by Emily Nealis
Somebody, apparently. It was clear the night Adam came home covered in his and someone else’s blood that I thought someone might care. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have taken possession of Adam’s bloody shirt after he asked me to trash it. If I thought no one would care, I wouldn’t have carefully folded it, still covered in dried blood, and hidden it away in a paper grocery bag in a non-descript box. If I thought no one would care, I wouldn’t have told Adam I destroyed it, burned it in the fire pit in the backyard. If I thought no one would care, I wouldn’t have hidden it away for the last 10 years, wondering if the day would come that I would need it.
9
September 13 – THE PATIO INCIDENT
Diana
Each time Adam and I slept together, there wasn’t any sleeping that occurred. Except for one time—in Nashville, and that was the only time. If this were some kind of fairytale, I would say it was a magical evening full of passion and I was unable to tell the difference between being awake and dreaming.
But that would have been a lie. This was not a fairytale.
The truth is that I did not sleep well.
Maybe it was the bed, maybe it was the reality nagging at me, reminding me that this was not real life, or maybe Adam just wasn’t that great of a sleeping partner. I woke up every few hours. I tossed and turned. I hated the way he laid next to me. I hated how our bodies did not fit well with one another like I thought they would. I felt like I was sleeping next to a stranger rather than the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. More surprising was that up until that point, amazing sex was able to overshadow the dysfunction and complication between Adam and me. It could not, however, compete with an uncomfortable, sleepless night of lying next to him.
If I couldn’t even sleep well next to Adam, what chance did I have fitting into the rest of the disaster that was his life? Picture it—his kids hate me, his ex-wife wants to murder me, and I can’t even get a good night’s sleep. Lying awake in a king-size hotel bed filled with cloudlike pillows and crisp white sheets, I soon began to weigh the cost of my disappointing discovery. What if he cheats on me for the entirety of our marriage the same way he cheated on Haley? What if we “never have problems” either? Even with all that, I still can’t even get a good night’s sleep.
Oh God—what if he cheats on me, his former mistress, with Haley, his ex-wife?
On any other day, this would have sounded ridiculous, but I had just spent my first night with Adam and the situation was becoming more horrifying with every minute that passed in that pitch-black hotel room. I thought meeting him in Nashville would be the perfect weekend—a taste of what it would really be like to be in a relationship with Adam Hunt. Indeed, I found out, but it was not in the way I anticipated.
The next day, I drove away from Nashville, reflecting on a rather anticlimactic weekend, relatively unimpressed after my sleepless night in his hotel room. Or maybe I was just worn down and growing more and more disenchanted.
Cruising back up I-65, through the straightaway of pine trees that lined the highway for what seemed like a hundred miles, I slipped into a state of highway hypnosis. There was still the question of the job in Tampa. Clearly, I was not opposed to moving to a different part of the country for a job—I’d done it before. I’d also moved back to Lexington, where I was born and raised, and somehow fallen in love with someone who had also been born and raised in this town. The difference was that he never left. I didn’t know if he would ever leave.
Did that bother me? Did no one in this town leave? Of course, they did. I left, most of my friends left, but it was apparent that two types of people exist; those who leave, and those who stay in their hometown and end up permanently entangled in the same intricate web of friends and family who also never left. But, unlike the former, I came back after leaving once. Is that who I wanted to be—a girl who ended up with the ex-brother-in-law of her high school friend whose sister also graduated high school with her older brother? The thought of explaining such an association already embarrassed me.
Adam didn’t leave, Travis didn’t leave, even Adam Dale didn’t leave. The more I thought about it, the more amazing it seemed that Travis was able to branch out and draw Carolyn into the madness of his family and high school has-beens. Deep down, I knew Adam would never leave central Kentucky. Breaching the county line was the farthest he would ever venture. Myself, on the other hand, envisioned a life with opportunities not yet revealed. I didn’t have a clear idea of where I wanted to be. There were so many places I could see myself going and so many places I could see myself living.
I used to, anyway. Where did I see myself now?
I didn’t think that would bother me as much as it did. Since the day I met Adam at the Chinese restaurant, the only place I wanted to be was where he was. At the time, I didn’t have anywhere specific I wanted to go. However, the possibility had always been there, existing in the hypothetical plan in my mind. But what if, suddenly, it wasn’t?
By the time Thursday arrived, I had little more than 24 hours before I had to make a decision and tell Scott whether I was going to accept his offer or decline it for reasons I’d only divulged to two people. Fortunately, Scott is a person who keeps constantly busy and doesn’t mingle or make idle chit-chat with his subordinates, so I didn’t worry about getting put on the spot whenever I saw him at the office. Jenna, on the other hand, couldn’t help but bring it up whenever she saw me. She peered around corners, checked bathroom stalls, and spoke in raspy whispers as to maintain our secret. But, each day, she asked me if I’d made up my mind yet, forwarding me listings for rental properties that boasted stucco, brand new appliances, neighborhoods minutes from the beach, and a block away from bars serving the best rum on the gulf.
