Bittersweet (13 page)

She
woke up an hour later with a bone-dry mouth and a pounding headache.

With
a groan, she stretched out her legs and then very slowly sat up.

“It
will help if you drink some water,” Adam said, his voice startling her so much
she jerked painfully.

She
managed to turn her head and saw him sitting in the leather chair.

“I
didn’t think you’d still be here,” she croaked, taking the water he offered her
and sipping it slowly. “What time is it?”

“It’s
after three. But I thought I might stay to make sure you and Logan were all
right.”

Zoe
closed her eyes and groaned again, starting to remember the events of the
evening. “Oh, Adam. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t
be. You had a little too much to drink. I do too, occasionally.”

She
felt horrible, and she wanted to berate herself for acting so foolishly when
little Logan was relying on her to be a good mother. Then she cringed in
mortification as she remember how she’d acted earlier, trying to dance, saying
ridiculous things, and then—she recalled with a hot flash of
humiliation—groping and rubbing up against Adam. “Oh no.” She bent her head and
covered her eyes.

“Don’t
worry about it,” he said mildly. “There’s no use taking anything you might have
said or done earlier seriously.”

Zoe
opened her mouth and tried to apologize again, tried to explain…anything, but Adam
cut her off. “You need to get to bed. We can talk later if you want. But, as
far as I’m concerned, it’s forgotten.”

She
just wasn’t up to thinking this through, although she greatly appreciated his
understanding. So she managed to stand up and hold her water at the same time.
“I’ll go to bed,” she said. “But I’m so sorry, Adam. I should have done
better.”

She
should have done better about a lot of things. With her head pounding and her
body weak, she couldn’t help but feel like a huge failure as a mother, a wife,
and a friend.

“Don’t
be ridiculous, Zoe,” Adam said as he helped her toward the bedroom. His voice
was bland, nothing significant or dramatic in his tone. “I can’t imagine anyone
dealing with all of this better than you.”

Zoe was starting
to get worried.

She
woke up on Sunday morning feeling heavy, headachy, and mortified. Logan was
still sleeping, so she took advantage of the rare opportunity to take a long
shower, during which she gave herself a long talking-to.

When
she thought about her drunken performance the night before, she wanted to crawl
under her bed and never come out, but it would be ridiculous to beat herself up
about it. She’d always hated feeling like a fool, but Adam was the only other
person who’d witnessed it. And he’d been very calm, kind, and understanding
about the whole thing.

Zoe
just wasn’t willing to let this get in the way of her friendship with him.

So,
when she’d finished her shower and drank a cup of coffee in her robe and wet
hair, she felt better. She was a grown-up. Everyone acted like a fool
occasionally, and she knew far too well that there were much more serious
things to get upset about than simply embarrassing herself while intoxicated.

When
Logan woke up, she got him ready and then met a friend for a late breakfast. She
then decided it was late enough to call Adam. He didn’t pick up, but she left
him a friendly message, thanking him for being so great the previous night and
asking him to give her a call when he got the chance.

She
spent a good part of the day at the zoo with her friend, her friend’s toddler,
and Logan. Then they all went for an early dinner.

It
had been a good day, Zoe decided as she and Logan headed back home around
seven. But she was starting to worry a little that Adam still hadn’t called her
back.

She
called him again and, after his voice mail picked up, she said, “Hey, just me
again. Checking in. Hope you’ve had a good day. Call me when you can.”

She
was pleased that her voice sounded light and natural, but her belly was
churning with anxiety. Adam always called her back. Usually within the hour.
And it had been more than eight hours since she’d left her first message.

Thinking
it through, she decided he could be wrapped up in some sort of business crisis.
Sometimes they happened on Sundays. Or—and this thought came with a rush of
relief—he might have gone sailing for the day and not be checking his phone.

She
felt a lot better once she’d realized that possibility, so she played with
Logan and put him to bed without too much brooding. She only had a week left
before she started her new job, and she took some time after Logan went to
sleep to figure out how she’d like to use her last week of freedom.

But
as the evening went on and Adam still didn’t return her call, her worry started
to grow again.  She tried to read but kept getting distracted by imagining
various reasons why Adam wouldn’t have yet called.

By
ten at night, she was running out of excuses for him. The most likely scenario
was that he’d gotten her messages but had chosen not to call back.

Maybe
he was feeling awkward over her behavior the night before. He’d seemed fine
with it at the time, but maybe things felt more awkward for him today. She was
his cousin’s wife, and she’d been coming onto him like a tramp. Maybe he was
mortified. Maybe he was appalled.

Maybe
he was afraid she was nursing inappropriate feelings for him.

Zoe
did her best not to overreact. She’d try again tomorrow, and they’d be able to
work it out as they always had. She was able to get to sleep around midnight.

When
she woke up the next morning, she checked her phone. No messages from Adam.

Her
gut dropped heavily. Something was definitely wrong.

Instead
of calling again, she texted him.
Is everything all right?

No
reply came within five minutes of sending the text, so Zoe got up, showered and
dressed, and then got Logan up. She took him for a walk. Did some errands. Then
took him to a park he liked to play in.

By
lunchtime, there was still no word from Adam. Her imagination was now working
overtime. She stopped worrying that he was pulling back because of what
happened and started visualizing his having been in a car accident or attacked
by a crazed mugger. What if he was hurt? In the hospital? Dead?

So,
on the verge of panic, she texted him again.
Adam, please. I’m getting
worried
.

Ten
minutes later, she finally got a text back.
I’m fine. Talk later.

Zoe
stared at the screen of her smart phone, her eyes blurring with a flood of
immense relief, frustration, concern, mortification, and annoyance.

