We Thought We Knew You

by M. William Phelps

  “I do like Bennu. Noon?” Katie wrote back.

  Based on these texts, it’s clear Adam was working on being friends. The contentious divide had been stressful and draining. Adam, in particular, was exhausted from it all. Katie could rattle him with only a few texted words. But he knew how to give it back. Both were struggling to let go—perhaps Katie more than Adam. Even though Adam had started a new relationship, admittedly, he had not been able to get Katie out of his mind. He’d slept with this new woman once. It was difficult and did not feel right to him.

  They met at Bennu that afternoon.

  “I brought you something,” Katie said. She handed Adam a bottle of Alpha BRAIN. Touting the product as “clinically studied to help [and] . . . support memory, focus, and processing speed,” the company Onnit markets the product as a supplement. Katie explained how it would undoubtedly help Adam with his studies, especially his need to focus.

  Adam took the bottle from her. “Thanks.”

  At midnight, Katie sent Adam one of those texts she had been drafting on her iPhone Notes app.

  At 1:30 a.m., Adam responded, asking Katie how long she had been taking the supplement.

  She did not respond all day.

  By 4:07 p.m., Katie still had not answered, so Adam sent a simple question mark.

  Two minutes later, Katie texted, “I did a month with that and daily vitamins before midterms, then I stopped, took it a couple of weeks, and started again gearing up for finals.”

  Katie waited a minute, but Adam failed to respond.

  “All about that A+ life,” Katie doubled down.

  Again, no response from Adam.

  “Let me know how it works for you,” Katie sent near noon, after still not hearing from him.

  Adam opened the bottle of thirty capsules and took one of the pills. He closed the bottle and went about his studies.

  Nothing happened.

  Over the course of the next few days, Adam burrowed deep into schoolwork. Yet, he was still experiencing focus issues. Throughout that time, Katie texted with no particular consistency, but she made a point to say several times how she felt Adam was ignoring her. Unlike the past, when they were dating or trying to rekindle the romance, Adam wasn’t responding in Katie time: immediately. For the most part, he did not respond at all.

  This infuriated her.

  “Why are you ignoring me?”

  Adam stood his ground. He fought his feelings. He understood the pull Katie had over him. The duplicitous, romanticized notion of her I love you’s and we can start over’s. She’d done the unthinkable, beyond all else, and he did not think he could get over her sleeping with his friend. Adam understood she was poison. Toxic. He knew they’d always fight. They’d always have issues. And Katie would always be possessive, obsessive, controlling, and domineering. He was moving on.

  If Katie alone wasn’t a dangerous trinity of dysfunction, disloyalty, and dishonesty, the two of them together were like positive electrical wires dangling about, a fire waiting to erupt as soon as they crossed. Adam felt his life got better every day that went by without Katie around. Less stressful. Lower anxiety. His overall attitude different. More positive.

  In a text on April 22, 2015, Katie sensed Adam was struggling. She asked again about the Alpha BRAIN she’d given him, encouraging him to take it. Give the pill another chance.

  Adam took a second pill.

  Within an hour of taking the second pill, inside of the same week, Adam was sick to his stomach and vomiting.

  “Dad, I need to go to Urgent Care,” Adam texted his father.

  Bill picked Adam up and drove him. Doctors prescribed medication and told Adam he likely had a stomach flu, a GI bug going around. By the time they left the pharmacy and Bill suggested Adam stay at the house, Adam was feeling better.

  So Bill drove Adam home.

  By noon, Adam was ferociously ill again; his symptoms had gone from settling down to full-on. Bill picked him up. Adam stayed on the couch.

  The following morning, Bill walked downstairs to begin his daily routine.

  “How you feeling?” Bill asked. Adam did not look good. He was pale, his skin had a green sheen to it.

  “I was in the bathroom all night.”

  Bill called his daughter Liana.

  “Adam . . . could sometimes overstate his symptoms when he was ill,” Bill recalled. “So I called Liana to see what she thought.”

