by Zana Bell
Cressa heaped her plate with rice and his mother’s special chili. Adam watched with interest as she took her first mouthful. She coughed, spluttered and grabbed a glass of water. “Wow. That’s hot.”
Alicia sounded surprised. “Oh, dear, have I put too much spice in?”
She’d been putting in way too much spice for as far back as Adam could remember. Her chili used to lay his friends out flat, and he and Cole had had a running competition to see who could eat most before diving for the water jug.
“No, it’s lovely.” said Cressa, her voice hoarse as she blinked away the tears. “Great.”
Adam smiled. Payback for her insubordination.
“So how was today?” Alicia asked. It was the same question she used to ask every day after school.
“Good.”
And it was the same reply he’d always given. It had served its purpose then and it had served its purpose these past few days when only he and his mom had been around. It set a nice, easy, conversational tone that carried them through each meal.
“Good?” Cressa dropped her fork and stared at him. “First he shouted at me for going too fast—”
“I didn’t shout.”
“Then he got mad at one of the mechanics because a brake line on one of the bikes snapped.”
“The fool should have picked it up. He was lucky there wasn’t a serious accident.”
“And then,” said Cressa, still ignoring him, “he stepped onto a rotten log, dislodged a wasp nest and got stung three times.” She grinned smugly. “I think it was fate getting him back for being so high-handed.”
“High-handed? I was doing my job, Cressa. The one you got me.”
“Wrong!” She pointed her fork at him. “I got you a nice little number as an insignificant stuntman like the rest of us. It was you who moved in and just took over.”
With a so-there toss of her head, she scooped up another mouthful of chili—and choked. Served her right.
“I haven’t taken over, I’ve simply got some expertise that they are using.” He’d meant to sound calm and rational. He was annoyed to hear the so-there in his voice, too.
His mother smiled. “Dear me. Things certainly sound far more eventful today than on previous days.”
He cast her a sidelong glance but there was nothing to read in her face except demure interest.
Cressa shook her head as she loaded her fork with a five-to-one ratio of rice to chili. “I simply don’t understand how such a nice woman like you, Alicia, could have produced such an infuriating son. I bet his dad was overbearing in that same quiet way.”
A stillness fell over the table. Cressa glanced up. “Oh, shit. Have I put my foot in it? Sorry, Alicia.”
Alicia’s laugh was a shade too tinkling. “Of course not.”
Adam wanted to wring Cressa’s neck. He and his mom had managed just fine. The two of them had enjoyed perfectly reasonable, friendly chats every night. Cressa was home for one night and already she was upsetting things. Glaring, he said, “We don’t talk about him.”
Cressa, typically, paid him no attention. She was looking at Alicia. “How come?”
His mother stirred a portion of rice and chili together, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “It upsets Adam.”
He was taken aback. “No, it doesn’t. We don’t talk about him because it upsets you.”
She was surprised. “Why should it upset me?”
“Because…” He floundered. “Well, because you never mention him.”
“Because you got so angry the one time I tried to tell you about him. Don’t you remember?”
Adam stared at her. “What?”
Alicia put her fork down and faced him. “When you were about six, you asked why you looked different from the rest of us. I tried to explain, but when I got to the part where Dad—Cole and Sass’s father—wasn’t yours, you covered your ears with your hands and ran screaming from the room.”
He had vague memories of that now. Strange, how he’d never remembered before.
She picked up her fork again. “Of course, I completely understood. Terrence, to do him credit, had always treated you exactly the same as the other two. I’ll always be grateful to him for that.”
Adam thought of their father, tall, blond, good-looking, humorous. They’d all adored him—when he was around, which wasn’t that often, even before he took off completely. Adam had wondered a lot over the years how his dad had really felt about having this dark kid foisted upon him, proof to the world that he’d been cuckolded.
“Was I the reason Dad left?” he asked abruptly.
