35. Chapter 35
Caitlin
The first tear falls before I even realize I’m crying.
It slides down my cheek and drops onto my hand, a perfect translucent circle on my skin.
I stare at it oddly detached as if it belongs to someone else.
Then another falls. And another. Suddenly I’m crying in earnest, great heaving sobs that seem to come from somewhere deep inside me, from a place I’ve kept locked away for months.
“Caitlin?” Adam’s voice sounds distant through the roaring in my ears. “Caitlin, I’m sorry…I shouldn’t have—”
I shake my head, unable to form words. It’s not just his confession about Millie that’s broken the dam; it’s everything.
The months of feeling inadequate in Mount Pella.
The loneliness of watching his family embrace Millie while keeping me at arm’s length.
The humiliation of being left behind while Adam went on a cruise with another woman.
The pain of realizing I was fighting a battle I could never win against people who’d made up their minds about me before they even met me.
“Please don’t cry,” Adam sounds panicked now, hovering near me, hands outstretched but not quite touching me. “Tell me what to do. Tell me how to fix this.”
I try to speak, but all that comes out is another sob. My chest hurts with the force of my crying. I press my hands to my face, ashamed of breaking down like this but unable to stop.
“Okay…it’s okay,” Adam says softly, his panic giving way to something gentler. “It’s okay, Caitlin. Just let it out. I’m here.”
I feel him move closer, the warmth of his body next to mine.
He hesitates, then puts his arm around my shoulders.
The familiar weight of it breaks something else inside me, and I turn toward him instinctively, burying my face against his shoulder.
He smells like sawdust and sweat and that underlying scent that is uniquely Adam.
It’s achingly familiar, like coming home after a long journey.
He holds me while I cry, one hand making slow circles on my back, the other cradling my head against him. He doesn’t try to shush me or tell me to calm down. He just sits with me, solid and steady, letting me purge months of hurt and anger and confusion.
I don’t know how long we sit like that. Long enough that my sobs eventually subside into hiccuping breaths, long enough that the shoulder of his t-shirt is soaked with my tears. I pull back slightly, embarrassed now at my outburst.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. “I didn’t mean to fall apart like that.”
“Don’t apologize,” Adam says, his own voice rough with emotion. “Not to me. Not ever.”
I wipe my eyes, suddenly exhausted. “I want to go home,” I say, the words coming out small and vulnerable.
“Of course.” Adam nods, already standing, helping me to my feet. “I’ll drive you. You’re in no condition to get behind the wheel.”
I don’t argue. My head is pounding, my eyes swollen and burning. I let him lead me to his truck, too drained to protest when he opens the passenger door for me and helps me in like I’m made of glass.
The drive back to town passes in a blur. I stare out the window, watching the familiar landscape slide by, my thoughts jumbled. Occasionally, a fresh wave of tears washes over me, and I cry quietly, pressing my forehead against the cool glass of the window.
Adam doesn’t try to fill the silence with words. He drives steadily, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the console between us, palm up, an invitation I’m not ready to accept.
By the time we pull up to the townhouse I share with Rachel, my eyes feel like they’ve been scrubbed with sandpaper. Adam comes around to help me out of the truck, his hand under my elbow steady and warm.
We’re barely through the door when Rachel appears in the hallway, her expression shifting from concern to fury as her eyes land on Adam.
“What the hell did you do?” she demands, advancing on him like a storm cloud. “We had an understanding, Kelley. It hasn’t even been a week!”
Adam steps back, hands raised in a placating gesture. “I know, I’m sorry. We were talking about what happened last year, and—”
“I don’t care what you were talking about!” Rachel cuts him off, her voice rising. “You promised you wouldn’t make her cry again!”
Through my tear-blurred vision, I see Adam’s face crumple with guilt and alarm.
He somehow manages to look both miserable and afraid for his life, and something inside me shifts.
Suddenly, inexplicably, I start to laugh.
It’s a small sound at first, just a hiccup of amusement, but it grows until I’m doubled over, laughing so hard my sides hurt.
Both Adam and Rachel turn to stare at me, identical expressions of confusion on their faces.
“You can’t kill him, Rachel,” I manage between gasps of laughter. “He hasn’t finished Grandma’s house yet.”
