by Lane Hayes
“Maybe. Whatever. I don’t want to talk about him. Look at this guy.” I pointed up at the statue again. “He might not have been handsome, but he was powerful. He built a whole freaking town. That’s pretty damn impressive, right? I wanted to be an architect way back then because I wanted a piece of his legacy. Once I was old enough to understand we didn’t share a bloodline, I was just glad we shared a couple names. I wanted to be worthy of it. My dad’s anal retentiveness about achievement probably had something to do with my goals, but it didn’t feel that way at the time.”
“So you built something else with another instrument. Frankly I think that’s cooler than having a town named after you. He was a local hero. You’re that and much more. I’m proud of you, Ize. I bet this old fart would be too.” He motioned toward the stone edifice but kept his gaze on mine. The unmistakable pride in his voice made my heart swell.
“Thanks,” I said in a low voice.
Adam leaned in and kissed my cheek. “You’re welcome. We should go before we freeze to this bench and—”
“Wait.” I lifted my hips and dug in my front pocket for my keys. “Let’s carve our initials here.”
Adam beamed at me. “God, I want to put my tongue down your throat right now.”
I laughed heartily and shared a goofy grin with him before I bent my head to concentrate on my task. “Initials now, tongue later.”
“Good idea.”
We took turns keeping an eye out for anyone who might disapprove of our petty vandalism, then sat back to check our handiwork. I looked a little closer after he handed me the keys and declared the masterpiece complete. It took everything I had not to straddle his lap then and there when I saw he’d added a plus between the letters. AM + ID. I played it cool, though, and gave him a ridiculously wide smile before jumping to my feet and playfully shoving his shoulder.
“Show me your new bakery, McBride.”
WE CUT across Main Street and turned left on Pine, stopping twice along the way to say hello to old acquaintances. Both were women around our age pushing baby strollers. I knew I’d gone to high school with them, but they looked different than I remembered. Adam chuckled at my observation.
“I bet. The only reason I don’t think that is because I never left.” He pointed at a small corner shop with wraparound windows. “The girl with the platinum blonde hair was Nicki Barber. Remember her? Her brother Joe is opening a health-food bistro there.”
“He’s doomed. No one eats healthy here,” I commented idly as we reached our destination.
“Things are changing. You’d be surprised, Sally Sunshine.” He stopped in front of a plain brick-façade store with a faded sign shaped like a piece of peppermint candy hanging over a dull red door. “I don’t see Ian, but he said someone would be here.”
Adam pushed open the back door to the old candy shop and called a loud greeting. The temperature outside had dipped again, but it wasn’t much warmer inside. And there wasn’t much to see. The flooring was the same peeling laminate black-and-white-checked one I remembered from my youth. There was a red Formica counter at the far end with an old register circa 1970 atop it. And that was about it. When the Sugar Patch was at its height of popularity, there had been barrels of candy throughout the store, a wall of colorful specialty items like silly sunglasses and pinwheels, and another portion filled with comic books. Kid paradise. Without the primary-colored goodies decorating every surface, it was bleak and sad. A relic from the past century, in dire need of TLC.
“What do you think?” Adam asked with a goofy grin.
“It looks the same as it did twenty years ago, but—” I stopped when I spotted a stylish woman standing near the back of the store.
I couldn’t see her expression clearly because of the glare, but she was beautifully dressed in a short red coat, a black slim skirt, and expensive-looking boots adorned with ribbons. Her long golden-blonde hair fell over her shoulder, artfully cascading over her designer bag. She would have fit in perfectly in Manhattan. In Springville she stood out, which I was sure was her intention.
I hadn’t seen her in so long I’d almost forgotten what she looked like. Pretty. Very pretty. The former cheer captain and homecoming queen’s looks hadn’t faded, I mused as I pasted a polite smile on my face and greeted Adam’s ex-wife.
“Hi, Isaac,” she said pleasantly. “Adam.”
“Deb. How are you?” I was pleased I managed a passable smile.
