by Teresa Toten
What would that be like? How do you get that? And yet…
The smile that she had just offered Adam was bigger than the one she’d offered Wolverine a second ago. Adam knew this because he’d counted it out in taps. Wolverine had got two taps, no teeth showing, while her smile for Adam had clocked in at over three beats with a flash of white.
Captain America came in and punched Adam’s arm. “Batman, my man! How’s it hanging? How’s it hanging?”
What did that even mean? Jacob was seriously in over his head with his Captain America persona. The guy was normally a nervous, tidy fellow with energetic checking and repeat issues, not an arm-punching, how’s-it-hanging type.
“Cool, Captain America. You?”
Jacob puffed up, delighted that someone had finally remembered to call him by his superhero name. “Cool, man. Cool.”
Adam watched Robyn as Robyn sort of watched everyone. Something was up.
Snooki came in looking like a shiny nutmeg and Thor stormed in five minutes late, managing to make them all feel guilty for being on time. The Viking settled into his accustomed seat behind rather than beside Chuck, and glowered his customary glower—or was it dialled down a bit?
As the session got under way, Thor’s eyes remained relatively calm even as Wonder Woman went on at mind-numbing length about her food or lack thereof. Food discussions seemed to set Thor’s teeth on edge and Adam was right with him on that one.
“I know I should lay off the laxatives—that way lies madness, et cetera, et cetera—but since I bought the bottle, I felt I had to empty it. Every damn ritual comes with its own instruction manual, right?”
Snooki put a comforting hand on Wonder Woman’s arm. Snooki was a “patter”—every group had one. That’s what Robyn said. Robyn had been to a lot of groups.
“But I won’t do it again,” Wonder Woman promised.
To who, exactly?
“I mean it. I learned my lesson, guys. I don’t need a full-fledged eating disorder layered on top of the claustrophobia and, and other stuff. So I’m back to chewing a hundred times for each bite. Dinner takes almost two hours, but see, that works because …”
Forget it. Thor and Adam folded their arms across their chests. Try as he might, Adam couldn’t come up with anything remotely sympathetic to say. Skinny girls worrying about getting skinnier totally perplexed him. He hated being perplexed, especially in Group. There was enough perplexing outside Group.
Green Lantern, thank God, had a superior story about having to keep driving back to a school crosswalk several times a day, all week, because he was convinced that he had run over someone last Tuesday. Classic—now this was something Adam could get into. Green Lantern listened to newscasts on the radio and TV, read all the local papers and scoured the Internet, searching for a report of an accident on the corner of Chestnut and Walmer. Nothing. Far from calming him, the lack of reportage just made him escalate. Adam had never had this particular experience—he couldn’t drive, after all—but he could completely understand the supremely logical compulsion to return to the scene of the imaginary accident over and over again. He so got that one. Adam suggested that, for starters, Green Lantern might want to journal every revisit or thought about revisit and assign it a number value, just like it said in the manual (well, on the back cover of the manual anyway). And that act alone might help a bit. Just because Adam didn’t do any of the assignments didn’t mean they shouldn’t be done. Green Lantern looked genuinely relieved.
Robyn didn’t. Something was up for sure. She was avoiding eye contact and her vibe was off. She didn’t even look like herself, although Adam didn’t understand how exactly. He wasn’t good with girls’ faces. If he ruled the world, girls would say every single thing that was on their minds. He sucked at guessing, and that whole reading-between-the-lines thing was so beyond him, he couldn’t get there with a map.
Thirty-seven minutes in and, aside from that lone smile, Robyn had not looked at him once. What was the matter? Something was. He was screwed. She hated him. Completely understandable, of course, but why?
Wolverine took the floor and began laboriously listing the reasons why he thought he had congestive heart failure. “I have undefined fatigue, you know?” The guy should have sounded like the douchebag he was, but somehow he didn’t. It was unbearable.
Adam crossed his legs, caught himself and readjusted immediately. That was no way to man up. He was crossing his legs the way girls do. He examined Thor, who was glowering at Wolverine, or maybe that was just Thor’s “listening” face.
