ground. “I need you to take slow, deep breaths.” He folds the towel and pats it against my forehead, temples, and cheeks before placing it on the back of my neck. “Slow breaths.”

I try, but the wheezing is too much.

“Cup your hands,” he says, opening the bottle of water. When I do, he pours water into them. “Splash your face.”

I feel ridiculous, but I do it, and he repeats the command three times before placing the bottle back on the ground. He presses the damp towel against the back of my neck. “Repeat after me: I’m here. You’re here. Everything’s fine.”

“I’m here… You’re here… Everything’s… fine.”

“Focus on me,” he says, placing his index finger under my chin. “Look at my face. See this scar? Biking accident when I was ten. It turns out I wasn’t the daredevil that I thought I was. Focus on that scar and say, ‘I’m here. You’re here. Everything’s fine.’ Just repeat that.”

I do, and the more I focus on the scar, the less I focus on my heartbeat. Within a few minutes, my breathing has returned to normal.

He takes the towel from my neck and pats my face before draping it over the water bottle. “Feel better?”

I nod.

“Good.” His voice deepens. “Sam, why the hell would you tell me to go back inside?”

“I didn’t know I was having a panic attack.”

“But you knew something was wrong. Why not just say that?”

“You know why.”

I think he’s going to push back, but he doesn’t. “You don’t have to bid in the auction if it’s going to give you a damn panic attack.”

“I can’t bid, Javier,” I say weakly.

“Why not?”

I bite my lip. “Look, you told me not to get emotional during the gala. I can’t answer your damn questions and not be emotional, so let’s just move on.”

“Fine, but we’re coming back to this.”

“Fine.”

He hands me my jacket and rebuttons my blouse. “You can go back in?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s do it.” On our way inside, he hands Barney the towel and half-empty bottle of water. “Thank you, Barney. We owe you.”

“Happy to help. She’s okay now?”

“She’s fine.”

“These events…” he says, but he doesn’t finish his sentence.

When we rejoin the table, no one asks questions. The auction is still happening, and everyone is focused on bids.

When it concludes, Ms. Dilinna takes the stage, and I brace myself.