Adam dug the key out of his pocket and ran his thumb over the serrated edge. Big deal. Big damn deal. His adoptive parents were dead, his father was a monster, and his mother couldn't bear to see his face. How holistic was that?
He unlocked the door, slid behind the wheel. And then there was Sarah, he thought. Sweet, sweet Sarah. She had been right from the beginning. They should never have gotten involved, never made love, never fooled themselves into believing everything would be okay. She was too good for him, too wholesome and pure. And if they stayed together, he'd only end up ruining her life.
Like a man possessed, a man losing his soul to an old, familiar demon, he pulled out of the parking lot.
He would buy a bottle of whiskey and go back to his room. And when it was over, when the amber liquid warmed his gut and the edges of his nightmare turned a misty shade of gray, eleven years of sobriety wouldn't mean a thing.
* * *
Chapter 12
« ^ »
That evening, Sarah sat on her father's porch, watching the sun set. The sky was a haze of mauve, streaked with slashes of red and melting streams of blue. It reminded her of fire, of flames burning in the heavens. And in her heart.
If only she could make things right for Adam. She had been trying to reach him for hours, leaving messages at the motel. The man at the front desk had told her he'd switched rooms, which made her feel a little better. At least he wasn't staring into the remnants of that broken mirror.
Should she drive over there? Or would that upset him even more? He seemed determined to keep her at bay, to handle this crisis on his own. She suspected he was sitting alone in the dark, refusing to answer the phone.
William came outside and set a plate on the table positioned beside her. "It's that wild rice medley your mom used to make." He pointed to the dinner he'd prepared. "It was your favorite when you were little. You never cared much for burgers and fries and that sort of thing. You always went for the healthier stuff. It was hard to believe you were my kid. I thrived on junk."
She picked up the plate and managed a grateful smile. He'd added zucchini from his neighbor's garden to the recipe, and there was a heap of coleslaw and diced apples on the side. "This is perfect. Aren't you having any?"
He wrinkled his nose. "No way. I made myself a sloppy Joe. I'll be right back."
He returned with his meal, and when he bit into the sandwich, bits of the stuffing fell out the sides and landed back on his plate in a saucy mess. He'd given himself potato chips as a side dish and a can of grape soda to wash it down. Sarah sipped bottled water and marveled at the man William Cloud had become.
"I know you're not drinking any more, Dad. And I'm proud of you."
"Thanks." He wiped his mouth. "It's been a long, dark road, and I don't have any intention of going back."
"I should have stayed here. I should have been more supportive, the way Mom was."
"No. You did the right thing. You were young, with your whole life ahead of you. I had no right to put you through that kind of misery, to make you ashamed of me and your heritage." He went after a handful of chips, his actions more casual than his words. "Now I go to a meeting every day. Sometimes twice a day when temptation rears its ugly head."
"You've come a long way." And it made her glad that he was her father, that he was the man her mother had fallen in love with.
"Adam used to drink," she admitted, knowing it was time to confide in her dad. "But he's been sober for eleven years."
William startled, his soda teetering for a moment. "I'm surprised you got involved with him."
"I almost didn't. But I've learned to trust him."
Silence bounced between them then, the sky still blazing with fiery hues. The fragrance of summer misted the air, and Sarah breathed in the scent.
"I love him so much, Dad."
"I know." Balancing his plate on his lap, William frowned into his food. "But are you sure he won't drink again? He is going through a rough time."
As an image of Adam sleeping on the floor loomed in her mind, she shivered. Broken glass and blood. That's how he felt, she realized. Shattered and wounded.
But that didn't mean he would turn to alcohol, she told herself, as a stab of fear jabbed her chest. Adam knew better. He was stronger than that. "I used to think the trigger was out there somewhere, that he might fall, but he said it would never happen."
"And you believe him?"
She nodded. Loving him meant that she had to believe him, had to trust his words, his promises. "Everyone who used to drink doesn't falter." And Adam deserved her support, her faith in his sobriety. "Eleven years is a long time."
