Chapter Seventeen ADAM
Chapter Seventeen
ADAM
The crocheted bedspread Mom made, complete with a skeleton stitched across the center, looks more creepy than cool now that I’m an adult. Back then, though, she never questioned it.
They never questioned much of anything I was obsessed with.
Above my old desk sits a shelf cluttered with oddities. Like the plastic phalanges I never reattached to Earl’s left hand.
I got Earl when the school where my mom taught math received a freshly donated human skeleton, from a former biology teacher who wanted to keep educating kids even after he passed away.
The retired skeleton was mostly made of plastic, and I had to improvise some missing pieces however I could.
I pick up the wooden bone Dad whittled to complete the set, memories pressing in. The big dreams I shelved when everything changed. Professionally, I fought and charmed my way to the top. But what would toothless little Adam think of the mess I’ve made of my personal life?
“Adam, your father—” Jackie stops cold in the doorway, gaping.
To be fair, for an outsider, my room might seem…odd.
“What in the Hannibal Lecter starter pack is this?” she mutters, gaze swiping from the anatomy posters curling at the edges to the different plastic organ models, then lingering on the old jars of dried lizards I found on the road.
She drifts along the shelves, fingers brushing the spines of old books until she pulls down a sketchpad. Flipping through my clumsy doodles of “lifesaving” inventions, her brows scrunch. When she looks up, there’s a flicker of confusion, like she’s seeing me for the first time.
I laugh off the awkwardness. “My parents were convinced I’d end up a doctor. Or serial killer.”
“How…When…These are so detailed.” She sets the drawings back with care and steps closer, circling her finger to take in the whole room. “So…what was all this about?”
“I was really into anatomy,” I say. “Mom even drove me two hours every other week to the city library.” She’s close enough now that I can see all the questions swirling in her beautiful sky-blue eyes.
“Turns out I was gifted. My parents figured it out early but never told me. So it wouldn’t go to my head, I guess.
Instead, they quietly supported all my passions the best they could. ”
“Your parents are truly wonderful people,” she breathes out.
“Many wouldn’t have bothered.” Jackie continues to look around, mesmerized.
“You know I had to practically beg my dad for a job in the department I wanted. All the money and resources in the world, and he still didn’t think he should bother with me. ”
“Yeah, I was a lucky kid.” I don’t think I understood and appreciated that until now.
But what gives me pause is her surprising comparison between our families.
The way she said it without condescension.
The genuine admiration in her voice for my parents, regardless of their limited means.
When for the past eight years, I’ve known she wanted more from a partner. Someone in her own league.
And yet, there was the look on her face when Blanca snapped at me. It was close to shock. Outrage. Or maybe I’m reading too much into it, and it was only the way she was raised. The unspoken rule that you don’t talk about certain things, like money and class, out loud.
I cling to the warmth of her smile like a man stranded in a snowstorm, until something clicks for her and her jaw slackens. “Then…why did you go to business school?”
This is the part of the story I usually leave out. I don’t let myself imagine what life would’ve looked like if I stayed on that path.
“Priorities changed after Dad’s accident. Harvard gave me a full ride. Med school didn’t, and it would’ve taken too much time to get to a place where I could support myself. I didn’t want to put that kind of weight on them.”
“Oh.” Jackie’s mouth rounds so temptingly around the sound that I barely hear her next words. “Does your dad know?”
I shake my head. “Nah. He feels guilty enough. For me, it was an easy choice, and I don’t regret it for one second.” Because I met you.
She takes a half step forward, as if pulled by a string. “You never said anything…back then.”
The laugh that bursts out of me is genuine. “What? ‘Hey, Jackie, want to see my dissected frog collection?’ Great pillow talk.”
Amusement dances at the corners of her mouth, but she fights to keep a straight face. “I’d lay the serial killer option to rest, too much logistics. But it’s never too late for med school. Dark blue scrubs would fit you nicely.”
This time, she honest to God giggles, and it takes me straight back to the nights we lay in bed, me cracking stupid jokes just to hear that sound.
I can’t resist being in her orbit. “Maybe I’ll wear one just for you.” My voice drops as I close the gap between us.
Her smirk curls, slow and dangerous. “Don’t threaten a girl with a good time.”
“I didn’t realize you were into role-play.”
“It’s been a while since we last talked about what we’re into.” She wants to play it cool, but her thumb keeps rubbing against her fingers, a tell I know too well.
