Chapter 6 #3
I place my hand over his on the table. “It’s okay.
I won’t tell him I know. And I’ll watch him.
I can see your house from my bedroom. Whenever I can, I’ll make sure he isn’t—” I rack my brain for things that people with dementia might do.
“Wandering around or anything like that. I can check on him throughout the week, too, if you want. Bring him more meals and stuff like that.”
Adam lets out a deep sigh. “Thanks for understanding. And I don’t think we’re at that level yet, but I appreciate the offer.”
I lift my hand, only then realizing how warm his had been.
The tea is too hot to sip, but I wish I could, because I need a second…
or, like, a million seconds…to process this.
To cry. William is up there in years, but he’s so stubborn and sturdy, I assumed he’d be around for a couple more decades, at least. I say a prayer to the old gods that whatever the symptoms his doctor’s worried about are, it’s just regular old-age stuff.
“Well, let me know anytime if there’s anything you need with William. I…I really do care about him, Adam. He’s been one of my only—” I pause, taking a moment to swallow. “He’s a good friend.”
Adam nods and sips his tea, grimacing.
I frown. “What’s the matter?”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Nothing. I just really fucking hate tea.”
This gets a chuckle out of me. “Why did you make some for yourself, then?”
He runs a hand over the stubble of his chin. “I have no idea, Sky.”
I take a sip of my own tea. It’s a blend of mint and maybe echinacea root. Very herbal and green. I’m sure if Sage were here, she could give it a single glance and tell me every ingredient.
I swallow and glance at Adam once more. “I’m glad you explained your behavior to me. About the accusations and all that. I understand it, especially given—” I wave my hand toward William’s bedroom. “But…”
“But…” he says, giving me a soft half smile.
I set my mug down again. “But you owe me two apologies, actually. I’m still waiting for the other one.”
Adam raises his eyebrows. “Uhh—”
“At Nate Bowen’s wedding to Fern?”
His eyebrows drop. “Oh?”
I roll my eyes. “You were incredibly condescending toward me when I was just chilling with some pigeons and chipmunks.”
“Well—”
I continue on before he can give me another annoying lecture about various pathogens living on feathers. “And then I heard you laughing about it—about me—in the parking lot afterward. When you left with that woman. Remember that?”
Adam buries his face in his hands. “Fuuuck.”
I tap my fingers against the hard wood of the table. “That’s not an apology.”
Adam keeps his hands over his face and I think he might be nodding under them. “Fuck,” he repeats.
I shake my head. “Still not an apology.”
He lets his hands fall to the table and stares right at me.
The eye contact is a little intense, so I force my own gaze to the swallowing motion of his Adam’s apple.
“I’m sorry for being condescending to you that day.
The day of the wedding. And I’m sorry for laughing at you later.
It’s not an excuse but…I’d been drinking.
I am…I didn’t know it at the time, but I am my worst self when I’ve had a few too many. ”
“It’s why you stopped?” I ask. “Drinking, I mean?”
Adam nods. “Luckily I stopped before it became more serious of a problem.”
“Well. Yeah. That’s a good thing.” I look down.
“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Sorry. I was just being as honest as I can. I was an asshole to you back then. And I was an asshole to you last week. I know you heard Gramps…I’m not in a good place. I’m unemployed—”
“You lost your job? But I thought you were working for the…” I let my voice trail off, realizing that these details are probably none of my business. But last I had heard, Adam moved back into town to work for the Cranberry Chronicle. I guess that’s why I’m so surprised.
Adam sighs. “Yes, after only about six months, they let me go. They said I wasn’t pulling in readers like they had hoped I would, and the Chronicle’s tiny budget got hit with more cuts, so…
” He shrugs. “I’ve been living off savings.
I am moving back in with my grandfather while in my thirties.
It’s just been one thing after another, you know? ”
“You moved in?” I ask, suddenly more than unnerved by this information. “I thought you were living downtown and only visited William on the weekends.”
Adam laughs. “Kinda hard to keep a place with no income. I’m almost finished packing and should be all settled here within a few days.” He clears his throat. “As I was saying, though. No matter what I’m going through, I shouldn’t have taken that out on you. Again, I’m sorry.”
I take a tiny sip of tea to try and figure out what to say next.
I’m still frazzled by the idea of Adam living here, so close to Nadia’s place.
It reminds me of when I was a ghost. When he’d stay at William’s for long vacations and I would jump out an attic window to watch him read and write and go in the backyard, put his hands in his pockets and glance up at the twinkling stars, maybe the same stars whose planets have animals that I might be, in some distant, cosmic way, magically connected to.
The words feel as though they come from my heart. “I’m sorry you’re going through it.”
He nods. “Well. Yeah. I’ve been laid off twice in the last two years because of the ongoing decline of journalism.
I really need to get my name back there in some huge way, I think.
It would be great if, like, an incredibly compelling story just, like, fell into my lap.
” He laughs as though he’s said some impossible thing.
“Especially considering how Gramps’s medications and doctor visits are adding up.
His health insurance keeps dropping the ball.
But, yeah. That’s what I really need to get back to newspaper journalism. A big break.”
I swallow. I can scarcely believe what I am about to say next, but…I think of how becoming sharp like a pinecone didn’t work at all. I then remember the immediate regret on Peter’s face, after he’d been heckling me with absolutely no sign of remorse. All because of Adam shutting it down.
Even if Adam’s in the middle of what sounds like a serious rough patch…this whole town still respects him. Peter at the bar wouldn’t have given a crap about Adam’s opinion of his behavior otherwise. Which means…maybe through him, I can get them to respect me.
Not like me. I’m not delusional. But just…treat me like a real human, even if they give me a wide berth most of the time? The idea of going to the store or even taking a walk downtown to watch the sunset along the coast without intense anxiety and panic is too good to pass up.
So I nod. Decision made. I make my voice low and mysterious. “What about the true story of a girl who fell eighty feet in a state park? Whose body was never discovered? But then she was found in the same park, eight years later, with no memory of where she’d been?”
Adam swallows his sip of tea. I can tell that he is sort of intrigued, but then he shakes his head. “No…I mean, that’s a little too…”
I interrupt him by putting my hand over his. He glances down quickly and up again, swallowing, this time without any tea. “But what if she actually does remember where she’d been? And you would be the first person who’s not family to know the true story?”
I try so hard to frame it like a true crime podcast intro.
I know those are addicting to a lot of people, Anise included.
She always has some episode on when she’s doing mindless work, like organizing books or sweeping.
Sometimes I will hang out to listen for a few minutes, even delaying my eventual nesting in my favorite place in the whole world, my desk in the basement.
It’s the language they use, and the music, honestly.
I need some dramatic theme music attached to my offer right now.
Instead, Adam scratches the red gold of his hair and brings his hand to cup his mug once more. “But what would be in it for you?”
Respect. Dignity. I open my mouth to pick one of these, or a synonym, but then what actually comes out is this:
“A…friend?”