Sam said nothing, but watched me with a critical eye, as though he were making mental bets with himself whether I would take the job or not. At 2:45, I found myself strolling up and down the hallways of our building, restless and on edge. I meandered past Sam’s office at least three times, gazing at the dull, grey office carpet that needed a good vacuum.
“What’s going on out there?” Sam’s voice drifted down the hallway after me. I turned on my heel and wandered back to his doorway. I leaned against the doorframe, peeking into his office. He was sitting at his desk, absently typing a text message on his phone.
“There’s a lull,” I replied, tapping the door hinge, “I thought I’d be receiving some data, but now it won’t be ready until tomorrow.” I didn’t mention that I was in the midst of an existential crisis, although Sam probably already suspected. He finished what he was typing in his phone and set it on his desk. He sat in his chair for a minute, his fingers tapping the armrests, before looking back at me.
“Let’s get out of here, then.” He declared, “Who cares? We already have jobs, anyway.” He stood up and clicked off his desk light, “Call it a late, working lunch.”
I left with Sam, even though I didn’t know if I had a job. Being one for rules and regulations, I probably would have waited the extra fifteen minutes before leaving for the day, but my mood dictated something different.
We found ourselves sitting in downtown Lexington, on the patio of a craft beer bar who boasted killer appetizers and a formidable selection of bourbon. Late September substantially cut the humidity in the bluegrass, meaning that venturing out to a restaurant patio no longer meant embarking on a rainforest expedition. I sat across the table from Sam, silent, sipping a Saison and contemplating whether to even open my mouth. I couldn’t see a scenario where I didn’t lose something. Fortunately, Sam didn’t have this problem and took it upon himself to order an array of appetizers. I was unsure whether he was ignoring my melancholy state or if he was entertained by it. After our waitress walked away, he leaned back in his chair.
“So,” He raised his glass to his lips, “Are you going to go?” He finally decided to ask, a miniscule smirk creeping across his face.
“Are you?”
“It does come with a pay incre
ase,” He grinned, setting his glass back down on the table and stretching his arms behind his head, “And it’s on the Gulf coast, so are you asking whether I’d be OK living in an awesome city with a short drive to the beach?”
He had an excellent point. I rotated by glass, which was dripping condensation through the metal grate of the table onto my toes.
“So—are…you…going…to…go?” Sam annunciated his words this time, nodding his head with each syllable. I stared off into the parking lot, drifting miles away. Finally, I turned back to him.
“I just want everything with Adam to end.” I sighed, surprising myself with this blunt and straight forward response, “I just want something to happen that gives me a reason to end it.”
Saying it out loud made it real. I had no obligation or commitment to Adam outside of the hypothetical plan that seemed to change with each passing day. He could tell me tomorrow that he decided to stay with Haley and move to another country—not that he would—and I wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. But I also had that luxury, if only I stepped outside of Adam’s invisible grasp. I told him I wouldn’t give up on him, but the more I repeated my promise to him in my head, the more I realized it was a complete lie. I shook my head.
“I just don’t think he would ever leave this city, his farm…whatever.” I rolled my eyes in disgust.
“He has a farm?” Sam raised his eyebrows with intrigue. I nodded.
“He inherited it a few years ago, but he grew up on the south side of Lexington just like I did.” Recalling this fact, and the way Adam acted as though he was the biggest country boy who ever walked the rolling hills of the bluegrass, struck a nerve. The more I described him to someone else, the more disingenuous he seemed. I scoffed, “So, yeah, now he has a farm. And I doubt he’ll ever leave.”
“Ah, so he’s playing farmer?” Sam chuckled to himself. A moment later, he shook his head, his mouth contorted in disgust, “Well, good for him. But it sounds awful to me.”
“Oh yeah?” I was surprised that Sam would even have an opinion about it.
“Yes. I grew up in the country, so when we planted gardens or brought a deer home, it was part of the grocery list. The reason I went to college was so I wouldn’t have to live like that for the rest of my life. I’m one of the only people in my graduating class that left town. I’d love to live in the country again at some point,” Same mused, “But I’ll do it without working another 40 hours outside my day job just to compensate for some kind of masculine insecurity.”
I let out a guffaw, nearly spitting a mouthful of beer across the table. I couldn’t help but laugh—laugh at Sam’s analysis of the situation, laugh at Sam’s contempt for growing up poor in rural America, laugh at how much of a phony Adam was turning out to be, laugh at my own naïveté and blindness.
