Trouble Won't Wait (30 page)

Did he accidentally fall in love with me too, even though he had someone else? Was he fighting it as hard as I was? God knows, I practically threw myself at him. Showing up there every day, calling at bedtime and keeping him on the line late, even when he had to be up early to work.

Maybe he was afraid if he told me about Laura, I’d give in and take Mike back. Adam knew me well enough to know I’d never be happy with Mike again. I could settle and live with him, but I’d never be truly happy.

I want to hear Adam’s voice so bad. I’m done pacing now, flopped across the recliner. I dial his number, and he picks up after only one ring.

Anxious to hear from me. His “Hello?” is worried and relieved. His voice is knives of pain slicing my insides. Why did I think I wanted to hear it? I can feel actual, physical pain, clear down to my hands.

“Mandy?” He pauses, listening to see if I’m here.

I’m not really breathing; it hurts too much. Maybe one of my lungs was punctured by a shard of my heart.

“Dammit, I know it’s you, Mandy. Finally. What the hell happened?” His voice gets rougher. He’s angry, but there’s more. He
did
love me! God, this hurts worse. It means it was a forbidden love that hurt him too.

“Why did you come here Christmas Eve and then take off like that? Did you take him back? You took him back. Dammit, just tell me!”

I’m crying now, and I think I’ll be making noises soon, so I push the End button, and curl up in a fetal position while what’s left of my heart spills out of my eyes.

Chapter 18

I feel like I slept with a couch pillow in my mouth. And I’m as dizzy as I was when I had a killer inner-ear and sinus infection. Throwing up would be welcome this morning. I need to rid my body of the toxins I poured into it last night. Vaguely, I consider going for the tomato juice, but doubt I’d make it that far. Better stay in my nest on the sofa and waste away under the blankets. Mike will discover my lifeless body later, when he comes back for his work boots I know he left in the front closet.

Somebody is ringing my doorbell. I’ve been trying to ignore it for some time, but it’s killing my head and making me more nauseated. All I want is to stay in here with my head under the covers and wait for the end.

What’s that high-pitched warbling? Aunt Clara. Jesus, what is she doing here? It’s Sunday. Why can’t she be in church like all the other old bats? With comforter trailing from my wretched shoulders, I open the door.

She waves to Fastlane Franklin, and his poop-brown Cadillac lurches away.

I wish she hadn’t done that. Is she planning to stay?

“Amanda, drink your tomata juice and get dressed. I wanta go to Subsandwich.”

I look at the wall clock, see it’s eleven, and moan. I can’t face the smells of baking bread and garlic right now. Ugh. “I’m sick, Aunt Clara. I’ll call Mark and he can run you down there.”

“Nope. You’re gonna leave this house today.”

“I’ve
been
leaving this house. You people won’t leave me alone!”

She gives me the look Moses must’ve given his subordinates when he presented the Ten Commandments.
Here are the rules, and you will follow them
.

I shuffle obediently to the kitchen for a V-8.

When I’ve showered and dressed and we’re en route to Subway, Aunt Clara tells me, “I’m gonna help ya get That Adam.”

Is she suggesting revenge, or acquiring him for my own?

“Please don’t.” Either way, please don’t.

Unfortunately, old ladies and men are a lot alike. They get an idea in their head, and that’s all they think of until it’s done. Maybe it’s because they’re conscious of the limited time they have left on Earth, but when old women have a mission, they don’t mess around. Clara hammers me throughout our meal, and finally gets every last detail out of me regarding Adam and Laura. She thinks I’m a fool, and tells me so.

I don’t spare her any worry when I openly clench my poor aching abdomen and rush off to the restroom to be sick.

* * * *

Maybe it helped to get the alcohol out of my system, because after I drop Clara’s tiny bothersome tail off at her apartment, my hangover is receding.

I decide to go for a walk. With several layers piled on to protect myself from the biting cold, I start moving. No wonder I’ve been feeling so morose. I haven’t run since last Monday. Like I fell off the fitness wagon, just because of a little disappointment.

