Chapter 38
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Adam’s sister and nieces live in a rented house on the outskirts of Goshen, two towns to the southeast. It took exactly six turns and twenty-three minutes to get here. He pulls his car up beside a dirty green Corolla with a busted front fender and a crack spider-webbing through the windshield. The driveway is chipped and grimy, shriveled weeds poking through the cracks. The heel of my boot catches in one, and I start to say “Fuck” when the front door bursts wide open, two little girls spilling outside.
“Uncle Adam!”
These must be the twins, with matching eyes and cherub cheeks, but one is tall , the way I was tall at her age, and how Adam probably was. She’s faster than the other, her legs carrying her to Adam sooner. She catapults herself at him, dark hair flapping in the late-November breeze. She’s already up in his arms by the time the other one reaches the drive.
He gives them his full attention whenever they’re speaking, even though they’re both talking a mile a minute, their words tripping over each other’s. Neither of them is wearing shoes, so he scoops them up. They’re nine, he told me once, so it’s not an insignificant load.
The shorter one has finally noticed me where I’m standing in the still-open car door. “Who’s that?”
“Chloe,” he says to her, then addresses the other. “Cora. This is my friend Elle.”
Chloe giggles, pressing her reddening cheek into his shoulder. “She’s so pretty.”
“I know ,” Adam says emphatically, and my face is the one that’s flaming now as he looks over. He talks to her, but he smiles at me. “Let’s go inside before your toes freeze off,” he says. And okay, I’m shivering too, but it’s not from the cold.
The inside of the house is in much better shape than the outside. It’s warm, for starters, but beyond that, it’s lived-in in the best way. There are toys scattered and single shoes and socks posed as land mines on the floor. It smells faintly of sugar cookies and crayons. Adam sets the girls on their feet and shuts the door behind us.
“Hey, you made it,” someone calls from deeper in the house.
Another child appears around the bend. She’s the youngest, but it’s not the only way she’s different from her sisters. Her hair is lighter and more kinked, her eyes a different color.
I stoop down to her level, the veggie tray digging into my stomach. “Hi, Claire.”
She studies me curiously, so I do the same. She’s got juice or something else purple smeared along her chin and shirt. She’s in diapers.
She runs to Adam, hiding behind his legs. He acts knocked off-balance, catches himself on the wall, and it makes her giggle.
Adam scoops her up and extends a hand to me. “Come on,” he says softly. “Ruth’s in here.”
In here is the living room, where more toys and clothes lay scattered. I’m horrified to realize I’m still wearing my shoes, and pause. With a deep, just-for-me chuckle, Adam tugs me along, boots and all. His thumb runs along the ridges of my knuckles, centering me.
Even if I didn’t know Ruth Wheeler was Adam’s sister, there would be no denying it. They have the same dark-brown hair, and though the sharp angles on Adam’s face are softer and more feminine on Ruth’s, her cheeks rounded out and dusted with freckles, they are two sides of the same coin. Simply put, she is gorgeous.
And staring at me like I have two heads.
“You brought a girl ?” She turns that crazed stare on Adam.
I tug Adam’s arm. “You didn’t ask her?”
“Her name is Elle,” Cora offers, collapsing onto a blue couch almost as threadbare as Lovie’s. This one, though, probably doesn’t sleep like a stack of bricks. It’s well worn in the best ways. I could nap so hard on that couch.
Recognition flashes in Ruth’s face at my name. Her eyes dart from my hair (yes, I know my roots need touching up) to my shoes. I don’t remember feeling this scrutinized under Adam’s stare the first time I met him, but I must have. Her gaze travels back up and snags somewhere near my waist.
Adam is still holding my hand.
It’s a millennium before she meets my eyes again, and my body gravitates toward Adam’s with anticipation. Our shoulders touch.
“Are you a vegan?” is what she says. She eyes the vegetables. “Because we do fried chicken on Thanksgiving, and I’ll accommodate a lot, but not that.”
“Oh,” I say, relief blanketing me. “No. Not a vegan, thank God.”
The corner of her mouth jerks toward a smile just like Adam’s, familiarity crashing through me like a wave. “You can stay, then.”