“It’s chronic, of course, and eventually fatal.” Wolverine shuddered.
If only, thought Adam.
“I’ll have to get a ream of tests: extensive blood work, nuclear medicine, examine my creatine levels. Then there’s stress tests and …”
Thor sat like a man, and at nineteen arguably he was one. First of all he really occupied the chair. Adam tried for a bit of heavy-duty chair occupying. He raised his right leg and oh-so-casually placed his right ankle over his left knee, finishing off with left hand grasping right ankle loosely. There. Just like Thor. Okay, not comfortable, but way more manly. Adam also tried nodding sympathetically at Wolverine, but his heart just wasn’t in it. More importantly, Wolverine sounded like he was winding down and it didn’t look like anyone else was going to come in.
There was going to be a lurch. And he didn’t have anything prepared. But mere seconds into said lurch, Robyn shut it down.
“My mother killed herself five years ago today. Exactly. Today.” She inhaled just as all the air left the room. She didn’t look at anyone, but everyone looked at her. Everyone except Adam. Adam flashed straight back to the black granite headstone.
JENNIFER ROEHAMPTON
MAY 7, 1971–OCTOBER 14, 2008
Today.
Robyn was staring at his shoes—well, shoe, given that only his left foot was on the floor. Adam uncrossed his legs. Sitting like a man was going to take some practice.
“So I don’t want to talk about it or anything,” she said, gaze still fixed firmly on his feet. “Really, I don’t. Not today, anyway. I just felt that I should …” Tears threatened to erupt but were sucked back. “I don’t know, like, I felt I should note it, somehow. My father doesn’t … uh, he wouldn’t approve.”
Adam exhaled when she exhaled. He needed to protect her, and the need was so big and pounding that he thought he would break.
So he stared at her shoes in solidarity. He did not count the lines on the planked floor.
Admittedly not a big gesture, but maybe she would recognize it.
She wore scuffed Doc Martens. All the girls in his school wore them too, but not quite as scuffed. She was a scuffed goddess.
“We will of course respect your wishes, Robyn,” Chuck finally broke in. “And we’ll look forward to hearing about your mother when you’re ready to share. But right now, how about we close our eyes in a minute of contemplation and celebration of Robyn’s mother? If that’s comfortable for you.”
The air in the room returned as Robyn nodded.
Everyone, including Thor, bowed their heads and shut their eyes. Adam knew this because he tracked the semicircle through his eyelashes. Adam hadn’t been able to keep his eyes closed in public since he was seven. So he always kept watch and guarded, keeping everybody safe.
That was his job.
“Okay, people—same time, same place next week.” Chuck clasped his hands. “Good work today!”
They were finished and Robyn had still not looked at him. And that was tough to do, given that she was seated directly across from him. God, he sucked; nobody sucked as much as he sucked. If only he hadn’t sucked so much, he would have sucked less, and she would—
She lifted her eyes from his shoes. “Uh, hey … so if, uh, do you …? Are we still going to walk home?”
He probably said, Sure! Of course, yeah! But it was hard to hear above his heart hammering in his ears. She smiled—five beats’ worth. The smil
e was like a syringe full of courage. “For sure, fair Robyn, and if you’d like, how about we stop and get some flowers on the way?”
She would have kissed him if they’d been anywhere but where they were. He didn’t know how he knew, but he knew for sure. Maybe. It was as if the Ferris wheel had gone all the way around and Adam was on the very top. That’s how Robyn Plummer made him feel. She made him feel stronger than he was, saner than he was. And she needed him. Truth was, Robyn needed him even more than he needed her. But that would stay his secret for now. And God knows, he was good at keeping secrets.
CHAPTER NINE
Instead of daisies or roses, which were pretty much the only flowers that Adam could pick out of a lineup, Robyn chose a pot of purple violets. She squealed when she saw them.
“They were her favourites!” Robyn clutched the little green plastic pot to her. “My mom loved violets!”