“I’m open to some good old fashioned trial and error approach.” My voice drops low, and I follow the twitch in her neck when she swallows. I’m way out of the banter area. And I mean it.
In the deafening silence, blood whooshes in my ears, my gaze locked on her parted lips. Jackie sways closer, her eyes gleaming.
“Show me the degree first, and we can talk.” She winks and breezes out the door.
“Don’t bet against the boy genius, Jackie,” I call after her with a laugh.
Could I apply to a med school’s accelerated program to make her eat her words and pay up? Probably. But that dream is long buried. And I’m more than happy meddling with lawmaking.
Jackie role-playing in my bedroom, though? That’s a fantasy I’ll never let go.
“Remind me again why I let you talk me into this?” Jackie asks, crinkling her nose, as she gingerly steps down the chipped stairs leading to the sandy bank, clinging to the metal railing.
Behind her, Patrick’s lips are pressed in a line to the point of turning white. Not that the sunburned lines, camouflage shorts, and sleeve-ripped-plaid-shirt combo help him look too professional either.
Drops of sweat slide under my T-shirt in the sticky mid-morning humidity. Luckily, a faint stir of air wafts under the trees scattered along the riverbank, but I can’t imagine Jackie’s too thrilled about stepping through sun-warmed grass as I lead her to the spot where the river narrows.
“You have only yourself to blame,” I say. “You can’t turn down a dare.”
“Being confident isn’t a bad thing.”
“Sure isn’t. Doesn’t mean you’ll be perfect at everything, though.”
Her chin tilts high. “We’ll see about that.”
“Fishing is supposed to be a way to get your mind off things. Nobody’s grading you.”
We hike upriver, past abandoned campfire pits, going around tree trunks, until I point to the spot my dad took me fishing all the time.
Through a break in the lush green bank, the familiar rush of water greets us before stepping onto the secluded beach peppered with smooth stones. Green water foams and swirls around the rocks, sunlight glinting off the surface. It’s been years since I’ve been here.
Jackie stops at the worn edge of the bank.
“The currents are strong out there. Don’t go in too far and you’ll be fine.”
“Contrary to popular opinion, I don’t have a death wish.” I know she means the endless arguments she has with Carter about going back to New York. She chooses a broad boulder near the shore. “That looks stable enough. I don’t want to get wet. I’ll fish from there.”
“God forbid you get wet while fishing.”
“I don’t want to ruin my clothes. Sue me.” She climbs the short step onto the mostly flat rock, framed by the rolling hills in the background. Looking like a damn vision with her shapely legs in jean shorts and rubber boots.
“I’m going to wait for this to be over right there.” Patrick points a stubby finger toward one of the trees leaning over the water, with most of its roots exposed. “More of a golf guy myself.” Then he glowers at me. “You goaded her into this, it’s your responsibility.”
Having a front row seat to Miss Perfect admitting defeat is worth the trouble.
“What are we catching?” Jackie plants her hands on her hips.
I suppress a smile, knowing she’s never even held a rod. “Let’s see if you can land some bass.”
She looks at me expectantly, then at the fishing gear bag. “I said I’d catch one, not that I know how to put the rod together.”
“You don’t have to…” I chuckle. “Never mind.” I pull out a smaller spinning rod and the can Dad packed for bait. “Here.”
She looks at the tin like it might bite her. The second she cracks the lid, she jerks back.
“You’re baiting the hook yourself, right?”
Her glare could peel bark.
“Are you giving up?”
“No,” she says through her teeth, keeping the can of leeches at arm’s length toward me. “Please, Adam. Can you—”
I wade into the shallow, warm water flowing around the rock she’s standing on, grinning up at her. I’m filled with a rare type of lightness. We’re just a city girl grossed out by every crawler on earth and a country boy who can be her hero.
“Relax, I’ve got it.” Rigging the hook, I hand her back the rod. When our fingers brush, it’s like touching a live wire, sending prickles down my back.
To no one’s surprise, she’s holding it like it’s a vaulting pole, and I have to bite back a laugh.
“You know which end goes into the water, right?”
“I’m not that ignorant,” Jackie splutters, then mutters under her breath. “Smart ass.”
She shifts on her feet a couple of times, holding the rod upright until the leech on the hook starts spinning around on the line toward her.
Jackie shrieks. “The other way, worm!”
I swipe a hand over my mouth to smooth out my amusement and wait her out. “Any time now, Jackie.”
“It keeps coming at me,” she whines, gritting her teeth.