Why Adam Collins wasted his time with a girl like Clare Kaczanowski was a big mystery to most everyone in Casper. A girl whose mother, the only woman on the police force, was the butt of every female pig joke that could be thought up over a few beers. A girl whose father ended up just another dead junkie. A girl so clearly headed nowhere, so undeserving of the most special someone this town had ever produced.
Adam had always been Clare’s best friend, but the older they got, and the more amazing Adam became, the more she had begun to wonder why herself. She watched him, in that spotlight, lean into the keys and away again, the music flowing from him, through his hands, and touching every person in the room.
He was beautiful, mesmerizing. She already missed him and felt the impending loss of him rising up like a claw in her throat. She was going to lose him. The best thing she’d ever known, the person she loved most in the whole world—he was leaving. She was staying. Everyone here knew it—but no one but her felt the excruciating pain of it. The reality of it was a weight on her heart, the pressure building, squeezing harder every day that brought them closer to their graduation day.
What would she be without him? Who? A handful of their friends were staying in town, working for family businesses or picking up shifts at the Exxon. Some would be heading to Laramie to go to the University of Wyoming. A couple were going to Colorado for school. It felt to Clare like being left behind, left alone.
She would be forgotten, her and her amazing typing skills, sitting at a secondhand metal desk out on Old Round Road taking calls at Carter’s Moving and Storage. She could have done better in school, easily—she just didn’t do the work. Or care to, except now it mattered. Now, four years too late, every stupid assignment, quiz, test she’d half-assed her way through—it all mattered. She half-assed her way right into a dead-end job she already didn’t want.
Onstage Adam began playing a crowd favorite, Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata.” When they heard the familiar start, a few people clapped before they were shushed back into silence. Most of the people in this room hadn’t heard Adam play since they saw him on this exact same stage last year. Clare and Adam had grown up less than a block away from each other; she’d heard him play almost every day of their entire lives together. Sitting on the sagging couch in his parents’ front room, she’d read, or sometimes write in her journals, and Adam would practice the piano before his parents got home from work. None of that would be happening anymore. It was all coming to an end.
Three rows in front of her, Heather Roberts made an act of sighing and placing her hand over her heart as she tilted her head to the side. Winnie smiled and nudged her friend before whispering something in Heather’s ear that made her turn, bite her bottom lip, and grin.
To Clare, it felt as if something monumental had already happened. Or was about to. Something huge and painful and terrifying. A rift opened up inside her, an enormous vacuum of space, a giant nothing that had for years been filled with a knowing, a connection, with another person who felt like a piece of her own self. She lifted her eyes again to Adam on his stage, his back tall and straight, his perfectly muscled arms, long fingers, and mop of blond hair that fell like a disaster over the brightest blue eyes. She loved him. Desperately, completely. She had no plans, no life, no real future she wanted to live without him.
He was leaving her. And maybe it wouldn’t be Heather Roberts…but it would be someone, because Adam was that guy, handsome, talented, kind, and so good that it was simply impossible to not fall in love with him. How long until he figured out that there was a whole world outside of Casper, Wyoming, filled with exactly the kind of girls everyone already thought he should be with? Girls who were beautiful, talented, kind, and good—girls who had more going on than excellent typing skills.
“You should kick Heather’s ass,” Kaylee whispered in her ear. “You could easily take her.”
Clare nodded and forced a smile to hide what she was really feeling. If Kaylee took one look at her and sensed enough to ask, “What’s wrong?” Clare would break into tears right here, right now.
“Maybe I should jump her in the parking lot after the concert,” Clare joked.
“I’ll hold her down.”
“Like I would need you to hold her.” She reached across the armrest separating them and took Kaylee’s hand in hers.
Kaylee looked at their clasped hands for a moment and then leaned in again. “I’m going to miss you so much, Clare.”
Clare shook her head, forcing down the sob that threatened to break loose. “Don’t,” she warned. “Not here…not now.” Her voice broke on her last word, and Kaylee squeezed her hand.
Clare closed both her eyes tight and willed herself to not cry as Adam finished playing for the last time in the Cleaver High School auditorium and the crowd broke their silence and stood up to applaud him.
“I’m going to go find Carl and Denise. They’re here somewhere,” Kaylee shouted over the noise as she hugged Clare goodbye. “We’re supposed to meet up after.”
Clare nodded. “See you later,” she said before turning toward the aisle. She excused herself past the people in her row, still standing and clapping for Adam, who was standing and smiling on the stage. She rushed up the threadbare red carpet toward the exit, catching Mrs. Collins’s glance as she passed.
She refocused her eyes on the double exit doors in front of her, pretending to have not noticed Adam’s mother. It was easier than suffering through her fake smiles and ministrations. When they were younger, and obviously just friends, Mrs. Collins had been more welcoming to Clare, more genuinely interested in her stubbed toes and need for snacks. She would bring Clare and Adam cups filled with ice and homemade lemonade as they raced down the lawn and threw themselves down the bright yellow Slip ’N Slide.
