The shower was running, Parker could see steam come from underneath the door. She had to pee.
"Sam, hurry up, I gotta pee."
"Just a minute." The shower droned on.
She went to the kitchen and smoked a cigarette. Her window faced the west. She was watching the traffic go by, inevitably from the beach or to the beach, on this warm day. The cigarette was out. She got up and changed shirts into a tank top. She was done waiting for Sam to get out of the bathroom.
"Sam! Goddamnit! I have to pee!"
When he didn't reply she pounded on the door. Nothing.
Well, he'd been in there long enough to drown. She waited a few more minutes while smoking another cigarette. The urgency of needing to urinate won and she knocked on the door again. Nothing. He had looked sweaty when he came over and the racing gloves in 80 degree weather was a little ridiculous for driving a 1970s BMW around, its alternator was out and he had to constantly rev the engine and use the brake at the same time to keep it from dying at the stop lights. She guessed all the revving of the engine made him feel like he needed the official racing gear. He was also wearing one of his custom made shirts with long sleeves, it hadn't surprised her that he needed a shower with all that on, he must have needed a good rinse, but now denial was no longer a friend.
Parker took a screwdriver and turned the keyhole to the bathroom door, it popped open. There on the toilet, leaving her no room to easily get by to turn off the shower, was Sam. Slumped against the sink, looking pallid. She turned off the shower, without any medical knowledge she tried to find a pulse in his wrist or neck. Neither proved to show her anything. She listened by his mouth and nose, nothing. She put her head to his chest. Again, nothing rising or falling. His forty-five minute shower was just a ruse to cover up for slamming dope while sitting on the toilet.
She walked back into the kitchen and lit a cigarette. Maybe five years ago, when she'd had the time for Sam's bull shit, she could have been prepared for this. Unfortunately, five years ago, after she paid for his last rehab stint, he moved to Washington and she rarely heard from him. Until last week, when he suddenly showed up, back in town and making his old connections again, all of them apparently. They'd gone to the Marina and celebrated his arrival among friends last weekend. He'd inconveniently crashed on her sofa for a night or two, but it was all for old time's sake and she couldn't refuse him.
Five years ago, she was barely out of rehab. Since Sam's departure, it seemed she'd lost her road-dog, so, she supposed somewhat naturally, she made new friends, started staying out of the bar, away from the pushers and got a legitimate job.
Her family and long-lost friends were pretty proud of her. She'd become somewhat of a local icon in the community. Without ample drugs and parties simplifying her life, she had to find new interests which included elderly rights, tutoring teenagers in English, doing meals on wheels. She had always been a giver, or enabler if you will, she just never applied it to the right areas of her life.
Now, here she was smack back at zero with Sam dead in her bathroom. Everyone in her building was familiar with her, there would be no peace and quiet after the entourage of 911 vehicles arrived. The coroner would take hours. She could see herself now, on the local news, woman who has given to the community for five years has dark side, details on her secret life at night at 11. No, she vowed that she would not be that person.
Since they were getting back to the roots of their lives, she called Seth. He was going to be livid, upset, and emotional but he was going to be her rock. He knew how far she'd come and kept his distance while always checking in on her. He wouldn't let her down.