“Okay, so let’s buy this little hand shovel thingy too and we’ll plant it. Look—” Adam pointed to the hand-lettered “60% Off” sign over the gardening equipment. “They’d, like, live there forever, and she’d like that, right?”
She was going to hug him, absolutely for sure. Adam braced himself. He straightened up and sucked in his stomach, although he wasn’t sure why. Should he try to kiss her when she threw herself in his arms? Too much, too soon? Maybe he could sneak a little one. No, he’d settle for a hug, a nice long, hard hug. He would count it out. Adam needed to count but didn’t. Instead, he focused on the possibility of a hug, of her amazing body embracing his body, which was less amazing but at least getting taller by the day. Yes, a hug would be fine. He would settle for a hug.
But oh, what he wouldn’t do for a kiss.
He got neither.
Robyn skipped off to the sales counter with the $2.99 violets and the $3.99 trowel. One kiss and he would have died a happy Batman. His disappointment left him agitated. Adam felt flames lick the edges of his brain as they walked to the cemetery. He so needed to count, but couldn’t. There was nowhere to stop and tap, and he had to pay full attention to her.
“Isn’t it a miracle that we both use the cemetery as a shortcut home?” said Robyn as they rounded into the Bayfield gates.
“Yeah, miracle,” Adam muttered. That miracle cost him almost an extra hour each time he used the “shortcut.” But he didn’t mind the time. He was used to blowing all sorts of time on clearing rituals. So it wasn’t the time.
It was the lie.
Adam felt like he was lying to her every time they walked together, and he had to do so damn much of that already. The flames in his head flared a bit. So he concentrated on her hair. Better. No braid today. Robyn wore her hair loose and parted down the middle. It looked like black glass. Adam wanted to dive into it, or at least run his hands through it. What would it feel like? He almost got his chance when she stopped suddenly near the weeping willow and he crashed into her.
“Sorry.” He reddened.
She ignored him. “Look!” She pointed through the now-yellowing willow leaves. “A purple sky. The sun is shining somewhere while it’s raining somewhere else and we’re in the middle! It’s a good omen. Mom loved purple skies. Purple skies and purple violets—you’re a miracle worker, Batman!”
“I aim to please.” Adam walked over to her mother’s headstone. Struck again by just how massive and empty it was. All that black with only her mom’s name and the birth and death dates. It looked lonelier each time he saw it.
“Uh, here?” Adam pointed with the trowel to the centre front of the stone.
Robyn nodded.
He began to dig. It wasn’t as easy as you’d think. The ground was rock hard, and the earth gave way in mean little dirt pebbles. This could take a while. “So back in Group, when you …” Adam wiped his forehead with his jacket sleeve. “Well, that was Group, and …”
“I was the one that found her,” she said simply. “I thought she was sleeping, but I wanted a hot chocolate, so I needed to ask.”
Adam scraped harder.
“I didn’t want to wait until she got up. She sort of slept a lot, you know?”
Robyn hoisted herself onto Marnie Wetherall, 1935–1939. He knew from their first encounter that Marnie’s headstone was surprisingly comfortable. “So I knocked, then I called and called, then yelled, then I went over and shook her hard, then harder and—”
Adam turned. Tears slid down her cheeks, but she wasn’t crying.
“I didn’t know what to do. Maria, the housekeeper, had gone for the day. I think I sort of ran around the house screaming. I must have called my dad at some point.” She wiped her face.
Adam plopped the little purple violet out of its green plastic container and into its new home. He should say something. He brushed back the earth. It needed water. You were supposed to water these things when you planted them, right? Or it would die. It couldn’t die. She’d be hurt if it died.
“When Daddy got home, whenever that was …” She was looking at the plant as if it were replaying the evening for her.
There was a waterspout by one of the weeping stone angels, the one nearest the path.
“When he finally got home, apparently I was lying beside her, fast asleep. Amazing, eh?”
He had to do something. Comfort her. Kiss her? But the plant needed watering. He felt pulled apart. There were fifteen headstones within the stone angel perimeter. Fifteen was a good number, a fine number. Fifteen… Adam stole another glance at the water tap. The plant would die without water right now.
