by Teresa Toten
“What do you mean?”
“Thor,” she said. “You forget, I’ve been through a lot more programs, therapists and hospital groups than you. And … well, you learn to recognize the Thors. The Thors of this world tend not to make it through, Adam.”
Spoken like someone who has.
“No, I, uh, just think that he’s on the wrong meds combo. The poor guy could be too heavy into the old-school bennies. Clonazepam could do that, or even Anafranil. The guy could hardly move, you know. I actually think he’s lots better.”
Robyn cocked her head.
“Except for lately.”
“You just have to save the world, don’t you.” She squeezed him to her. He was heading straight for a Sister Mary-Margaret intervention. “It’s one of the seventy-three thousand reasons I love you.”
He wanted to grab her and pull her into him and never let go. They would freeze into a headstone, forever linked and together.
They were almost at the weeping willow.
“But really, my very own Batman, you’ve got to let go of all those distractions, all those extra worries, and concentrate on yourself.” Robyn looked uncomfortable. “I mean it. You’ve got to home in on just you. Please. Please just get yourself better first.” She kissed him again and gently extricated herself to go to her mother’s grave.
The black headstone devoured what was left of the weakening sun.
Adam reacquainted himself with the neighbours, the monuments and the stone angels. He remembered how all those months ago he had tried to puzzle out which one she was visiting. He greeted young Lieutenant Archibald-Lewis, all those who were engraved into the base of the two soaring obelisks, and their favourite, Marnie Wetherall, 1935–1939. Adam offered up a quick prayer for their souls and a longer one begging for strength.
Robyn executed a round of the rosary. After she’d made her final sign of the cross she turned to him. “Did I tell you that I contacted Father Rick and he put me in touch with Father Steven at St. Bonaventure, which is apparently my parish church?”
Adam didn’t say anything. It was so clear.
“So I’m going to start their ‘I Wannabe a Catholic’ classes on April 27!”
Even from this distance he could feel that she was centred, whole.
“Cool, eh?” Robyn frowned when he still didn’t respond. “Isn’t that great?”
She didn’t even need him for the God stuff. There was no value added with him whatsoever, just distraction and detraction. Adam held her back in a place where she no longer belonged. He couldn’t lie to himself anymore. He was a prisoner. She was free.
“Hey, earth to Adam!” Robyn waved both arms in the air. “What’s up, Batman?” She started towards him. “Something’s up. The past couple of weeks, at Group, on the phone … I know you’ve got a ton of stuff with your mom, but that’s not it, is it?”
“No,” he said.
She hugged herself.
He couldn’t do it. “I lied to you.”
She nodded, waiting.
“I don’t live in your neighbourhood. I live at almost the opposite end of the city from you. I’ve been doubling back all these months. And my dad’s place is even farther north.”
“Oh, that!” Robyn said, relief clearly washing over her. “I know about that.”
“What!”
“I’ve known almost from the beginning.” She waved her hand. “I asked my cousin, who’s a senior at St. Mary’s, to get me your PTA list. She’s a bitch, but she did it. Your address is in there—97 Chatsworth.” She smiled, and he heard his heart crack open.
“Why didn’t you say anything? I feel even more like a jerk.”
“No, don’t! I thought it was so incredibly sweet that you were pretending to live nearby just to walk home with me, just to be with me. Even in here, in this place.”
Adam nodded to his shoes.
“Then it sort of got too late to say anything and I didn’t know …”
“Yeah, same,” he said. “I felt crappy about it, but I didn’t know how to undo it. I couldn’t stand thinking what you might think.” Adam shook his head. “Everybody lies.”
Robyn joined him on the path. She stood in front of him. Her smile vanished. “But that’s not it, is it?”
Adam raised his eyes to meet hers. “No.”
She swayed a bit.
“You’re better. I am not.”
“Not true!” She grabbed his arms. “And even if it was, who cares? You’ll get better and fast. What does—?”