It only takes ten minutes to decide I love this family.
Cora is whip-smart, and every time Adam’s hand so much as twitches in my direction in the hour we wait for the food delivery, she starts singing, “Elle and Adam, sittin’ in a tree.” Chloe loses it at this, whining about Adam’s cooties. Which, as any self-respecting adult knows, is just an excuse to give that little kid as many kisses and raspberries as you can before they squirm off your lap. Adam is very good at this game. Claire is just happy to be here.
Same, girl.
Halfway through dinner, which we eat picnic-style around the coffee table in the living room, Ruth turns to me. “Does your family not celebrate Thanksgiving?”
“Ruth,” Adam hisses, the warning in his tone crystalline. They have their own language the way Liss and I do.
“My parents passed away,” I say, finding Adam’s knee below the table. I’ve already caught his cooties, so there’s nothing to worry about there. “And my grandmother has Alzheimer’s. She’s at home tonight.”
“Oh God,” Ruth says, standing so quickly it nearly topples the plastic gravy bowl. I get the feeling fine china wouldn’t last in this house. “You need alcohol. Do you drink?”
“I’ll take anything you’ve got.”
I take a chance and lean into Adam’s side, the tips of his ears a little red. “I like her.”
“She likes you too,” he murmurs. “She never shares her liquor.”
“Not even with you?”
He chuckles. Leans in to kiss my temple. Press the words “Especially not with me” into the skin there.
Ruth comes back with a stack of plastic cups and a bottle of red wine tucked under her arm. “I don’t have any fancier glasses,” she says, handing the cups to her brother, “but I’ve always been under the impression that wine tastes good no matter what you drink it out of.”
“Cheers to that,” I say, accepting a cup. Ruth fills it a decent amount, then a cup for herself to match.
Despite Adam’s claims, she brought a cup for him too. He accepts a small pour; we all clink. Cora and Chloe add their glasses of soda, and Claire thrusts her sippy cup into the mix with surprising force.
Claire smiles on my right. As I bring my glass to my lips to take a sip, she giggles, clanking her cup with mine again. “Fun,” she says.
Red wine sloshes over the brim, spilling down my neck and dribbling onto my top.
“Oops,” Claire says, her eyes still wide and excited.
“Claire,” Ruth groans, hooking a finger into the back of Claire’s diaper to pull her back from the table. Ruth frowns at my shirt. “I’m so sorry. If you want to borrow a T-shirt, I can pop some stain remover on that.”
The littlest Wheeler is ready to cry, lip quivering and her brows gathering in a downward V that reminds me so much of Adam it hurts . Like I already love her too.
I wave Ruth away. “This shirt has a hole in the armpit anyway. No biggie.” Adam’s gaze is heavy on my profile. I scrunch my nose at a sniffling Claire, then draw a shape that traces the stain. “It’s a flower. I love it. Thank you.”
A quiet breath of surprise from my other side has my pulse jumping, but I hide my smile behind another sip of wine and reach for the spoon in the macaroni and cheese. Warm fingers find my leg beneath the table and make a home there.
Cora and Chloe talk through the rest of dinner about the Christmas decorations they’ll put up tonight. Fight over which movie to watch first.
“What’s your favorite Christmas movie, Elle?” Chloe says. She’s sitting on her knees in a way my thighs haven’t allowed in approximately fifteen years.
“I like Elf . What’s yours?” My stomach is stuffed with a plethora of simple carbs, only ever good for your soul. Which is also full to bursting.
Chloe giggles. “That’s my favorite too.”
“Well, it’s settled, isn’t it?” Adam pulls his tree-trunk legs from under the coffee table and stands up. “That’s what we’re watching while we decorate.”
I help Adam clean up, which consists of carrying the picked-over remains of dinner to the refrigerator, while Ruth herds the girls to the bathroom to wash their hands and faces. All the utensils and plates were disposable—my favorite kind of cleanup, but it means the garbage bag fills quickly.
“I’ll take it out,” I say to Adam, who’s wiping the counters free from crumbs and lingering grease. “Just point me in the right direction.”
