Chapter 8 #2
Adam tilts his head, and I get the feeling that he’s weighing his words. Finally, he says, “I guess you could say I spend a lot of time here.”
I can’t help but feel like he’s holding something back.
Does Adam think I care about gated communities and high-end labels?
Is that why he brought me here? I steal a glance in his direction.
There are no obvious brands on his band T-shirt and nothing special about his slightly worn sneakers.
His car is so old that it’s come back around to being cool again, but I doubt it’s expensive.
And one day he mentioned going to work after school, but the bell rang, and I didn’t have a chance to ask what he does.
Maybe he thinks that growing up in a beach house, my life was more extravagant than it was. But he saw where we live now, and there’s nothing fancy about it. So, maybe I just imagined his hesitation.
“What about you?” I prompt. “I’d love to see where you live. ”
Adam clears his throat and stares out the front window. “Well, actually… I don’t exactly live anywhere…”
I look at him sideways. “What do you mean by that?”
He takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly. “I’m sort of homeless.”
I glance in the back seat, half expecting to find a mattress, but all I see are a small backpack and a throw blanket. “So where do you sleep, and eat, and…” I trail off. “What about your parents?”
“Both my parents are dead.”
My eyes widen. I had no idea. The subject never came up when we were walking from my car into school and joking around at lunch.
“Adam, I’m so sorry.” I reach over and put a hand on his arm, my heart aching for him.
When he said he’d got this car from his dad, I assumed it was a hand-me-down.
Not an inheritance after he’d passed. “Do you want to talk about it?”
He turns to look at me. “My mom died when I was young and then my dad… He passed last year. When that happened, Jason asked his family to take me in. So now I live in their basement, and that’s how the security guard knows me.”
I try to imagine what it would be like to lose your parents like Adam did.
My dad passed away when I was a baby, but I don’t have any memories of that time, so it’s not the same.
But I’d be completely devastated if I lost my mom.
When she told me we were leaving Sandy Harbor, I cried and begged to be allowed to live with a friend instead of moving to Pennsylvania.
But deep down, I don’t know if I could have gone through with it, even if she had agreed.
I can’t imagine not being with my mom, or Josie when she comes home for the holidays.
“I don’t know where I’d be without Jason. I’d do anything for him,” Adam says.
I’ve gotten to know Jason better in English class and at the lunch table this week, and I’ve been slowly learning that there’s more to him than the guy I met on the first day.
There’s a lot of teasing that goes on between him and Adam, but they clearly care about each other, too.
I’d had no idea about the depth of their friendship, though.
My view of Jason completely shifts. “It sounds like you do have a home with people who are like your family.”
He swallows hard. “Yeah, I guess I do.”
My heart aches for him. “I’m so glad you have a friend like that.”
With a creak, the heavy iron gate begins to slide shut, and Adam gives the security guard one more wave before checking the mirrors and pulling back out onto the tree-lined street.
We follow a winding road along the river, leaving the town behind.
It’s a beautiful drive with views of sprawling wooded hillsides across the sparkling water below.
Eventually Adam slows the car next to a wide roadside berm covered in gravel.
He puts the car in reverse and backs it into the makeshift parking area so the tailgate faces the view.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, opening his door.
I nod and follow him out of the car to where the gravel drops off and the river flows thirty feet below.
Dizzy, I take a step back away from the cliff, and Adam takes my arm to steady me.
“Careful, it’s a long way down.” He tugs me back another step and hitches his chin across the river toward the hill covered in thick trees.
“That’s where I grew up. In those woods. ”
“I’d like to see it someday… I mean, only if you want to show me.
” I can’t imagine what it was like to lose his childhood home and I’m sure it would be painful to go back there.
I think about our little beach house with its three tiny bedrooms, 1950s kitchen cabinets, and wide front porch with a rickety wooden swing.
My heart breaks every time I think about it, and I didn’t lose my family when I left.
“Someday, I’d love to show you.” Adam grabs the blanket and bag from the back seat and opens the Bronco’s tailgate.
He spreads the blanket across the worn carpeting of the trunk area and opens the bag to reveal two bottles of lemonade, a pack of crackers, a container of sliced cheese, and some grapes.
“I wasn’t sure what you’d like. But since you pack cheese sandwiches every day, I figured this was a safe bet. Cheddar, right?”
I’m charmed that he took the time to notice.
“My favorite.” I hop up onto the tailgate and slide backward, leaning against the back of the seat.
Below us, the river shimmers in the sunlight as it winds around the hillside and disappears in the distance.
I take a deep breath, savoring the faint mineral scent of the water, the freshness of the woods, and a hint of something spicy and unique to Adam as he settles in next to me.
His broad shoulders fill the narrow space, and when he leans closer to hand me a bottle of lemonade, I can feel his warmth radiating through the thin sleeve of my T-shirt. “Tell me what it was like growing up at the beach,” he says.
I can’t help but smile. “It was amazing. I loved it. I could swim before I could walk and spent my days completely covered in sand and salt. From May through September, I’m not sure I even wore real shoes. It was such a great way to be a kid.”
“I can see how much it meant to you. You said it was kind of a surprise when your family decided to leave?”
I twist the cap of my lemonade bottle. “I think that was the hardest part. It was so unexpected. I got home one day, and my mom had put the house on the market and said we were moving. No explanation other than she got a new job. And that was it—we packed up and were gone in a week. I barely got to say goodbye to anyone.”
“And what about your dad? Did he have to change jobs, too?”
