Bittersweet (27 page)

Adam
was propped up in bed with his laptop when she came back into the bedroom. He
wore a white t-shirt and gray pajama bottoms, and clearly wasn’t feeling any
more romantic than she was.

He
glanced up when she entered but didn’t speak.

“Everything
okay at work?” she asked lightly, wondering if he was stressed out about
something he wasn't telling her.

He
lifted his eyes briefly with an arch of his eyebrows. “Sure.”

Then
back to his laptop.

She
let out a frustrated sigh as she went over to turn off the gas log in the
fireplace, since the room was getting overly warm. But she was determined to
stay patient, since Adam had always been patient with her.

She
picked up a book and got into the bed beside him, having to tug on the covers
to get under them, since he was lying on top of the duvet. Without moving his
eyes from his work, he lifted his hips so she could get some slack in the
sheet.

For
no good reason, that was the last straw. “Would you put down the damned laptop
and talk to me for a minute!” she demanded, sitting up ramrod straight in bed.

He
twitched in surprise, but he calmly closed his laptop and put it on the bedside
table. Then he turned and asked, “What did you want to talk about?”

He
didn’t quite meet her eyes, and his expression was cool and distant.

She
hated—
hated
—that expression. It was the way he’d always acted when she’d
seen him during her marriage with Josh. She’d thought she’d seen the last of
that man after Josh died.

And
here he had reemerged again.

She
let out a throaty sound of absolute frustration. “What’s wrong with you, Adam?
Something’s been bothering you for a week now, and you’re pretending that
nothing’s wrong!”

Adam’s
face changed almost imperceptibly. His lips tightened and something flared up
in his eyes. For a moment, she thought he was going to tell her.

But
then the spark of feeling was extinguished, and he shook his head. “Sorry if
I’ve been moody. It’s nothing for you to worry about.

She
reached out for him, but dropped her hand since he still looked so standoffish.
“But I do worry about you, Adam. Can you at least give me a hint?”

His
eyes rested on her face. She couldn’t tell if he was searching her face for
something or if he was trying to maintain his stoic demeanor.

“Is
it work?” she asked, hurting for him and frustrated that he still felt
compelled to hold so much back.

He
shook his head. “No.”

“Is
it…” Her voice cracked on the thought. “Is it
us
?”

His
eyes flickered over to her face, and she saw what she needed to see there.

She’d
thought things had been going so well between them for the last few months.
They'd had a rocky start, but they were doing so well now. She’d been happy.
She thought Adam had been happy too.

It
hurt so much she had to take a few breaths before she managed to ask, “Can’t
you tell me what about us is bothering you?”

“It’s
nothing important, Zoe,” he said, evidently recognizing how upset she was. He
looked more like himself as he reached over to push some hair back from her
cheek. “I’m just moody sometimes. You know that. Things between us are fine.”

She
didn’t believe him for a minute. “Adam, why are you still holding things back?
How can I make things better if I don’t know what I’m doing wrong?”

“Zoe,”
he said, a hoarse urgency in his voice that she hadn’t heard in a week. “You’re
not doing anything wrong. I’m sorry I made you think that. It’s…”

“It’s
what?” she whispered, sensing her cheeks had gone pale.

“It’s
hard. For both of us. That Josh died.”

She
froze for a moment, trapped between conflicting possibilities. The statement
wasn’t much, and it could mean any number of things. But at least it was
something. “Okay,” she said, wanting to press him for more information but
afraid it would backfire and he’d close up completely. “Okay.”

Adam
searched her face for a moment. Then he reached over and turned off the bedside
light. It was dark in the room when he pulled her into his arms.

Neither
one of them was in the mood for sex, but he held her until he went to sleep. They
didn’t speak again.

*
* *

Adam rolled over
to his side of the bed once he fell asleep, but Zoe couldn’t sleep at all.
After an hour, she was afraid her tossing and turning would wake him up, so she
got up, put her slippers on, and went downstairs to make herself a cup of
chamomile tea.

She
sat in the window seat in the kitchen and stared out into the night.

She
thought about Adam for a long time. Then she thought about Josh.

When
her tea was mostly gone, she went over and pulled a framed photograph out of a
drawer in the desk that was built into the wall of the kitchen. It was the
picture from her honeymoon with Josh, with her on his lap in the beach chair.

She
still liked to look at it sometimes, but she was afraid Adam might be hurt if
she placed the photo in too obvious a position.

The
leather box was in the drawer too, so she opened it and pulled out her wedding
band and engagement ring. She spontaneously slipped them on for a minute and
lifted her hand to kiss them—a brief gesture of affection for her former
husband.

She
smiled at the sight of Josh’s grinning face in the picture and stroked his face
with her finger.

She’d
loved Josh. So much. That would never change.

But
now she loved Adam too.

So
much.

It
seemed a strange time to figure it out for sure, in the middle of the night
after a tense conversation with a very grumpy Adam.

But
she was sure of it. No matter how repressed and brooding and exasperatingly close-mouthed
he sometimes was, she loved him.

She
stroked Josh’s face one more time, and her smile widened even further as a rush
of heady excitement washed over her.

She
didn’t feel conflicted—at all—anymore.

She
could love both of them without betraying either one.

A
flicker of movement at the door seemed to catch her attention, but when she
looked up no one was there. She looked back down at the picture, wishing Adam
was awake so she could tell him.