Adam put his finger to her mouth. “I’m a hell of a long way from better. I can’t even see the finish line anymore.” He stopped and searched for that one good breath. “I know that you shouldn’t even be in Group at all. My hunch is that your therapist is warning you off it, and off me too. This—we, us—is not good for you, Robyn.”
“Shut up!” She threw her arms around him. “You, Adam, are the best thing that has ever happened to me. Ever! You’ve helped me so much.” She clung to him. “You helped me face my stuff and tell the truth. You make me brave. You do that! And once you get going on the ERP—”
“Like you said, you’ve been through a lot more programs and therapists and groups, Robyn. You know I’m worse.” Adam kissed her forehead and then her face over and over again, memorizing the salt-and-peach taste of her. “I’ve been reading all about spontaneous remissions—what you have. It’s like a miracle, but it could come back. In the meantime, you have to get clear while you can. Robyn, you have to celebrate, not feel guilty because I can’t get myself under control. You have to use this time right now to get stronger every day, so that if it does come back, you can be powerful enough—”
“I’m not some kind of warrior in one of your fantasy games! I need you!”
“You so are a warrior. Don’t you see?” He pulled her into him and kissed her hair. “You don’t need me. I just made you believe that because I love you so, so much, Robyn Plummer.”
“But I love you more, Adam Spencer Ross! It’s what makes me strong, I swear!”
“No! You’re strong because you’re you.” He swallowed the hurt before it swallowed him. He was gutless. “Robyn, you deserve—”
She tried to hug him again, but he held her arms tight. The cemetery was eerily still. They seemed entombed in the silence.
“You are the bravest person I have ever, or will ever, meet.”
“I sweat terror, Robyn! I’m scared every single second about every single goddamned thing. I worry obsessively about being buried under an avalanche of fear. Jesus, Robyn, I’m scared like only the truly crazy can be.”
“But that, you dope, is the definition of courage: you go on despite the fear.” She pulled back and hugged herself. “And it’s just a matter of time, a short time, before—” The darkening sky joined in on their bewilderment and started to drizzle.
“You’re not listening,” he said. “Whatever I’ve got or not got, it’s exactly the wrong thing for you to be around. It’s bad for you. Your housekeeper sensed it. Chuck knows it. I’m sure your therapist has warned you.”
“They are all so full of—”
“And you know it too.” He stroked her cheek. “Look at me. Have you ever told your father about me, like you said you would?”
Her eyes glistened. “I … the thing is—”
“See? Part of you—the best part of you—knows. Trust that part, Robyn. It’s the part that will keep you well.”
She was crying now. It was an ugly cry, snot soaked, heaving, and he loved her more.
“Adam, I can’t … It’s because I lied so much, and then I told you too much about how awful I—”
“No! Stop, stop. It’s none of that. I was”—he scrambled in a panic for the word—“I was honoured. It made me feel important.”
“Because you are, damn it! Listen to me, Adam!”
“Shh, you know I’m right. And even if you didn’t”—he leaned into her and whispered—“it wouldn’t matter. Nothing could change my mind. N
othing. You have to go now.” As he scrambled, he remembered Mrs. Polanski’s advice. It’s time to leave. It’s the really hard part of growing up—knowing when to leave.
“Who’s doing the leaving, Adam? Who the hell is doing the leaving? Answer me that! I can’t be brave without you.”
“Yes, you can. It’s time. You have to be with normal people now.” She looked like she was going to erupt. “With normaler people. This is what you need. You know I’m right, Robyn. Don’t make this harder. I can’t take it.”
“Good. I hate you! I hate your crazy guts and it should be hard!” she spat. But she drew herself back into him. “God, I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But I won’t let you go. I can’t, Adam. Don’t make me.”
He was weakening. The coward in him, the hunger, would win. “I need you to go now.” He held her as tight as any human being could hold another. “I need to concentrate only on me. I’m falling apart, Robyn. You can’t save me. You’re making it worse.”
Everybody lies.
That did it.
