Authors: Ever McCormick
"I know, and I'm sorry. I wish I could take it back. Like I said, biggest mistake of my life."
We just breathed on the line for a while longer. I hoped one day I could be around him without this big wave of hate mixed with another feeling
—a longing. It made it impossible to relax around him.
"I better go," I said. "I don't want to use all of his minutes." The car in front of me roared to life suddenly. I saw the driver hold her hand out the window in a thumbs up while the child in the backseat flung her arms around in celebration.
"His? Who's phone are you using?" Michael asked.
"A friend's. I lost mine."
He waited for me to elaborate, but I refused.
"Do you still think about me, Ina?"
"Of course."
"Do you still love me?"
I sighed. "I don't know. Maybe. No. Yes."
"Don't let me be sullied, okay?"
I couldn't answer. I closed my eyes again and took a deep breath. I had to keep it together.
"I know I screwed up, but what we had was better than good. It was perfect, and I know that you deserved much better than what I did to you." His voice cracked. "I'm sorry, Ina. I'm so sorry." His tears came without hesitation now, and I had a hard time staying mad at him. I kept picturing the poster with my stolen words on it, but hearing his sobs, I knew that my Michael was in there somewhere, and he was hurting.
He was at a crossroads, too, but he was choosing all the wrong steps along the way.
"Thank you, Michael. Tha
t means a lot." I opened my eyes. Adam was still standing next to the car ahead of me, speaking to the woman. Then he stood back and the car pulled out onto the highway, spitting out gravel. The woman waved out her window.
"I have to go. Goodbye." I clicked the phone shut.
I stared at the phone wondering if that had helped at all. All this time, I had thought Michael had no remorse at all. He'd just gone on as if our time together hadn't mattered to him. When I saw the poster, the feeling in me wasn't just anger that my ideas had been stolen. It was anger that I had meant so little to someone who had meant so much to me. But the sound of his voice during our conversation told me that wasn't the case at all. He did miss me. He was sorry for what he had done. I felt so confused.
The tears I'd been holding back began to stream out and down my face. Adam pulled open the passenger door with a loud squeak and pulled me close to him. He hugged me so tight. I figured he wanted me to stop crying. Some guys cannot stand the sight or sound of a woman crying. But I didn't stop. I cried for an awfully long time and he just held me and didn't say a word.
The sounds of the cars behind us crisscrossing in the night were like a lullaby. They made me feel like I had finally gotten off the merry-go-round of life for a second and we were hiding over here in the dark, listening to it spin on without us. It was over there, whooshing by, while I hid in a safe pocket on the side of this random route in the arms of Adam.
*
After a while, we got on the road again. He didn't ask why I'd been crying, so I didn't tell him. The phone call had given me a new not-so negative perspective on Michael. That complicated things. I suddenly had a secret from Adam, and that felt odd.
Adam
had slipped in a CD of mellow guitar music and guys singing out poetic heartfelt verses. It was bluegrassy and folksy. Fresh air blew into our open windows and around the cab of the truck.
Despite the fact that I had finally talked to Michael and instead of getting closure, I might have reopened the wounds of my broken heart, I felt sort of good. I mean, the air, the music
—I was having one of those perfect moments when even though so much is screwed up, right then I felt safe.
"This is me," he said. I looked over and watched his face, trying to figure out what he meant. "This is me and a few guys in college. We started a band together, played some gigs all through school and moved apart when we graduated." He kept his eyes on me, waiting for a reaction.
“Is there anything you don’t do?”
He laughed, easy and free. He was so happy. A weight had been lifted. “I’ve filled up the big empty with everything I could find.”
"You're pretty good," I complimented him. I could hear a familiar twang in the singer's voice now. "You were the lead singer?"
"I was on guitar. We took turns being the lead singer." He smiled as I felt my lips turn up at the edges.
"Why am I just hearing this now?"
He shrugged and returned his gaze to the road. "I don't go around telling people things. It was just something I did in college. Sometimes when I put this old CD into the radio and listen,
though, it's like I have to remind myself it was me. It feels like a totally different life I lived a hundred years ago, but it's not. It's me."
"D
o you think I'm a different me now than the me I was when I was with Michael?"
He shrugged again. "I barely know who I am. I don't presume to know who anyone else is.
I think we are always changing, and it’s like—well, it’s like finding an old favorite t-shirt in an old suitcase. You know, you haven’t seen it in years, so you put it on. Even though you feel like the same person, and you remember how comfortable that old tee was on you a few years ago, the shirt’s tight now, and ripped. It rides up in the back and shows the top of your ass. It just doesn’t fit anymore no matter how much you want it to."
I laughed, but it was a sad laugh.
Other than that, we didn't talk much on the ride home. I stared out the window for long periods of time. The CD played through its entirety twice and neither of us moved to change it. I enjoyed it just for the music, but I also loved hearing this other Adam that was different from the Adam I knew. He sounded innocent, wide-eyed, optimistic.
At one point a voice I knew was Adam's had a solo where all of the music stopped and he sang just four lines. His voice was steady and strong, but a little scratchy. I looked over at him the second time we heard that song, and when the solo came on, he mouthed those words perfectly in time with his voice from the past.
He looked at me when the words finished. He reached over into my lap and grabbed my hand and he squeezed it. Then he held my glance for a bit longer than I expected and he let my eyes and my hand go. That was the only time he touched me on the ride. The next time he touched me was in the cabin, and that touch in the cabin is when things started feeling out of my control.
