Dear Adam (13 page)

“
Why both?” he persisted.
“It seems like going overboard.”

“
I wandered into boxing
accidentally. On my 35th birthday three months ago, I decided to
start a list. To try 36 new things before my 36th birthday. Boxing
was number three. I was planning on just taking one class at my
local gym then moving on but I ended up liking it. I don’t know why
really,” she confessed. “I’ve never been athletic. The opposite. I
hated sports. People in my class laugh at me sometimes. But I don’t
care.”

“
Something about boxing
appeals to you.”

“
Yeah. I guess because I’m
so petite and most people assume I would be too girly or nerdy to
like anything like that. I don’t like hitting people!” she added
quickly, in case he thought she was violent. “Just punching things,
like heavy bags. I wish I was a real boxer. You said you’ve boxed
since you were 15?”

“
Yes.” She detected a
weariness in his tone. “I trained. Never fought anyone in the ring.
Always outside of it. I didn’t box because I liked it. I did it
because I had to. I was on the streets then."

She felt silly now, a privileged dilettante.
He was the real thing. She imagined someone very young, lean, and
hungry. She suspected that he was probably a formidable and
ferocious fighter.

"And at that time, my line of work made it
necessary.” He spoke in a way that was deliberately vague yet meant
to discourage her from asking more specific questions.

“
You don’t need to fight
anyone now?”

“
Not physically, no. I have
different types of opponents these days. People I’m forced to do
business with,” he said with disdain.

Eden heard Dante arrive home from dinner with
his dad and go up the stairs.

"Hold on," she said to Adam. "Hi, honey," she
said as Dante entered her room, his backpack slung over one
shoulder. He came over to give her a peck on the cheek, glancing
curiously at her iPod and the earbuds in her ears.

"What'd you have for dinner?

"Pasta."

"Do you have any homework left to do?"

"I've got Stats left," he said as he turned
to leave.

"I'll just be on the phone." She closed the
door to her bedroom. "I'm back," she said to Adam.

"Your voice," Adam mused, "It sounds
different when you're speaking to your son."

"Different? How?"

"Softer." She detected something that might
have been envy in his tone.

"Do I sound very harsh otherwise?" she
joked.

"No, but I can tell how you feel about him,
just by your voice alone." He paused and when he continued, the
forlorn note was gone. "What is his name?"

For some reason, this question made her heart
contract.

"Dante," she replied quietly. What Adam noted
was true - even when just saying his name, her voice revealed so
much. She might be guarded with everyone else, but Dante was her
weakness. "After the poet."

"Was labor so hellish?" he
teased, "That you named him after the person who wrote
Inferno
?"

She laughed. "No. I just always liked the
name."

"Your favorite piece of literature?"

"No," she admitted.

"Yet it's significant to you," he persisted.
"A symbol of something ..."

She was silent, uneasy that he was openly
analyzing her.

"Out of a terrible place," he continued,
striking with such eerie precision that Eden could only gasp, "He
was your redemption."

Eden's mouth fell open. Who was he?

She scrambled to form a light reply. "If
that's so then I should have named him Virgil," she laughed an
insincere laugh, "And he would have hated me all his life. No," she
insisted. "I just like the sound of Dante. Plus, it happened to be
literary."

"I'll be honest. If your son had been
younger, I would have had a problem. But since he's older, and
almost a man..."

"A problem with?" she asked, getting ready to
be offended. "Don't do me any favors" - was on the tip of her
tongue.

"You and me." It shouldn't have, but these
three words immediately made her anger dissipate. "You and me."
"Us." Was he saying what she thought he was saying? Had he made up
his mind? Already?

"Have you ever dated a woman with
children?"

"No."

“
Have you ever dated an
older woman?”

“
No.”

"Then why ... " she trailed off. Why her? All
because of a damn good review?

"In Sicily, I would be looked upon as being
less of a man, if I were to date a woman, not only divorced, but
with a child."

She made a sound of disgust. She didn't care
how lovely and old world charming Sicily was - it was definitely
not a place for her, fallen, scandalous woman that she was. At
least two strikes against her. Three, because she was a feminist.
Four, counting the fact that she was seven years older. She didn't
need to ask what Sicilians would think of the age difference.
Judging from what he said, if she lived in Sicily, she would be an
untouchable or be on the same level as a prostitute.

"Do you feel more at home in Sicily? The way
of life there?" she asked in a neutral tone, attempting to change
the subject before she started badmouthing his current home. "Is
that why you left the UK?"

"I left the UK for a plethora of reasons. But
mainly because I didn't like where society is headed, going from
collectivist to individualist. I'm frustrated with current
government policies. The future there is bleak and scares me."

"That's why you write the poems."

"Yes. Anytime I feel despair or anger. It's
therapy for me. Here, I feel at peace. People actually care about
one another."

"You're happy there."

"Happy," he said, as though considering an
unfamiliar idea. "I'm content."

"You've rarely had peace in your life?"

"Yes. It's been ..." He paused, searching for
the right word. "Tumultuous. I crave simplicity above all. My
business is here and in two years, I will transfer the helm to
someone else so I can retire."

"At 30." she reiterated, still in disbelief
that he was only 28. There was such weight in his voice, as though
he had carried heavy burdens for a long time.

"At 30, yes."

"Do you want a relationship or are you just
lonely?" he asked abruptly.

Eden was taken aback. When he wanted to be
direct, he was very direct.

"I do want a relationship. Actually," she
started to confess, "I was on an online dating website. I only
started dating last year. That's how I met my ex-boyfriend, the one
I told you about. It's supposed to be the best one. They ask you
hundreds of questions and you get to be very specific about what
you're looking for. Then you get matched up based on scientifically
proven algorithms and points of compatibility and they set you up
on a first blind date with your matches.”

