'Til Grits Do Us Part (24 page)

I waited until the door closed and Officer Rodunk stood out of earshot. “Did you see that?” I sputtered, waving my arm toward the police station. “They don't believe me!” I kicked the concrete step. “Bunch of rednecks.”

“I know. I'm so sorry.” Adam wrapped his arm around me, and the lines between his eyes turned hard. “That masked guy could have killed you, Shiloh! Do you realize how serious this is?”

“Sure I do! But I've gone to the police, and all I did was make a laughingstock of myself.” I sniffled, so mad I could cry. “What else am I supposed to do?”

“I don't know, but we've got to make some hard decisions. If this mugger is related to whoever's sending you roses, then both of us could be in big trouble. You especially.”

“The skinhead from Winchester used a knife. Maybe it's him.”

“I thought of that.” Adam wrapped his arm tighter around me. “And if you ask me, this mugger didn't match the profile of that Odysseus guy so far—no sneaking around from a distance and sending flowers or e-mails.”

“Besides, why would a stalker want my purse?” I rubbed my arms, feeling chilly.

“We can't know for sure until something more concrete turns up.

But I still think you should play it safe and stay with somebody until all of this blows over. Maybe Faye and Earl. And don't go out running by yourself anymore.”

I hated how pinched my freedom felt suddenly—all on account of a man I didn't even know.

“Faye's already offered their spare room.” I fell into step beside Adam, biting my lip. Resigning myself to the lousy treadmill in Faye's laundry room. “And I might ask the police to run a background check on Clarence Toyer, too—since I've already requested one for Jim Bob Townshend.”

“Who's Clarence?”

“Our mail guy at work. He may have left that note on my car.”

Adam stopped on the sidewalk. “Note? What note?” He spoke so sharply that a passerby on the sidewalk looked up, cell phone to his ear.

“A silly message left under my gas tank flap. I didn't think to tell you, Adam. It just never crossed my mind.”

A flash of anger passed through Adam's eyes, and the set of his jaw hardened. “You should have told me about the note, Shiloh! We're going to be married soon, and I don't want secrets between us.”

“Secrets? You think I'm keeping it a secret?” My nerves had frazzled, and I raised my voice. Tears threatening to spill over.

“No. I'm sorry. I didn't mean that.” Adam rubbed his eyes with his hand and sighed then drew me into a tight embrace. “You've never kept anything from me. But whatever happens to you affects me now, too. I want us to share things. To always be on the same page.”

“Well, I'm trying,” I retorted, wiping at a corner of my eye.

“I know you are.” Adam rested his chin on the top of my head. “It's not your fault. I'm worried about you, is all.”

“I want us to share things,”
Adam had said. He was right; in less than two months we'd share an apartment. A name. A bed, even, its sheets tossed casually across us like a cascade of fallen leaves in the predawn darkness. That hand with the scar across its knuckles entwined in strands of my hair.

Until now it had always been me—alone—on my own. And suddenly I wouldn't be.

My breath snagged in my throat as I looked up at Adam, his eyes glinting back white and copper from the streetlights, like stars. This complex web of accountability took me by surprise—so new and startling and impossibly grown-up—and my knees trembled again.

“We'll get to the bottom of the roses,” I said, finding my voice. “Tammy from Rask hasn't called me back yet, remember? When she does, we might know more. Until then we can't speculate.”

Adam slipped his arm around my waist, and we walked together toward my car. Sitting pale and lonely in the little police station parking lot. He silently unlocked my car door, swinging it open for me. I got in and nodded my thanks, buckling up while he went around to the driver's side.

“In fact, you're the one I'm worried about,” I said as he locked the door and started the engine. “Ray saw
your
face on the letter. Not mine.”

“Nah. I'm sure he's mistaken. I mean, I'm a pretty normal-looking guy. And anybody could have a scar on his chin like he indicated.” Adam flicked on the headlights. “Maybe I'm wrong, but it doesn't scare me. What does scare me, though, is something happening to you.”

We pulled out of the parking lot in silence, and Adam ran his free hand across my cheek as we turned into the street. “How about something to eat before we head back?” He glanced over at me.

