by L. M. Carr
Vanessa and I look at each other, wondering what that was about. “Thank you.” She steps forward to hug me before I walk her out. “Bye, Mia.”
“Goodnight, Vanessa. Drive safely.”
I pour myself a glass of orange juice and stand at the island, thinking that I should go to him. He was perfectly fine before he got that phone call. I finish my drink and put it in the dishwasher. When I turn around, Adam is standing there, looking at me with a somber look on his face.
“I’m going out,” he says, walking over to the key rack by the garage door.
“What? Where are you going?” I glance at the clock and notice the time. It’s past midnight.
I ask again, “Where are you going?”
He doesn’t answer and he doesn’t stop.
“Adam! Where are you going?” I demand, standing in front of him essentially blocking his access to a vehicle. I beg him to look at me. “What’s going on? Baby, please talk to me. Who called you?” I plead, reaching out to soothe his face.
He pulls back out of my reach. “Move, Mia. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.”
I roll my eyes and huff. “Adam, don’t say stupid things. We both know you’d never lay a hand on me.” Hell would freeze over before any man ever hit me.
“Move!”
I stand unwavering.
“Just fucking move!” He spits through his gritted teeth. I feel my feet sway because of the way he’s spoken to me; he’s never raised his voice and has certainly never sworn at me before. He looks murderous with his jaw ticking and the veins in his neck starting to bulge.
When after a battle of wills he finally realizes that I’m not backing down; he backtracks into the kitchen and leaves through the sliding glass door. I run after him and yell, “Adam! Come back here! What the hell is going on?”
I hear the garage door open. I yell, “You’re being a dick!” In all the time we’ve been together, he has never acted this way. Why would he threaten to hurt me? That’s not like him at all.
I want to stand in the driveway and again block his way, but I’m so mad and hurt. I honestly don’t know what to do. I do know that trying to talk to him right now isn’t going to make a difference. I walk back inside, slide the door closed and lock it. The loud purr of his Camaro makes my heart sink, goose bumps cover my skin. I run to the front window only to see the rear lights of his car before he revs the engine and speeds away toward the highway away from our sleepy town. I grab my phone and text him telling him that whatever is going on, we can deal with it together. I get no response.
I turn the knob of Maddie’s door quietly to check on her. She sleeps peacefully with her pink stuffed bunny cradled beneath her neck. I place a soft kiss on her head and tell her that I love her. Just as I close the door, I hear her whisper, “Love you, too.”
Luke’s room is dark, the only light is provided by his fish tank. I walk in, pick up his blanket that he’s no doubt kicked off in his sleep and cover his body.
“Mia?” His croaky voice calls, stirring awake.
“Yeah, bud?” I shake my head in the darkness, regretting that I woke him up.
“Are you and my dad fighting?” Shit! I didn’t think about how loud the confrontation between us was.
“Your dad’s a little upset, Luke. He’ll be fine. Go back to sleep. Okay, bud?” I kiss his cheek softly.
“Okay.” He yawns.
“Good night, Luke the Duke. Love you.” I smile at Pete’s nickname for him.
“Me, too.” He says as he turns over, curling into a fetal position.
The hot water from the shower rains downs on me, washing away the tears that have fallen continuously. My mind races a million miles a minute wondering what the hell happened tonight. Things have been wonderful between us with the exception of the phone call on his birthday and then the phone call tonight. I scrub my body with my scented shower gel and sit on the granite shower bench until my skin starts to prune and the water begins to cool.
I put on a pair of yoga pants and my red, hooded Patriots sweatshirt and lie on the couch to wait for Adam. I check my phone again. No texts. No missed calls. No voicemails. Brady knows something is up; he hasn’t left my side since I got home.
***
THE SOUND OF Adam swearing and stumbling into the kitchen from the garage startles me awake. The time on my iPhone tells me it’s almost 3 am. I know he hasn’t seen me yet so I keep still and watch him.