Deb and I were never the type of acquaintances who hugged as part of their greeting ritual. We weren’t really friends at all. She wasn’t the kind of girl who paid attention to geeks like me in high school. My parents had money, but my skin was a shade too dark. Maybe that was unfair… I was awkward and self-conscious too. Talking to girls in any capacity had been a chore back then. Even if she’d wanted to chat with me, I wouldn’t have known what to say. Luckily she hadn’t. And other than a passing hello at her wedding, we’d successfully avoided each other for most of our lives.
“Okay. You?”
“Good.” I tossed a glance at Adam, who looked equally as uncomfortable, before stepping forward to offer her my hand.
“Congratulations. You’re the town hero. We’re all thrilled we can say we know a real rock star,” she said sweetly as she shook my hand.
“Uh… thanks. I—”
“Are you the real estate agent here or—? I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting you. I thought—”
Deb turned to look at Adam for the first time since she’d entered, and gave him a tight smile. “Yes. I just got my license. I’m assisting one of the partners for now. He mostly handles commercial holdings. I… I actually thought I was meeting your brother. I didn’t realize you were interested in leasing this place.”
He nodded slowly and slipped his hands into his back pockets. “Yeah. I am.”
“Does that mean you’re coming back?”
“I am,” he repeated.
She cast a curious look between us. “Good. Um… I’ll leave you two to look around. You can either drop the key off at the office or I can pick it up from Ian later. Either is fine.”
The door opened with a bang a moment later, abruptly disturbing our awkward triangle.
“Hello!”
Ian McBride strode toward me purposefully and wrapped me in a bearlike embrace. Typical McBride style. You offered a handshake and received a hug. Ian pulled back and gave me a shit-eating grin very reminiscent of his younger brother before leaning over to punch Adam’s arm.
“How’s it going, Ian?” I asked.
Ian and Adam had the same dark hair and blue eyes, but that was where the similarities ended. In a way, Adam was the odd man out. He was robust and muscular, while his brothers were lanky and lean.
“All’s good. Hey, Deb.” Ian glanced over at his ex-sister-in-law and back at us, then hooked his finger under his collar and widened his eyes theatrically. “Damn! This is a new one. The ex and the new lover who’s an old friend and, holy crap, a man. This is the shit soap operas are made of, am I right?”
Ian’s comedic delivery went a long way toward defusing what was probably doomed to be a weird encounter no matter how hard we tried to pretend otherwise. Not everyone could get away with voicing cold truth, but Ian was a lot like Adam. He didn’t blink and he didn’t back down. He was simply calling the situation as he saw it and inviting us to find a glimmer of humor if possible. In this case it wasn’t easy.
I smiled wanly before turning to Adam, who looked like he was seconds away from clobbering his brother. And Deb… I couldn’t tell. If I had to guess, though, I’d have said she was sad.
“Right,” she said in a clipped tone. “If you don’t mind bringing the key by later, I’d appreciate it. See you. And good luck, Adam. I… I hope this works out for you.”
Her perfume wafted pleasantly behind her as she moved toward the door. The three of us stared after her for a moment before Ian started talking. Something about a family dinner. Kate wanted to host everyone and hoped we
could do it tonight. I listened, but I couldn’t tear my gaze from Deb’s retreating back. I felt an odd connection to her I couldn’t readily explain.
I was cognizant of addition and subtraction via marriage and divorce certificates. The weaving and entwining of lives followed by a break in the fabric was devastating. I was deeply affected by my parents’ divorce. It didn’t matter that it happened when I was a teenager or that it was years in the making. It was painful. I couldn’t imagine how it would feel to see your former husband or wife with someone new. Someone unexpected. It fucking killed my father. Or maybe it was his pride. Regardless I couldn’t let her go without saying… something.
I caught the door before it closed and hurried after her. “Deb!”
She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, clearly confused. And upset. She dabbed at the corner of her eye before sifting through her purse for a pair of sunglasses. She pushed them on her dainty nose and gave me a wobbly smile. “Can I help you with—”
“I’m sorry.”
