Bittersweet (17 page)

She
hadn’t fallen apart like this when he was alive.

She
just wanted to be safe again, not feel like this again.

After
a few minutes, she pulled herself together.

She
probably should be more recovered than this by now. She shouldn’t have a
break-down at every minor awkward situation.

She
shouldn’t have to still wear these rings.

She
slid them off and stared at them as they rested on her palm.

It
made her feel too sick to put them both away again, but she managed an
emotional compromise with herself and placed the engagement ring in the box
alone.

The
wedding band she slid back on.

She
gazed down at her ring, trying to take comfort and security in the memories of
her husband.

Failed
utterly.

She
poured herself a couple of glasses of wine, hoping to relax, and it was after
midnight when she finally found the energy to get up to go to bed, feeling
fuzzy and aching from fatigue, emotion, and alcohol. She was just putting up
her glass when there was a beep on her phone.

She
picked it up, wondering who would be texting her at this time of night.

She
blinked when she saw it was Adam. Then she read the message.

It
wasn’t from Adam.

I’m
very sorry to disturb you, but if you aren’t busy and you’re still awake, would
it be possible for you to come over to Mr. Peterson’s? Carson.

Something
must be wrong.

There
was no other explanation for Carson using Adam’s phone to contact her like
that.

She
didn’t care if Adam dated every gorgeous brunette in the city—as long as he was
all right.

She
wore soft knit pajama pants and a tank top, but she just pulled a belted
sweater over them and put on her shoes. Then she took a cab over to Adam’s
building.

She
was nervous and bewildered when Carson let her into the apartment.

“What’s
the matter?” she asked, her heart pounding. “Is he all right? Is it his back
again?”

“Thank
you for coming, Mrs. Peterson,” Carson said with discreet civility. “I hope I
didn’t pull you away from anything important.”

“No,
of course not. What’s going on?”

“I
was worried. He will sometimes brood when…certain things bother him, but I’ve
never seen him like this before. I hope it was right that I called you. He
won’t be happy about it.”

“I
won’t tell him why I’m here.”

“Thank
you, ma’am.”

She
followed him through the hall and back to the study, which was the same room Adam
had been in when she arrived after his back had gone out.

“He’s
not expecting you,” Carson said, before he opened the door. He regarded her
with something that almost looked gentle. “Please call me if there’s anything
you need.”

She’d
had a few clues, so she wasn’t entirely shocked when she entered the study and
found Adam in a very atypical condition.

He
sat in a leather club chair next to the fireplace, which was lit despite the
warm weather. He was pale, even in the orange light of the fire, and his face
glistened with perspiration. He wore wrinkled black trousers and a wrinkled
black dress shirt, what he’d been wearing earlier without the jacket. And he
held a nearly empty glass of Scotch.

It
obviously wasn’t his first.

“Adam,”
she said, taking several steps into the room. She heard Carson quietly shut the
door behind her. “What’s going on?”

Adam
gave a visible jerk, and his eyes flew over to where she stood. “What are you
doing here?” he demanded, something rough, almost uncontrolled in his voice.

“I
was worried.”

He
made a sound—almost like a snort, and he swallowed down the last of his drink.

“How
much have you drunk?” she asked.

He
just gave a clumsy shrug.

“Adam,
what’s going on? This isn’t like you.”

“And
why,” he began, setting down his glass on a side table and hauling himself to
his feet, “would you presume to know what I’m like.” He enunciated each word
precisely, but that only emphasized the fact that he wasn’t as articulate as
normal. His eyes looked a little glazed.

“I
know you, Adam.  What prompted this? I was kind of upset about seeing you at
the restaurant—it was…it was weird and awkward. But something else must have happened
for you to…to…”

“Something
else,” he repeated, staring at a spot just past her shoulder like he was trying
to concentrate on an important fact that kept eluding him.  “Maybe you could
call it that.”

“What?”
Zoe demanded, moving toward him, her heart racing strangely. He’d been patient
with her when she’d had too much to drink—so she wasn’t going to get frustrated
with him now. “What do you mean?”

He
turned away from her suddenly and walked to the window that looked out onto the
cityscape. “Go away, Zoe.”

“I’m
not going to go away.” She went over to stand closer to him. Reached out to
touch him but then dropped her hand before she did. “Adam, tell me what’s going
on.”

He
was tense, tightly reined in. Breathing in fast, thick pants. Something seemed
to shudder intensely inside him—held back by the weakening force of his will—and
she had the inexplicable sensation that if she touched him now he might
shatter.

“You’re
pushing it, Zoe,” he warned in a hoarse voice, still staring fixedly out the
window.

As
she scanned his face and posture, she realized he wasn’t just drunk and
brooding. He
was
upset—that much was clear. But he was also angry.

He
was
angry
.

“What’s
wrong with you?” This all seemed so out of the blue to her. She was used to
seeing Adam as perfectly composed. Holding back anything uncontrolled. Almost
mild in his self-possession.

Not
like this.

When
he didn’t reply, she added, “Are you mad at me?”

He
gave a huff of sound—maybe bitter amusement. He turned as if he would say
something, but then he jerked away again. Took a few steps away from her.

He
was still breathing heavily.

It
was way too hot in the room. She couldn’t imagine why he’d built the fire when
the weather was still so warm.

Feeling
herself start to perspire beneath her clothes, she took a deep breath and tried
to figure out the best way to handle this.