“Oh, Adam, damn! Oh God, this hurts. I can’t …”
He kissed her hard, almost wanting to hurt her more. They hugged, heartbroken and wretched. Robyn crying and Adam mourning, even as he held her. Each trying to find a way in, to memorize the feel of the other. They clung to each other right up until they were interrupted by the flashing high beams of a car. Again, a door slammed. Again, a flashlight turned on them.
“Get a room, guys. It’s past closing, for God’s sake!”
They turned to the security guard, who looked startled to see them. “You two again! What is it with you? You never have enough sense to get in out of the rain!” Then he paused. “And you look like a couple of train wrecks,” he muttered as he turned back to his car. “I’ll keep both the south and north gates open for another five minutes, but that’s it.” The door slammed and his vehicle rolled away.
“We better go.” Robyn reached for Adam’s hand and began walking towards the south gate.
“No, Robyn. I don’t live over there and we’re not pretending anymore. I’m going back through the north gates.”
They were soaked to the bone and still they didn’t move.
“Okay,” she finally said. “You turn around and go first. I’ll watch and keep you safe.”
“No, it’s my job to keep you safe.”
“Go! It’s pouring, and we’re going to drown. Go!” She pushed him. “Adam, let me take care of you, just this once.”
He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and shook his head. “No, Robyn. Please. Let me do this one thing, this one more time. Please.”
Fresh tears streamed down her face and mingled with the rain. Adam was spent, his heart so full of grief there wasn’t room for coherent thought. Robyn turned and began to walk away. He watched her go, holding her deep inside him, until she was just about to disappear around the bend.
“I will always love you, Robyn Plummer,” he whispered.
And just as she disappeared, he distinctly heard it.
“And I will always love you more, Adam Spencer Ross.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
When Adam got to the north gate he turned left rather than right, heading towards 97 Chatsworth. It wasn’t a conscious thing. His mind was too pockmarked and punctured for a deliberate decision, but even when he realized that he wasn’t headed for his dad’s, he did not turn back. Adam wanted to go home.
Minutes—or was it hours?—later, when he got to the foot of his path, Adam glanced over at Mrs. Polanski’s. No lights. She wasn’t home. Mrs. Polanski wouldn’t be there to save him. That’s okay, he told himself. Mom’s home. Carmella had been on double shift all last week and had been home the past four days.
All he had to do was get in.
The closer Adam got to the door, the more it felt like he was walking through a net of razor blades. It would have been an 11 out of 10 on the OCD mapping scale, if he had ever mapped, if he had ever done anything in the damn manual. But there was never any time. His life kept getting in the way.
When he stepped on the landing dripping with rain, he could sense the force field surrounding the threshold. The razors nicked him. And even though he knew better, Adam checked for signs of blood. These thoughts are not reality; they are mere thoughts. He faced the door with a raggedy breath. The field around it shimmered.
No way.
His courage dissolved into the fog. Robyn was wrong. He was gutless.
And then he smelled it.
Unmistakable. He had lived with the terror of this possibility for years.
It was coming from inside the house.
“Mom! Mom! Open up, Mom!” He extended his arm to begin the ritual, the clearing, but there was no time. It’s all a lie, it’s not real! Just go through!
Adam reached into his pocket, but he was bathed in sweat by the time he pulled out the key.
She would die if he touched the door unclean.
She would die if he didn’t touch the door.
He was shaking uncontrollably. As he raised the hand that held the key, the world spun, whipping around faster and faster. His stomach pitched. Nausea erupted and he just barely managed to turn his head in time. He threw up and then turned the key in the lock.
“Mom!”
He shoved open the door, except that he couldn’t. There was too much stuff in the way on the other side. It was jammed! “Mom! Jesus!” Adam threw his shoulder into the door. He could see in just enough to confirm that smoke was billowing out of the kitchen. “Mom, please!” Just as he readied to throw himself into the door again, he heard steps pounding behind him, gaining, and then the door exploded. It opened another six inches.
“Again! Let’s go again, Batman! Together! On three. One…”
“Thor! What the hell … how?”