At
least he was alive, but why was he acting this way? Yes, Saturday night’s debacle
was entirely her fault, but she’d apologized. Adam had said it was entirely forgotten,
and yet he was clearly now trying to shut her out.

She’d
been sitting on the couch while Logan played on the floor with his big plastic
dump trucks. Suddenly propelled into action, Zoe stood up. “Do you want to go
see Uncle Adam, Logan?”

“Cla
Lala?” Logan asked, beaming up at her with a dump truck on his lap. He babbled
out some more sounds, the only recognizable word being “Tuks.”

“I
know you were playing with your trucks, but we’re going to see Uncle Lala now.
Then you can play with your trucks some more.”

Logan
thought about this with impressive sobriety and finally heaved himself up onto
his feet.

Zoe
and Logan took a cab over to Adam’s office building. The security guards knew
her and let her onto the elevator with a friendly greeting. When she got off on
the top floor, carrying Logan, she headed to his reception area.

The
woman gave her a warm smile.

“Can
I see him?” Zoe asked, looking over at Adam’s closed office door.

“I’m
sorry, Mrs. Peterson. He’s not here.”

Zoe
frowned. Maybe she’d overreacted like a fool after all, and he really was
completely wrapped up in work. “Oh. Is he at a meeting or something? When will
he be back?”

“I
don’t know. He didn’t come in today at all. He just left me a message and said
to cancel all his appointments.”

The
heavy feeling in Zoe’s belly twisted anxiously. “Is he all right? Is he sick?”

“I
don’t know.” The receptionist’s face reflected worry as well. “It’s really
unlike him. I would have thought maybe you would know. But since you don’t
either…” Her voice trailed off.

“Do
you think he’s at home?”

The
receptionist gave a graceful shrug. “Maybe.”

“I’m
going to head over there and see if I can figure out what’s going on. I’ll let
you know if something’s wrong.”

The
receptionist thanked her, and Zoe took Logan back down. Then she took a cab
over to Adam’s place. He lived in the penthouse apartment of a historic downtown
building—a property that had been in his family for over eighty years. She’d
never been over to his place before. He’d never actually invited her.

She
was stopped, of course, by the doorman who called up before letting her through
to the elevator.

After
a brief conversation on the phone, the doorman said, “He says for you to go
home.”

Zoe
gasped in outrage. “You tell him that I’m not going home until I know what’s
going on. Logan and I are going to camp out here in the lobby, and—if you throw
us out of the building—we’re going to camp out on the sidewalk until he lets us
up. You tell him that.”

The
doorman reported her response, almost word for word. After a pause during which
Adam must have given instructions, the doorman said, “He says you can come up,
but he doesn’t sound happy about it.”

Zoe
was pretty sure the last comment hadn’t been part of Adam’s instructions to the
man. But Zoe didn’t care if Adam was happy about her arrival or not. Something
was obviously wrong, and she wasn’t going to let him shut her out, any more
than he’d let her shut him out a few months ago.

Her
heart was beating very quickly as she went up the elevator and was let into the
entry hall by a man she didn’t know.

The
apartment was gorgeous, of course, featuring historic oil paintings, aged Asian
rugs, and solid, masculine antique furniture.

Logan
was getting heavy, so she put him down in the hallway. She grabbed his hand before
he could start running, since the ancient pottery on the entry table probably
cost more than a year’s wages at her new job.

“We’re
here to see Adam,” Zoe announced, somewhat unnecessarily, to the quiet
gentleman who’d let her in.

“Yes,
ma’am.”

“I’m
sorry.  I don’t know who you are.”

“I’m
Carson. I work for Mr. Peterson.”

“Oh.
I didn’t realize he had any staff.” She’d never asked, of course, and he’d
never mentioned it. She’d never envisioned Adam as having full-time domestic
staff.

“I
worked for his grandfather for many years before he died. Mr. Peterson was kind
enough to keep me on.”

That
sounded exactly like Adam.

 “It’s
nice to meet you. I’m Zoe Peterson. This is my son, Logan.”

“I
know, ma’am. It’s very nice to finally meet you too. If you’ll come this way.”

“Is
he all right?” she asked, holding Logan up by the arm when he stumbled.

“I’ll
let you see for yourself, ma’am.”

Zoe
didn’t find the discreet words at all promising, and she grew increasingly
nervous as she followed Carson down a long hall.

He
showed her into a large, darkened room that was set up as a den or office.
There was a large desk in one corner, bookcases lining the walls, a couple of
wingback chairs in a seating group near the windows, and a large leather sofa
along the wall—on which Adam was lying flat out.

Zoe
jerked to a stop. He wore a black t-shirt, sweat pants, and socks but no shoes.
His face was too pale, and he appeared to be perspiring, although the light in
the room was too dim to see clearly.

But
she could definitely see his expression. He wasn’t happy to see her.

“Lala!”
Logan cried happily, starting to run over to the sofa. Zoe caught him before he
could barrel into Adam.

“Are
you all right?” she asked, studying him anxiously and keeping her hands on her
son’s shoulders. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing
is going on,” Adam gritted out, his voice textured with obvious annoyance. “I
told you to go home.”

“I
was worried about you. Now tell me what’s going on!”

“My
back went out.”

Her
lips parted. “What?”

“My
back went out. So I’m stuck here for the time being.”

For
a moment, the wave of comprehension and relief that washed over Zoe almost
pushed her into giggling. It wasn’t the end of the world. It wasn’t anything
life-threatening, and Adam wasn’t appalled and mortified by her embarrassing
performance on Saturday night.