Alicia appeared horrified. “No! Absolutely not. He’d have gone whether you were there or not, Adam. You have to believe that.” She paused and added more matter-of-factly, “Some men aren’t meant to marry, Adam. Terrence was one of them. He loved being on the rodeo circuit. He was never a ‘nine-to-five, come home to the kids’ sort of man. Not deep down. We only married because I was pregnant with Sass. Looking back, I see that’s the worst reason to get married.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Cressa was so emphatic that both Adam and Alicia stared at her. “But, Alicia, you still haven’t said what Adam’s real father was like. Was he all macho and bossy?”
His mother’s eyes softened in memory. “No, Adam’s father was a modern-day troubadour. A man with a heart full of poems and not a cent in his pockets.”
“Wow, he sounds so romantic, whereas Adam—” she looked at him pointedly “—so isn’t. How did you guys meet?”
It didn’t matter how they met, and it wasn’t any of Cressa’s damn business. He pushed his plate away and was suddenly aware of how airless the kitchen felt, the heat of the oven fogging up the windows. His mother smiled. “He came to our school to talk about poetry to some of our writing classes.”
Poetry! Oh, jeez. Why the hell couldn’t he have had a real job, been a truck driver or something? His mom really knew how to pick them.
“And were there sparks the first time you laid eyes on him?” Though she’d asked Alicia the question, Cressa glanced sideways at Adam.
“Why, yes, there were. Funny you should ask. There was this strange electricity between us. Hard to explain.”
“I think I know what you mean,” said Cressa. “What was his name?”
Adam’s stomach hollowed at the question.
“Adahy Wilson. A lot of the time he was just called Andy, but his real name was Adahy. It means ‘lives in the woods.’”
“Adahy.” He tested the name. “Adahy Wilson.”
He must have spoken, because Cressa stared at him. “Don’t tell me you never even knew his name.”
Alicia cut in. “That’s my fault. He never asked, so I never told him. I should have.”
Adam was hating this whole conversation, but what the hell, now that Cressa had started poking around, he had a few questions of his own. One in particular that he’d never dared ask. “Did he know about me?”
“No.”
At that single word, emotion jagged so sharply that Adam couldn’t identify it. Relief? Anger? Disbelief?
Alicia continued. “You see, we only saw each other for a month—Terrence was away. Adahy moved on and I never tried to contact him.”
“Why not?”
Alicia brushed her hair off her forehead—a sure sign that she was troubled. “Of course I thought about it. Agonized for a while, but in the end it seemed better not to. Easier.” Her eyes met his. “I am sorry, Adam. In later years I came to regret that decision deeply.”
Probably one of the things that turned her to drink. He felt anger licking through his body but didn’t know whether it was against his mother, his dad, his real father—or Cressa for raising this whole sorry mess in the first place. He had an urge to punch a wall. Which was plain dumb. Why get all het up? What happened was ancient history. Yet now that they’d started talking, he found there was more and more he wanted to know. But it would only upset his mom, he told himself, if he kept badgering her. It w
asn’t worth it.
Wrestling down all those feelings took a big effort. He felt like he was thirteen again, when he’d first realized Alicia had a drinking problem. But he’d had a lot of practice containing his emotions over the years and now managed a smile and a shrug. “Hey, there’s nothing to be sorry about.”
She gazed at him for what felt like a minute. “If there’s more you’d like to ask about…”
He went for breezy. “Nah. What’s passed is past. Right?”
Cressa opened her mouth to reply, but he glared at her so she shut it again and they all ate in silence for the next few minutes.
CRESSA FELT ANOTHER mouthful of chili burn its way down her esophagus and into her stomach. She wondered if she would have any stomach lining left after tonight’s dinner. The conversation had been almost as hot. Was this seriously the first time they’d ever talked about Adam’s father? She probably shouldn’t have lifted the lid on Pandora’s box quite so guilelessly, but what was with this family?
Alicia broke the quiet. “What are you two going to do on your day off?”
Cressa realized she was trying to normalize things, so when Adam began to speak, Cressa beat him to it. “I know! You’ve got ‘stuff’ to do,” she teased, trying to lighten the mood.
“Yeah, that’s right.”
His tone was mild, but there was something tightly coiled about his body language. Cressa waved her index finger back and forth.