Murderer. He tried tapping against her mother’s headstone for three quick sets of seven and only in a rectangle sequence. He needed to get up and hug her; she needed him, but… “Uh, your mom needs some water.”
Robyn started, but he marched off to the tap anyway, plastic pot in hand. When he came back and dumped the water on the unsuspecting violet, Robyn’s whole demeanour relaxed, softened. She exhaled.
“Yeah, so I started washing and a few other things a couple of weeks after the funeral.” She smiled at the plant, or maybe at him. “I guess it’s why I am the way I am.”
Adam nodded sympathetically, every nerve ending alive with the need to hold her. Then it dawned on him. It would be nice to have a reason.
But something was still off that he couldn’t quite shake. The plant needed more water and Robyn needed holding, but that wasn’t it. It was just out of the reach of knowing, like when his mom talked about the letters.
“Still, hey, I’m tons better now, right? I mean, three months residential, I still see my shrink, Group and … praying helps.” She jumped off Marnie and stepped over to him.
Adam remembered the gift then and patted his pockets frantically. There! “Hey, speaking of praying, I brought you a present.” He fished out a blue and white crystal rosary.
“Oh, Adam! It’s beautiful! Oh my God, is that a holy necklace? Do Catholics wear it? Is it really for me? I bet it’s blessed. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Thank you!”
Was she, oh no, yes, she was going to … yes, yes, yes!
“Oh my God, oh my God!” Robyn leapt right over and actually, absolutely, totally hugged him!
Before he could think about it, he put his arms around her, placing one hand at the small of her back. It was full contact. He was in danger of passing out.
“Thank you, Adam-Batman!” she said when she let go. She held the rosary in front of her. “Wow!”
Adam was still reeling from her body being that close to his. He tried to locate his breath. He needed to not move. For one thing, he wanted to linger in the warm liquid memory of what it felt like to hold all of her in his arms, and more critically, if he moved, his body would betray him. Adam visualized Sister Mary-Margaret for quite some time before he dared speak again. Robyn, meanwhile, put the rosary on, took it off, held it up to the sun and counted the beads.
“Here—” He finally exhaled and gently took the rosary back. “It’s not a necklace, it’s a rosary. Let me show you.”
Robyn smiled.
“Catholics pray on it. It’s like to count your prayers.”
“Ooh, I saw Audrey Hepburn with a necklace—”
“Rosary.”
“Yeah, like the one that she had in this movie called A Nun’s Story. I love it! I love it!” she gushed, and then, yes, she hugged him again, awkwardly and around the neck, but close enough that he thought he would explode.
Adam vowed to bring her a present next week and every week until the day they died.
Robyn leaned against Marnie Wetherall. “Okay, so how does it work?”
“Well, first you make the sign of the cross, remember?”
“Hey, I got that one down pat. Don’t worry, I’m not going crazy with it. Just a few times a day. That’s the God’s honest truth.” She crossed herself as if to prove it.
“Okay,” he repeated. “So this first big bead is the Apostles’ Creed.”
She looked blank.
“Don’t Protestants do the Apostles’ Creed?”
Robyn shrugged. “If they do, I wouldn’t know. We haven’t stepped inside a church since …”
“Right. Okay, I’ll write that one out for you. The next big bead is the Our Father.”
“I know that one!” She beamed.
“Great, then three Hail Marys followed by a Glory To.”
Robyn groaned politely.
“Okay, so it’s a bit complicated until you get going, you know? Like you’re supposed to meditate on the first mystery on that large bead there and then do the Our Father again. And, well, thing is, you’re supposed to meditate on different mysteries on different days of the week.”
He glanced up, fully expecting her to look dispirited. Instead she nodded eagerly.
“It’s perfect! The perfect thing for me, perfect! I’m going to be a Catholic. I swear to God, I’ll study my brains out. I can’t wait to get at that confession stuff. Do I bring it to confession?”
“Uh, not usually.” Adam could tell she was lost—eager but lost. “I’ll get you a pamphlet or something on how to do the rosary thing. They have them at school, in religion class.”