He looks terrible and disheveled. His shirt is now wrinkled and untucked from his pants. His earlier coiffed hair is a mess, sticking up in every direction as if someone’s fingers had been running through it. The scene seems oddly familiar; it’s like the night he came home when I thought he was cheating on me with Nora.
“Fuck! Stupid fucking dog.” He trips over Brady’s water bowl, spilling water everywhere. “Goddammit.” Who is this person?
His leans forward with his elbows on the granite, burying his face in the palms of his hands. “God, I’m so fucking stupid. I fuck up every time.” His words are slurred and mumbled.
I stand and silently walk into the kitchen, stopping before I reach him. I know if I touch him, I’ll forgive him. I know the power he holds over me.
“Why can’t I ever change?” He drops his head onto the counter with a “thump.”
He must sense me standing there, because he pushes up and stands there facing me. “What are you doing here? Why are you still here?”
I gasp loudly as if the wind has been knocked out of me. “What? What are you talking about?” I wait for him to offer some answer and when he doesn’t I ask again, “What’s going on? You’re acting crazy.”
Dark eyes stare at me.
“Baby, we had a fight. Why would you think that I would leave?” Doesn’t he know it’s going to take a lot more than a few words to send me running away from him or his kids?
His phone chirps in his pocket. I eye him suspiciously. “Who is texting you at three o’clock in the morning?” Anxiety starts to creep up.
“Who fucking knows? Maybe somebody else I’m going to fuck over.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I hold my hand out. “Give me your phone,” I demand.
“Why? Are you jealous? You think I’m fucking you over?” Then he chuckles, patronizing me. “You’re right, I probably will. It’s what I do, Mia. I fuck people over. Again and again.”
Anger boils over as I stride over to him and slap him clear across the face. Although my hand stings, he doesn’t flinch at all. “Don’t talk to me like that! Who the hell do you think you are?” If I didn’t know any better I swear it’s like he wanted me to do it, to hurt him like he’s hurting me. Asshole!
“You should go.” He looks directly at me. He’s completely serious and I want to slap him again.
“You want me to go?” I narrow my eyes at him. “Why? What did you do? What the hell happened tonight?”
“Go home.” I can smell the scotch on his breath. Go home? What the fuck is he talking about?
“I am home!” I scream as I feel the tears start to form again and my voice catches on the lump in my throat. “Stop this!” I raise my fist and beat his chest before opening my flat palm and running them over his heart. “Stop this! You are my home.” I’m pathetically desperate and I don’t care. My life is being turned upside down and I can’t do a thing about it.
The slow and deliberate shake of his head and the blank glare etched on his face tell me I am wrong. “I thought I was home. I thought you were my home.” I stare at his face, hating everything about him right now. I hate the impassive look. I hate his words. I hate him.
I wipe at the tears streaming down my face and I hate that I’m crying. My engagement ring mocks me as I wipe my nose. “Why are you doing this? I don’t understand. Tell me what’s going on.”
“Just go home, Mia.”
“I’m your fucking fiancée for God’s sake!” I raise my voice angrily, shoving my left hand in his face hoping the
sight of my ring will knock some sense into him. “You’re supposed to tell me things and share your problems with me. Whatever this is we can work it out. Let me help you,” I beg.
He doesn’t say a single word. He hardly even blinks; he just stares at me blankly.
I keep waiting for him to wrap his arms around me and wake me from this nightmare. This has to be one of the worst torments of my life. I wait some more while he stares at me. From somewhere deep in my soul, I muster the courage to speak again. “Please don’t do this.”
“Go home.”
Fine! Hurt turns to anger. Fuck you, Adam Lawson. I know he’s drunk and will probably regret this in the morning, but I don’t care. I’m so angry at him. I shake my head angrily, mumbling to myself that I can’t believe this is really happening. I turn away and call Brady to follow. I don’t remember getting my purse, jacket or keys. I don’t remember the drive back to my house. I don’t remember crawling into my cold, lonely bed. I don’t remember finally falling asleep just as the sun started to rise.
