It’s just us. Together. Unstoppable and ceaseless.
“Copy that and send it back.”
I DON’T KNOW if it’s genuine, but Ms. Sinclair seems very happy to see me when I walk into her room an hour or so later. Adam dropped me off at Pine Manor before heading back to his place for a quick shower and a change of clothes. He asked me to tell his gram he’d be in to see her before lunch, and when I do, she asks me if his father will be coming in with him. Obviously, Ms. Sinclair has already forgotten she was told her son went back home to Seattle.
I don’t know what else to say, so I just tell her I don’t know and promptly change the subject.
I help her dress and fix her hair, fastening the gold owl brooch with the big, sparkly eyes to the left side of her beige sweater, just above her heart.
After I wheel Ms. Sinclair to the community room for Pastor Glickson’s Sunday-morning service, I busy myself taking care of my other loves. I clean Mrs. Boyer’s glasses, swap out Mr. Rauch’s bedsheets, and help change Mr. Ledbetter’s portable oxygen tank. I say hello to an afghan-draped Mrs. Thompson as she sits in the lobby waiting for her daughter’s weekly visit. She’s wearing her usual Sunday-morning smile.
As I work, a fresh and overwhelming bout of gratefulness soaks into me. I’ve spent the last six years doing exactly what I was meant to do. I’ve shared my compassion with the people who’ve needed it most. I’ve shown them love and mercy, and when things got bad, they’ve allowed me to give them the peace they deserve. Sondra might be able to stay disconnected from these people and their suffering, but I cannot. And, as hard as it is sometimes, I’m thankful for it. I’m glad there’s not an inch of emotional distance between me and the people I take care of. Because it makes it real. It makes it right.
I hear Sondra’s words inside my head again: the more you care for them, the harder it is.
I know filling their last living moments with kindness, especially when other parts of their life have been so cruel, is precisely why this gift of mine is so important. Every human being deserves to live—and die—surrounded by too much compassion and grace. Even men like Mr. Sinclair.
Part of me wishes I could ask Adam how it was for his father at the end. I want to know if Mr. Sinclair left this world peacefully, if he understood why his son did what he did. I want to know if Mr. Sinclair felt any love for Adam, and if his son found it in him to feel something in return. I want to know if there was as much compassion and emotion in that hospital room last night as I hope there was. I want to know if what Adam did was as real and right as it would have been if I were the one ending his father’s life. Because if it wasn’t, then Adam didn’t send his father out of this world with everything he deserved. He didn’t do it with compassion and forgiveness in his heart.
But I can’t ask Adam any of these things. I can’t ask him what he was feeling. I can’t confirm what I hope is true. It won’t stop me from loving him; nothing could. But for the rest of my life, I’ll be wondering.
The church service ends forty-five minutes after it starts, and when it does, I wheel Ms. Sinclair out to the lobby window so she can watch her birds. She’s contentedly telling the very hard-of-hearing Mrs. Rupert all about the chickadees at the feeders. Mrs. Rupert is leaning over toward Ms. Sinclair with her head tilted to the side, as if she’s actually interested in learning about the balls of feathery fluff outside the window. I smile as I leave them on my way to the staff room.
Sondra is here today, working the daylight shift. She’s sitting at a desk filling out a transportation form when I walk into the room.
“I heard about Winston Sinclair dying on the news this morning,” she says, looking up at me. “Everything okay?”
“I think so, yes. Adam came over to tell me this morning.”
“How’s he doing? It’s too bad they were so mad at each other when I kicked them out of here the other night. I know they didn’t get along, but there’s nothing worse than losing someone when you’re angry at them.”
“Things weren’t good between them for a long time, so I think that argument was just like lots of others.” It’s far from the truth, but Sondra doesn’t need to know that. “Adam’s doing all right. Mr. Sinclair was in really bad shape. I think it was a blessing.”
She purses her lips and crosses her arms over her chest. “Um-hum. Probably a blessing in more ways than one.”
I don’t respond with words. I only shrug and try to pretend I don’t know what she’s talking about.
