The Unlikely Hero of Room 13B

by Teresa Toten

  When he finally knocked and realized that he had had no threshold vibrations whatsoever, Adam almost keeled over with relief.

  Robyn opened the door, exuding peachiness and shiny lips and breasts, amazing perfect…

  “Hi,” he said. “I like your shoes.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “Hey! Oh! Yeah, uh.” Robyn looked a little confused but kept smiling. “They’re UGG slippers, got them for Christmas—but thanks!”

  “No problemo!” Adam had never noticed Robyn’s teeth before. Given that he was so kiss-obsessed, this surprised him. Robyn had beautiful, pearly, almost-perfect teeth behind those peachy, pillowy lips. Almost perfect. She had this one rogue eyetooth on the left side. It turned outward and was slightly askew. It was adorable. He wanted to touch it.

  “Let’s go into the kitchen. Maria’s prepared real hot chocolate—I mean, really real, with melted chocolate and milk.”

  He’d been hoping for coffee but said “Cool” and followed her like a puppy. Adam wondered if all housekeepers were named Maria. Brenda’s housekeeper was named Maria, as was his mom’s when she had one, all those years ago. He had adored his mom’s Maria, and his mom’s Maria had adored him.

  Within seconds it was clear that Robyn’s Maria did not.

  The introductions were excruciating. Maria seemed to know that he was from Robyn’s Group. She therefore knew that he was not normal.

  Robyn took them both in and got it. She directed Adam towards a big old harvest table that was pushed against a wall in their big old kitchen. Maria did not take her eyes off Adam as she poured the chocolaty liquid into a mug that proudly declared he was The Best Dad in the Universe.

  “Maria, Adam is the one who has been teaching me about becoming Catholic.”

  Maria’s dark, coal eyes warmed, but only by half a degree. Clearly, Catholic did not trump crazy for her.

  “He goes to St. Mary’s and he introduced me to Father Rick at Holy Rosary. But remember not to tell Daddy.”

  Robyn beamed. Maria snorted.

  Adam took a careful sip of the best thing he had ever tasted and said, “This is the best thing I have ever tasted!”

  Maria snorted again, finished pouring and reluctantly left the room.

  “She likes you,” said Robyn.

  “Yeah, she has that Thor-like warmth.”

  “Exactly!” Robyn laughed. “You’re the only one who registers with him. I swear he hates the rest of us. You, Adam Spencer Ross, are like the horse whisperer of Group.”

  “It must be my trusty armour of honour.”

  Robyn blushed. Why?

  Still in mid-blush, she jumped up like a Pop-Tart. “Ooh! My friend Jody and I made triple-threat brownies this morning. Wanna try?”

  Adam slurped his hot chocolate. “Hey, in for a penny …”

  “In for a pound,” Robyn finished. “My mom used to say that.”

  “My stepmom says that all the time.”

  While she was cutting up the brownies, he had a perfectly reasonable reason to stare at her. “I love brownies. Cut lots!” Actually, Adam wasn’t all that fond of chocolate, but it was the first time he had seen Robyn out of her school uniform. His ears got hot—like, who else does that happen to? Robyn wore skinny jeans and a nice bluish top that hugged in a way that made him hurt. Think of Sister Mary-Margaret! Whatever you do, don’t look at … but there they were, right there under that top, her amazing, brilliant brea—

  Look at her eyes, look at her eyes, look at her eyes. “That top makes your eyes look awesome, you know?”

  Robyn stopped mid-stride with the plate of brownies in hand. It looked like she was struggling to say something. Instead she smiled.

  “Why, thank you, Adam. I didn’t think you even knew what colour they were.” She shut them tight.

  “Grey,” he said. “Shades of grey most of the time, except days like today, when they’re blue.”

  “Touché, Adam.” She placed the brownies on the table and immediately began rearranging them. “Did you have any trouble with my door?” Robyn asked it casually, like she was asking whether it was still raining.

  His heart whooshed. Casual or not, it was so not a normal thing to ask a normal boy. He had to count. He would not count. But now his skin felt too tight, like he should get up immediately and jump right out of it.