She tilted her head and then bit her red lips. “Why?”
“I don’t know. I—this might be weird for you, and I get that. I just want you to know he’s happy. He’s in a good place, and I hope you are too. That’s all.”
“Thank you for saying that. I…. It’s definitely odd. It was a matter of time before Adam showed up with someone new, and selfishly I hoped I’d have someone too so it wouldn’t feel so lonely. That sounds pathetic.” She gave a self-deprecating half laugh that made me like her more than I thought possible, before adding, “I’m glad he’s happy. He’s a good guy. I hope you love him the way I couldn’t seem to. Bye, Isaac.”
She turned again and then stopped. “By the way, I love Spiral. And I meant what I said earlier. We’re all very proud of you. Congratulations.”
I lingered for a long moment. A cool wind whipped up the street and sent a chill through my body, but I felt lighter than I had in a while. The familiar sights and sounds of this tiny town pulled me in like a warm hug, reminding me of the better memories I’d left behind and the places I’d loved. The pizza parlor around the corner, that sold ice cream in the summer, and next to the post office, the coffee shop that doubled as a makeshift library. And the people. I wondered if I’d been quick to judge when I’d been certain I was somehow lacking. I wondered if I’d outgrown my desire to please, and if so, if I was finally open to take what was offered without fear that I’d be found unworthy.
I hoped so.
WE RAMBLED around town, popping in and out of shops, before making our way to Ian’s music store for a while. I played guitar with my old music teacher and a couple of his teenage students and posed for a few obligatory photos. The mini rock star moment didn’t feel like one at all. It was laid-back and fun. And it felt genuine. I didn’t worry about paparazzi and I didn’t particularly care if any of the innocent pictures taken ended up on social media. I wouldn’t be in town long enough to create havoc. Moreover, I didn’t think anyone here was interested in making a scene anyway. In an odd twist of fate, Springville felt like a safe haven. A perfect place to rest and regroup.
Chapter 11
LATER THAT afternoon we headed back to the carriage house. We’d agreed to a family dinner the following evening, but tonight I wanted Adam to myself. I even agreed to play board games if he made us something to eat. He made sandwiches while I started a fire in the enormous stone hearth, and he called out his preferences.
“Monopoly first, then Risk,” he shouted from the kitchen.
“No way. You cheated when we tried to play Monopoly last night, and Risk takes all damn night.”
“Fine. We’ll do a puzzle.”
He set a plate with a cheese-and-tomato sandwich for me on the coffee table, along with a glass of wine, grabbed his plate and a box from a nearby shelf, then flopped gracelessly onto the sofa in front of the fire. We sat side by side, listening to the crackle of wood and the whistling wind. I took my first sip of wine and sighed happily.
“This is the best sandwich and the best wine I’ve ever had in my life,” I enthused as I set my glass down and reached for my plate.
“The best, eh? The wine I can go along with, but how is a cheese-and-tomato sandwich good? You’re missing a key ingredient. And I have to ask… what is so great about being vegan?”
“Vegetarian,” I corrected, giving his intentional slip an eye roll. “And if you don’t mind nicely letting your mom know, I’d appreciate it. I don’t want her to make Bolognese for dinner tomorrow night and have hurt feelings when I don’t eat it.”
Adam chewed his food thoughtfully as he stared into the fire. “I called to let her know we’d do dinner another time.”
“Oh. Why?”
“Ned and Ian are one thing, but I’m not ready for parental scrutiny. They’re going to hear about us meeting Deb at the old Sugar Patch, and it’s going to become a ‘what are your intentions?’ conversation. They won’t be negative, but they’ll ask questions and they’ll want to know what comes next with us. I just don’t want you to feel pressured.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I tried humor. “Wedding pressure?” I asked with a horrified gasp.
Adam didn’t look amused. “Maybe. I don’t know. And I don’t have any frame of reference. This is new for me. I’ve known I’m bi most of my life, but they’re just finding out, and I can see them treating us like a straight couple and… we’re not. I guess I’m afraid I won’t know how to act.”