When
she moved the photo from one hand to the other so she could take her last sip
of tea, she noticed the rings still on her hand. She slid them off immediately
and put them back in the leather box.

Then
she put the box and the photo back in the drawer.

Feeling
unburdened for the first time in ages, she was smiling to herself as she put
her cup in the sink. She went back to the window for a minute and stared out
into the night.

It
probably wouldn’t be a good idea to run upstairs, jump on the bed, wake Adam
up, and declare how much she loved him. He was obviously working through some
issues of his own about their relationship.

It
occurred to her that he might sometimes feel guilty, that he was gaining from
his cousin's death.

Maybe
that was what he was still holding back.

He’d
been so patient through all of her issues. She could wait for him too.

*
* *

When she
returned to the bedroom, Adam was awake, dressed, and packing his bag.

Zoe
stood in the doorway, paralyzed with bewilderment over this incongruous
scenario, so soon after she'd experienced such a joyous revelation.

“What
are you doing?” she asked at last, a shrill urgency rising in her voice after
having processed that whatever was happening here couldn’t be good.

Adam
didn’t look up at her. He wore what he must have brought for the next morning
and was folding the trousers he’d worn the previous evening before putting them
in his bag. He was working on the crease with a ludicrous amount of attention.
“I’m heading home,” he murmured mildly.

Zoe
ran over to him and grabbed his arm. “
Why
are you going home?” she
demanded, a flare of panic awakening in her chest. “Adam, what’s happening?”

He
paused in his packing and stared just over her shoulder. He looked stiff,
distant, and yet utterly defeated. “I need to think.”

“What
do you mean?” she gasped, clinging to his arm when he tried to pull it away. “What
do you need to think about? Why do you have to leave right now?”

He
released an uneven breath and retrieved his arm. Then he started to fold his
shirt.

There
was something resolved on his face that absolutely terrified her. “Adam, you
can’t just leave like this. You haven’t even told me what’s wrong between us. And
now it feels like you’re just giving up on us, without even giving us a chance
to fix it.”

He’d
appeared drained before, but suddenly his eyes flashed with what looked like
anger. “You think I haven’t given us a chance?”

She
had no idea what was happening, but it didn’t feel like he was just going home
to think. It felt final.

Right
after she’d realized she loved him.

“You’re
leaving me?”

“I’m
just going home. To think.”

“At
least tell me what you need to think about,” she said, a palpable plea in her
voice. “Things were good, weren’t they? I thought they were good.”

He
took another raspy breath as he zipped his bag. He walked over to put his
laptop in its leather case. “Things were good,” he admitted, his eyes focused
on his case. “But I don’t know if they’re enough.”

It
hurt. Horribly. That something about her wasn’t enough for him. She wanted to
turn away, hide her reaction.

But
he was about to leave. She could see it in his stance. He had his stuff
together, and he was going to just walk out the door.

When
she loved him. And knew absolutely nothing about what was causing this.

So
she ran over and jerked the case out of his hand. He reached out for it, but
she held it tightly to her chest. “No! You’re not going to leave until you tell
me. Why aren’t I enough for you?”

“It’s
not that
you
aren’t enough,” he said at last. The words were thick and
forced, as if they resisted being spoken. “I just need to think about whether
what you can offer me is enough.”

She
stared at him, bewildered and devastated, her face contorting as she held back
tears.

He
reached out for her, as if responding to an urge to comfort her. But then his
hand dropped with a jerk. “I thought it could happen. I wanted it to happen.
But I don’t know if it’s ever going to happen. Josh is always going to get in
the way.” He stretched his arm out to retrieve his case, and she was too dazed
from processing his words to resist.

He’d
almost made it out of the room when she finally figured out what had happened.

It
had
been a movement that had attracted her attention in the kitchen. Adam
had come down to find her. And he’d found her with Josh’s picture. Wearing his
rings.

A
wave of utter exasperation was followed quickly by a deeper wave of joy.
Because she finally understood what was causing this.

She
ran over and grabbed him just before he got to the door. “Adam, you absolute
idiot!”

Her
outraged exclamation must have surprised him so much he stopped and stared down
at her, his eyes aching so much it actually hurt her to see.

“I
wasn’t down there crying over Josh,” she burst out, pushed into speech by the
intensity of her emotions.
All
of her emotions. “I love Josh. I always
will. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you too!”

Adam
stared at her blankly. Then what she said finally registered in his mind. “Wh—”
he almost choked on the word. “
What
?”

Ridiculously,
Zoe was hit with a wave of self-consciousness. She dropped her eyes. But she’d
said what she’d said, and she didn't regret it. “You heard me.”

“Do
you?” he breathed.

“Yeah,”
she admitted, peeking up at him. “I love you. That’s…that’s why you can’t
leave.”

Adam
dropped his bag. Then the strap of his case slid slowly down his shoulder until
his case flopped to the floor as well. When she checked his face, he looked so
stunned, so paralyzed, that she got a little worried.

“Maybe
we should sit down,” she said gently, feeling an incongruous tenderness rise up
inside her. Her panic earlier had subsided—since she was pretty sure Adam
wasn’t going to leave—but now she was concerned about his reaction.

They
went to sit on the edge of the bed. Adam leaned over, his forearms on his
thighs. He breathed raggedly.

“Adam?”
she asked at last. “Why are you so surprised? Isn’t that…isn’t that what we've
been moving toward for three months? Isn't this the natural progression?”