“My dad died when I was not quite two. I don’t really remember him, but I know it was hard on my mom. I think that’s partly why it was so shocking. We’d lived my whole life on Sandy Harbor and had a whole community there. They were like family. ”
“Do you have any idea why it all happened so quickly? Why she didn’t warn you?”
My mind drifts back to my conversation with my mom this morning. “I always got the feeling—” I say, but then I hesitate. For months, leaving Sandy Harbor seemed like the worst thing that ever happened to me. But talking to Adam today puts my problems into perspective. “Never mind, it’s silly.”
“Madeline, it’s not silly.” He’s leaning forward so he can see past my hair to look in my eyes, and there’s only concern and interest etched on his face. “I want to know about your life.”
My mom obviously isn’t saying much on the subject, and Josie doesn’t really understand how hard it was for me. She was busy getting ready for her freshman year at Berkeley, and the move seemed like the least of her concerns. It would be nice to have someone to talk to for once.
“Well, to be honest, I sometimes got the feeling that my mom cared more about leaving in a hurry than she did about coming here for a job.” I turn to meet Adam’s eyes. “But I don’t have any evidence of that. My mom just kept saying the job was a good opportunity and it’s time for a change.”
“Do you think you’ll want to move back to Sandy Harbor after graduation?”
I stare out at the river winding below us, disappearing around a bend in the distance.
“I don’t think so. I love the beach. But with all the weirdness of leaving, Sandy Harbor doesn’t feel like home anymore.
” I tear at the label on my bottle. “I keep in touch with a few friends, and they’ve sent photos of beach bonfires and parties, but their messages have been dropping off.
I feel like they’ve all moved on without me and going back would never be the same. ”
He slides an arm around me. “I’m so sorry your mom handled it like this. It’s tough to leave, but to feel like you can’t even go back really sucks.”
I lean in, comforted by his solidness. “My sister, Josie, says I should move on and make new friends like she’s doing at UC Berkeley. She doesn’t seem to understand how much the old memories meant to me. It’s not a switch I can turn on and off.”
“Your whole childhood was spent on that island. You don’t just move on.”
My heart squeezes because somehow, he’s managed to sum up exactly how I feel.
“It helps to have someone to acknowledge that. My mom acts so artificially cheerful, always going on about how great living here will be if I just keep an open mind. And”—I shoot him a quick glance—“it’s growing on me. But it’s still a loss…” I trail off.
Though he said he wants to hear this and his face shows only compassion, I can’t help thinking of how I must sound, complaining about my mom and going on about moving away from a beach house after all he lost. “Will you tell me about your parents?” I ask.
He gives me a sad smile. “I grew up in a trailer and we never had much money, but I never would have known it. My mom was one of those people who could always make things special. She’d sew my Halloween costumes and craft Christmas ornaments and make a big fuss over everything.
Her mother died of breast cancer when she was young, and I think she understood how fleeting time can be. She was diagnosed when I was seven.”
“Oh, Adam, I’m so sorry. I can’t even imagine.”
“It all happened really quickly. She passed when I was eight.” He stares out at the view, and I wonder if he’s picturing his home in the woods across the river, warm and bright with his mom sewing costumes or decorating a Christmas tree. My heart breaks for him.
“My dad loved her so much,” he continues.
“When she was gone, he couldn’t handle it.
He started drinking, the trailer crumbled into disrepair, and everything kind of fell apart.
I was lucky that I met Jason on the baseball team in fourth grade.
A teacher knew about my home life and thought it would be good for me to play.
Jason noticed my parents were never at the games, so he started inviting me home with him for dinner.
Soon I was spending most of my time at his place.
My dad passed of cirrhosis of the liver last year, and Jason showed up at the trailer, packed up my things, and insisted I move in with his family. ”
My throat tightens and my eyes burn with an overwhelming gratitude for Jason.
He has so much more depth and kindness than I could have imagined on that first day.
“I’m so glad you have a friend like him,” I say with a waver in my voice.
“And I’m sorry to be dramatic over leaving my home at the beach when you’ve lost so much?—”
“Hey,” Adam cuts in, but gently. “Don’t feel like you have to act a certain way for me. I don’t want you to downplay what happened to you because I lost my parents. I just want to get to know you. All of you .”
My breath hitches as Adam slides a hand against my cheek and turns my face toward his.
“Don’t ever be sorry for talking about what matters to you,” he continues.
“It’s nice to be with someone who understands how hard it is to have your life upended.
Like you said, not many people get it.” He gives me a sad smile.
“Jason is the best friend I could ever imagine. I’d do anything for him.
But objectively, he hasn’t had a lot of friction in his life.
I mean, we all get sad and have things we struggle with, but he has trouble understanding when I’m feeling really down and can’t just snap out of it by doing a workout or going to a party.
” Adam lifts a shoulder. “He tries, but his life experience is so different than mine.”
I turn my body so I’m facing him completely, my knees resting on his thighs. “You can talk to me any time. And you can be as sad as you want.” We’ve only known each other for a few days, but this connection feels so much stronger. Our eyes meet, and the air thickens between us .
He weaves his hand into the hair at the nape of my neck. “When I’m with you, I feel the opposite of sad.”
I lean closer, my breath mingling with his. “I feel the same way.”
Our mouths connect, gentle, sweet, with the hint of more to come. It’s the perfect first kiss on the perfect day.
When we break apart, Adam leans back, studying my face as if he can’t believe I’m real. “Jason might seem like he has it all, but today, I’m feeling like the luckiest guy in the world.” His mouth curves upward. “Because I get to be here with you.”