“Eat?” His words sounded out of place, like an invitation to a monster truck rally over caviar. I touched the raw line on my throat where the knife had nicked my skin, unable to think of much but shadowy parking lots and ski masks.

“Yeah. I think it'll help you feel better.” He trailed his thumb off my cheek. “You cold? I can go back to my truck and get my jacket.”

“You're right. I guess I should eat something. I didn't have time for dinner.” I perked up slightly. “But I'm not cold. Thanks.”

Adam turned down a side street. “Dairy Queen's over here. We'll be in and out in a few minutes.”

But Adam couldn't have made a worse prediction.

F
or starters, the drunk guy loitering outside the Dairy Queen who gave me a slow once-over and mumbled something about Adam and me being the “perfect couple” didn't help. Nor did his dull, brownish teeth as they curved into a leering grin. Reminding me a little too keenly of Clarence Toyer.

Adam pushed past him with his arm around me, and since the restaurant was closer than the car, grabbed the door handle and pushed me in first.

And as soon as we stepped into the brightly lit, ice-cream-and-french-fry-scented interior, we saw them: teens in tuxedos and frothy turquoise and coral-pink gowns, gathered in noisy clumps at the tables. Packing into overcrowded booths like colorful fish eggs falling off a piece of sushi.

“Prom,” Adam sighed, checking his watch. “Wilson or Waynesboro High. Boy, do we have the worst luck tonight.”

“Prom? In June?”

He shrugged. “It depends on the snow days they have to make up at the end of the year. We had so much snow one year that we didn't finish until nearly July.”

School in July? Ugh. As much as I loved to study, the idea of ratcheting up the air conditioners while the sun beat down outside the algebra classroom windows made me squirm.

“You want to go somewhere else?” Adam leaned down to talk into my ear over the noise.

“No. Here's fine.” I stifled a yawn. “We'll hurry.”

I found a table as far from the mayhem as possible and sat while Adam ordered, watching the couples giggle and holler over one another. Boys with still-pimply foreheads wore black jackets and bow ties, gesturing wildly while they told animated stories, sitting backward on the table. The more fashionable girls ran manicured fingers through unnaturally straightened and highlighted hair, smoothing strapless, silver-sequined gowns; the country girls stood out with their hair-sprayed, curling-iron-styled bangs and simple puffy-sleeved dresses.

One couple, red-faced and laughing, pretended to waltz between the tables to Aerosmith piped through the cratchity overhead radio. A long spiral of overcurled hair dangled down the girl's back.

Adam ducked his head as he walked between them with our tray, his short, sandy hair and simple plaid button-up shirt standing out against the riot of hot pink, yellow, and sea-green satins.

None of the girls giggled or batted their eyes at him. Of course not. He was…well, Adam. Simple and plain, yet I sensed something extraordinary about him—something that made the tense lines in my face relax. He struck me as country but not redneck; just a strand of dusty barbed wire away from preppy.

And a thousand cow pastures removed from anyone I'd ever imagined for myself until this year.

“Did you go to prom, Adam?” I asked as he set down our tray.

He slid into the booth across from me and leaned closer to hear. “Me? Yeah.” He put my straw in my Coke for me, scratching the back of his neck like he felt uncomfortable.

“Really?” I wrinkled my nose, having a hard time imagining Adam in a tux with a girl. “With who?”

“Guess.” He rolled his eyes.

“Eliza Harrison,” I teased. “Your old flame.”

“You mean my parents' old flame. And yes, that's who.”

“Right.” I snitched a french fry. “I guess you've disappointed them then.”

A brief stab of pain darted through Adam's eyes, and I immediately wished I could take back my words. “No,” he said, brow creasing in a slight frown. “They wanted me to be happy. But they didn't know me as well as they thought. I've always wanted more than a girl who thinks marrying and having children is her whole life—with no other goals or thoughts whatsoever. Except maybe crocheting doilies.”

I laughed into my paper cup of Coke and pulled the straw out of my mouth.

“Don't get me wrong. Family and children are important. Really important. But what if we can't have children? Does anybody ever think of that?” Adam pulled his straw out of the paper and stuffed it in his drink. “And what about life outside of changing diapers and mashing potatoes? I don't want stupid kids, Shiloh. I think both of us should be well-rounded people so our family can be well-rounded, too.”