She’d
been so jealous and hurt earlier—so torn about her memories of Josh—and she’d
figured things might be awkward between them afterwards. But she hadn’t
imagined things would unravel to quite this extent.

“Adam?”
she asked softly. “Why are you so mad?”

He
turned on his heel, something deep and hot blazing in his eyes. He looked like
he might explode at any moment, but he looked away before he did.

His
fist clenched and unclenched, and he strode over to pour himself another drink.
He stared at the glass in his hand for a minute, and she thought briefly he
might hurl it across the room.

She
was shaking now, terrified, bewildered, and oddly thrilled at the same time.

Instead
of throwing the glass, he gulped down its contents.

“Adam,
why won’t you talk to me? Drinking isn’t helping.”

“It’s
helping a little,” he muttered, putting down the glass again and staring at
where he’d placed it on a side table. “And I’ve told you to leave. I won’t be
held responsible for what might happen if you don’t.”

“That’s
ridiculous. If you have something to say, then say it. If you have something to
do, then do it.”

He
rubbed his forehead between his fingers and thumb and released a long breath.

Then
something changed in his posture, in his eyes.

“How
long,” he began slowly, looking up and taking a few steps over until he was standing
directly in front of her, “do you think I’m going to keep doing this?”

Her
mouth dropped open. “Doing what?”

“I’ve
waited and been patient and been understanding. I haven’t demanded anything. I
haven’t asked for anything from you. I’ve done everything I can to do the right
thing with you. And, after all that, I see you with some other man!”

She
knew he was revealing something important in his words, but that significance
was drowned in the absolute injustice of what he said.

Her
own temper flared up, swallowing everything else. “You’re mad at me for being
on a date when you had that…that…woman hanging all over you.”

The
righteousness of her words bounced off him. “She meant nothing,” he gritted
out, reaching out to grip her upper arms. “I had a business dinner and needed a
date. I haven’t been with another woman in…in months. But you…”

“What
about me?”

“You’re
finally ready to move on, and you decide to move on with
him
?” His voice
was thick and barely controlled.

“I
wasn’t moving on with him! It was a blind date. And what exactly do you think I
should have been doing all this time, instead of mourning for Josh?”

“Nothing,”
he rasped, dropping his hands and turning away again. “I didn’t mean that.” He
took a shaky breath. “I grieve for him too. I’ve been trying to…to do right. By
both of you. And then tonight…”

He
closed his eyes and didn’t complete the thought.

Zoe
trembled uncontrollably at where this conversation seemed to be going. She
wasn’t going to be a coward and run away from it—from him—but she needed a
moment to recover herself. She thought he needed a moment too.

“We
can’t have this conversation like this,” she said, her voice wavering a little.
“I’m going to ask Carson for some water. Maybe some coffee. I’ll be right
back.”

He
nodded, his eyes still closed, but relief reflected faintly on his face.

She
hurried out of the room and down the hall, not surprised when Carson seemed to
materialize out of nowhere. “Is everything all right, ma’am?”

She
made an ambiguous gesture, unsure of whether to nod or shake her head. “Can we
get some coffee, please? And some water?”

“Of
course.”

She
followed Carson into the kitchen, inexplicably calmed by his quiet, composed
demeanor. In just a minute, he’d supplied her with a cup of coffee freshly
brewed by Adam’s high-end machine and two bottles of water.

She
felt a little better as she reentered the study. It was quiet and didn’t even
feel as hot, since the fire had started to burn down.

Adam
was across the room, seated on the leather sofa. His shoulders were slumped,
and his head was in his hand.

Zoe’s
heart went out to him. Whatever else he was and whatever else he’d said or done
just now that might change everything, he was like her family. And he was
obviously hurting.

She
sat beside him and offered him the cup of coffee and a bottle of water. He took
a few gulps of water and then held the coffee in both hands, staring down at
the dark liquid. “Thank you,” he muttered, after taking a sip.

“You’re
welcome.”

They
sat in silence for a really long time. Zoe had no idea what to say, no idea how
to make any of this better.

Adam
finished his water and half of his coffee.

Until
he finally murmured hoarsely, “Do you ever feel like, no matter how hard you
try to do what’s right, you end up doing the wrong thing after all?”

“Yeah,”
she breathed, reaching over to put a hand on his knee. “I feel like that all
the time.” After a moment’s hesitation, she added, “What are you afraid to do
wrong?”

“I
don’t think it’s wrong. It’s just never the right time.”

“What
do you mean?”

He
didn’t answer. Instead, he stared down at his coffee again. “Do you ever feel
like you’re watching life from the sidelines? Watching everyone else have lives
that you can never have?”

She
knew exactly what he meant. Knew what it was to watch couples, families, go
through their days together and feel her own loss so much more. A sob caught in
her throat. “Yeah. I do. But you’re not watching life from the sidelines, Adam.
You’re just not. You shouldn’t have drunk so much. It blows things out of
proportion.”

Desperate
to comfort him, desperate to show him how much she cared about him, she leaned
farther over so she could kiss him on the cheek. Then she kissed him again.

She
heard him suck in a breath, but before she could process the sound fully, he
had turned his head in her direction.

So
his lips met hers without warning. It was brief, almost tentative. Then he
pulled back.

They
stared at each other for a stretch of time, his eyes aching and a little fuzzy,
hers not far from tears.