Baf, baf, baf, baf.
There was a timid knock at the door.
“No way! You cheat!” Zach bleated at Lorraine.
He then removed his shirt and flexed his pecs at her.
“I know I do—and damn good at it,” Lorraine said, laughing.
“I don’t need my man to cheat for me to take it off,” Victor said, and he disrobed quicker than Zach had. He flexed his muscles as well.
It was like an all-male review in their living room. How had an innocent birthday get-together turn into beefcakes-are-us?
Adam shot a questioning gaze at his wife. She shouldered past him, and said, “Now you’re getting a glimpse of what my life used to be like, but with drugs and a lot more skin.”
He stopped, and his Adam’s apple bobbed, trying to swallow, but nothing was happening.
“Get the door, will ya? We’re playing a game here,” Zach shouted.
Was someone still waiting at the door? Adam hadn’t even heard the knock the second time.
Mari squeezed around Adam to go answer it.
He brought out a few sodas to his guests.
“. . . yeah, but is he here?” the soft voice of his mother carried through the hallway and the small opening in the door.
“Mom?” He walked over and opened the door wide to stare, not at her green eyes, but a darker shade of blue than his own in a man standing next to her. His brown hair was tousled and had some very definite bronze in it.
“Who’s this?” Adam’s voice broke, and his knees locked. He set his hand on Mari’s shoulder and forced her to take a few steps backward.
“I think . . .” Mari turned her head slowly in his direction. “Adam—this is your father, Thomas.” She puffed her cheeks, blew her bangs out of her face and stopped breathing.
He’d never seen her look so uncertain.
Adam scrutinized every detail on this man as if there would be some further proof of his DNA matching his own.
“He can’t be—he’s too short. My dad’s really tall. I remember that.” Adam yanked Mari back behind him. “Why are you bringing a stranger to my door, Mom, and why are you here? I thought you lived in France.”
“We moved back. Samara . . . She wants us to stay away, so there was no reason to remain there, and Thomas has a new job here as a lead vocalist in a band cal—”
Adam held up his hand. “I don’t believe you.” He tipped his chin at this strange man with a similar jawline and chiseled cheek bones. “Prove it. I play the piano—you sing. Come inside and show me who you are. I remember two things about my dad—his height, and his singing voice.” He pushed the door the rest of the way open, and when they stepped through, Zach’s face paled instantly.
“Thomas?” Zach whispered.
“I’m so sorry to intrude, I realized you had guests about five seconds after I knocked, and then, well, we came all this way from Vegas, so we . . .” His mom stumbled on her words.
“It’s fine. We’re just celebrating my birthday.” Adam sniffed. Why were his eyes watering? He pointed to one of their four bookshelves and waved this maybe-Thomas character over. “Pick your music.” Adam looked at his mom impassively, then switched over to the man in front of the shelf.
The man went straight for one of the few jazz booklets Adam had. Of course he would do that. Adam rolled his eyes.
That was incredibly easy music for him. This was one of the first books he learned when he started back up with piano lessons. And he still disliked jazz.
The Thomas-guy leafed through it, found what he wanted and went to give it to Adam, but he stopped him.
“You keep it for the lyrics—I’ve got them all memorized. Just tell me which song you want,” Adam told him.
The man’s right eyebrow popped up like he was impressed. “How about Unforgettable, by Nat King Cole.”
Adam almost tossed himself onto the seat. This was going to be like playing chopsticks.
And that song wasn’t really jazz. His real dad never would’ve sung a song like this.
Too romantic and mushy.
Adam adjusted himself on the bench and began playing without any warning.
The man came in right on cue as if he had it memorized, too.
Adam’s eyes glazed over when he really listened to the crackling embers of this man’s voice. It was that unmistakable warm, Sunday morning sound he used to hear, tucked in a blanket on his mom’s cozy lap. This was the sound that consumed him and took away the numbers.
