Ties That Bind by Natalie R. Collins Page B

have body dysmorphia, like Michael Jackson did. Good thing you can’t afford plastic surgery. You don’t see yourself like you really are. Skin and bones.
    “Shut up, Callie,” she said to the voice in her head. She’d long since resigned herself to speaking with her dead sister—maybe it was the only reason Sam had stayed sane all these years. Or maybe she wasn’t sane. Don’t go there.
    As she was taking a long sip of the chocolate protein shake, the doorbell rang. She jumped, spilling chocolate down her white tank top.
    It was late. Too late for visitors.
    Heart pounding, thinking of Gage, Sam hurried to her front door, trying unsuccessfully to wipe off the chocolate stain. When she reached the door, she peered through the peephole.
    Paul Carson.
    Sam considered ignoring him for a minute, but curiosity got the best of her. She opened the door.
    “Paul.”
    “Hi, Sammy,” he said. His familiarity grated on her for reasons she didn’t really understand.
    “Why are you here, Paul?”
    “I know it’s late, but it’s usually customary to ask someone how they are or say hello when you haven’t seen them for a while.”
    “I just saw you half an hour ago.”
    “Well, before that it had been a long time. At least ten years.”
    It was late, Sam was tired, and Paul was a virtual stranger to her. She wasn’t in the mood to play nice. “How did you know where I live?”
    “Ward directory. I live just around the corner.”
    “Oh, the joys of a small town. You can be living just blocks away from someone you knew years ago and have no idea. I guess that’s what happens when someone stops going to church.” Sam swallowed as she threw out that small tidbit of information. Then the fact that she was on the ward directory hit her. “Why am I on the ward directory? I asked for no contact years ago. I had my name removed.”
    “Maybe God isn’t ready to let go of you yet.”
    “What the fuck is this, a bad episode of Touched by an Angel ?”
    Paul winced at her harsh language, and Sam felt a mixture of shame, guilt, and victory that she could still shock him, raise emotions in him.
    “You’ve certainly changed,” he said with a grimace.
    “Not really. You just didn’t look very close. I want my name taken off that directory. I don’t exactly need people showing up at my house at all hours of the night.”
    “Talk to your bishop.”
    “I don’t have a bishop, Paul. I just explained that. I had my name removed years ago. I shouldn’t be on anyone’s directory.”
    “Well, they call it a neighborhood directory nowadays.”
    “Yeah, well, how did they get my information?”
    “Probably your family.”
    Sam sighed, knowing he was right. “I should have gone to law school and then sued the Mormon Church for harassment. Why is it such a big deal to let me go?”
    “Why is it such a big deal to be let go?”
    “Because I don’t believe any of it.”
    “A lot of it is good, Sam.”
    “A lot of it is not, Paul. And you still never answered me. Why are you here?”
    He avoided her question yet again, his eyes focusing on the dark chocolate stain on her tank top. Sam became aware that she was wearing nothing under the tank and the spill was right over her left nipple. She watched Paul flush a bright red color and then turn away.
    She fought the urge to cover herself and instead stood brazenly with her hands on her hips. “Guess you’ve noticed I spilled. I need to go change.”
    He didn’t take the hint and met her eyes again. “I can see that.”
    Sam could tell he wasn’t going to leave until he got out whatever he wanted to tell her, so she invited him in, told him to sit on the couch, and hurried into her room to put on a bra and a T-shirt.
    “All right, Paul,” she said when she got back into the living room. He sat comfortably, leaning back on the sofa, looking as though he belonged there. She fought back the irritation and the desire to tell him to get out. But she didn’t intend to make it