  “I don’t know what to do,” Bill told Liana.

  “If nothing else, he’s been throwing up and had diarrhea for the last twenty-four hours, so he could use IV fluids. Take him to the ER,” Liana suggested.

  In the car, wincing and in pain, Adam held his stomach with both arms as if he’d been kicked repeatedly in the stomach.

  They spent an hour and a half waiting to be seen. Adam was on the floor most of that time, crying: “Dad, go ask them again when I’m getting in.”

  Bill walked up to the window.

  “Look, this GI bug has been going around all spring, it’s not a big deal. We’ll get him in soon.”

  Feeling helpless, Bill returned, stared at his son, who was now in total agony, on his back, on the carpet floor, holding his stomach with both hands. Adam was 180 pounds, cut to shreds like an underwear model.

  Adam’s name was finally called. He was given fluids and more medication. By the end of that day, his symptoms had subsided some, but he was still ill.

  The next day, April 23, Bill took Adam to see his primary care physician. He was given additional meds and told to rest.

  Katie texted, asking why Adam had been ignoring her the past several days.

  “Not ignoring you,” he texted back. “Spent [yesterday] in ER. Very sick with stomach bug.”

  Katie sent a sad-face emoji. “Are you feeling better? You can text me if you need anything.”

  “Not really,” Adam responded. “And will do. Thank you.”

  “Okay,” Katie shot back with a heart emoji.

  A day later, Adam was back at his apartment.

  “How you feeling today?” Katie asked via text at 2:56 p.m.

  “Really bad,” Adam responded. “Honestly [I want to] give up and drop this semester.” He didn’t know what to do. “Constant pain.” In a series of one-line texts, with no response from Katie, Adam added: “Even this late in”; “I’m so angry”; “Good talk.”

  “Hi,” Katie texted about three minutes after Adam’s text at 3:07 p.m. “What kind of pain is it?”

  Nothing.

  Katie encouraged Adam not to give up: “You can take it day by day . . .” She had no idea what one should do “for a stomach bug.” She asked if the ER had given him anything, before suggesting that he should keep his professors apprised of the situation: “[There are] medical extensions for finals grades.”

  Adam discussed a new plan. He was thinking of taking an incomplete on his finals and fixing it later. He was so ill, he could not even think about studying. It took most of what little energy he had just to get up off the couch.

  “It’s a good plan,” Katie encouraged. “Your health is important . . . it’s draining to be so sick this long.”

  “Ha,” Adam shot back.

  Katie urged him to “rest up” and “take it easy.” Beyond that, she did not “know what else to say.”

  Bill didn’t hear from his son for several days. He assumed Adam’s illness had run its course and he was feeling better.

  “Come to find out, however,” Bill explained later, “it was three to four weeks before he was fully functional again.”

  On April 26, Katie wondered in a text if Adam was feeling any better.

  “Not really. Still.”

  “That’s some stubborn stomach bug,” Katie said.

  “It’s just not that,” Adam said before going silent, “Nonstop pain.”

  9

  THROUGHOUT JULY 21, 2015, Liana Hegde had stayed in touch with her father, mostly by text. Liana knew Adam was close to their cousin David King
, a nurse at St. Luke’s. She asked Adam to text David, also called Dave, so he could recommend a surgeon, should the need arise. A doctor herself, Liana had heard from someone at the hospital that Mary’s scans indicated perhaps something was going on with her gallbladder. Being prepared for any health emergency was a plus when confronting an unknown medical situation that could, at any time, go in several different directions. All indicators pointed to a full recovery and Mary leaving the hospital the following day. Being prepared for potential gallbladder surgery gave comfort to the family.

  Adam had driven south on a scheduled trip to spend time with his sister and her family on Long Island. He was staying with Liana in her New York home. He’d left on July 15, six days prior to Mary becoming ill. He wanted to hang out with his niece and nephews and celebrate two of their birthdays. He’d planned on staying a week or more. Mary and Bill were scheduled to make the trip to Liana’s that weekend, July 24—a trip Bill now knew was likely not going to happen.