  He shook his head. “No, not your door.”

  “I’m glad.”

  Twenty-one, twenty-three, twenty-five,…

  But then it was good again. They gossiped a bit—well, quite a bit—about Group mainly. Robyn tried and failed to explain the premise of Jersey Shore to him. She also tried to look blasé when she revealed that her dad was taking them to Bermuda for the rest of the holidays. “It’s that ‘they try’ thing again.” But she was beaming, so he bit down on his disappointment and tried to beam right back at her. They also talked about the idiosyncrasies of their “normal” friends. Adam just had butterball Ben, but she looked genuinely interested as he laid out the intricacies and pure pleasure of marathon Warhammer games. Robyn, of course, had a pile of friends and went on to list the food disorders and pill-popping antics of three of them, including Jody of the brownie baking. “The girl is a walking bakery, but she does not touch anything she bakes,” said Robyn in wonder. “No licking of fingers, no crumb nibbling, nothing, nada.”

  “How is that possible?” He shook his head. “The whole not-eating thing … Hey, I know I have my thing—okay, things—but not eating? I so don’t get how you can not eat.”

  “Exactly! I purged for, like, a minute but I ate, you know!” Robyn reached for a third brownie. “She looks like hell too, a real lollipop.”

  He must have looked blank.

  “You know, all head, stick body. I tell her all the time but she can’t see.”

  They chewed happily for a few seconds, each revelling in a tiny thrill of righteousness. At least we aren’t crazy like that.

  “People can’t listen until they’re ready,” Robyn said. “I sure couldn’t. I was, like, deaf to everyone except the thoughts. They were the boss of me.” She stopped, looked at her feet. “You know, I never talk like this to anyone, not even the shrinks.” She finished her hot chocolate. “You’re good with everybody, and you were right from the beginning. Wonder Woman, Thor, even Wolverine.”

  Adam’s head shot up.

  “Okay, maybe not Wolverine,” she allowed. “But what is it about you?”

  You, he thought. The thing about me is you. When I’m not crazy, all I think about is you. “Nothing.” He shook his head. “Absolutely nothing.”

  “Ah, but it is something, Dark Knight.” She seemed to be searching. “You make me feel … I don’t know, kinda good, I guess.”

  Safe, Robyn. I make you feel safe. It’s all I want. He wanted to say that. To tell her. He should tell her.

  He didn’t tell her.

  “Thanks,” he said. “So how are you doing?”

  “I took a couple of clonazepams over Christmas, but just a couple,” she confessed. “Christmas is weird.”

  “I’ll say,” agreed Adam.

  “But I’m still off the big guns, and I’m good most of the time. The praying helps. How are you doing with … well, how are you doing?”

  “Not as good.” Adam shut down. He shouldn’t have shut down; he knew better. Robyn liked it when he talked. Just two sets: one, three, five, seven, nine…

  He would have sworn she was going to reach for his hand but instead she glanced up at the wall clock. “Oh!” Robyn covered her mouth. “Sorry, Adam, but my dad will be home in a minute, and although he knows I’m having a friend over, it’s just better that for now, uh … Next time for sure. I’ll manage him properly and you can meet, but Dad does take some prep.”

  “More than Maria?”

  “Maria is like being stoned on happy pills and getting a massage at a spa compared to my father.”

  “So you’re saying I should go?” He smiled. “I should be insulted.”
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  “Sorry, but …” She walked over to him. Close. He could feel her breath, could smell her brownie-infused hair. “I’ll make it up to you.”

  “No, if I should go, I should go,” he said, trying not to look relieved. Adam would also need some serious prep before meeting the father of the girl he was going to spend the rest of his life with. “I’ll take you up on the make-it-up-to-me promise, though.” Who said that? What was happening to him? He felt thirty. He wasn’t counting, didn’t even finish the second set. He felt great. Keeping up with himself was exhausting.

  “But wait, wait!” Robyn dashed over to a cupboard and came back bearing a small box. “Your Christmas present!”

