Chapter Sixteen ADAM #2
Mom hooks an arm through Jackie’s and starts dragging her toward the house, talking her ear off, when she remembers again that I’m also there. “Make yourself useful, dear, and get the girl’s bags.”
Uh-oh. This should be fun. Let me see how she talks her way out of hurting my mom’s feelings on this one.
Sure enough, Jackie smiles warmly, squeezing her hand. “Lori, it won’t be necessary. I have a room at the B&B with the security team.”
Mom might look like a mild-mannered, middle-aged Minnesotan, but Jackie forgets she’s facing a retired teacher. The strong-willed unofficial mayor of this town. “Hell, no. You’ll stay in Adam’s room.”
Images of Jackie in my teenage bed flash way too vividly in my head, and I have to shake myself back to reality.
I make a half-hearted, jokey attempt to rescue her from my mother’s scheming. “That bed is too small for the two of us.”
The woman’s eyes nearly pop out, like I’ve just told her she’s won a brand-new expensive parka. “Oh, you two—”
“No!” Jackie blurts, her cheeks on fire. “The cabin pressure clearly scrambled his frontal lobe.”
I try not to dwell on the speed with which she denies any possibility of us being together.
Mom levels me with a disappointed scowl, but barrels on undeterred. “Adam, we’ll find you a spot for the air mattress, dear.”
I’ve had the pleasure of using that thing when family came to visit on my parents’ anniversary. Do I care I’m going to wake up feeling like shit, with my spine in knots, if it means she’s under the same roof?
I don’t.
The bodyguards move swiftly into position, Patrick giving a subtle nod that it’s all clear. I grab the luggage and trail behind the two women. One thing I can appreciate about Rawlings’ security is that they blend into the background. Half the time, I forget they’re even there.
“The kids are here!” Dad’s handlebar mustache bristles over his smile, looking at us like we’re still in college.
He’s still a big guy, still smells of wood and oil, and when I hug him, the scent hits me square in the chest. It’s like being a kid again. He never gave me one of those half-ass hugs some men think are good enough to show affection.
My dad was always solid and steady, holding me close to his chest until I let go on my own.
“I’d help with the bags, but we’re short-handed today.” He winks at Jackie, snickering, waving his rolled sleeve over what’s left of his arm.
Starting with the dad jokes right off the bat.
“Hilarious, Dad.”
Jackie swallows a startled laugh at his antics, her eyes bright with mirth. “Don’t worry about it, Scott,” she says, her voice a little unsteady.
“Go fetch the girl a bottle of water, sport.” He drops his voice, steering her toward the couch. “I got you some of that fancy mountain water from the next town over.” His wheezy laugh fills the house.
I had to tell him, or the first security car parked in his driveway would’ve looked down the barrel of his shotgun.
The smell of something slow-cooking on the cast-iron stove drifts from the kitchen, warm and familiar.
On the hallway wall, I pass the mismatched frames that show my life story.
Discolored baby portraits, first day of school, camping with my parents.
And my favorite: six-year-old Adam, missing one of his front teeth, holding the fish he managed to pull out of the water all by himself.
On the side, my dad couldn’t look prouder.
Would Jackie want to go fishing? What an idiotic idea. She hates the outdoors.
My parents still act like I’m the struggling entry-level kid who they send packages with homemade food to every two weeks. At least, they relented on the large double fridge I got them last year. It probably had more to do with the extra game storage for Dad.
My arm rests on the open door of the fridge, as I stare at the shelf full of green glass spring water bottles. I swear I saw her get teary-eyed again when my dad told her he got her the fanciest water.
That little comment hit harder than I expected for me too. It’s the first time I’m bringing her to Minnesota. I might’ve underestimated how much I’d like having her here. In the house I grew up in. How easily my parents would fuss over her, like she belongs with us.
For one crazy moment, I wish she did. Like it wouldn’t be the most ludicrous scenario to make her feel part of the family.
“You gonna stand there all day? You’re letting the cold out,” Dad yells from the living room when the fridge starts beeping, and I hastily grab some bottles.
The sight I’m met with in the living room twists my insides with longing.
For something I could’ve had, but somehow slipped through my fingers.
On the slightly worn but unbelievably comfy plaid sofa, where I spent countless Sunday mornings watching Doug and eating cereal, the only woman I’ve ever loved now sits like it’s the most normal thing in the world, nestled among my mom’s collection of mismatched throw pillows.
Her guard is down, her whole expression bright as she laughs at one of Dad’s stories.
“I told my wife I’d give an arm and a leg for her. She said, You’re halfway there!”
“Daaad,” I groan. He loves his silly one-arm jokes.
Jackie blinks at him and bursts out laughing, clutching her stomach. She’s radiant. And the sound weaves itself gently around my heart, pulling tight.
We never made sense on paper if you compared our families, but I always had the hope we’d be able to write our own story.
Until she decided I wasn’t worth the trouble and disappeared for years.
When she finally notices me standing there, a rare blush blooms across her cheeks. I have to stop staring at her like this. No good can come of it.
“Leave them here, dear,” my mom says, tilting her head toward the bottles. “And take Jackie’s luggage upstairs.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I give a little salute.
“There’s really no—” Jackie starts.
“Don’t be a smart ass.” Mom wags a finger at me, cutting her off at the same time.
I hoist Jackie’s bag, start up the creaky stairs, then freeze at the voices drifting behind me.
“I’m so happy you kids came,” Mom says in a near whisper. “I was a little worried about Adam.”
In the silence following Mom’s words, another wave of shame and guilt crashes into me. I have to screw my eyelids shut to keep the nausea at bay. The string of bad decisions I made after Jackie left wraps around my neck, punishing me for taking the easy way out of my hurt.
Jackie’s low, comforting voice is barely audible, but I can imagine her leaning in and taking my mom’s hand. “Me too, Lori.” I needed a blackout and a trip in the ambulance to realize what everybody else’s been seeing. “But he’s OK now, I promise. I’ll keep an eye on him.”