“Nuh-uh. Not all the time. I’m not having you go back to Texas having seen nothing of Northland. I’m going to take the two of you adventuring.”
Alicia’s smile was regretful. “What a lovely idea, but I’ve already said I’d go to the movies with Moana. Rob’s all lined up to babysit. Take Adam, though.”
His face was still set in rigid lines. “Thanks, but no, I’m real busy.”
She tilted her head and eyed him. “You have to have some downtime. How about a few hours in the afternoon? That way you can do ‘stuff’ morning and evening.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “I’ve got this most amazing secret beach to show you.”
For a second she thought he might relent, but then he shook his head. “What?” she added. “Afraid of a little action and adventure? Don’t be such a scaredy-cat.”
“Scaredy-cat, huh?” He leaned back, drumming his fingers on the table. She mistrusted the look in his eyes. “Tell you what. I’ll go if you promise to do exactly what I say at work. Deal?”
The idea burned worse than Alicia’s chili. She chewed her lip. “Tomorrow’s your last day, right?”
There was a taunt in his voice. “They said more work might be coming up.”
Then he went back to finishing his dinner as if he didn’t give a damn what she decided. No way would he reveal that he’d already declined their offer. She scowled at his bent head. “Oh, all right! Deal.”
He looked up, not bothering to hide his triumph. “Ha! I’m going to have such fun tomorrow.”
That coiled tightness was still there, but with a gleam in his eyes, as well. She grinned reluctantly. “Yeah, whatever.”
Alicia appeared pleased as she began to stack the bowls. “That sounds like fun. Thank you, Cressa.”
“You make it seem like Cressa is taking a child out,” Adam grumbled as he removed the bowls from her hands. He was clearly making a big effort to be normal. “Leave the dishes, Mom. I’ll do them.”
“I’ll help.” Cressa picked up the empty glasses.
“Don’t be silly. You two have both been working all day long, while I’ve had the nicest time doing absolutely nothing.”
“I don’t care.” Adam dropped a kiss onto his mother’s head. “Go on, out of the kitchen.” She protested, but he lifted her off the ground and carried her to the door. “I’m serious. Vamoose.”
Laughing, Alicia accepted defeat. Cressa couldn’t help smiling. On one level all this niceness between mother and son was pleasant. They were both working so hard to ignore whatever had just happened. On another level, things were still out of whack. Surely they must feel it, too.
As Cressa rinsed the plates and handed them to Adam to stack in the dishwasher, she thought she’d try broaching the subject. “You and your mum seem to get on well.”
She gently stressed “seem,” but Adam just replied, “Mom’s great. A real fighter.” He fetched the glasses and serving spoons for Cressa to rinse. “Of course, we had our run-ins when I was a teenager. You know the sort.”
She took the spoons and their fingers brushed. Adam moved quickly back to the table.
“No, I don’t.” she said, flicking her ponytail out of the way. His eyes followed the movement. “Not when I was a teenager, anyway. I mean, you’ve met my mother. I was too terrified to disobey her.”
She began filling the sink to wash the pots. Adam put the last of the crockery into the dishwasher and added soap. “I guess you get your determination from her.” He closed the door and turned the dishwasher on, then leaned a hip against the counter and folded his long arms. The kitchen light was bright, emphasizing the hollows of his eyes, the sharp lines of his cheekbones. She could still feel heat simmering beneath his easy manner. Gangsta in domesticia. “You appear to have overcome your maternal terror now.”
“Meaning?”
“I don’t imagine your being a stunt girl thrills her heart.”
She chuckled. “Quite the opposite. But she’s a fighter, too—she manages to fight her well-intentioned advice back down her throat most of the time.” Cressa sighed theatrically. “I’m a terrible disappointment to her.”
“Yeah, right. Don’t come looking for sympathy from me.” He grabbed a tea towel and flicked it at her.
“Ow!” She retaliated with a well-aimed ball of foam that got him right in the forehead.
“Fiend.”