"I'm sorry. I had to ask." William released a heavy breath. "Maybe we can convince him to stay here. He should be around family."
"I already tried." Sarah looked up at the sky, suddenly aware of what she had to do. Family was exactly what Adam needed. "Did you talk to Cindy Youngwolf?"
"No. Margaret is the one who called her and told her about Adam. And then she relayed their conversation back to me."
"But you have Cindy's number?"
"Yes. It's listed in the book, under her husband's name. Why? What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to call her," she said, praying the other woman would take the time to listen.
* * *
Adam stared at the bottle, at the whiskey he'd purchased hours ago. He hadn't broken the seal, hadn't opened it.
It sat on the dresser like a cool, dark temptation. He wanted it so badly, yet he couldn't bring himself to take that first drink.
Because of Sarah. Because he'd promised her he would never deceive her again. And drinking behind her back would have been the biggest deception of all.
He glanced at the phone. How many messages had she left? Three? Four?
He had to call her, he realized. He had to tell her the truth. Adam dialed her father's number, keeping his back to the mirror. He'd been avoiding his reflection all night, avoiding the image that sickened him.
"Hello?" Sarah's voice came over the phone, soft and sweet and gentle.
"Hi. It's me." The guy losing his self-respect, the liar, the cheat. He reached for the bottle, felt the familiar shape beneath his fingers. "I'm sorry I didn't call you back sooner."
"Oh, Adam. I have so much to tell you. Can I come by?"
"It's late, Sarah. I don't want you driving over here." And he didn't want her in this room, in the place where he battled the urge to get sloppily drunk. "I rented a car today. I'll head over that way, okay?" So he could tell her in person, look into her eyes and admit what he'd almost done.
"Okay. I love you," she said.
A lump formed in his throat. He loved her, too. More than he had a right to. "I'll be there as soon as I can."
Feeling clumsy and awkward, Adam laced his boots, then cursed his injured hand. And when he stood, he noticed the trembling.
Was he nervous? he asked himself. Or was he experiencing a psychological withdrawal? A mental reminder of the shakes, the edginess that came with the addiction?
Being seventeen years old and craving one shot, just one stress-relieving drink, wasn't something he was likely to forget. Nor was shivering until his teeth rattled.
Adam grabbed the rest of Sarah's luggage and put it in the trunk, along with the whiskey, the proof he needed to set her free, to convince her that loving him was a mistake.
When he arrived at her father's house, she waited for him on the front steps, looking like a little girl in an oversized T-shirt and baggy jeans. She'd plaited her hair into a single braid, leaving the angles of her face unframed. Her eyes seemed darker and deeper, he thought. Her cheekbones more striking. The backlight from the porch bathed her in a soft, buttery glow.
He moved to the back of the car, prepared to open the trunk, to show her the bottle. He couldn't drag this moment out, make either one of them suffer longer than necessary.
She stood and came toward him. "I'm so glad you're here. I talked to your mother, Ad
am. I talked to Cindy."
He froze, the trunk key imprinting his thumb. "What?"
"I called her." She drew a breath, gauged his troubled expression. "Please don't be mad. I wasn't trying to interfere."
"I'm not mad." He was stunned. Guilty. Sick at heart. He'd spent the day lusting after a drink, and Sarah had contacted his mother. "What did she say?"
"Truthfully, not much. She didn't want to discuss anything personal over the phone. I think her daughter was there."
He closed his eyes, and then opened them a second later. He wouldn't let his mind conjure an image of his mother's youngest child. His little sister.
Sarah moved closer. "Cindy agreed to meet with me tomorrow." She lifted her eyes to his, held him tenderly within her gaze. "And I'm going to tell her about you. About how kind and decent you are."
God help him, he thought. He longed to touch Sarah's cheek, to stroke her skin and profess how much he loved her. But her good intentions didn't change who or what he really was—an alcoholic conceived from rape. "Don't glorify me to my mother. I bought a bottle of whiskey today, right after I switched rooms."