I REFUSE TO call him. If he wants to talk to me, he can call me. After all, he’s the one who went all Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde last night. God, if I only knew who called him. I know that phone call was what set him off.
Not only do I have to deal with my blotchy red face and my puffy eyes, I have to drink my coffee black because I have no cream or milk. I’ve been pretty much living at Adam’s house for the last few months. I guess I should be grateful that I have my own home, as Adam reminded me last night.
I check my phone again. Nothing. I check it again half an hour later. Still nothing. I rack my brain trying to figure this out. My emotions range from anger, to confusion, to empathy, to hate and back to love. I love Adam Lawson. He is my everything and more.
When I hear my phone chirp, signaling an incoming text, I make a mad dash, nearly tripping over Brady, but am terribly disappointed when I see Shelby’s name on the screen.
Shelby: How’s Adam?
How’s Adam? How does she know we had a fight? I didn’t say anything to anyone.
Me: Fine. Why?
Shelby: He’s fine??? Seriously?
Me: Call me asap.
Fifteen seconds later Shelby calls me and tells me the news that she probably isn’t supposed to tell me. Chris DeGennaro killed himself a few days ago and the body was discovered last night.
I slide down against the refrigerator and pull my knees into my chest. Chris is dead? I can’t comprehend why he would do that? I know that he was facing some serious jail time, but God, to take your own life? To think that you have no other option? I just can’t fathom it. My thoughts jump to Johanna, who like Chris thought there was no way out, no alternative. Both so young, their whole lives ahead of them.
“Mia, you there, babe?”
“I’m here . . .” I palm my forehead and smooth back my hair. “Why did you ask me if Adam is okay?”
“Mike picked him up at some skanky bar last night and drove him home. Mike said Adam was pretty hammered and was going to have a nasty hangover today.”
“I bet he does.”
“You’re not there?”
“No. We had a fight.” Well, I should say that he fought with me, but I don’t.
“Wait! So he left you home while he went to a bar and got drunk? That doesn’t sound like him, Mia.”
“I know. I have to go,” I whisper and disconnect the call.
I crawl back into bed and stay there all day and all night.
***
“I’M COMING!” I call up the stairs as I carry a laundry basket of clean clothes. The knocking gets louder and then stops. I know it’s not Adam because he would just walk in. When I reach the top step, I drop the basket and open the back door. Standing there is a sopping wet Shane, with his hand cupped at his eyebrow looking into my house. I open the door hesitantly.
“Shane! Hi. Um . . . what are you doing here?” I ask.
He smiles sheepishly. “I was going for a run and I saw your Jeep so I thought I’d stop in to say hi. I never see you around anymore . . . now that you’re engaged,” he says sheepishly, eyeing my diamond ring.
I swallow hard because I know if Adam were to show up, he would not be happy with this. But Adam isn’t here and he’s being a dick.
“Can I come in?” Rain pelts his back, drenching his sweatshirt even more, as he stands there.
“Oh my God, of course! I’m so sorry.” I open the door and stand back so he can come in.
“Here.” I reach into the laundry basket and grab a towel.
He dries his face and then wipes the water from his legs. “Thanks. I didn’t think it was going to rain until later on. So much for good forecasting, huh?” He laughs.
I look around nervously. It feels weird having him in my home. A lot has happened between us since the last time he was here.
“How’s everything with you? I can’t believe you’re getting married.”
What should I say? Well, my fiancé and I had a huge fight, he told me to go home and I almost gave the ring back? “It’s good. Really good. Busy.” I lie.
“Yeah, I remember when my sister got married, she was like Bridezilla.”
“I’m trying to keep it low key; I’m not much for wanting to be the center of attention.”
“Yeah, I know. That’s what I always liked about you.” He pushes the hair off his forehead, his blue eyes stare at me.
Suddenly there is an awkward lull between us; the air is thick with tension.
“Can I ask you a question?” he asks with some hesitation.