15
When Adam's truck turned onto the d
ark mountain road, I leaned out my open window and inhaled a deep breath so the familiar air could calm my nerves.
We moved slowly down the long dirt road, and I stretched out my legs and back and gathered my things from around the truck. I noticed Adam was driving to my cabin instead of his. I don't know why I expected him to take me to his cabin, but I had, and now I felt panicked as he continued to head toward mine.
So much had happened tonight and the idea of being alone with my own thoughts, with no reality shows or Internet gossip to drown them out, scared the hell out of me.
Even though we'd spoken only a few words to each other during the trip back, I'd really enjoyed his company.
The thought of being without it scared me. I cleared my throat and looked over at Adam. He appeared deep in thought.
"Adam?"
He turned to me. "Yes?"
"Can we go to your place? Do you want to have coffee or something?"
He didn't answer at first. He seemed to be thinking about what I was asking, whether I was asking for coffee or
coffee.
Maybe I was asking for
coffee
. I was open to the option at least. Maybe. Possibly. Maybe not. I don’t know. I just didn’t want to be alone.
"Sure," he
said. He turned up ahead onto a small overgrown dirt road with two tire tracks worn down it and grass growing in the middle. I could tell this road didn't get used much. We emerged from the trees in the small clearing in front of his cabin.
I gathered up all of my things and by the time I was ready to get out, he was opening the truck door for me and helping me down. I looked down at my dress and made a face. I'd have to pack it away and it suddenly felt like a too extravagant purchase. Even though I didn't even know its cost, I
was sure it was expensive. The whole experience—the surreal dinner, the walk through the town, the poster, the phone call—all seemed like part of a dream. Now that I was here on the mountain, I was waking up. I wished the Michael fiasco were a dream. Just the thought of it was making me irate again.
"How much did the dress cost?" I asked.
"I don't know," he answered.
"What?"
"Didn't even look, but I know it was worth it. Only dinner out I've had in three years. I think it's fair to splurge." He gave me a conspiratorial look, and I grinned.
"Well, thank you."
"You're welcome, and anyway, I think that dress was made for you." He ran a finger across the top of it, skimming my breasts so lightly, I sucked in my breath. His voice dropped lower. “I feel as if I reunited that dress with its rightful body.”
Adam took the bags from me and walked up to his porch, taking out his keys. The porch creaked. An owl hooted, and I moved closer to Adam, grabbing his arm and holding it tight. I was suddenly freezing.
"Still not used to the dark out here?"
Instead of answering, I leaned into him and breathed him in. I pictured him pulling the beautiful dress over my head and dropping it on the floor of his bedroom.
I wanted him, and the night had made me want him more. On one hand, that was because we fit so well, and the night had been easy and fun and breathtaking. On the other hand, it was because the Michael pain was creeping back into my heart, and I wanted to dull it.
It was not my style to sleep around. I'd even made Michael wait more than six months, which was unheard of at college. Another disturbing thought followed after that one. Maybe Michael hadn't waited at all. Maybe while I'd assumed he'd been waiting for me, he was biding his time with other women.
Adam held the door open for me. I passed him and walked over to the counter. I sighed. I needed to feel better and maybe I needed to do something unlike what I was used to if I wanted to force myself to feel something other than total heartbreak and devastation.
Adam took a bottle of wine from the pantry and flipped a switch to turn
on the radio. Another oldie, familiar and romantic, filled the room. I took two glasses from a cabinet and set them on the island. He smiled, seemingly happy that I knew my way around his kitchen. I smiled, too. It felt like we were moving in time to the music. Like even gathering supplies for a drink could be a dance if you had the right people and the right music.
He poured us each a glass and we took the first few sips without speaking. I leaned my elbows on the island and rested my weight on the counter. When I looked over to Adam, I caught his eyes zooming back up to my face and
I remembered the lower than usual cut top on this dress. I'd basically put my cleavage on display.
I stood up and downed an extra large gulp of wine, not taking my eyes from his. He'd taken
off his jacket and now he was wearing only the white shirt with the first few buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up. His hands had some grease streaks on them, probably left over from helping the stranded motorist. His face was almost foreign with the beard gone, and I studied him without feeling subconscious about it. His pale eyes studied me, too, and I kept returning my gaze to them because they were the only familiar part of him left. Now that the beard was gone, I realized how attractive he truly was. Had we met on a street in NYC, I would have averted my eyes because the truth was he was so hot and attractive he was out of my league.
But we didn’t meet that way. I knew the truth about Adam. I knew the substance beneath the show.
I walked around the island until I was standing in front of him. I put my wine glass on the island and he downed the rest of his and placed his empty glass next to mine.
"Adam—" I swallowed the fear. "I want you to kiss me."
I'm not sure what I expected, but I suppose it was hesitation because when he swept his large hand behind my neck and pulled my face close to his, I lost my breath
from surprise. He tilted my head in the direction he wanted it and then stared deeply into my eyes for what seemed like a long tense moment before diving in. It was slow and deliberate, but I sensed he was intentionally holding back. He was pacing himself.
He moved
his soft, strong lips against mine and gave me the sweetest, hungriest kiss of my life. His other arm slid around my waist as we both became engrossed, tangled. I'd never felt so fully enveloped by a kiss, like I was swimming underwater and I didn't know which way was up. I breathed him in, letting myself drown.
He lifted my body and sa
t me on the counter, then moved between my legs and pulled away, resting his forehead on mine.