“Why is there acting involved? We’re not any different than we were before.”
“Of course we are! You’re a fucking vegetarian, for Christ’s sake! Everything’s different!”
I laughed at his mock dismay, though I had a feeling it was rooted in a truth that was much harder to verbalize. “Point taken,” I replied flippantly as I reached for my wineglass.
“My world felt kinda upside-down today. You were master of your universe, calmly revisiting a town you said you never wanted to set foot in again. You chatted with the locals, played guitar with some kids, and hell, you even befriended Deb. I thought you hated her! I didn’t get today, and I don’t think I can handle my parents dropping subtle hints about marriage and grandkids in an attempt to straightify us so they can ‘support’ us. Does that make any sense?”
I was taken aback by the vehemence under his jocular tone. I thought I understood, but I was unsure about how to respond, because this felt like a truth session. A come-to-Jesus, “who are we and where are we going?” kind of reality check. It made me nervous.
“Straightify?” I asked with a raised brow.
“Whatever. You know what I mean.” He took a giant bite of his sandwich, then pushed his plate aside. He lifted the top off the puzzle box and dumped the contents onto the coffee table.
I nudged his knee, then did it again when he gave his full attention to turning all the pieces right-side up. “Adam, look at me.”
“Hey. I’m sorry. I don’t want anything to get heavy, but this”—he made a sweeping motion with his hand—“is where I live. I’m not a visitor with an extended visa. I’m a member of the community. I don’t get to walk away from here the way you do. I have to answer for my choices, not because I owe anyone an explanation but because I know they love me and they want to know me.”
“I get it. I—I’m not from here anymore.”
“You are. You just choose to ignore it,” he said evenly before gesturing at the puzzle. “Okay, this here is an idyllic country scene with—”
“I moved! How is that ignoring it? And by the way, I wasn’t making friends with Deb. I was being nice.”
“What could you possibly have to talk about with her?”
I fingered the edges of the small cardboard pieces in front of me and let out a rush of air. “Nothing. I just… apologized.”
His incredulous expression spoke volumes. “For what? Being with me? You didn’t steal me away. I don’t have a relationship with her anymore. Divorced means done, over, kaput. I d
on’t owe her anything, and you owe her even less.”
“True, but is it really that simple? You shared a life with her, Adam. I find it hard to believe you wouldn’t care about how she’d feel meeting you unexpectedly with someone else. A man.”
“So what did you apologize for? Being a man?” he scoffed.
“No, asshole. I said you’re happy and I hope she is too… or something lame like that.” I gathered our plates and stood. I was aware of his watchful gaze as I moved to the adjacent kitchen, but I was stuck in my own tumultuous thoughts. I wandered back into the living room, picked up my guitar, and perched myself on the corner of the sofa.
“I take it you don’t want to talk anymore.”
I rolled my eyes at his annoyed tone and strummed the first few chords of an old James Taylor classic, “Fire and Rain.” “My mom used to sing along to this song… over and over. In the car, at home. I wanted to learn it to surprise her for her birthday.”
I played on with my head bent over my instrument. I couldn’t tell if he was watching my fingers or searching for clues. I never spoke about my mother. No doubt he wondered what was going on in my head.
“It’s a beautiful song,” he commented idly.
“It is.” I slapped my hands on the strings, abruptly ending the tune. “But I hate it now.”
“Why?”
“It reminds me of her.”
“Do you hate her?”
I cradled my guitar and cocked my head thoughtfully. “No, but I’m working toward ambivalence. Total neutrality. Not love, not hate, just—”
“Acceptance?”
“No, that’s too mild. I want to say apathy, but it seems too harsh. Ambivalence is better. Neutral headspace is the best place to deal with negative energy.”
“You mean with your head in the sand?”
“That’s avoidance. I’m talking about keeping my cool. It works for me. It’s what makes it possible for me to talk to my mother at all.”
“But what do you talk about if you’re Mr. Neutral? The weather?”