  “Right! I am a total douchebag,” Adam said, rummaging through his backpack. “I’ve been thinking about this moment for, like, two weeks—since the coffee shop, even. Here’s your Christmas present.”

  “You shouldn’t have!”

  “But I did,” he said, growing at least another inch.

  “On three,” she said. “One, two, three!” They tore open their gifts.

  Adam cut through first. “Wow! What’s in this?” Robyn had given him a big black ceramic coffee mug embossed with a gold Batman logo. It was filled with a bunch of oddly shaped things wrapped in cellophane.

  “Chocolate-covered coffee beans, to break out only when necessary. As I recall you’re seriously in touch with your inner superhero when you’re high on coffee.”

  His ears got so hot, he was sure she would be compelled to say something about it. She didn’t.

  “It’s my favourite gift, Robyn.”

  She swatted him.

  “No really, and it’s been a banner year for once. Thank you.” He had a moment where he knew he could—should—kiss her. That it would be okay, appropriate even. The moment passed. “Now you,” he said.

  Robyn reddened to burgundy as she opened the box from the antiques store.

  “Careful,” he warned as she lifted the little bottle.

  “Wow! It’s so precious! I’ve never seen anything like it. What’s in it? Is that perfume?” The way the curve of her beautiful neck dipped…

  “No.” Adam shook his head. “Holy water from Holy Rosary.”

  “Oh, Batman … er, Adam … It’s so incredibly thoughtful. I love it.”

  “I would give you everything in the world if I could.”

  “Damn it, Adam!”

  She looked pained or something. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to be able to read girls’ facial expressions!

  “That’s it … I just can’t anymore.”

  His heart, which was now firmly in his throat, stopped beating altogether. Can’t anymore? “What did I do! What? I’m sorry!” Shoulda kissed her when you had the chance, douchebag.

  “No.” She shook her head. Tears puddled in her eyes. “I can’t stand it, not with you, not to you. Look, I have to tell you something and then you have to go right away. Please, please, please. I talk and then you go? Not a word or I’ll disintegrate, okay?”

  Adam nodded. It was the best he could manage.

  “You’ll hate me, and I’ll hate that you’ll hate me, but now I hate me more and it’s making me slide.”

  “Robyn, Jesus.” He reached for her. Took her arms into his hands.

  “Shh! Don’t say anything, promise? We’ll talk about it later, at the cemetery. I’ll answer your questions, or try, but not now, not now.”

  He nodded again.

  “My mother did not kill herself.”

  Whoa. He loosened his grip and she wriggled away. He started to say it didn’t matter, nothing mattered but her. She put her hand against his chest to ward off words.

  “Don’t even look at me right now. I’m a monster but I have to just say it. She’s dead and everything—that’s her real grave we go to—but she died of breast cancer. My … my mom died way too young, but sort of ordinary. It wasn’t enough, see? Or so I thought. When it all started, when the thoughts and the compulsions, the cutting, when I became its prisoner, I think I needed a big-ass reason as to why.”

  He reached for her again, and again her hand shot out. She wouldn’t be touched.

  “How screwed is that, eh? I know, I know, dead is bad, but it wasn’t bad enough, get it? I thought I needed more, a bigger reason for why I was so crazy. So I told some kids at school in ‘secret,’ and then …” She looked up at the ceiling. “Then I couldn’t untell it. But killing herself, me finding the body … well, I thought that would be a way better reason to explain the way I am, was. See, everyone would say, like they still say, ‘Well, of course, what do you expect? The poor kid found her mother. How could she not be a train wreck?’ ” Robyn shook her head. “You should have seen me then—the past few years, I mean. I was one hot mess, and that’s the truth.”

  And still, I would have loved you. He tried to tell her. He shouted it silently.

  She didn’t hear. How could she? His pounding heart obliterated all sound.

  “How warped and, and … never mind. I’m going to tell Chuck. The shrinks at the hospital know, but I am a shockingly good liar, so the kids at school, my friends, don’t know. And I would totally understand if you never … You’re the first person … I am so sorry that I lied to you, Adam. Especially you.” She put her hand through his arm and led him to the door. “I’m disgusting.” All the blood had drained from her face. She was whiter than a cloud. “I would absolutely, totally understand if—”

  Adam lifted her chin and caressed her face. “Everybody lies, Robyn. Everybody.”

