The Unlikely Hero of Room 13B (23 page)

Robyn’s Batman had not come to save her. She was doing just fine until Batman came into her life.

And
now
she was in danger.

Because of him.

He reached the ground floor and pressed all the odd numbers up to seventeen again and again and again. He disgusted himself. After thirty-seven minutes, Adam emerged from the elevator.

He
had
to get better. He promised himself. He just
had
to.

And then he got worse.

When Adam finally emerged from the hospital elevator he headed straight for the cemetery. He had to jump the fence because it was already dark and the gates were closed. Once in, he made his way to the massive black granite headstone that he had first encountered just over six months ago. He stopped, genuflected in the muddy ground and made the sign of the cross. Adam apologized profusely to Jennifer Roehampton, May 7, 1971–October 14, 2008, and asked for her forgiveness for almost crippling her daughter.

He swore that he would make it right, and that he would keep on coming no matter what, to pay his respects, to atone.

Even in the dark Adam could see the black varicose veins of the willow’s trunk. The old tree had protected
them, hidden them. He had propped Robyn against it on Monday, and for at least a while, time had stopped, they had so been lost in the taste and wonder of each other. Now he wanted to climb inside of it and stay there. Instead, he jumped the south fence and made his way out.

And then he got home.

And then he couldn’t get in.

At all.

Adam gave up after forty-one minutes of trying. The door to his very own home was impenetrable. He couldn’t clear it. At 9:07, Adam crossed the street and knocked on Mrs. Polanski’s door. She answered it instantly, having no doubt been a front-row spectator to this theater of the absurd.

“Hi, Mrs. Polanski, how are you?”

“Adam, are you okay?”

“Yes, ma’am. I mean, no, ma’am. I, uh, I can’t get into my house and my mom’s on night shifts this week.”

“Oh, my dear.” She frowned but opened the door wide. “Well, our houses are practically the same.”

And then he saw it.

“And my boys knew how to jiggle both the back and side door locks in a certain way that would get them to open. Or they’d use credit cards. Do you want to try with my credit card, dear?” She started to turn.

“No, no, ma’am. I can’t. Those doors, they, uh, they can’t be opened.” He was hypnotized by the house,
his
house, or at least a mirror image of it from a long ago time. There was the sheer expanse of the welcoming hallway, leading off to a spotless bright kitchen. Adam was pierced
by a memory of his house being welcoming, breathable, clean. To his horror, tears sprang to the back of his eyes, but thank God they stayed there.

“There, there, dear. Pay no attention to me, I’m just a prattling old thing. Come in, come in. What would you like to do, dear?”

“I’d like to … uh, could I borrow your phone, please, and call my dad to pick me up?”

“Of course! Come into the kitchen. That’s where I keep my phone and it’s actually attached to the wall, I’m afraid. The boys are always on me, but I would just lose something that’s not attached, don’t you think?”

He hoped he was smiling at her.

Mrs. Polanski’s kitchen had escaped any attempts at a reno or “freshening” over the years, but it was gleaming and ready for action. The cupboards were painted a snowy white and the blue counters were immaculate and free of anything, save a toaster and a bowl of green apples. Adam never wanted to leave. It was like the best memory of the best day in his own house … before.

Before everything.

Mrs. Polanski put on a teakettle and placed a mammoth piece of apple strudel in front of him as he reached for the phone.

“Sweetie? Is Dad there?”

“Batman! Are you coming home? Come home, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I will, but put Dad on, okay?”

“Now? Are you coming now? Come now!”

“Yeah, I’m coming. I promise. Now go get Dad.”

The phone was dropped and Adam heard Sweetie tearing
around the house yelling for his dad. “Daaad, Batman’s coming home. Dad!”

“Adam? Hi, son. What’s up?”

“Dad?” His heart settled as soon as he heard his father’s voice. “Could you come and get me? I’m at Mrs. Polanski’s.”

“Did something happen?”

“No, sir.”

“Are you okay? Is it your mother?”

“No, not … um, I can’t get into the house. I cannot
enter
.” He glanced at Mrs. Polanski. “I had that appointment and then I went, uh …” She was busy making the tea at the far end of the kitchen and trying to look like she couldn’t hear. “Then I did an errand and came back and … was not able to get in.”

“Does your mother—”

“No, sir. Could you call her and tell her at work?”

“Is she on late shift?”

“Yes, sir. Tonight and tomorrow until midnight. And could you tell her that I’ll be staying for a few days?”

“Adam, you know how she—”

“I know it’s not your weekend.”

Mrs. Polanski bustled over with teacups, a sugar bowl, milk and Godiva chocolates that had to be at least forty years old. Adam nodded and smiled a thank-you to her.

“Tell her that I am the one that asked.”

Now she was slicing some bologna and cheese. It was like a reverse dinner.

“No, tell her”—he cupped the mouthpiece with his hand—“tell her that Chuck suggested it. She’ll buy that and he’ll back me up.”

“Adam, are you really telling me that you can’t get through your own—”

“No.” It had come to this. How? “I can’t, Dad. No.”

“I’ll be right there. Tell Mrs. Polanski thanks from me.”

“Yeah, okay.” The room seemed to sway in relief. “I will for sure. Bye.”

He turned to Mrs. Polanski. “He says to thank you very much and we all apologize for the inconvenience and—”

She caught Adam in her cushiony arms in two strides. Hugging him hard, surprising them both. Miraculously, he “fit” well into her short dumpling body.

“We often hurt the ones we love, dear.”

Adam exhaled. “It’s what I do best, Mrs. Polanski.”