Homemade lemonade had stopped sometime during the summer after ninth grade—soon after Mrs. Collins ascended the ladder to Adam and Kaylee’s tree house and found Clare and her son shirtless, limbs tangled, and lying on an old sleeping bag. She still smiled at Clare, outwardly welcomed her into their home, but her facade of social graces was a poor cover for a protective wariness—as if Clare had grown from the girl next door into a dangerous predator stalking their home. Mrs. Collins smiled at Clare, but her eyes gave away her true feelings.
My son is too good for you.
Outside, Clare found Adam’s beater blue pickup in the lot and waited for him outside the passenger door. It was the first Friday in May and warmer than it should have been. The air on her skin barely registered a temperature, like a tepid bath. She didn’t bother putting on the sweater she held in her hands. Across the street, just above the squat two-story Motel 6, the half-moon inched into the cloudless, star-filled night. Normally, she loved nights like this—a calm, warm night, the air heavy with the scent of growth and fresh-cut grass. Tonight, it only made her more uneasy, visceral reminders of the change that was coming, unstoppable, unending.
Groups of people, twos, threes, families of five, trickled from the double doors and into the parking lot. Heather and Winnie, now with four of their other friends, strolled past Adam’s truck in their pack. They knew Clare was there, waiting for Adam to come out and open the doors, but all six girls, especially Heather, were very careful to not turn their heads and notice her. Their silence, carefully structured smiles, and unblinking straight-ahead focus communicated their intentions perfectly. Clare was an unimportant, and temporary, obstacle unworthy of acknowledgment, an unfit contender for the attentions of Adam Collins. Clare imagined that Heather, with the help of her gaggle of gal pals, would figure out a solution to this pesky problem. Even if it meant having to wait until she and Adam had thirteen hundred miles of help.
“Fuck you,” Clare whispered into the night and turned her back on them.
She heard a rhythmic slap of leather-soled shoes, a slow jog, on the pavement behind her.
“Hey Adam!” a girl
’s voice called out. “Nice job on the keys,” the voice sang through the night, the tone unmistakably flirty, teasing and inviting Adam to take the bait.
Clare turned back around and watched Adam raise a hand and smile at Heather and her friends. “Thanks,” was all he called back, then turned his gaze back on Clare and broke into a huge smile. “Well, what did you think? Was it great? Did you love it? Wasn’t I fantastic?” He laughed and, in two long strides, swept Clare up into his arms, pressed her carefully up against the side of his truck, and kissed her neck. “Say it.” His lips moved beneath her ear. “You thought I was amazing.”
Clare smiled. “Okay, I thought you were amazing.”
He nodded and smiled. “Oh, yes you did.” He kissed her mouth, and she felt him press his hips against hers. God, she hoped to hell that fucking Heather Roberts and all her bitchy friends were watching this right now.
“But you should stop trying to take advantage of me in the school parking lot, Clare,” he said as he pulled away from her and pretended to straighten his shirt. “It’s tacky and, quite frankly, a little slutty.”
She laughed and slapped his chest. “You’re a pig.”
“And yet you sexually attack me? In public, no less.” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek, then reached around her to unlock and open the door that squealed loudly on its rusty hinges. “My lady.” He swept his free hand out and bowed, ushering her onto the passenger seat. “Your chariot.”
She shook her head and climbed onto the springy seat. She watched him through the dingy window as he shut the door, gave her a wicked grin, then turned and jogged around to the driver’s side. Adam was always goofing around, but he seemed especially weird tonight. When he climbed onto the seat next to her, he leaned into the steering wheel and placed his keys in the ignition.
“What’s up with you? Where are we going?” she asked him.
Barely able to contain himself or his conspiratorial grin, Adam only shook his head. “It’s a surprise,” he said in his best showman voice before cranking the ignition and pumping the gas. Once the truck’s engine finally roared to life, he turned to her and wrangled the gearshift into reverse. “You’re just going to have to wait and see.”
“I don’t like surprises.”
“Well, you’re going to love this one.”
As Adam backed out of the parking space, Clare turned in her seat to watch out the rear window. Several packed bags in the bed of the truck caught her attention. “What’s all that in the back?”
Adam shifted the truck into first and cranked the wheel hard to the left. “Part of the surprise. Now no more questions,” he said as they accelerated out of the parking lot, passing Heather, Winnie, and company on the way. Clare resisted the urge to roll down her window and flip them all off.
Adam’s surprise amounted to his two-man tent, a bundle of firewood, a pile of sleeping bags and blankets, a six-pack of Coors Light, a bottle of Cook’s sparkling wine, and his secret fishing spot on the North Platte River. Clare offered to help him set up the tent, but he settled her onto a nearby log overlooking the river and told her to give him ten minutes.
She sat, listening to him unpack the back of his truck and pull the tent material and poles from their bag. Five feet in front of her, the North Platte rushed over submerged boulders and uneven terrain, the moonlight reflected off white-water cascades, wet dirt, and the tall grass near the bank. Since it was so warm, Clare slid off the dress shoes she’d worn for Adam’s performance and dug her toes into the grass and dirt. The rapid current mesmerized her, made her wonder about where the water had come from, where it would eventually end up.