  Liana and her husband had been at their lawyer’s office on the day Bill called to report Mary had taken seriously ill. They’d had a scheduled estate-planning appointment. Adam watched the kids that day, took them to the dentist and camp. That night, July 21, Adam, his sister, and brother-in-law sat in Liana’s living room and ate takeout, discussing the situation back home.

  “I need to head back upstate tonight,” Adam said, “to be with Mom.”

  Liana understood.

  At 10:00 p.m., after finishing eating and relaxing a bit, Adam packed and headed home to be with his mother and father. His goal was to drive through the night and be back in town before sunup.

  * * *

  EARLY THE MORNING OF Wednesday, July 22, Bill Yoder opened his eyes to the sound of loud banging coming from downstairs. He turned to look at the clock in the bedroom.

  “Five-thirty?”

  At first confused by the noise, Bill realized someone was pounding on the door.

  He put on his bathrobe and walked down the stairs.

  The banging continued.

  “Coming . . . coming.”

  Bill opened the door.

  Two state troopers stood in front of him.

  “Mr. Yoder?”

  “Yes,” Bill said. “What is it? What’s going on?”

  Adam? Liana? Tamaryn? The grandchildren?

  Instant anxiety. His heart in his throat. Had something happened to one of the kids? Two troopers this early in the morning standing on your doorstep. The knock at the door no parent ever wanted to hear.

  It could not be good news.

  My God, had Adam gotten into an accident on his way back from Long Island?

  “The hospital has been trying to get hold of you all night long, Mr. Yoder,” one of the troopers explained.

  “What? The hospital?”

  “You need to call them right now.”

  “Thank you.”

  Bill rushed to the phone and dialed.

  Finally reaching the switchboard, he gave his name, explained the trooper visit.

  “Your wife, sir . . . she’s taken a turn for the worse. She’s in the ICU. You should come right away.”

  10

  BILL YODER GREW UP in Phoenix, Arizona. After high school and a three-year stint overseas in the army, he returned to the States and settled in Buffalo, New York. Bill had friends in the philosophy graduate program at the University at Buffalo (UB). There was a boardinghouse near the campus with an empty room available. Beyond paying rent, Bill agreed to contribute by doing chores, cooking, and helping with the overall upkeep of the place. Bill’s (uncertain) plan was to complete his doctorate and philosophy dissertation, a rather intimidating, all-consuming task. The future from that point was an open book; Bill wasn’t sure which career path he wanted to pursue, although teaching was a secure fallback.

  Mary Bakert was raised in Utica. The “big city” to her was Buffalo. Mary thought about continuing her education after high school, and with a taste of local community college, she was eager to finish her degree. UB seemed liked the place to accomplish both. Mary was a doer. It might have taken her a while to zero in on a goal, but once she set her sights, she would complete the assignment, whatever it had been, however difficult.

  Mary had an aunt and uncle nearby, and moved into their house. The commute to UB, however, grew old as she attended classes. She wanted to live closer to campus and, as Bill later put it, “branch out and live her own life.”

  A room in the boardinghouse Bill and his classmates rented had opened up. They posted an ad around campus. After interviewing several prospects, with no one knocking them over with compatibility or overall character, Mary walked through the door and sat down.

  When Mary entered a room, many friends and family later agreed, the atmosphere in the room changed. Mary brought with her an aura of comfort and likability. She didn’t light up a room; she brought an entire grace-filled warmth into it. You met Mary once and you knew she was a person of integrity and honor—someone you would want to get to know more intimately.

  “We extended an invitation to her to move in,” Bill explained.

  When Mary was around, you had no choice but to divert from whatever you were doing and focus on her. Not that she was saintly or narcissistic, but Mary had a way of radiating kindness without having to open her mouth.