Make that a big one
.

After warming up, I take off running, and feel better than I have in days. Since Christmas Eve. Maybe I’ll just run and run until it’s dark out. The cold air hurts my teeth as I suck it in, and my nose hairs harbor ice crystals, but it’s invigorating in its own right.

So here I am. Single, I guess. Mike would take me back, I know he would, but I don’t see it as a viable option. At least Mike and I get along, so the kids won’t suffer too much. I’ll have time to myself now and then, more than I do now, when they go to their dad’s.

I can date if I want. Six weeks ago, I never would have imagined so many men would be interested in me. It feels good to know I’m still attractive, but I think I’ll lay low for a while, take a break from men.

I need to finish my manuscript anyway.

It will suck getting over Adam. The idea of getting up every morning and living a whole day, knowing I won’t see him…well, it’s nothing to look forward to. Pretty goddamn bleak, to be honest. But what else can I do? I
have
to do it. It’s like they say:
Getting old sure beats the alternative
. I’m in pretty much the same fix.

I’m almost halfway around the loop when my phone rings. It’s Ben, so I slow to a walk in order to talk. He’s happy to hear I’m out walking, always worried about me. He asks me again about going on a date with Adam, this time for New Year’s. I’m gonna have to burst the kid’s bubble, so he’ll quit crucifying me with this.

“Ben, don’t you remember the pretty lady? A guy with a girlfriend that pretty doesn’t need a date on New Year’s.”

“Aww, Mom. That wasn’t his girlfriend! She was married.” See, Mark was wrong! The small triumph over his wrongness is immediately negated by the sting of Adam being married.

“His wife, then.”

“She’s not
his
wife. Her husband was there, too. Why would I set you up with a married guy?”

Oh. Her husband… Who the hell was she?

“Mom? Are you there?”

Yeah, I’m here. Clutching somebody’s mailbox, trying to figure out which way is up.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Bye, Mom. Call him, okay?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

* * * *

I start running again. My brain needs oxygen. I think I’ve made a big mistake. Who is Laura? Why does Adam love her? Was Laura at his house with her husband? What the hell?

My damn phone is ringing. Must be Ben again. I answer without looking at the display. “What is it, honey?”

“And just who the hell is ‘honey’ now?” Adam demands.

The sound of his voice sends me to my knees on the side of the road. I’m hurt, angry, and completely off-guard. No sense of reason in sight.

Anger takes the helm. “That would be my son, one of a small handful of men in this world who haven’t fucked me over.”

“Nice language. Very attractive.”

Like I need to be judged by him! “Go to hell, Adam.”

“Thanks, but I’ve already been there plenty on your account.”

“Yeah, like you’re the one who got burned.”

“I don’t even
know
where that’s coming from. Mind telling me why I have a check in the mail from you for seven hundred and fifty dollars?” So, he finally looked at his mail.

“Did you not read the note? I know that treadmill is worth a mint, barely used, and I can’t return it without breaking Ben’s heart.” I’ve resumed walking. The momentum of my provoked stride keeps me from collapsing under the pain of talking to Adam. “He said to tell you thanks for giving them their money back, by the way. If I need to give you more for it, I will. Just let me know how much you think is fair–”

“Fair? You wanta talk fair? How fair is it to just walk out of my life with no explanation whatsoever? Goddammit, Mandy. You have no idea–”

“Yeah, I have no idea. A name, but not an idea. Wanta clue me in, Adam? Who’s Laura?”

He sucks in a breath. “Laura.” A long pause after he chokes the name out, barely loud enough to hear. “When did you hear about her?”

I laugh, deranged, hysterical. Awfully close to crying, actually. Maybe already am. “When you were delirious with fever, you son of a bitch, that’s when! I’ve been waiting and waiting for you to tell me about her, and then there she was on Christmas Eve.”

“Huh? Where? She was where? Never mind, where are
you
?”