He watches me pull the bag free from the can, draw the strings tight. “You don’t have to. Just leave it by the side door and I’ll get it before we leave. It’s cold outside.”
He doesn’t have to worry. I’m never cold when I’m around him.
“What I just heard you say is that the can is by the side door.” I throw him a playful grin. “Back in a second.”
I’m reaching for the door handle on the way back when I catch movement through the glass pane. From where I’m standing, I’ve got a clear line of sight to the living room.
Adam is helping Ruth move the couch to the side to make room for the artificial Christmas tree. His smile stretches wide and open, a laugh I can see but not hear. Cora comes up to him, handing him a piece of paper, maybe a drawing or a school assignment. His mouths make words that could be I love it . Folds it, takes out his wallet, and slips it inside.
Ruth says something then, and it makes Adam dip his head, hang his hand on the back of it. He nods, smiles down at his feet. Glances out the side door to me.
Eyes locked from across the house, Adam nods again as his mouth moves over words I can’t decipher. I wish I were better at reading lips, because I imagine my name among them.
A cold wind whips at my hair, my wine-stained shirt, and I reach for the handle again. It is quite chilly out here.
I want this , I think as we decorate the tree and unbox garlands and ribbon. I want to laugh uninhibited, have a place and people to call home.
Adam is pinning up a thinning tinsel garland to the living room archway, me helping him to hold it in place, when the giggles start.
He narrows his eyes at Cora and Chloe. I’m starting to suspect that conspiratorial laughter of theirs either gets them into or out of heaps of trouble, nothing in between. “What?”
“You’re standing under the mistletoe,” Cora says. Her round cheeks fill with color. “You have to kiss.”
In sync, Adam and I look up. Nestled in the middle of the garland is a sprig of mistletoe so microscopic you’d only know it was there if you were the one who placed it.
“You didn’t tell me they were evil,” I say, loud enough for everyone to hear.
“I didn’t know they were.” He drops his arms, unpinned greenery falling around our shoulders.
My lungs freeze in my chest, though his gaze is bright enough to burn. How will he kiss me when there are people to see it? His people, who will all remember tomorrow. We’ve done many intimate things, but this might be the most important.
His pinkie hooks mine as he dips his head. “May I?” he murmurs, and I nod, eyes fluttering shut.
Adam’s mouth touches the corner of my own, his other hand sweeping up my arm to cradle my face. It’s soft, a promise of a kiss as opposed to an actual one, but it’s appropriate for our current company.
It might be my favorite.
And the look he gives me after centers in my core all the same. I don’t want to let him go.
“Whoever you’re kissing, girls—” Adam’s voice is gruff, stern, and he clears his throat, but it doesn’t really help. “Make sure they always have your permission.”
One of Adam’s very own Hard Love Rules.
“In seventeen to twenty business years, please,” Ruth adds. She chucks a red throw pillow at her brother like a football.
On the ride back to Lovie’s house, I’m still not ready to go home. We were only a twenty-minute drive away, but it felt like I took a vacation tonight. Adam did this for me, brought me along on his plans. I am so thankful for him. Every day, but especially today.
I direct Adam to a spot I remember from high school, at the park down the road from Lovie’s house. To the side gate, which I’m glad to find still rusty on the hinges and unlocked. To the corner of the lot, where the lightbulb is still burnt out on the utility pole.
Small towns are so good for hiding in plain sight.
I crawl over the center console and onto his lap and let him distract me not with nieces and Christmas trees but with mouths and hands and hips and whispers.
And every time I have a thought that scares me too much, that feels too big or too soon, I bite down on it until all that comes out is his name. I love you , I think. I love my life, but I love it more with you in it. I don’t know how I’m supposed to leave when this is all over.
“Adam,” I say instead.
“Adam,” when his fingers dig into my waist.
“Adam,” as he helps me over this burning ledge with his hand between my thighs.
“Adam,” I gasp when he’s there. There.
“Adam,” I say. Over and over, I say his name tonight.
“Again,” he says, on repeat until I’m shaking and sweating and blissfully numb.
And I wonder if maybe his words mean more than they should too.