“I doubt that, dear. You’re a good boy. I’m old and I’ve seen a lot.” Mrs. Polanski sighed, returning to the bologna. “And remember what a busybody I am. Not much escapes me.” Now that she’d sliced enough meat for a squadron, she continued to fuss about with the dishes and silverware.

“Sometimes it’s actually necessary to hurt the ones you love. You can check that out with your fancy-pants doctor, or whoever you go to every Monday.” She patted his hand. “Letting go, Adam. It’s the really hard part of growing up. You’re ready.”

She was right.

It was time.

But how?

“Now, do you like mustard or ketchup with your bologna?”

There was no getting rid of Sweetie, of course. He was on Adam like a suction cup. “You’re here! You came! I’ll be good and I won’t pest you, I promise!”

By “good,” Sweetie meant that he wouldn’t bother Adam while he was on the phone with Robyn,
not
that he would
leave him alone
while he was on the phone with Robyn. Over the next couple of weeks, Sweetie’s routine would be to sit quietly on the other side of his bed, pretending to play with his ever-growing empire of Tonka trucks while Adam whispered to Robyn.

Adam always closed his eyes and let Robyn’s satiny voice cover him. Tonight she talked about how her dad had actually booked off an entire week for spring break. They were going to go skiing in Whistler and bring her baking friend. Robyn was going to take lessons. “If only you could
come instead of Jody, it would be perfect. Imagine us in all that snow.”

He missed her already, ached for her. But she sounded so surprised and happy about her father arranging it all.

Adam had hoped that they would see each other every single day during break. He needed to kiss her. As they talked, he would disappear into the movie of them. Scenes of them leaning against Marnie Wetherall or sitting on the cold hard winter grass as grimy icicles dripped off the willow. Scenes of them kissing and holding each other against the raw stone, touching each other, exploring shyly. “I love you, Adam.” “I love you more, Robyn.” They were always warm together in the cold. Good thing too. He couldn’t bring her to his house, and she didn’t ask him back to hers. So, protected by Marnie or the willow, he replayed every kiss, every touch and every caress—until he remembered to return to the conversation.

“So it’s kind of a ‘who do I think I am’ thing. I’ve never even been to a single drama club meeting and now I want to try out for the lead.”

“What’s the play?”

“One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.”

“Really? Really, Robyn? You doubt for a single second that you’d nail the role of Nurse Ratched? You could do it on life experience alone, never mind brilliant acting talent. Watch the movie, it’s superior.”

“You are impossible
and
adorable, you know.”

“No, I’m not,” he mumbled.
I so am not
. “It’s true, that word, about you—
adorable
, I mean.”

“How do you do that? How do you make me feel this way? I don’t even know what it is. Wait, that’s a lie, I do
know. I’ve known from the beginning, from when you took the stairs that first time because of Wonder Woman. You are so
good
. It’s like I feel safe with you, safer than with anyone else in the whole world.”

He felt like he’d swallowed a tray of ice cubes. “Really?”

“It’s true. I didn’t know it was true until I said it, but it’s true.”

She was smiling. He could always tell by the timbre of her voice. And that hurt even more. He couldn’t take it. Adam explained that he wouldn’t be calling over the next few days, that privacy at Brenda’s was simply not an option and it was killing him.

He needed time to sort it out.

Everybody lies
.

“I’ll miss your voice. I can’t wait to meet him—your Sweetie, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Adam whispered. “Yeah.”

Unable to contain himself a second longer, that same Sweetie erupted into exploding cannonballs, bouncing from one bed to the other the whole time that the two engaged in their mandatory marathon closing.

“Well, good night, fair queen. I’ll hold on to you while you hang up.”

“No, dear prince, I will hold on while you let go.”

“Hang on a sec.” Adam covered the receiver. “Sweetie, quit bopping around before I break your other arm.”

Instead, Sweetie burst into giggles and bounced with greater abandon.

“I think I see what you mean.” Robyn laughed.

“Yeah, well, there you go. So, dear angel, you hang up while I hold on to you.”

“No, dear angel, you hang up,” Sweetie parroted.

So much for “not pesting.” Adam picked his brother up and held on to him until Robyn finally hung up first.

He was drained by the time Sweetie regained his freedom. “Goof!”

“Now?” said Sweetie. “
Now
can we be us?”

“Not yet. I just have a bit of homework to do first, okay?”

Sweetie sighed hugely and dragged himself back to his Tonkas, contenting himself with crashing them into ear-splitting pileups.

Adam went to the desk and retrieved a piece of paper. He had promised Chuck that he’d bring in the List for their next session. Maybe if he brought in the List, he could put off the ERP discussion some more.

Adam folded the paper, slowly got up and reached for his PJs. Sweetie was like a golden retriever on steroids. “
Now
can we play Batman? Can I be Robin, just for pretend? I know you have a Robin, even though she’s a girl, but can I be Robin and we can kill the Joker to death? Huh?”

He was hollowed out, couldn’t even smile at his brother. It would cost too much.

Robyn
.

There were also times when they didn’t kiss and roam nonstop. The in-between times. That’s when they just held each other and whispered. Marnie, of course, heard it all. Adam would try to make Robyn laugh, and she would, whether it was funny or not. She would tease him and he
would tell her what it was like
before
. And they talked about what it would be like
after
. It was as if they were two normal kids in love, sitting on a sofa in a warm living room, telling each other almost everything and sorting out the world with someone’s mom puttering annoyingly in the background. Except, of course, they weren’t two normal kids. Would never be.