Without warning, his mother sang along, and the duet was like a stab to Adam’s chest and a jolt to his brain . . .
“I like that one,” Adam said, clapping under the blanket.
His dad’s voice put bumpies on his arms and legs. It was like his skin was sand when his mom joined his dad like she just had.
“Thank you! I’ve been practicing for an audition. Do you think I should use this one?” his dad asked him, smiling.
“Yeah. It’s really good,” Adam said.
“Look at this kid, Sarah. He’s a genius. I mean, he’s already got you running scared with how many numbers he recognized. He’s barely two and a half, and he practically talks like an adult.” He waved Adam to come over and join him. “I bet he’s musically gifted. I can tell he’s got an ear for it.”
His dad set Adam on his piano bench. “Oh, I don’t know, Tommy. I think that’s probably a bad idea. He could fall and get hurt. Look how high up that seat is for a little guy like him,” she said, eyes glued on Adam.
“He’s fine.” His dad placed Adam’s hands on the keys.
“I’s fine,” Adam repeated, his language slipping, but his dad said he was, so he was.
“You move a little closer, and I’ll show you a few keys,” his dad said, then slipped one of those little white candies into his mouth. At the end, it tasted poopy, so he swallowed it fast.
It was his daddy’s secret with him—one he couldn’t tell his mommy.
His little bum inched closer, but he still couldn’t reach the keys very well and his feet were dangling so high up above those golden pedals.
“Tommy! He’s gonna fall!” his mom repeated.
“Is not! He’s my son, and I want him to go into music. It’s never too soon to start.”
Adam banged on the keys and smiled. His fingers slipped, so he stood up to get closer, but when he bent over to touch the shiny white-powdered donut keys, he slipped, and his head smashed right into the piano, then he tipped forward more and tumbled, smacking the front of his head once more on those pedals. His body flew back, and he hit the back of his neck on the bar below the bench.
His eyes were seeing only black—he was scared of the dark. All he could hear was his mother’s voice earlier in the morning, praising him for reciting numbers he’d learned yesterday.
“One plus one, is two. Two plus two, is four,” he mumbled, because that was what he saw. When he ran out of reciting the additions he knew, he went into subtraction.
“Oh, my God, call an ambulance!” his mom’s voice echoed in the distance.
Warm hands were touching his head all over.
“There’s no bump! He might have a concussion. Multiple ones!” his mom sounded shrill. Not like when she was singing pretty and high.
His dad’s was there, too, and he yelled louder, but Adam could only hear the numbers now.
They kept him company when everything was so dark and scary.
“He’s seizing! Do something!” his mom screeched.
Adam’s body floated above a bumpy road. His tongue hurt, and he heard something thump next to him.
Five take away three is . . .
“No, no, no! Adam, no!” he heard in the back of his head.
Dad?
Adam’s arms were loose like noodles, and his legs were the opposite, tight like being tucked into bed by his daddy.
“Hold his legs tighter,” somebody said.
His shoulders flopped like his Ragged Andy doll. That’s who his mom said he looked l
ike with his reddish hair and skin coloring.
Hot! Too hot!
His hand burned, and his neck was sticky on the ground.
“Nooooo!” somebody cried.
“How long is this going to last?”
“Ccccuuuuuh!” Adam heard rumbling in his ears. His stomach jumped and pushed stuff into his mouth. He coughed and gagged on the lumpy fluid in his mouth that tasted like sour grapes and bitter salad. Blick!
“Oh God, that’s gross,” his dad said.
“I don’t care! Put him on his side. He could choke on his vomit,” his mother replied.
Why were they shaking him this way? It hurt his tummy.
“Ahhhhh cuuuuh-cuuuh!” he coughed, and his stomach threw that lumpy soupy stuff back into his mouth again.
Eight take away four is four. Seven take away four is three . . .
His eyes were seeing light for a second, but then it was dark again.
“Do something!” his mom howled.