“I’m out walking. And yeah, the roads are slick, but you know, I really don’t care right now, okay? If I get wiped out, it’s meant to be.” I push the End button. Good. I let him have it and he knows why I haven’t been returning his calls.

I start running, and get into my rhythm, when I remember what Ben told me.
Her husband was there
.

Adam is pulling up next to me in his cool Jag. I keep on running, but it’s hard now. I have to tell each leg to go, go, go. My whole being thinks of him, in that car. My nerves scream, telling me to stop, let him touch me again.

Adam veers the car ahead of me. And stops. When he gets out, I can tell he’s mad. Very mad. “Get in the goddamn car.”

I don’t like his tone, so I try to step around him. He grabs me, holding me close enough to see very recent tears on his cheeks. I nod my begrudged assent to get in with him, but cross my arms in defiance as he drives us back to his house. I don’t like being ordered around, not one bit.

When he parks in the garage, he indicates the glove box, and tells me, “Go ahead and look in there.”

Registration, proof of insurance, a roadside flare, and a photo wallet, like men stuff in their bi-folds. This one is very used, the plastic sleeves scuffed. The thing falls open in my hands, to a picture of the woman who was in Adam’s doorway. She’s a couple years younger in the photo, but it’s her. Perfect bone structure, that one. She could be a model. He’s known her awhile, I guess. I snap the wallet shut and turn to the front picture. Usually the most important pictures are the ones in front.

The little boy, the sculpture. He’s about eighteen months old, a studio portrait. Now there’s no doubt in my mind he’s Adam’s kid. Especially with tears leaking down Adam’s face next to me. He must miss him a lot. I wonder where he lives, and if Adam gets visitation.

“How old is he now?”

Adam’s eyes grow wide, and he shakes his head no, whatever that means. Can’t mean he doesn’t know. You never forget how old your kids are, even if you’re the dad, right?

“Stevie?” I ask.

Adam looks surprised, then nods. Okay, so far we’re into
more
mystery, not clearing any of it up.

The next photo is…my long-lost twin? It could be me, except I’ve never had my hair quite that blond, and hers may be thinner. Her eyes are blue, like mine, but closer to green. On closer inspection, I think she’s prettier than I am, more delicate, with a gentle look about her.

I’m pretty creeped out, and clench the photos a little tighter in my hands. He’s not getting out of talking now. I won’t
budge
from this spot until he talks. My eyebrows raise in both question and warning.

Adam clears his throat and croaks, “Laura.” Which explains why he mistook me for her when he was delirious. He loves her. But didn’t he say…what did he say when he was delirious?
Thought you died, but you’re here
.

I’m waiting, waiting, for him to go on. It’s hard for him, but I can’t really say the words for him, now can I?

“My wife.”

“Ms. Old Money?” No, she had some cutesy name, didn’t she?

“No. Tiffany was my first wife.”

“How many have there
been
?” Okay, that was catty, but this is important. Couldn’t he have just
told
me before?

Adam looks pained, and a bit cross. “Two. First I was divorced, then I got remarried.”

“But not divorced again?” It sounds condemning. I know. I fell in love while I was still married, too. And he hasn’t been with her for two years, but come on. Get a divorce, move on.

“She died, Mandy.” Palpable anguish in his voice tears my heart into even smaller pieces.

“Oh.” Dare I ask how? “Two years ago?”

He’s nodding. “Where’s Stevie?”

Adam’s ravaged face tells me Stevie is no longer with us, either.

“Oh.” Hot tears burn down my cheeks.

His pain is tangible, like a solid substance in the air around us.

“Adam. Why didn’t you
tell
me? I’ve been dying, wondering who she was. Why the secret?”

Now he looks provoked again, defensive. “A guy approaches you in the cemetery and confesses to watching you run every day. He knows where you live too, because he followed you home once. You hit it off, and start falling for him, then he shows you a picture of his dead wife, who looks just like you. Think you’re not gonna be freaked out? You’ll run scared, thinking he’s a psycho, or at least very screwed up.”