After several more minutes, she called out, “Are you sure I shouldn’t help?”
“Already finished,” Adam said, suddenly beside her and making her jump. “I told you I only needed ten minutes. I could set up that tent blindfolded.”
He reached out a hand to her, and when Clare took it, he pulled her gently from her log and into his arms. She rested her head against his chest, listening to the sound of his heart beating hard beneath his dress shirt. “What exactly are we doing out here?” she asked.
Adam took her hand again and guided her to the campsite he’d constructed. As promised, the tent was up, filled with the sleeping bags and blankets, and two low-slung camping chairs she hadn’t noticed before were arranged near a circle of large river stones that would act as a firepit. He’d arranged the wood into a teepee and surrounded it with dry grass and kindling. Adam led her by the hand to one of the chairs. “Your seat, my lady.”
Filled with questions she didn’t think she’d get answers to right away, Clare sat down and looked up at Adam. He reached into the small Igloo cooler between the chairs, took out a bottle of beer, and twisted off the top before handing it to her. “A cold beverage?”
She took the beer from him and sighed.
Adam held up both his hands. “All your questions will be answered shortly. But first, we need some fire.”
Deciding to be patient, Clare sat back in her chair and sipped her icy beer while she watched him take a lighter from his pants pocket and get the campfire up and roaring before her in record time. “I’m not exactly dressed for camping, you know,” she said. “With a little warning, I could have ditched this dress and grabbed some jeans and a sweatshirt. I would have been happy to get you something other than your best suit and dress shoes as well.”
Adam grabbed a beer for himself and took the seat next to her. “I don’t know.” He looked down at his own dress clothes and then pretended to appraise Clare’s, as if seeing her for the first time tonight. “I think we’re dressed perfectly for the occasion.” He met her eyes, still playful and acting weird, but a strange seriousness, an unspoken tension ran underneath every word he said, everything he was doing.
“What is going on?” she asked, holding his gaze so he couldn’t slip into another silly answer. “It’s been kind of a hard night for me, and I can’t say that all of this is exactly putting me at ease.”
In his chair, Adam looked up at the night sky and took a deep breath that filled his chest. The light from the fire danced over his features and threw half his face into shadow. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. “Okay,” he said, letting his breath out with the word. “I was going to wait until a little later in the evening, but…” He slipped out of his chair and onto one knee in front of her. His hand shook as it reached again into his pants pocket and took out a small white box.
Stunned, scared, uncertain if what she thought was maybe happening was actually happening, Clare sat speechless, watching him and waiting for whatever came next.
Adam opened the box. In its center sat a thin gold ring with a tiny chip of a diamond. “Clare Kaczanowski.” He looked up into her eyes. “I love you. I have always, my whole life, loved you. And…I know I’m leaving…soon. I can’t bear the thought of being without you…of you, maybe…” He shook his head, as if to clear it. “Clare, will you marry me?”
She stared at him. Her heart was beating so hard it made her feel like she was out of breath even though she hadn’t moved a muscle. Was he crazy? Was she? She didn’t want to lose him, but did she want this? Yes, she did, but now?
Fear, that was what she felt. Sharp and distinct, something about this was making her want to run, making her wish she was anywhere else but right here, right now. He was waiting for her to say yes, but her mouth felt like paste. Her head was a confusing swirl of pressure. He was looking at her, waiting—and she was taking too long to answer. She could see the slight shift in his expression, the way he held the box before her was flagging. This wasn’t the reaction he had been expecting. This wasn’t exactly how he imagined she’d respond.
She wasn’t ready for this.
But she was going to lose him.
“Yes,” she blurted. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
Chapter 13
&nbs
p; Eileen
The cold woke her up. Frigid air chilled her bare skin, raised goose bumps across her arms and back. The cold, and the sound of a fan? No, was it water? Not steady like from their faucet, a rhythmic rush that came and went. She felt for the blankets with her feet, expecting them to be at the bottom of their bed, but all her toes found was more cold mattress.
“Eric?” she asked, rolling over and dragging open scratchy lids against her dry eyes. She reached for him with her hand. More cold, empty mattress.
This wasn’t their bedroom.
Eileen propped herself up sideways on her elbow and tried to focus her eyes on the bright white– and soft gray–colored room. One by one, the horrible realizations returned to her. This was Clare’s spare bedroom she was sleeping in—alone. The dread and hurt she had managed to escape while asleep came sweeping back like a tidal wave. She let herself fall back onto the mattress and stared at the ceiling over her head.
It hurt to breathe.
She rolled onto her side and scanned the wood floor; all the blankets and top sheet were in a heap next to the bed. She must have kicked them off in the middle of the night. She leaned over the edge and grabbed hold, pulling the cold, downy pile back up and around her shoulders as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up. She’d left the sliding doors to the deck open last night. That was why the room was so cold this morning. The rushing water was the crash of the ocean against the cliffs below her room.
Her Perfect Life Page 10