“Two…”
“Thor?”
“Three!”
The boys threw themselves at the door, forcing it another three inches. Still not enough.
“I’ll push, you squeeze in,” Thor grunted.
Within seconds, Adam had wedged himself through and was leap-frogging over junk on his way to the kitchen. “Mom! Mom!”
He saw her immediately. His mother was slumped on the floor in front of the island that divided the kitchen from the dining room. A winter boot lay awkwardly under her foot. Had she tripped? Carmella’s eyes were closed, but she winced, moved. An egg-sized lump had already developed on her forehead. A glue stick fell out of her hand when she tried to right herself.
“MOM!”
Adam threw himself into the kitchen and at the stove. Angry smoke rushed out of a lone pot. There was no fire, but the pot was purging itself of burnt soup and a plastic ladle. Miraculously, he had the presence of mind to turn off the gas burner rather than grab the pot handle.
Adam was dimly aware that Thor was now in the hall. Somehow he had made it in. “Thor, call 9-1-1!” yelled Adam as he reached for his mother.
Carmella’s eyes flew open. “Adam? Adam, no!” she coughed. “They can’t come. Stop him!”
Adam tried to help her up. She clung to him in a panic.
“He was here!” Carmella’s voice was hoarse. “We fought. It was terrible, horrible. He is so evil. He wouldn’t have come if you’d been here. He said that. That’s what he said. We fought. See, he hit me! He hit me, Adam.” His mother touched her forehead and winced. She started to cry but without tears. “He could have killed me, baby.”
Adam took in the glass on the counter, the vodka bottle beside it, the magazine, the ripped-out pages on top of the other mess. “Let me help you up, Mom. Can you get up?”
“Yes, of course. I’m fine. Call them off, I’m fine!” But she didn’t get up and she didn’t let go of him. “He was the devil himself.” Her eyes were over-bright, desperate. “Oh, Adam, it was awful—thank God you came. Thank you, Lord!” She clasped her hands as if in prayer. “Now, stop that man this instant, before they come. Say it was a mistak
e.” She grabbed his coat again. “You know they can’t come here. They can’t see … Adam, you know.”
“Oh, Mom.” All the fight leaked out of him. There was nothing left. They both heard Thor rummaging in the hall, shoving, piling.
“Thor?” Adam called.
“I’m clearing a path for the ambulance guys!”
“Make him stop!” Panic played across his mother’s face. “Stop him right now! Adam, please!”
Adam gently pried her hands off him. His mother was still in her scrubs, even though she hadn’t been to work in days. Still in Dad’s sweater. Her lipstick was smeared, her dark hair dishevelled, and the egg on her forehead was already turning a pinkish mauve. Yet she was still lovely. People always said so and there it was. Indisputable.
And he looked like his mother. He was so much like his mother.
Jesus.
“Adam, baby, now!” She ran her fingers through her hair. “He said if we told anyone, he’d come back. He’d get me. He’ll kill me, Adam. He was even worse than in the letters, Adam, and you know how bad the letters are. I know you saw.”
He heard sirens faintly, far away. He stopped to listen, to breathe, but he couldn’t. He felt like he had been run over.
“Mom, listen, I’ve known almost from the beginning.”
“There were more letters, baby. Lots. I didn’t want to worry you. I decided not to worry you. He said that—”
“Stop, Mom.” He leaned close to her ear. “Stop. Please stop now. I know that there is no he.” He reached for her, but she leaned away from him. “I know it was you. I know you’ve been writing those letters to yourself.” He picked up the glue stick and put it on top of the torn magazine pages.
“No, no. That’s not … you don’t understand. See …”
The sirens were closer now.
“Thor?” Adam called. Thor had all the numbers. “Call Chuck. I’m going to need Chuck—”
“No, baby, please!”
“And then call my dad.”
They could both hear Thor carrying out Adam’s instructions. They were the most sustained conversations that Thor had executed in years. But he did it.
His mother stopped protesting and fell into a steady silent sob in Adam’s arms.