“Well said.” I tapped my cup to his. “The mashed potatoes I've made were pretty bad, by the way.”

“That's okay. Mine aren't any better.” Adam smiled.

I didn't speak for a minute, smoothing the flimsy plastic lid on my cup. “So you want kids?” I braced myself for his response, which I pretty much already knew.

“Sure I do.” Adam's eyes softened. “Kids are amazing. They're…well, I can't even describe it. Like my brother Todd. I love him.” He looked away with a distant smile. “I think I've always wanted kids ever since Mom and Dad brought Todd home from the hospital. I wasn't even a teenager yet. I loved looking after somebody smaller than me. Teaching him how to ride a bike and do math problems.”

I pictured Adam laying a squirming baby on the changing table. Awkwardly trying to fasten a diaper. Bouncing a ball or pushing Todd on a tricycle.

“I'd like to have kids, too, I guess.” I poked at my fries. “But what if I don't feel that way as much as you do?”

One of the waltz-dancers crashed into our table, nearly overturning Adam's Dr Pepper. They gasped apologies, covering their giggly mouths in horror. He nodded tersely. I, not so inclined to polite niceties, shot them a cold look through narrowed eyes.

“So?” I turned back to Adam. “Did you hear my question?”

“I heard you.” Adam set his cup upright and took a long drink then set it down and leaned his face close to mine. “I'm not marrying you for the kids you'll give me, Shiloh,” he said in almost a whisper, his breath tickling the tendrils around my ear. “I'm marrying you for
you
. God knows what's best for us.”

Unexpected tears sprang into my eyes, and I felt my heart throb and bounce in my chest like air turbulence on a plane. A startling shiver that began cold and spread out through my veins. I looked down, the tray suddenly turning watery. “You're sure about that?”

“Very sure.” Adam's eyes were so close I could see their grayish irises. The short brown lashes that framed them, not quite black.

“Then why haven't you kissed me yet?” My voice came out in a quivery whisper. Surprising me as much as it appeared to surprise Adam.

“Huh?” He drew back, startled, and knocked his hand against the table. He rubbed at it, wincing.

“You haven't kissed me,” I said, my eyes bouncing from my tray to his face and back again. “Not even on the day we got engaged. Just on the cheek. Not that I mind. Exactly.” My hands shook again, and I fumbled with my straw paper, twisting it. “But…I don't understand.”

“I know. I'm sorry.” He glanced at my mouth with a look that struck me as almost hungry, his pupils widening slightly. Drawing a single finger across my lips in a tingling line. I still felt it after he brushed my hair behind my shoulder and chastely folded his hands on the table. “Don't think I haven't wanted to. A lot.” He fumbled with his napkin, those blunt nails of his clipped super short as if he'd cut into flesh.

“Then why?”

He swallowed, the lines in his throat bobbing. “I just can't yet. I want to wait a little longer. For me. For you. For us.”

“Wait?” My mouth fell open.

“Yeah.” He blinked faster, looking away.

“What if I don't want to wait? Did you ever think of that?” My voice cut, cold and hard. I reached out quickly and took his hand, trying to soften my words. “I'm sorry. But I don't…understand you sometimes. I mean, it's just a kiss.”

“I know.” Adam blew out his breath. “But that's it precisely. It's not ‘just a kiss.' At least I don't want it to be. It's meant to lead somewhere, Shiloh.” His eyes searched mine. “And I'm not ready to go there yet.”

My anger flared suddenly, and I felt heat rush to my face. My pulse roared in my ear. “Are you saying that because I've had boyfriends and fiancés before—more than you have—that I…that I'm dangerous? That I'm trying to push you somewhere you don't want to go?”

I half stood in my seat, fingers cold and quaking. A sudden nausea swirled in my stomach, like the first time I'd seen the truck blasting country music across the street from Mom's house. Me, fresh off the plane from Japan and horrified at the idea of being stuck in a small, run-down country town like Staunton.

Everyone around here was completely insane. Nuts! All of them! Clarence, the mugger, the drunk outside the Dairy Queen, and Adam J. Carter. And maybe me, too.