He leaped for her hand, which was already scooping up the next missile, and, laughing, forced her to drop the soapsuds back in the sink. His face was very close, his mouth inches from hers. His hand was strong around her wrist and it was as though some of his suppressed energy started feeding straight into her bloodstream, accelerating her heart. She couldn’t resist leaning toward him. Their eyes locked and Cressa watched his pupils dilate, felt the pull of attraction and danger. Neither of them moved, and the kitchen seemed very still around them. She could hear the faint crackle of the suds in the sink. Adam’s fingers held her wrist as his gaze stayed on her face. His breath hitched, and then very deliberately his long lashes swept slowly, almost reluctantly, down to sever the connection. He dropped her hand and stepped away. His smile was forced as he cleared his throat. “Thanks for helping with the dishes. I’d better get on with stuff.”
He disappeared down the hall. Her heart was still thudding, but the sense of anticlimax was strong.
“Scaredy-cat,” she muttered.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ADAM CLOSED THE DOOR of his room and rested against it, taking a few deep breaths. He’d so nearly lost it back there. Had wanted to press her hard against the wall, to—
He closed his eyes tight against forbidden images. This tumult of emotion wasn’t even about Cressa—well, only some of it was, but then, she’d precipitated the whole wretched mess.
Focus. He rubbed his face with his hands and pulled himself together. He had work to do. He crossed the room, settled down at the scarred desk and opened his books. He picked up a pen, ready to make notes, and stared at the page, but his mind refused to read the words. Instead, he watched as, almost of its own accord, his hand wrote a name. Then added a second name.
Adahy Wilson.
Adam Walker.
As he contemplated them, he realized for the first time where his name had come from. Had Dad known?
“Adahy.” He said the name, quietly. He tried it again. “Adahy Wilson. Good ol’ Adahy.” Hard to imagine now why he hadn’t ever asked his mother for the name before. Yet somehow there’d never been the right time. First Dad had taken off, leaving them to move into a trailer hom
e to pay off his debts, and Mom had turned to drink. Then Adam had had his own marriage and divorce, before the accident that had turned his life both upside down and around. Seemed he always had quite enough on his plate without going off on some identity crisis, too.
Above his father’s name he wrote Terrence Walker, then pondered the names. Adahy the troubadour. What the hell sort of lame job was that? One that didn’t make money, that’s for sure. Couldn’t keep a family, pay for a home. Not that the other man was much better. A rodeo clown! Almost without conscious thought he added to the names:
Terrence Walker: Send in the Clowns.
Adahy Wilson: Lives in the Woods.
Adam Walker/Wilson:?
How many kids had two dads and both of them deadbeats?
Except he didn’t know that Adahy was a deadbeat. The man had never had a chance to prove what sort of parent he would have been. Unlike Adam, who’d blown his only shot at family, at fatherhood. Did Stella ever ask about him? He wished there was some way to tell her he thought about her every single day.
He stared out the window into the blackness of the New Zealand winter night. It was still raining. Then he looked around his room. The hell with study. There was no way he could be cooped up. Not tonight. Not with the enormity of his feelings. He stood up so fast he toppled the chair. After snatching up his jacket, helmet, gloves and keys, he headed down the hall, pulling on his jacket as he went. Cressa was still in the kitchen.
“Adam—” she began.
But he brushed past her and out the door. The rain drummed on his head and he paused, looking up to the sky, letting the raindrops wash over his face. Then he jammed on his helmet, pulled on his gloves and strode across to his bike.
“Adam!”
Cressa was running out the door, helmet bouncing unstrapped on her head as she struggled with the zipper of her red jacket. He mounted the bike and switched on the engine just as she leaped, landing on the pillion behind him. He accelerated away without a word.
He took the driveway too fast and the bike slithered on the wet stones and mud. The unpaved road wasn’t much better, but there was something satisfying in pushing the limits, then wrestling the bike back under his control. The twists and turns absorbed his attention. Rain poured down his visor, blurring the world so that all that remained was the thin beam of light showing only the immediate road ahead. Soon they’d be on an asphalt road, with houses and streetlights and speed limits. He didn’t want any of that, so he swung right, down a track he’d noticed on his daily commute to the location.