“Here’s the thing, Diana,” Sam leaned his elbow on the edge of the table, “Men are not like this; only boys play these games. I don’t know this guy or even anyone like him. You didn’t work this hard to put up with this kind of grief and end up taking care of someone else’s litter.
It’s not complicated—he wants to be with you or he doesn’t. There’s no in-between. If he wants to blame it on his kids, then maybe he should’ve thought about that before asking you to put your life on hold and make promises he never intended to keep. I can tell you what he’s doing; he knows it’s not going to work and he’s trying to convince himself he’ll still be happy with his wife when you get fed up and leave. There’s no such thing as being ‘trapped’ in a marriage—people get divorced all the time. But it sounds like he’s too chicken shit to ever make a decision because he’s too afraid to end up alone.
If you love someone and you want to be with them, then you be with them. It’s as simple as that. That shit about you waltzing into his life and taking him by surprise is garbage. Men aren’t mindless Neandertals; he wants you to think you’re responsible for all of this. But he knew what he was doing all along.” Sam took a sip of his beer. He set it back down on the table, glancing toward the ceiling pensively, “Plus, it sounds like he already has his wife on lockdown; why would he risk losing that kind of control just for you?”
I recalled the morning Adam told me about the fight between him and Haley. I vividly remembered him describing how he carried Haley out of their house, dumped her out on the porch, and locked her out of her own house for hours. Even after, she stayed with him. She knew Adam, probably better than I did. She probably knew what kind of man he was—all the women, and all the lies—and she stayed with him anyway.
“You’re right.” Saying those words sent a rush of relief through me. The matter-of-fact way I agreed with Sam’s analysis was a release; an internal monologue that marinated for months, but I could never vocalize. Sam shrugged and shook his head.
“If you don’t want to take the job because you’re not interested or you have other goals, then don’t take it. But if the only reason you’re not taking it is because you’re holding out for the possibility that this selfish idiot is going to quit stringing you along, then this is going to be a really sad day.”
When I was laying on my bedroom floor, crying like a fool over a man who wasn’t giving me a second thought, I kept asking God for help. I asked him to take the pain away—to give me a sign. God never spoke to me. Then again, I never knew anyone he spoke to, so why would he start with me? Compared to so many others, my problem was insignificant—a crisis of conscience. I was in pain, but I wasn’t desperate and out of my mind; I didn’t want to end my life over this man. An hour later, I picked myself up off the floor and went on with my life. I didn’t abandon Adam right then, but not everything happens during one night. Sometimes God doesn’t wake you up right away—sometimes he lets you wake up on your own time.
A crash of thunder shook the roof of the patio. Shrieks of surprise and laughter erupted around us. The vibrations pulled me back to reality. I looked at Sam across the table. The sky looked dark as charcoal, but the rain never came, only flashes of lightning followed by deep rumbles of thunder.
“This is not going to be a sad day.” I declared, this time with some conviction, “There’s nothing left for me here.”
Sam nodded, not saying anything. We stared across the table at one another, sharing a moment of accomplishment. Realizing the decision I just made, I covered my mouth, laughing to myself. It was a better feeling than any compliment or promise or declaration of commitment Adam could have ever offered me, likely because I knew this was real. This was happening. If I said it was happening, it was going to happen. Sam watched me from across the table, entertained by my surprise in my own decision and subsequent reaction. He leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head.
“I mean, seriously,” He cocked his head, “We’re talking about moving to the fucking beach.”
At that point, I should have ignored my phone for the rest of the evening. Instead, I made the mistake of engaging Adam in conversation—like a damn fool. Maybe I did it because I no longer cared, because I wanted to give him a reason to pick a fight. I told him what I was doing, and who I was with. As a result, my phone battery decreased as the afternoon progressed and would be dead within the hour. It was 4:45 when I told Adam my phone was about to die and I would talk to him when I got home.
That’s when everything came crashing down. It wasn’t until I told him I couldn’t talk to him that he turned into the Adam Hunt he’d tried to hide from me for so long. Maybe he had a feeling. Maybe at the same moment I made my decision to make my great escape, somehow, he knew it too. Adam accused me of lying—claiming I didn’t want to talk to him and I just wanted to spend time with Sam. He asked me where I was and threatened to drive there and meet us. He said I shouldn’t mind if it was just a work meeting.
Who is this person?
With every message, I was witnessing the unraveling of a person who spent his entire life fighting someone—someone he ended up marrying—wearing her down until she was a shell of who she once was
. But he is a clever one—Adam hides this from her. He makes her think she is strong. He convinces her he loves her because she is independent and she works hard for what she has. But he owns her and molds her into what she is. Her muscle forms from running against the wind, dragging the parachute he’s nailed to the ground—chains disguised as a safety net. Adam created a life for her that revolved around himself, and without him, she is nothing.