“What the hell am I supposed to do, I’m not a doctor!” his dad cried.
“Forget it—move out of the way.” Something smashed, and there was a scraping sound. He was flying . . . It was bright in his eyes like white fluffy clouds.
“I’ve got you, baby. I’m taking you to the hospital right now,” his mom told him. Something scratchy moved across his cheek.
Engines . . . It was a lot of loud cranking noises and stomach jumping more, with numbers in his head and his mouth with that yucky soup coming out of him.
“M-mommy!” he cried.
“It’s okay, we’re gonna be there soon.”
There were ropes around his body, holding him down. His arms flailed as he scratched to move them off.
“Stop, Adam! You’re hurting yourself!” his mom said.
Six take away three is three. Five take away three is two . . .
The engine went quiet, metal crashed, and he was flying again with whitey white clouds in his eyes. The black was gone, but these clouds liked numbers, too.
“You have to hurry! He fell and he’s . . . He was convulsing and projectile vomiting. Please, help my boy!” his mom said so fast it made him shake.
“It’s okay—I’m Dr. Latham. I’ll take care of him,” a soft blanket, hot cocoa voice said.
“Don’t drop him! That’s . . . He fell—that’s how this happened,” his mom said, her voice trembling.
“You’re safe now, little man. I’ve got you,” the man’s voice said, and the numbers ran after him, stealing the white clouds away, dunking him under dark water where he couldn’t hear anything at all anymore . . .
Adam’s fingers were moving over piano keys on their own. Those voices were in his head.
He stopped right where he was.
“Get out,” Adam said, his eyes barely registering their faces.
“What?” his mom asked, eyes wide and green like a never-ending forest.
“You knew how this happened to me. You let Dad give me some kind of medicine or drugs all the time when I was a toddler. And then he put me on a piano bench when I was too little. I fell and got hurt really bad, and Dad left because it was his fault. Now you’ve taken him back. I just realized how stupid I was in France when I saw you. You said Samara drained your secret bank account? You were stealing money from Dustin, and sending it to this man to support his drug habit!” He pointed at Thomas. “There’s no room for you in my life or in my head. Don’t even bother trying to deny any of this. I could tell in France when you explained that you were lying and covering something up. You have to leave now. Both of you!” Adam jumped to his feet, knocking the bench over, startling them.
He moved fast, gripped them both behind the elbow and barreled straight for the door.
“You’re not my father—not anymore. You were a long time ago, but that kid you broke is gone. I’m not your son. Find another one,” Adam said, his eyes colder than his speech.
“Adam, stop this!” His mom yanked her arm away.
“No! You never told me what Samara did to you all those years ago—you chose to leave instead. And when I demanded you tell me when I visited you, and you shared it, I forgave. I let it go that you left me, but this—” He pointed at his father again. “This is so wrong! He didn’t even take me to the hospital when I was having seizures and vomiting. What kind of a father does that?”
Mari was behind Adam, her hand on his back.
“A father who’s not sure what to d—”
“Get out of my house. Now! Never. Come. Back!” Adam yelled.
They both jumped, and Mari swung around from behind him to show them out, but before she could get the job done, both Zach and Victor took one parent each and shoved them hard out the door.
Mari shut the door and locked it.
Adam stared at the door, seeing nothing.
It was different from black and white and numbers and music. It wasn’t even Mari he saw, but a Raggedy Adam doll lying on the floor, broken and needing help.
“That man is the reason I’m Dr. Harkham’s Case number one.” Adam tipped his head back and gulped in some air.
“I think we need to tell Dad,” Zach said.
“Yeah,” was all Adam could say.
“And I think we need to tell Amelia, too,” Mari added.
Adam let his head fall forward. He nodded, and covered his face as the tears began to pool in his hands.
Birthdays were for smiles and kisses, not this.
But this was . . . He knew something he hadn’t before.
He could have children without this disability. They could be normal.
