Adam is kneeling on the floor, putting a finishing nail into the wood.
“Hey, Leah.”
I jolt at the sound of my name, nearly dropping my hammer. It’s Rick.
“Toby said you were looking to work with power tools today. We’re gonna install the copper piping for the heating system. If you want to use a blow torch, now’s your turn.”
My fingers are itching to use a torch. I really want to check it out, but I know it’s just going to lead to an argument, and I’m here to work. Not for fun.
“No, thanks. I’m going to finish up here.” I motion to the closet.
“It’s all right,” Adam says.
I look down. He’s squatted below me, his thick thighs splayed out beneath his jeans.
“Go.”
My eyes widen in surprise. He’s letting me out of his sight by choice? And to do something I would find remotely fun?
“I’m okay. This is part of my hundred hours. I’m not here to have a good time.”
“Actually, you are.” He leans an elbow on his thigh. “This isn’t supposed to feel like work. The purpose of volunteering is to enjoy helping others. So, go light something up. Just don’t burn the place down.” He says that last bit with an unintentional smirk.
I smoosh my lips together and nod.
I’m halfway out the door when I back up and look to Adam. “Thanks,” I say.
I am rewarded with a nod of understanding.
Brushing paint onto the front portico of the almost finished home, I hum to myself and enjoy the slight reprieve we’re getting as the sun begins its descent.
It’s peaceful.
Usually, around this time, I’m looking for the next thing to do. Where can I go tonight? What events are we having at the bar? Who’s having a party? Yet, here I am, little Miss Do-Gooder, painting away.
I’m not gonna lie. I kinda like it. It’s oddly refreshing, just taking a moment to be by yourself. If I’m not working, I’m with my parents, Luke, or Emma. Or I’m with my girlfriends. Sure, this is work. But it’s…different.
Maybe I should take up painting or adult coloring or something like that. Who am I kidding? I’m never going to do that. My life revolves around the party. If I lose that, I’ll lose the essence of me. And my essence is pretty spectacular.
Using a torch today was by far the coolest thing ever. I was more scared than I’d thought I’d be to light it. But when Rick let it ignite, it was like I had this immense power in my hands. Power to create. Power to construct. It was awesome.
Some of the other girls who were volunteering today as part of their sorority philanthropic commitment joined in. We took turns in welding copper piping for the plumbing. It took a few hours, and when it was done, we cheered and high-fived each other. There is nothing more empowering than women who can get shit done.
As Rick and I walked back to the cooler to grab waters, I caught a familiar face staring, almost appreciatively, at the job I had done.
The look Adam was giving me was almost reminiscent of the way he’d stared at me when I was sixteen years old. Back when we’d spent time together by choice. Back when I’d almost thought he was developing feelings for me.
“You ever wonder what it would be like to have cameras following you around?” I asked Adam from the blacktop of his parents’ driveway.
He bounced the ball back to me so I could take another shot from the key.
His right brow rose as he answered with a light laugh, “No. Why?”
“EDtv.” I took a shot, extending my wrists and elbows as he’d taught me.
When the ball went in, I looked at him from over my shoulder. His brow was still perched in question.
“Matthew McConaughey?” My hands and head were outstretched in exasperation.
Adam dribbled the ball in front of him, a closed mouth smile on his face. “You’re really into that guy.”
“What’s not to like? Sexy accent. Killer body. Curly golden hair. And, of course, there are those baby-blue eyes.” I was pretty sure I sighed.
“Can’t argue with the baby blues. I’m a sucker for them as well,” Adam said nonchalantly, taking a shot into the basket.
He swished. He scored. I blushed.
He bounced the ball back to me. “What’s your favorite movie of his?”
“How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days.” I dribbled, mentally preparing to take my shot. Feet shoulder-width apart, my shooting foot pointing at the hoop—
“What about Killer Joe? A dirty cop in a cowboy hat and sunglasses? The guy is pure evil. That has to be in your top ten.”
I stopped dribbling and stood up straight. “You said you didn’t watch McConaughey movies.”
He shrugged. “I did a little research.”
“And?”
“He’s all right.” Adam rushed up and stole the ball out of my hands, traveling to the net and slam-dunking it in.
A rush ran through my skin and surged into my head and heart. Blame it on sixteen-year-old hormones, but sometimes when I was with him, my heart would race, and I would have to make it stop even if he wasn’t necessarily doing anything exciting. There was just something about him.
“So, any good plans this weekend?” I asked.
“Camping.”
“You like to sleep on the ground?” I gave a shiver. The thought of sleeping with bugs crawling all over me was enough to taper my beating heart.
With a full white-toothed grin, Adam answered, “Every weekend. Camping, hiking, waterskiing, making a fire, and roasting marshmallows. As soon as the ground thaws, I’m there. It’s the best feeling in the world.”
The look in his eyes was filled with honesty, a passion for life in the outdoors. It was as if his peace was found in the solace of a campground.
“I’ve never been. I don’t think I’m exactly the roughing-it kinda girl.”
“Nah, you’d love it. I’ll take you. I promise, it will be the best weekend of your life.” He gave me a wink. “Hey, is that coconut you’re wearing?”
