5. Chapter 5
Chapter 5
Adam
It’s just past six in the morning when I step out of the shower, the events of last night replaying in my head over and over. She asked if I was married or had a girlfriend. Probably to drive home the fact that she thinks no one could ever care enough about me to wear either title.
I know why she resents me, but I wanted to hear it from her—explained in her own words. Jon and I have talked about Katie’s dislike of me countless times over the years. He’s always certain that her negative feelings are temporary, but after eighteen years, I’m not so sure. What was he thinking when he offered me the extra room in her house? That she’d welcome me with open arms? What was I thinking when I accepted? Jon’s an optimist. I’m a realist.
I slip into blue jeans, a white t-shirt, and some work boots, knowing I’ll be visiting several projects today. In the small kitchenette, I make my usual breakfast: a peanut butter and Nutella sandwich. It’s the only thing I can make without causing a disaster. I pour myself a glass of milk and start going over the renovation plans and estimates scattered on the counter. Looks like it’s going to be a long day.
***
A few hours later, I’m covered in dust and starving. I know I could delegate most of the work on my projects, but for some reason, I always dive right in. Cutting, measuring, climbing, installing, painting—it’s in my blood. You can take the man out of manual labor, but you can’t take the manual labor out of the man.
Smiling to myself, I pull out my phone and dial Jon’s number.
“Hello?”
Upon hearing his deep, reassuring voice, I feel a sense of calm, even though what I have to tell him won’t be easy.
“Hi Jon,” I say in greeting.
“Adam,” he begins, “I’m so glad you called. How was your first night at Katherine’s? Ha, ha. I mean, back in your house.”
“Coach,” I begin, steeling myself. “I couldn’t stay.”
“What do you mean?” His voice shifts, a trace of annoyance creeping in.
Without hesitation, I continue, “I sat down with Katie, and we talked. Neither of us thinks it’s a good idea for me to move in. She’s paying rent. The house is hers for the next six months. I can’t ask her or force her to let me move in. It wouldn’t be fair or right.”
“Adam, Adam.” Hearing my name repeated tells me everything I need to know—he doesn’t approve.
I instantly feel like I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place.
“Katherine is behaving like a child,” he says. “And you’re letting her. She’s spoiled and used to getting her way. Not this time.” I hear him take a deep breath, and I seize the opportunity to shift the conversation.
“Coach, are you hungry? I’m almost done here. I need to head back to the hotel for a quick shower. How about lunch at The Sandbar in about an hour?”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “Adam, you’re changing the subject. See you in an hour. This conversation is not over, Son.”
***
I walk into The Sandbar and see Jon already seated in a booth enjoying chips and salsa and a large Diet Coke.
He used to bring me here as a teen after spending hours together working on one of his father’s rehabs. Now, the rehabs are mine, and I owe it all to this man. He greets me with a smile and a hug.
“Sit down, Son.” he says, as he gives our waiter a small wave.
We order the food and spend the next ten minutes exchanging pleasantries about work, the weather, Sharon, and the girls. The time between us is never awkward, but I can feel a sense of dread creeping in as our conversation gets closer to the one subject we have to discuss but keep putting off.
The waiter brings out our lunch. A roast beef sandwich for him and a small combination pizza for me. Some things never change. We dig in, and both our moods begin to lift.
When we start talking about Loren and Justin's upcoming wedding, Jon hands me Justin’s phone number. "Give him a call," he says. "He wants to ask you to be one of his groomsmen."
"No kidding," I exclaim. There’s a ten-year age gap between us, but I’ve always seen Justin as both a friend and a little brother. I smile, genuinely touched that they’d want me to be part of their wedding party.
A short time later, Jon puts one last bite of sandwich in his mouth and shoots me an appraising look.
“What do you want me to say?” I begin, “Katie hates me.”
“She doesn’t hate you.” He responds. “She calls you the son I never had because she thinks I wanted a son more than anything. I can’t tell you how much time and energy I’ve spent over the years trying to dispel that belief, to no avail.”
Jon and I have also had different variations of this same conversation a thousand times before. But now, Katie and I are both here. Neither one of us is going anywhere. The battle over Jon’s love and attention is only in Katie’s mind, and I don’t know how to get that point across to her.
Jon is now looking at me with concern written all over his face. I feel like he can read my thoughts.
"Do you remember Meredith Sanders?" I ask, wanting to change the subject. "She was in my graduating class.”
Jon nods. “Yes, of course. She’s a real estate agent here in town.”
“Yes,” I continue, “She’ll be showing me a few properties this week. I was going to ask Katie to help me find a place, but she’s completely shut off. She wants nothing to do with me.”
Jon shakes his head and smiles. Does he not see the severity of the situation?
“Do you have dinner plans on Saturday?” he asks, shifting the conversation.
“No. I don't have any plans," I say.
"Come to dinner at the house," he says. I guess this is his way of tabling the Katie discussion for another time.
I pay the tab, and we head out. In the parking lot, we part ways with a hug, agreeing to see each other on Saturday if not sooner. I wonder if Katie will be there this time.
I drive back to the hotel and immediately start stressing about Jon's invitation to dinner even though it's days away.
I change into some shorts and the third T-shirt today, and I try to focus on getting some work done.
A few hours later, I’m hungry and on edge. I put some ham between two slices of bread and call it dinner. I do some deep breathing. I turn on the news. I watch some useless content online. I try to read the book Jon gave me for my birthday, The Bridge Between Us , but the words blur together. I even open the drawer on the nightstand and pull out the hotel’s complimentary Bible. I read a few familiar scriptures, but nothing can calm my racing thoughts. So I pray, "God, help me find some peace. I also pray that Katie realizes I’m not her enemy. I never was. Amen."
When sleep finally claims me, she fills my dreams. Her green eyes, vivid and bright, seem to hold me captive, drawing my attention in ways I can’t resist. The freckles, perfectly dusted across her beautiful face, remind me of constellations—something extraordinary, yet always just beyond my grasp.