And for some reason, that made him sob harder.
* * *
“I talked to London—she finally admitted she was giving her baby some illegal substance right after he was born because he was exhibiting signs of withdrawal. And guess what else I discovered from her?” Amelia said, eyes round and bright.
“What?” Adam was at the edge of the couch.
Mari rubbed his back.
“She had dropped him off the counter while changing his diaper. He had to be rushed to the hospital. He had a really bad concussion—same things happened to him that happened to you—the profuse vomiting, seizures and being non-responsive for a while afterward.” Amelia paused to take a quick breath. “It’s not what we thought at all.”
“So, I really am brain damaged?” Adam asked.
“No—oh, God. Please, don’t think of it that way,” Amelia pleaded. “It’s not anything that makes you less than anybody else. It gave you some unique challenges, but you are one of the brightest young men I know.” She smiled.
“I like one thing, though—” Adam began.
“What’s that?” Amelia rested her chin on her fist.
“It means I have good sperm that can make normal babies. Mari doesn’t have to worry about them turning out like me. We can have kids safely.” He beamed. It was happy news now. When he had time to think about it more, it stopped feeling like a part of him was missing.
“I . . . I don’t know what to say when he tells me this,” Mari admitted. “A part of me that has already agreed I do want kids can’t stand the thought of not having a mini-Adam around. He’s perfection to me—all I wish I could be. And to think that can’t happ—”
“But those are personality traits.” Amelia cut her off. “I understand some of it was enhanced and amplified from the issues that arose from what happened to him, but I’m telling you—the sweetness of this man, his heart—that’s all him. My case number two—the one that moved? He’s nothing like Adam. In fact, he’s the exact opposite. He’s surly and mean. He hits people if they don’t hold him the exact way he wants. He calls them names and bullies them into touching him. It’s pretty frightening.”
“Oh, I . . . Wow,” Mari whispered.
“Yeah. I should have you watch some of the video footage some time. You’d realize pretty darn quick that Adam’s this way because he’s got a good heart, a better soul than most and was raised
by a very caring father.” Amelia smiled at Adam, her eyes shimmering with dew drops inside.
“My dad’s the best. I won’t ever let him forget that.” Adam stood. They were done—he had a baby to go make with his wife.
She had the IUD removed two days after his birthday party.
Adam all but dragged Mari out of his dad’s house.
“Whoa! What’s going on?” she asked, tugging against his pull.
“I need to have sex now,” he said, striding straight to the Mercedes.
“What—in the car?”
“Sure. I like having it in there. The seats are cushiony, and I can hear you really loud. You sound like a piano playing in my heart—and I try to memorize it.”
“Oh God . . . There goes my will power,” she teased.
He propped her up in the back, shut the door, and she laughed hysterically when he battled her to get her clothes off.
“Take me home—baby-making requires a bed,” she said, swatting his hands away harder.
“Not my baby. It’s gonna be shaken in the car like a can of soda. Whooooosh!” he said, his hand floating in the air, mimicking the way a soda can explodes under pressure when the cap is removed.
“If you try to name our baby Pepper after Dr. Pepper, I’ll never speak to you again,” she said. His hand stopped hassling with the buttons and slipped under her shirt instead.
“I like that name. I was thinking it was good because of Iron Man.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her and half of his mouth twisted into a lopsided smirk.
“Pepper Potts Latham? That’s worse than what I could’ve come up with if I was high.” She let her body go limp, allowing him to touch her however he wished. “If you’re really going to do this in here, then I get to name the baby.”
“Deal.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I won’t care as long as the baby’s ours.” He kissed her.
Chapter 22
10 months later . . .
Adam dropped into the bed late at night, drained and completely incoherent.
He didn’t even have the energy to rinse his mouth after he flossed, and when that happened, he avoided giving Mari his tongue when he kissed her.
Especially lately when she was so sensitive to smells.
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