“I think it’s time you come clean,” she says, standing up from her desk and stepping over to me. “You gotta tell Susan about you and that boy. She needs to hear it from you, before she hears it from someone else. By which I mean, if you don’t tell her, then I’m going to. I don’t like holding on to someone else’s secrets. They ain’t good for your health.” She winks at me and puts her hands on my shoulders. “And I’m pretty sure there’s nothing in the employee handbook that says you can’t date a patient’s grandson.”
“I’ll tell her. I promise. But give me a few days, okay?” When I do tell Susan about Adam and me, she’ll know immediately why Mr. Sinclair filed that abuse claim against me. She’ll know Adam’s father didn’t want us to be together. I’m okay with her knowing it. Just not yet.
“Okay,” Sondra says, suddenly putting her arms around me and wrapping me in a tight hug. I squeeze back, feeling grateful for her friendship and wanting her to know how much I appreciate having her in my life, walls and all.
When I head back out to the lobby a few minutes later, Adam is sitting on the sofa, in between his grandmother’s wheelchair and Mrs. Rupert. He’s repeating everything his grandmother says to Mrs. Rupert, only in a much louder voice. There’s half a bouquet of daisies sticking out of his shirt pocket. Every element of the scene is sweet and adorable. I walk over to say hello. Ms. Sinclair sees me first.
“Well, hello there, dear. Guess who’s come to see me today.” She looks from me over to Adam. Her expression softens. There’s love there. So much love. “Bradley, have you met my nurse yet?” Adam looks up at me, but this time there’s no sadness on his face at the sound of Bradley’s name. No confusion or uncertainty. “What was your name again, young lady? I’m afraid I’ve forgotten,” she adds, shifting her gaze back to me.
“K’acy,” I say with a smile. “And, yes, your grandson and I have met.” I look at Adam’s gray eyes. They’re shining back at me. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“You, too.” There’s coyness behind his words. I think he’s finally learned to roll with it.
Adam gets up from the sofa and walks around to the back of his gram’s wheelchair. I take it as a cue.
“Mrs. Rupert, why don’t you and I go get a cup of tea? I think the kettle’s on in the dining room.”
As Mrs. Rupert and I shuffle off for her cup of tea, I hear Adam behind me as he pushes his gram’s wheelchair toward the hallway.
“So, Gram, what was I like when I was little?”
“Stubborn,” she says. “Like your father. Only you were also sweet as pie. You could charm the fur off a puppy when you wanted to.”
Their voices trail off as the distance between us grows. I’m amazed and humbled by the affection between them.
DURING MY LUNCH BREAK, I text Jarrod. I don’t know if he’ll be awake yet, but I have to let him know I’m okay and ask how things went at The Upstage last night. If I could cross my fingers while I type, I would.
How’d the epic ass shaking go?
Amazing. The bass playing, however, was totally second rate.
I wonder if Grace is with him. I want to ask if she enjoyed the show, but then I think better of it. Because maybe there’s someone else in his bed today.
And the openers from Jersey?
Also second rate.
Sorry to hear it.
Yeah, but they made us sound extra good, so there’s always that.
Any word from the Naysayer rep?
They didn’t show.
My heart skitters inside my chest.
What happened?
They called and left a voicemail. Apologized and said someone had the flu or something.
That sucks.
Not really. They’re coming to Bartholomew’s next month instead.
I let out a single, awkward laugh.
For real?
Just please promise me there will never be second-rate bass playing ever again.
Promise.
Good. All well with you? Did it happen?
Yes.
Is The Mister okay?
He will be.
You too?
Me too.
Grace says hi.
I picture the two of them together, and it makes me happy.
Tell her I said hi back.
Will do.
See you Wednesday night?
Yep.
Bye, Jar.
Later.
A sense of relief rises in my gut, knowing I didn’t shoot Crackerjack Townhouse in the foot after all. I don’t have to forgive myself for anything more than one night of Stevie’s second-rate bass playing.