  “See,” she said, leaning into him. His lips grazed her hair. “See, there you go again.” And she kissed his cheek before she shut the door.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Adam took the bus home. He had money for a cab, but since Robyn thought he lived just a few blocks away, that would have been mental. His lie. Okay, there were a few others, but that was one of the big ones. Adam also needed time to sort himself out before he got home. He took the bus and then he walked.

  Her lie was massive no matter how you dressed it up. Monster, really. It would be brutal living with that big a lie. It got complex. He knew from experience.

  And he loved her more today than yesterday.

  The truth was that Adam loved her way more today than he did yesterday, and how was that even possible? Maybe because Robyn needed him. Okay, maybe not right away, this minute, since she and her dad were leaving tomorrow for Bermuda. But as soon as she came back, Robyn would need him. He had to get better. Fast. He had to take care of her. Time’s a-wasting! Chop, chop! Let’s go! Smarten up! Hurry up! And then he was there, home, 97 Chatsworth. He cratered, but just a bit.

  Before he did anything, Adam checked to see if the coast was clear. A middle-aged man was dragging his golden retriever down the street. The dog had on those bizarro shoes to protect its paws from salt. He looked embarrassed—the dog, not the man. The wind picked up and bit into Adam’s face, but he didn’t move. He waited until they passed. It grew dark in the waiting. Adam checked again: clear. He inhaled and walked up to his door.

  Step one at this point comprised putting his forefinger and index finger together in a mock blessing. Fingers just so, Adam began outlining the entire door precisely two feet away from it. He had to do this five times to the right and seven times to the left. He heard it on the third time to the left. The crying.

  Inside.

  His heart sped up. But he couldn’t break through. What was it? Christmas? Another letter? Some fresh new hell? Adam muffed the last trace and had to start again. Now he was sweating despite the cold. First, trace out the door starting on the right side. Focus, Adam! Concentrate! The first round completed, he backed up for fifteen perfect steps and forward in the exact same steps as if they were marked. If he missed one, he had to start again. Not just to the backing up but all the way to the initial tracing. At his second full confrontation of the threshold, he had to extend his right arm as high as it could go and tap out the evil one hundred and ele
ven times. Again, if the position was incorrect or he got distracted in any way, shape or form, he had to begin all over. The final steps were palming the door handle thirty-three times in one direction and eleven times in the other, then turning it and pushing with both palms flat on the door with precisely equal pressure. The equal-pressure thing was tricky.

  On average that week, it took Adam approximately eleven minutes to enter 97 Chatsworth, and it was rising. He knew it was bullshit, just his stupid thoughts; it meant nothing, didn’t do a damn thing. Yet he felt the need to layer on ever-newer rituals in order to keep his mother safe, in order for it to feel “just right.” This time, despite the corrosiveness of his mother’s crying, Adam was almost flawless in his execution, with only the one repeat needed. He entered within nine minutes of starting.

  “Mom? Mom, I’m home.”

  The crying stopped. The kitchen faucet went on. Pots clanged.

  “In here, baby! I’m making your favourite—beef stew! I thought you’d had enough of turkey, huh?”

  Adam’s favourite was actually lamb stew, but what the hell. He could smell it now, as the panic in him subsided and he made his way into the kitchen. “Great. Hey, Mom, you okay?” He examined her as she dried utensils and stirred the pot at the same time. Eyes red, but dry. She gave him a big shaky smile.

  “Sure, baby!” Carmella nodded at the pot. “Onions, garlic, you know. But it’s going to be delicious! I confess to a fair bit of sampling. Can’t wait to hear about your Christmas and your visit with Robyn!” She sang out her name. “Sorry, kid, your father ratted you out.”

  “Yeah, no, I’m sorry.” He struggled to get an even breath. “I’ve been meaning to tell you.” Adam scanned the counters. Clear. Well, at least free of letters or paper of any kind. It had to be in the garbage.