Rachel’s eyes narrow. “That’s not funny, Caitlin.”
“Sure it is,” I insist, wiping at fresh tears of laughter or sadness, I’m not even sure anymore. “You’ve been threatening to murder him for months, and now you can’t because he hasn’t even finished the kitch…I need him to finish the…”
I can’t even finish my sentence; I’m laughing so hard, the sound veering dangerously close to hysteria. But as quickly as it came, the laughter dissolves into tears once more, and I sink onto the couch, suddenly exhausted beyond words.
Adam and Rachel exchange a look I can’t interpret, some silent communication passing between them.
Then they both move to sit beside me, Rachel on my left, Adam on my right.
Rachel takes my hand in hers, her grip fierce and protective.
After a moment’s hesitation, Adam takes my other hand, his touch gentle.
“It’s okay,” Rachel says softly. “Whatever happened, we’ll figure it out.”
I feel something brush against my legs, and then Luna is there, leaping gracefully into my lap. She settles herself with a proprietary air, kneading my thighs before curling into a ball. Her purr vibrates against me, surprisingly soothing.
“See?” Rachel says, nodding at the cat. “Luna knows what you need. Just sit here with us for a while. You don’t have to talk, don’t have to do anything.”
I close my eyes, feeling the warmth of Adam’s hand in mine, the firm pressure of Rachel’s grip, the comforting weight of Luna in my lap.
The tears slow, then stop. I breathe in, then out, finding a rhythm that doesn’t hurt. In this moment, held between two people who care about me, with a cat purring against my stomach, I feel something that might, just might, be the beginning of healing.
The room falls quiet as my tears finally stop.
I feel hollowed out, empty but somehow lighter, as if the crying has washed away something toxic that I’ve been carrying for too long.
Luna shifts in my lap, stretching before settling back down, her purr a steady vibration against my legs.
Adam gently releases my hand and stands.
“I should go,” he says softly. “You need to rest.”
Rachel squeezes my hand once before letting go. “I’ll make you some tea,” she offers, rising from the couch. She shoots Adam a look I can’t quite interpret. It’s not hostile, but it’s not friendly either.
Adam moves toward the door, his steps slow, as if he’s reluctant to leave. Then he stops, turns back, and in a movement that catches me completely off guard, drops to his knees in front of me. He takes both my hands in his.
“I’m sorry, Caitlin. You need to know that none of this was your fault. It was my fault. I am to blame for everything that went wrong between us. You were everything good in my life, and I failed you. It’s not enough; it will never be enough. But I need you to know I’m sorry.”
Adam rises and with one last look at me, a look so full of love and regret that it makes my throat tighten, he turns and walks to the door. The soft click as it closes behind him feels strangely final, like the period at the end of a sentence.
A few minutes later, Rachel comes back with the mug of tea, steam curling up from its surface. “Chamomile with honey,” she says, setting it on the coffee table in front of me. She settles back beside me on the couch, tucking her feet under her. “How are you feeling?”
I consider the question, trying to sort through the tangle of feelings inside me. “I don’t know,” I admit finally. “Empty. Confused. A little bit numb.”
Luna crawls higher up my lap, settling against my chest, her little face turned up to mine. I stroke her soft fur, finding comfort in the simple, uncomplicated affection of a cat.
“I don’t know what to do, Rachel,” I whisper, the words falling into the quiet room like stones into still water.
“You don’t do anything tonight,” she says gently. “Tonight, you drink your tea, you pet your cat, and you just breathe. Tomorrow will come soon enough.”
I shift so my head rests on her shoulder, and she wraps her arm around me.
She picks up the remote and turns on the TV, finding some mindless cooking competition that requires no emotional investment.
She doesn’t press me to talk more, doesn’t offer advice or opinions about Adam.
She just sits with me in comfortable silence, a steady presence at my side.
As the evening settles around us, I sip my tea and stroke Luna’s fur, letting my mind drift. Adam’s words echo in my thoughts. I don’t know how I feel. I don’t know what I want to do next.
And for tonight, I don’t have to know. For tonight, it’s enough to sit here with my cousin and my cat, to let myself rest in this moment of calm after the storm. The future, with all its questions and possibilities, will wait until I’m ready to face it.