THE REST of the day passes quickly. Adam leaves for a few hours in the afternoon to go see his mother, but he comes back just before my shift ends. When I see him walking down the hallway, straight toward me as I push his grandmother to the dining room, tiny fires erupt all over my body, inciting another desirous riot beneath my skin. Notes begin playing inside my head. Only it’s not “Soul to Squeeze” anymore. It’s the new, unnamed love song from last night. The melody is quiet yet fierce. Soft yet sinful. It’s perfect. Just like us.
It takes everything inside me not to kiss him when he reaches us. And as he stops in front of his grandmother’s wheelchair, I see it in his eyes, too. The same sly, ill-hidden pangs of need are there, staring right back at me.
Without a word, Adam takes over the driving and pushes his gram to the dining hall. After she’s situated at the table, he kisses her forehead and tells her he’ll see her tomorrow.
“Goodbye, Adam,” she chirps, bringing an immediate grin to his face. “And don’t you forget to bring your homework tomorrow, okay?”
“Yes ma’am.”
I come back out of the staff room a few minutes later, after I finish compiling the shift change report. Adam is waiting for me in one of the lobby’s leather wingchairs. His shoulders are relaxed, and he’s got one leg crossed over the other, looking like he was born to sit in that very chair.
The moment we step outside the glass doors together, his hand grasps mine, wrapping it up in a nice little package.
“How’s your mom?” I ask as we head across the parking lot.
“Not good. We had to make arrangements to have my dad’s body flown back to Seattle tomorrow. She wants to charter a private jet so the casket doesn’t have to ride in the cargo hold. She says she wants him to be with her, not the luggage. It’s weird to see her this way, you know. She’s so broken. I just keep wondering if she would be less sad if she knew about Bradley. I kinda want to tell her about him because I keep thinking seeing her angry would somehow be better than seeing her so damn sad.”
“I think telling her would just make her twice as sad.”
In my peripheral vision, I see Adam nod and swallow hard. His feet scuff against the asphalt, and his hand squeezes mine a little bit tighter.
“Someone once told me there’s a lot to be said for the whole ignorance is bliss thing,” he says, his voice brimming with emotion as he repeats the words I once said to him. “Maybe I should stick with that. For my gram and my mom.”
Before I can reply, I see his car one row away. Adam’s eyes are still aimed at the ground, but mine are looking straight ahead.
Right at Perry Devine.
He’s leaning against the front fender of Adam’s car. His crisply ironed white shirt is glowing in the pale light of dusk, a folded pair of aviators hooked over the top button. His expression is stern and dry. I think for a moment that my knees might fold up beneath me.
“Adam,” I say softly. When he looks over at me, I lift my chin in the direction of his car. The moment he sees Mr. Devine, Adam’s expression changes. It lightens, as if he’s seeing an old friend.
“Perry,” he says, striding right up to the man and extending his hand in greeting. I stand a few paces behind him, unsure of what this is all about.
“Adam.” Mr. Devine doesn’t take Adam’s hand. Instead, he throws his arms around him and wraps Adam in a gigantic hug. One that beats Sondra’s to a pulp. “You okay?”
They let go of each other before Adam offers an answer. “Yeah. I’m okay.” He steps back and lifts a palm up in front of me. “I believe you two have already met. K’acy McGee, Perry Devine. Perry Devine, K’acy McGee.”
I’m completely stunned. I don’t know what to say.
“Yes. We’ve met.” Mr. Devine looks at me, this time with something other than intimidation. “I only wish it had been under better circumstances.”
What the hell is going on?
Perry Devine reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out an envelope. He holds it out in front of me. “I believe this is yours.”
I look at Adam before I take the envelope. He shrugs in ignorance.
“What is it?” I inquire, reaching for whatever’s in Mr. Devine’s extended hand.
“It’s the rest of your money.” There’s no mockery in his voice. No scorn. He’s dead serious. “From what I understand, your sister’s gonna need this half, too.”
I glance at Adam for answers, but he’s as surprised as I am.
“I’m not leaving Adam,” I say, the words falling from my mouth with more confidence than I feel.