“It’s my perfume.”
“You smell delicious.”
And there went that erratic-heart thing again. A tingle ran straight down to my toes. A tingle that should not have been there.
I raced over to him and stole the ball from his hands. Instead of shooting it, I ran away, begging for him to chase me.
And he did.
Adam chased me around the driveway, laughing and smiling, hunting me down. I dipped and swayed to get away, but he managed to bear hug me mid run, causing us to walk in tandem—me holding on to the ball, him holding on to me.
We came to a standstill. He was pressed hard into me, the curves of his lean body molding into my soft frame. His grip grew firmer, but he was no longer trying to take the ball.
My chest rose, hard and fast. His head fell to my neck, hot breath on my skin. I closed my eyes, and all I could do was feel. Feel Adam clenching on to me. Feel his heart beating against my back. Feel the odd sense of want I had when I was around him.
I couldn’t move a muscle because I didn’t want him to let go.
“Leah?” His lips brushed my neck.
“Yeah?” My word came out breathy.
“What’s happening between us?”
I swallowed, despite my dry throat. “I don’t know.”
“I want to turn you around, but if I do, I’ll kiss you, and there will be no turning back.”
His arm held me tighter. My body melted further into his.
“Then, don’t turn me around.” I pleaded to God for him not to.
“Because you don’t want me to kiss you?”
“Because I do.”
Adam’s mouth brushed my neck. A tiny kiss on the skin just below my ear. A morsel of a caress that shook my body like an avalanche.
“Why do you let him treat you the way he does? Why do you wait for him when I’m right here?” he breathed.
Why did I wait on Brad? Because I was faithful. Because, even though I was just learning
what love was, I knew that when you made a promise to someone, you kept it.
“Hey, babe,” Brad’s voice called out from behind us.
Adam grabbed the ball out of my hands and dribbled it to the hoop for a dunk. He retrieved the ball and then walked over to Brad, pretending the moment we’d shared didn’t happen.
The two spoke for a minute, and when my legs finally decided to move, I walked up to them.
“Hey.” Brad cautiously eyed me.
I would think it was because of the moment he’d witnessed between Adam and me, but most likely, it was because I hadn’t spoken to him all week.
“Hi,” I said, looking at his right eye.
The corner looked like he had a broken blood vessel.
“I was hoping we could catch a movie?” he asked.
“You said you couldn’t hang out tonight.”
“I feel good.” Brad looked down at his phone. His jet-black hair was styled back in perfection. “Thought I’d hang out with my girl.” He swung his arm around me and tried to pull me in.
Adam just dribbled the ball in front of us. I nodded and moved further into Brad’s side.
“Just no McConaughey flicks, okay?” Brad said as we walked to his car.
That was the last night I spent with Brad. If I were wiser, I’d have realized his demeanor was off, his frame thinner than usual. I went with him so easily because we hadn’t been on a date in weeks. The new friends he had been meeting up with were anonymous to me, yet I never questioned it. I never thought to. I was too busy spending time and playing basketball with another boy with copper hair and onyx eyes.
Brad died later that week.
Everything changed after that.
Suzanne says I should talk about Brad. Really talk about what happened. I’m surprised I’m even allowing myself to travel down memory lane with visions of basketball with Adam. To go further, to acknowledge the most painful memories. . .
I let out a deep sigh and continue to work.
With clean brushstrokes, I do everything I can to make the front porch look as perfect as possible for the war veteran who will soon call this place home.
When the columns have their first coat of paint, I try to reach up inside the awning, but I can’t quite reach it. Climbing up onto a stepladder, I stretch my entire body, every inch I can, but there’s still one spot on the top corner. I try to jump to reach it, but the ladder wobbles, and I hold my breath until I’m sure I’m not going to fall.
“Here, let me get that,” Adam’s deep voice says from behind me.
“Yeah, thanks.” I step down from the ladder and hand him the can and brush, our fingers touching just barely in the hand off. I keep my head looking the other way.
Adam steps up and gets the naked spot with ease. Despite the long day, he smells delicious. Like cologne and soap mixed with sweat and a hard day’s work—the way a real man should smell.
“You wanna stay and do another coat or head out of here?” he asks, turning to me.
“I’d like to stay,” I say.
His mouth widens in a closed mouth smile.
I grab a clean brush from a nearby bucket, dip it into the paint, and start the second coat. I squat down and work on the sideboards. Adam steps down from the ladder and moves to the space next to me, working on the higher areas. My shoulder is just inches from his knee, my head in close proximity to his thigh. What I thought was a peaceful experience has now turned into a buzzing loud moment of uncomfortable silence.
I stay crouched down for as long as I can, but my brush has long since run out of paint. I rise, and just before I’m about to motion for the paint can, Adam holds it out. I dip my brush in and go back down to the ground.
I need paint again, but this time, before I rise, Adam lowers his arm toward me, and the can is within reach. The look on his face is of casual understanding. I give a small nod in thanks and go back to work.
We work like this for a while. Two people painting a front patio in silence, yet speaking to each other with slight hand movements, nods, and glances.