Dear God. Fear, shock, a dizzying pain gripped Sarah's heart. Her father had warned her, but she hadn't seen it coming. Her love for Adam had blinded her, the fairy tale, the fantasy she had created in her mind.
Needing to sit, to collect her emotions, she found her way to the steps. She couldn't fall apart. Not now.
"Did you drink?" she asked.
"No." He shook his head. "I wanted to, though. A lot."
But he didn't, she thought, as her heartbeat stabilized. He hadn't let himself go that far. He was still living by the vow he'd made to stay sober. The warrior in Adam was fighting the addiction. "You're going to be all right. You'll get through this. I can help you."
"How?" He turned, paced a little, stopped to look at her. "You can't make the craving go away. You're not me, Sarah. You don't know what it feels like. How badly I wanted to open that bottle."
She inhaled the summer air, telling herself to think, to say the right thing. All those years with her father hadn't prepared her for this moment. She wasn't supposed to have fallen in love with an alcoholic. Yet Adam, troubled Adam, lived inside her.
She glanced up at the sky, saw a scatter of stars twinkling against the night. Was there anything she could say or do that would lessen his fears? He seemed so lost, so broken. "You should get professional help. My father goes to meetings. You could—"
"No." He cut her off. "I'm not… I can't…"
He paced again, trampling grass beneath his shoes. His hair was loose, flowing to his shoulders, and his eyes were dark and shadowed. She could see that he hadn't slept, hadn't eaten. She wanted to reach out and hold him, but she knew she couldn't coddle his addiction.
"Why won't you see someone, Adam? You've done it before. You know therapy can be effective."
He dragged a hand through his hair. "It's different this time."
"Why?"
"It just is."
Because of his parents, she realized. His biological parents. Therapy would mean talking about them, admitting out loud why he had the urge to drink. His father had raped his mother, and now his mother was rejecting him.
Sarah thought about Cindy. The other woman hadn't made any promises on the phone. She hadn't agreed to meet Adam, but she had made arrangements to talk to Sarah, to discuss the son she'd given up. It was a start, a hope to cling to. If Sarah could convince Cindy to give Adam a chance, then maybe he could find the strength to heal.
She looked up at him, saw that he watched her. "Are you hungry?" she asked. "I can heat some leftovers."
"Thanks, but no. I can't deal with food right now. Maybe I just need to get some sleep."
"You can stay here," she offered.
"No. I can't." He came forward and sat beside her. "You promised yourself you'd never get involved with an alcoholic, and that's what I am. A man craving a drink."
Sarah forced herself to breathe, to fill her lungs with oxygen. She wouldn't lose him, not like this. Not to an addiction, to a bottle of whiskey. He was worth so much more than that. "I'm not giving up on you. Or on us."
He touched her cheek, then drew back quickly, his injured hand shaky. "So you're still going to meet with my mother? Tell her what a great guy I am?"
"Yes, I am. And I'm going to be here if you need me." She noticed the professional bandage on his hand, pleased that he'd seen a doctor. "But I'm asking you to destroy the whiskey you bought. Throw it away. Pour it down the sink. Whatever you have to do to get rid of it."
"What if I give it to you?"
She blinked. "What?"
He gestured toward the car. "It's in the trunk. I brought it with me. And I brought the rest of your luggage, too. The stuff you left at the motel."
She ignored the pain, the clench in her heart. Adam couldn't bear to have her staying with him. He had chosen solitude over love.
He placed her suitcase on the porch. And when he handed her the unopened whiskey, she fought a burst of panic, realizing how close to the edge he really was.
Stay strong, she told herself an instant later. Focused. Adam's mother was most likely the key to his salvation.
But would Cindy Youngwolf listen to what Sarah had to say? Would the other woman agree to meet her son? Or would Sarah have to give Adam more hurtful news?
She glanced at the whiskey and frowned. Maybe she was placing too much importance on Adam's mother. Cindy could ease the part of him that ached, but she couldn't stop him from drinking. Only Adam could conquer his addiction.