She could hear him moving around on the other
end, opening a door and then walking as she spoke. She could hear
the wind. He was outside. The tick, tick, tick of a lighter, Adam
sucking and then exhaling. She shivered. It was unexpectedly
erotic.

"For instance, among other things, I
specified that I definitely wanted a nonsmoker." He chuckled. "And
someone who lived near me. I rejected a bunch of profiles just
because they lived too far away."

"And how far was too far away?" he asked,
amused.

"Over 30 miles."

They both started laughing.

"I think," she said, serious again. "I think
I'll let my subscription expire."

"How many relationships have you been
in?"

Eden cringed. She hated answering this
question.

"Two."

"Your ex-husband and...."

"The last boyfriend, yeah."

He said nothing on the other end. He didn't
express disbelief, which could be a good sign.

"You were married for...?"

"Two years." Please don't ask, she silently
begged. "Together for ten. We met each other in high school."

"Married for two years ..." He mulled this
over. "You didn't want to get married, did you? Was it against your
feminist principles?"

"No. It's just that ..." She struggled, again
shocked by the uncanny way he arrived at the truth, that she was
the one who was reluctant to get married and not Dante's dad. "I’m
not opposed to marriage. But -"

"You knew he wasn't the one," he finished.
"Yet you got married because your family was pressuring you. No,"
he said suddenly, as though something struck him and he changed his
mind. "You don't care for convention. For your son. You got married
because of your son," he declared, confident that he was right.

Eden was speechless.

"And two months or so with the ex?"

A bit dazed, she made a vague sound
approximating a yes.

"Do you still talk to him?"

"No." The answer came out sharper than she
intended. She decided to turn the tables back on him.

"Have you ever been married?"

"No."

"You weren't ready."

"Yes.”

“
See, I have a theory about
men and marriage. It's not so much about finding the right woman,
but I think men have to be ready and then they marry whoever
they're with at the time."

"That may be true of some men. But not for
me. If I had found the right woman three years ago, I would have
married her." As with everything he's said and written, Adam's tone
was decisive, confident. She wondered if he ever doubted himself,
ever wavered.

"You don't speak to your ex-girlfriends?"

"None of them. They're all whores." His harsh
words were saturated with so much bitterness, Eden knew she should
tread carefully.

"It sounds like they hurt you very much."

"They're all opportunistic liars. All they
cared about was how much they could get out of me."

"You're so perceptive," she began, "You see
through people, into their hearts." You could see through me, she
thought. "You're pretty smart." Understatement of the year. "Could
you not see through them?"

"They did everything in their power to endear
themselves to me. Like my ex. She was my waitress at my favorite
bar in London. She needed a place to stay, I had an empty
apartment. And it went from there."

"They all came to you needing help in some
way?"

"Yes."

She could see picture it so clearly now. The
outsider in black, treated with suspicion everywhere he went. His
heart melting with kindness from a beautiful woman, perhaps
helpless or helpless-seeming. She would have to appeal to his
old-fashioned sense of honor. He would be protective. Although he
was freakishly intelligent, women were his weakness. His blind
spot. They used him, then betrayed him.

"They knew I had means. Whatever it was they
wanted or needed, I could provide. And they didn't care about my
reputation."

"Reputation?" she asked in alarm. "What
reputation?"

He took awhile to answer, as if deliberating
how best to phrase his words. "I've developed a certain reputation
over the years."

"People fear you," she remembered him
writing.

"Yes." He paused. "Sometimes, I don't have to
do anything and people are afraid of me. Like my ex. Once I found
out she was cheating on me, she went into hiding with the one she
cheated with. I was told that they moved from place to place every
other month because they were scared."

"Of you finding them?"

"Yes," he laughed. "So I didn't even have to
do anything to them. They were scared all on their own. Isn't that
sad?"

"Would you have done her violence?" Her voice
was steely.

"No!" He showed agitation for the first time
in their conversation. "I would never hurt a woman. Never! They
were scared because of what I've done to others. My enemies."

"Your enemies," she murmured. He just didn't
look like a criminal. He was one. Or used to be? She really hoped
it was the latter. She let his vague answers sit there between
them. She didn't want to know specifics.

"You said you're a businessman. What
type?"

"Imports. Olive oil, cheeses, various
products."

"From Sicily?"

"Yes." It seemed legitimate enough. It was
the most ordinary thing he had said so far. So why did it seem
incongruous?

"Do people ever meet you and ask, 'Are you
for real?'"

"All the time." There was no pride in his
tone, but again matter of fact. He knew he inspired
incredulity.

“
Your scars," she suddenly
remembered. "You were going to tell me more about them. What
happened in the car accident -when you got the scars on your
hands?" She pictured him in a fast car, young and reckless. Perhaps
drunk.

“
I was sixteen, with some
friends. One of them was a girl. She said she wanted to die so she
stood in the street in front of an oncoming car. I pushed her out
of the way and got hit instead. I broke almost all of my bones. I
spent six months in the hospital.”

A long silence followed. Eden’s throat had
tightened and it took her a minute to be able to speak. He had said
it all devoid of any emotion.

“
You saved her life,” she
said, feeling inadequate and very small.

“
She was angry at me
because I didn’t respect her wish to die.”

Eden didn’t know what to say to this,
outraged and shocked.

“
She’s never spoken to me
since that day. Not even to visit when I was in the hospital. Oh,
she’s alright now,” he said offhandedly. “Married with two
kids.”

“
Because of
you."

“
I suppose.”

She could hear a weariness in him. As though
this was only one of many, many betrayals. Six months with a broken
body.