He works up high, me down low. The setting sun casts a faint orange hue on the white paint.
When the base is complete, I move higher. Adam moves lower. When I reach to get a new area, my shoulder brushes his. He doesn’t shift out of the way. When he turns around to work on the door, his back rubs up against mine. I don’t step away.
I glide higher, and he dips lower.
I slide to the left, and he makes his way closer to the right.
We dance in a circle.
Funny thing about trying to distance yourself from someone when you’re in a tight space is, the further you move away from each other, the closer you become.
Shoulder-to-shoulder. Brush-to-brush. Same wall, same level, same place.
When the last spot is complete, I appraise the porch, and I’m happy with the progress we made today. The Montgomerys will be able to move in soon. That feels pretty damn good.
Looking up, above the front door, under the eave of the roof, I notice an area is rough and rugged. It was a spot too high for me. Adam must have painted it.
The longer I stare at it, the more I realize, it’s not rough at all. It’s carved wood, and there’s an inscription in it.
Drawing closer, I rise up on my tiptoes and squint my eyes to read it better.
For the heart finds comfort in the moments cherished with the touch of a hand.
The words sound familiar. A poem? A lyric? I step back and bite my lip, trying to recall where I heard those words before. No, not heard. I’ve seen those words before. Written down in a notebook a long time ago. Words written by someone I once loved.
I spin around and face Adam.
“Those are Brad’s words,” I say.
He gives a half-smile and looks up at the wood. “Didn’t know if you’d remember.”
“Remember? He was a beautiful writer. He never let anyone read his poems though.”
“Except for you,” Adam says. “He let you read them.”
My eyes slightly mist over. Brad kept a notebook in his room where he wrote his feelings down. He was creative and artistic at an age when I couldn’t appreciate just how special his talents were.
“Why is that quote there?” I ask, pointing to the wood.
“Every house is inscribed with something he wrote. Tomorrow, when the paint dries, I’ll go over the letters with a darker paint.”
“All three of these homes have Brad’s words on them?”
“Yes,” Adam says, “and every other home ever built by Homes for All Souls.”
I tilt my head to the side. “How many is that?”
“Twenty-eight.”
My mouth drops down. “You mean, there are twenty-eight homes with his quotes written on them? The same quote or different ones?”
“All different.” Adam puts his hands in his pockets and nudges his head. “Come on, I’ll show you the other two that are here.”
He walks down the stairs as I blink, still amazed. When Adam gets to the bottom of the stairs, he looks back at me, asking with his eyes if I’m coming.
I walk down the steps, and when I get to him, we walk side by side to the second home.
Don’t fear the unknown of tomorrow when you can live the joy of today.
I blow out a deep breath of air from my lips. I remember when he wrote that one. “Your dad was diagnosed with cancer. Everyone was devastated. Except for your dad.” I let out a laugh at the odd memory. “He had this lawn sign that said, I’m telling cancer to fuck off. Honk if you love cold beer.”
It was the strangest thing, but it worked. Every day, you could hear cars honking in front of their house. And each honk would make Mr. Reingold smile.
“Brad said your dad was the bravest man he ever knew. He wrote that quote in an essay for school. Got an A-plus.” I smile wide, and when I look over at Adam, I see he’s not sharing my joy.
I continue, “There’s a Matthew McConaughey quote. ‘I’m gonna kee
p on keepin’ on and let my soul fly. If even for just the day.’ It reminds me of your dad. Reminds me of Brad. Reminds me of you.” I fidget with my arms. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m saying something wrong.” I cross my arms in front of my body. “You look at me like every word out of my mouth is the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard.”
His brows tilt in. “I do?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s not what I think,” he says calmly.
“Really? Because your actions speak volumes.” My voice rises at the end.
“That’s not what I think at all.”
I look down and shuffle my foot a bit. “Well, what do you think?”
“I think that those nights in my driveway are some of the best memories of my life.”
My hand runs over my collarbone as I take in his confession. I bite my lip, wondering how two people as close as we were became the emotional strangers we are today.
“For years, I’ve watched you walk into the bar and shake your head in disapproval,” I say, my eyes fixed on the wood planks of the porch floor. “I know when you crinkle your brows, it means you’re thinking the worst of the person you’re looking at. I know that when you are annoyed, you clench your fists and hold them tight to your sides. I know that when you’re angry, you pull at the ends of your hair. I know this because that’s how you look when you’re around me.”
I take a breath. Those words came flying out of nowhere. I hadn’t been prepared to say them.
Adam runs his hand through his hair and looks out to the field. His back now to me, he places both hands on the railing, bowing his head down.
“I was more preoccupied with helping you than seeing the obvious signs that Brad was in trouble. I knew he was running with the wrong crowd, but…” He pauses, sounding almost afraid to make the admission. “I was the best friend. I knew he was spending too much time alone. He stopped writing, stopped hanging out with his friends, and ignored his girl. He stopped living.”
“It all happened so fast—”
“I ignored the signs because I was more concerned with…” His chest is rising up and down, his eyes looking at me with a plea. “Other things.” The words are out of his mouth so fast that I almost miss them.
Wrecked Page 11