"I'll call you tomorrow," she said. "After I see your mom."
"Thank you." He looked directly into her eyes. "Aren't you worried that I'm going to buy another bottle?"
"I trust you," she told him. Maybe even more than he trusted himself. Because if she gave into the panic and lost hope, then he would, too.
* * *
The following afternoon Sarah drove to Tulsa. She found the park Cindy Youngwolf-Nichols had directed her to and got out of the car.
Anxious, she sat on a picnic bench and placed two small cartons of orange juice on the table. The air was warm, even in the shade. Checking the time, she turned to watch the activity on the playground. A group of kids took turns on the slide, and a toddler clapped his chubby hands and grinned as his mother pushed him on one of the baby swings.
Did Cindy live nearby? Was this the park she had taken her own children to? Or was this on the other side of town, away from those who knew her? Cindy's address wasn't listed in the phone book.
Within minutes a woman came toward the bench. Sarah assumed she was Adam's mother simply because she wore a yellow blouse—the color Cindy had said she would be sporting.
Nervous, she stood to greet her. "Hello," she said, when they were close enough to hear each other. "I'm Sarah."
"Hello." The other woman stood a little awkwardly. Attractive for her age, she was trim, with dark hair cut into one of those easy-to-care-for styles that fell just below her chin. Neither tall nor short, her height measured somewhere in-between.
Because Sarah searched for a family resemblance, she found several. Brown eyes, Indian cheekbones and a mouth that managed to look full and feminine on Cindy, yet wickedly sensual on Adam. Yes, she thought, this woman was his mother.
"I brought some juice."
"Thank you." They both sat, and Cindy accepted one of the plastic containers without opening it. "So Adam is your fiancé?" she asked, reaffirming what had been briefly discussed over the phone.
"Yes, but he's pulling away from me." Trying to convince her not to love him, she thought. And refusing to get help for his struggle, for the battle to stay sober.
"I'm sorry if he isn't taking this well, but this hasn't been easy on me, either. My other children don't know about him. I never even told my husband. I agreed to meet with you because—" Pausing to twist the gold band on her left hand, she trapped Sarah's gaze. "I need for you to understand w
hy I can't see Adam. Why it would be better to leave things as they are."
"That's fine." She would let Cindy say her piece, then she would say hers. She wasn't going to argue with Adam's mother, but she couldn't bear to watch the man she loved suffer, either.
"Giving up a child was the hardest thing I've ever done, but I did it for the right reasons. I wanted him to have a better life than I was able to provide."
"And that's the only reason you didn't keep him?"
"No." The other's woman's gaze turned candid. "It was also because of what his father did to me."
Silent, Sarah waited, knowing she was about to hear the whole ugly story.
Clasping her hands, Cindy placed them on the table. "He was very handsome. Johnny, that was his name. Tall and broad, with the most stunning smile I had ever seen."
"Where did you meet him?"
"At the diner where I worked. Some of the local college students hung out there, so it was an exciting job for me. I was a senior in high school, trying to look more grown-up. I flirted with Johnny, but so did other girls. He got a lot of attention. And he had a wild streak, a rebelliousness that fit the times. We were the generation that was going to change the world."
Sarah glanced at the playground again. Laughter drifted through the air, as warm and happy as sunshine. No one would ever know, she thought, that two women were sitting below a bright blue sky, discussing the man who had raped one of them.
"One night, after my shift, Johnny asked me to go for a drive. I barely knew him, aside from the little bit of flirting that we'd done, but I wasn't about to refuse. He seemed so nice, so charming." Lifting her hand, she smoothed her hair, even though there wasn't a strand out of place. "And when he took me into a secluded area, I thought 'Oh, my. He's going to kiss me.' He did, of course. But then everything changed. He started tugging at my clothes, pushing me onto the back seat. I said no, and suddenly he wasn't Johnny anymore. He wasn't the charming boy with the stunning smile."
"I'm so sorry." Sarah could almost picture herself in Cindy's place. Naive and young, being abused by someone she had trusted.
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