“Look,” Mr. Devine continues, “I’m not giving you this so you’ll leave him. I’m not the same kind of man as Winston Sinclair. I know what love is when I see it.” His familiar, long-lashed eyes harden. “I did a lot of things I didn’t want to do in the last seventeen years, and following you around for the last few months was one of them.”
Adam’s expression is ripe with bewilderment, and my jaw is almost on the ground.
“You’ve been following her around?” The pitch of Adam’s voice is almost pre-pubescent.
Mr. Devine turns to Adam, his hands sinking into his pockets again as he nods his answer. “I don’t know if you know how your father and I met, and why I started working for him. But now that he’s gone, I think you should know,” he says.
I hear Adam suck in a gulp of air. I’m unsure of whether or not I should leave the two of them alone. Before I can decide, Mr. Devine starts talking again.
“He caught me breaking into his car. I had the wire wedged down in the doorframe when he grabbed me from behind and knocked me flat on the ground with some god-awful jujitsu move he must’ve learned at the gym. I was twenty-three years old, fresh off a four-year deployment. I had no money and no place to sleep, other than on a buddy’s couch. I needed a car, and your father’s was right there for the taking. When he saw my military ID tags, he knocked me on the head for being so stupid. He offered me a job on the spot, told me I could be his driver for as long as I wanted to be. If I did everything he asked. Your father paid me more money than I’d ever seen, just to drive him wherever he wanted to go. Then, a couple months later, when I guess he figured he could trust me, he offered me even more money to take on other responsibilities, ones that weren’t as simple as driving him around. In a very short time, I went from being homeless to being head of security for your father’s company.”
As Adam absorbs Mr. Devine’s words, a troubled furrow forms between his eyes.
“What I’m saying is…I know all of your father’s secrets, Adam. Everything he did and said for the last seventeen years is right in here.” Perry Devine taps an index finger against his own temple. “And a lot of it isn’t very nice. But, I also got a lot of memories of you up in there, too. Because while I was doing everything your father asked, I was also watching you. You deserved b
etter than what you got from your dad. But, I couldn’t do anything about it, you know? I couldn’t speak up for you because I didn’t wanna lose what I’d worked so hard for. So, I just tried to do right by you. I tried to be there when your father wasn’t.”
“You did do right by me.” Adam’s words are spiked with admiration for this man, a man I never would’ve considered admirable. “Why didn’t you quit? Especially after I went to college.”
Perry Devine gently shakes his head. His gaze shifts down the row of cars, right to the glass doors of Pine Manor. He thinks hard before he answers. “You don’t walk away with another man’s secrets in your hands. At least not alive.”
What the hell is that supposed to mean?
The ounce of admiration I might have felt for him immediately morphs into fear, and then multiplies itself lightning-fast, over and over again, until my body is brimming with anxiety. I’m confused and suddenly scared for Adam’s safety. Is Mr. Devine talking about Bradley? Are his boss’s secrets still worth protecting, even though the man is dead?
Fear swirls around inside me.
Does he know what Adam might have done to his father?
Adam is quiet for a long minute, his hands pressing against the sides of his thighs. I’m frozen, reeling with uncertainty.
“So what happens now?” Adam asks.
Mr. Devine centers his weight as his eyes backtrack along the row of cars until they meet Adam’s again.
“I walk away.”
Adam slowly bobs his head in understanding, not taking his eyes off Perry Devine’s. I exhale all the air that’s been pent up in my chest since I took the envelope of money. It whooshes out of me like a long, slender train of relief.
“Your father once told me life is full of hard choices,” Mr. Devine continues. “You can tackle those choices head-on, like a man, or you can second-guess your decisions and end up being nothing more than a powerless over-thinker.” His hands move to Adam’s shoulders, resting on them with gravity and purpose. “But what I’m doing now isn’t a hard choice. There’s nothing to second-guess. I’m walking away with every one of your father’s secrets in my hands, and someday, when I get to hell, I’ll drop them right into the fire and watch them burn.” He lifts his hands and uses one of them to plant a light, fake punch on Adam’s chin before putting them back into the pockets of his trousers. “Have a good life, Adam. Tell your mother I said goodbye.”
The Sound of Light Page 27