  When Bill met Mary, it wasn’t a love-at-first-sight chemistry between them. “She didn’t make that much of an impression on me,” Bill said, laughing. “Probably because I was blind. I mean, she was kind of shy. [After] getting to know her, she explained that she had been painfully shy as a child, but was now making a concerted effort to get out and meet people.”

  What’s more, Mary had a boyfriend. Bill was not the kind of guy to step on another man’s love life. Early on, for that reason alone, he never considered Mary anything but a roommate.

  “I drew a line there, mostly because at one point I had been really hurt by it—someone stepping in on me. I decided, I’m never going to hurt anybody in the same way.” Bill said that he would not even “fantasize about being with Mary.”

  The more time Bill spent around Mary, living in such close quarters, he realized she was special. Mary had a humility and charm, not exaggerated or forced. Her kindness and depth was part of who she was, inherent in her personality.

  Not long after Mary moved in, she announced one afternoon that she and her boyfriend had split. Bill and Mary had not even spent time together at that point other than bumping into each other inside the house or around campus. The breakup, Bill later said, was due to Mary and her boyfriend deciding it wasn’t going to work.

  Not long after, Bill asked Mary out and they started dating.

  * * *

  AN OPPORTUNITY SOON AROSE for Bill. Not quite the way he would have planned it, but a prospect, nonetheless. UB called Bill in and explained that after seven years in grad school, he couldn’t teach, and there were no classes left for him to take. He needed to move on, or write his dissertation and finish his degree. For no other reason than procrastination, Bill had put it off.

  “Look, Bill, if you do not write your dissertation, you cannot stay here any longer,” a UB official told him.

  After the meeting, Bill approached Mary. They had been dating for months by then. “Look, I’m going out West . . . would you like to travel with me?”

  “Yes!” Mary said without thinking about it. She wanted to be with Bill. He clearly wanted to be with her. Mary, studying for her bachelor’s degree, could transfer credits and pick up her studies just about anywhere in the country.

  They sold all of their belongings at a garage sale, with the exception of what they could fit into Bill’s “little car.”

  Then, without any grand bon voyage party or dramatic goodbyes, off they went, driving across country.

  No plan.

  No destination.

  No worries.

  No expectations.

  Limited funds, just the two of them. What could go wrong
? It was the 1970s. So many kids were in the same position. Life seemed more open to the idea of free-spirited thinking and living.

  Along the way to nowhere, they decided on Arizona as a first stop. Bill wanted to see his parents and introduce Mary. After that, an open book: They could go wherever the wind blew them.

  As they drove, Bill asked Mary about the future: “If we’re going to choose a place to live, where should that be?”

  They looked at each other and laughed.

  Neither had a clue.

  They discussed the subject more practically: someplace with a university, where Mary could take additional classes; a town with activities, not too big-city, but not too remote, either.

  “Seattle or Portland?” Mary suggested.

  They smiled.

  “We liked sunshine,” Bill said later. “So Washington and Oregon were out.”

  “New Mexico?” Bill suggested.

  “Albuquerque!” Mary responded. “I just love how it is spelled. I’d love to write ‘Albuquerque’ on my return address.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes!”

  After an extended visit in Arizona, they bought a small, two-person, upside-down-V-shaped pup tent, loaded the car, and headed east into Albuquerque.

  No plan.

  No cares or concerns.

  No fear.

  They had each other. They could put stakes in the ground anywhere and be happy.

  After finding a small camping/trailer park, Bill and Mary decided—at least for the time being—this would be home.

  The first night was not a scene from a romantic Hollywood film. In fact, a storm rolled in and it rained Noah-like. They woke up in a deluge, drenched in inches of water inside the tent, everything they owned saturated to the core.

  “Um, we’re going to go into town today and find a place to live. And the first place we find, that’s where we’re going to stay,” Bill said, laughing.

  Mary smiled. She did not need much convincing.

  They weren’t upset, bitter, or disappointed in the decisions they’d made. They were beginning a life together. It was all that mattered. Their belongings would dry out. Their world would be okay.