“Sure,” I smile.
“Are you sure he’s the guy for you?”
“Yes! Why would you even ask that?” The look on my face tells him that I think he’s crazy.
“Well . . . nothing. It’s none of my business.”
“Shane, what are you talking about?” My eyes open in anticipation of what he wants to say.
“I was out with some friends and . . . I saw him at a bar Friday night and . . .”
“And what?” I insist.
Silence.
“Shane?”
“He didn’t appear to be alone. There was this redhead with him.”
The room starts to spin; I grab onto the counter for stability. Adam was at a bar with a redhead? Could she possibly be the same redhead from the sex club? Or the woman who calls all the time, not wanting to take no for an answer?
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
I can’t find the words to speak. My world is crumbling right before my eyes and I can’t do a damn thing about it. The look on Shane’s face kills me. He pities me. He knows I’m devastated because my fiancé, the man I love so completely, was with another woman.
My phone on the island chirps.
We both look at it.
“Shane, I think you should probably go.”
“Do you want me to stay with you? You don’t look so good.” His hands reach out to steady me.
“I’m okay.” My mouth opens and utters the deceitful words.
“You have my number. Call me if you need to.”
***
AFTER SHOWERING AND dressing quickly, I drive over to Adam’s house. I don’t call. I don’t text. I don’t want him to know that I’m on the way. I don’t want to hear what he has to say until I see him face to face.
I park in front of the garage instead of pulling into an empty bay like I’ve always done. I let myself in through the garage and find an empty, quiet, deserted house. No sounds of the television. No signs of the kids playing together. No smell of Sunday dinner. As I walk in closer, I realize that I hear the tapping sound of Adam’s keyboard in his office. My heart starts to race and my breathing becomes heavier. I can do this. I can confront him and find out the truth. I don’t understand how he has changed everything he feels for me overnight. I thought his love was stronger than that. I guess I was wrong.
I listen as he types frantically and then stops briefly before typing away agai
n. Pushing the door open, I step in his office just enough to see him. He continues to type on his laptop. He pulls his hands away from the keyboard, closes his red-rimmed eyes and scrubs his bearded face before running his hands through his wayward hair. The combination of hurt and anger that threaten to erupt from within me subside for a brief moment when I see him. He looks utterly broken. It kills me to see him this way; I guess he wears the look of a guilty man.
His eyes flash up to mine as if I’d called his name. I didn’t.
“Mia.” He breathes my name and swallows hard. He’s trying to control the emotions he doesn’t want me to see.
“How could you do this?” I ask. My voice is barely a whisper and my chin begins to quiver. “Why would you do this to us?” Tears begin their flow slowly and freely down my face. The life we had planned is slipping away through my fingers with every second that passes by.
The door frame supports my body as I stand there watching him. He sits there with his head hung low; his body resembles that of defeat. With slumped shoulders, he says nothing, offering no words of apology, no pleas for forgiveness.
“I love you so much. I never, ever thought that you would be like them. I never thought it would be you who decimated my heart. You took it, toyed with it and completely shattered it beyond repair. I gave you everything I had left. You . . . you brought me back to life. All for what? To fucking let me go?” He looks up at me with watery eyes. “I don’t know if I’ll recover from this. I don’t think I can do it.” I’m not sure if I utter those last words out loud; they are only meant for me. I’m not trying to be dramatic or guilt him into loving me; I’m simply being honest. I don’t think I can survive this pain that courses through me.
“Come here,” he commands as he stands. Maybe because I’m absolutely in love him or because I’m temporarily insane, I go to him and let him envelop me in his arms.
My body shudders against his. “Why are you doing this? You’re breaking me.” I have never felt such heartache in my life. Unbearable hurt sears my soul. Even seven years ago when I lost my father and then my daughter, I was so heavily medicated that I didn’t feel the rawness of my heart crushing and ripping to shreds. This I feel. I feel every splinter. I feel every slice of my flesh. And it fucking hurts.
