Disclosure of the Heart (The Heart Series) (10 page)

Had he remembered so little about me? I’d turned to him when we were young in part because my mom had been so checked out and my dad lived over a thousand miles away. I gave him a skeptical look. “My dad brings Lauren up occasionally, but my mother…it’s not really a welcome topic.”

“Still?”

A smile escaped me. He
had
remembered. “Time has passed, and I may be older, but my mom still doesn’t talk about the death of her little girl.”

He sighed and stretched out his legs. “And probably never will.”

“Nope.”

Silence ensued, and I felt his hand hesitantly withdraw from my back. After a moment, he declared, “Tell me about where you’ve been to—like China. I’ve always wanted to go there, but I haven’t yet had opportunity.”

Good.
We’re out of the emotional danger zone
, I thought, and I really didn’t want to be a crying mess when Sylvia came back. I nodded. “China is an amazing country, but we were there talking trade. It’s odd that they’re Communists because they’re such ardent capitalists.”

“I know. They’re Communists only when it comes to their authoritarian government. They couldn’t care less about redistribution of wealth.”

“Exactly, but it’s still fascinating to be there, seeing modern China contrasted against its ancient history. The people were so friendly, and we were able to do some sightseeing. The Forbidden City is amazing, and I also went to the Great Wall.”

“That’s something I’d like to see.”

“Yeah. I wanted to go there because it was something Lauren always wanted to do.”
Ugh
. I’d done it again. I could not let Adam turn into my emotional sounding board. I had a boyfriend for that. With a quick pat of the bench to end the conversation, I immediately rose and said, “I need to find a ladies’ room. I’ll meet you back here.”

After I pulled myself together in the bathroom, I stood in the hallway for a moment, scanning my emails and texts. I soon heard Sylvia’s stiletto boots clack on the floor and looked up.

“Hello. I’m sorry you missed the display. It was amazing.” She grinned.

“I’m sure,” I said with a smile. The woman still didn’t get that it was inappropriate for me on so many levels. Yet I sort of admired that she existed in her own little world where everything was simple and she was always right.

When we met back up with Adam, Sylvia said, “Should we go to the National Gallery now?”

Shaking my head, I pointed to my phone. “My conference call this evening was canceled because people are stuck in airports. It’s dumping snow outside. If I’m going to get a cab home, I should go find one now.”

“A taxi? Don’t be silly,” Sylvia said. “Adam can give you a lift, but really you should stay for dinner tonight if you’re free. I’m cooking.”

“Oh, that’s nice of you to offer.” I had no idea how to respond. I wanted to say yes, but should I? And did Adam even want me there?

“Please do,” Adam said eagerly. “David’s not there, so the place is actually clean for once.”

“Oh…okay.” I clenched my bag, hoping I made the right choice.

When we arrived at his car, snow covered it, so he told us to get in and get warm while he dusted it off.

“I’ll sit in the back,” said Sylvia happily. “I don’t mind.”

“Okay.” I felt like we were replaying our roles from 1993.

Ever the gentleman, Adam opened the doors for us and shut us in. I huddled in my seat trying to get warm, though shivering had its benefit of releasing nervous energy. When he got in, he revved the engine for a second and then looked at me. It was déjà vu all over again. Adam and I together in the front seat of a car, only now the car wasn’t his high school Honda. Now he drove a sleek BMW.

“Sorry about the cold leather. The seat warmer switch is on your left if you want it. The control for your side of the heat is on the dashboard.”

“Thanks,” I whispered, feeling another urge to text Juan Carlos. While Adam drove and talked with Sylvia, I whipped out my phone and dashed off a carefully crafted message.

Hi, sweetie. Having dinner with these two.
I’ll call you later. I love you.

His reply soon popped up.

Still drinking. Hope I can even talk later. Love you, mi reina.

Somehow just checking in with Juan Carlos made me feel more at ease. I wasn’t hiding anything, or at least not much.

When we got to Adam’s apartment in Dupont Circle, we first took off our wet coats and boots. Standing in his apartment in my wool socks, I felt more comfortable as I looked around the large open space that flowed from the kitchen to a dining and living area.

“Your place is so nice,” I said.

“That’s because I designed it,” said Sylvia.

“
You
picked out the art,” Adam said as he hung up our coats. “
I
chose the furniture.”

“What? We gutted the entire space, and I designed the layout and placed everything.” She grabbed my hand. “Come on. I’ll take you on a tour while Adam gets us some wine and starts a fire.”

“Okay.” I laughed nervously. “But, Adam, please don’t go out of your way.”

“Not at all. I was going to do it.” His smiling eyes for me morphed into a glare for his sister. “I didn’t need to be told.”

Sylvia tossed her head and ignored him as she began to tell me about how she came up with the design. When she got to the mantle, she then went on about the painting she’d chosen to rest above it. I sipped the wine Adam had provided and stayed tuned in to Sylvia as best I could. After she finished, she announced, “Let me take you through the rest of the flat.”

Oh God. Adam’s bedroom?
I didn’t have time to object before she walked on, and I had to catch up with her. First she led me into the spare bedroom and its attached bath. Maybe if I knew more about decorating I would’ve been as impressed as she was with the Italian tile. When she led me out of the bedroom, I headed left to return to the living room. There was Adam standing in the hallway before me.

Sylvia headed in the other direction and asked, “We can go in your room, right, Adam?”

I met his gaze and really wanted to tell him he didn’t have to let us, but that might have sounded even worse than saying nothing.

He simply said, “Sure.”

He hadn’t sounded incredibly enthused, but he followed us along. Now I was really nervous as I entered his room. The cream-colored space had a large bay window with two leather chairs in a sitting area, and beyond that was a large alcove that looked to be a little home office. A king-sized bed sat in the middle of the room.

Sylvia pointed to the art above the bed. “This is a very special print. The artist worked on it for months…”

She continued talking, but I stopped listening. Adam’s bed was too much of a distraction. I let my eyes drop down to inspect the perfectly made blue duvet and matching shams. Adam’s bed—where every night he slept and probably did all sorts of things with many different women. I didn’t like thinking about the latter, so I wondered instead what he looked like sleeping in it. That made me crack a smile, which I had to hide.

After she finished with the art, Sylvia faced the rest of the room. “That alcove is a work area I designed. I like a more open space rather than a separate office. Now let’s go back to the living room, and I’ll cook.”

She turned around, but I was intrigued by the artwork above his desk, which was really a drafting table. “You still draw?” I asked him.

“Yeah.” He seemed sheepish.

“That’s wonderful.”

“I don’t know.” Running his hand through his hair, he said, “It’s only a hobby.”

“Can I see?” I didn’t wait for an answer. I was too curious. Adam had drawn political cartoons and caricatures when we were young. I’d thought he was really good at the time and wondered what he did now.

From behind, I heard Sylvia say, “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

I picked up a sketch from his messy desk. “So you’re doing caricatures of President Logan?”

“I’m trying,” Adam said, walking up behind me.

“Can I see some more?”

“Of course.” He pulled a stool out for me. “Take a seat.”

As I studied all the drawings on the table, he sat on another stool beside me. His work had matured. The drawings were sharper, and the contexts were more informed. That made sense. He was a reporter now, after all.

I smiled. “These are so good, Adam. Why aren’t you publishing them?”

“I don’t think they’re really good enough.” He grimaced. “Plus, it’s a hard profession to break into.”

“But you’re already a journalist. I would think it would be a leg-up. People know you. It should be easier to get them seen.”

“I’m a television journalist. You know we’re looked down upon by print. It probably hurts more than helps me that I’m already in the field.”

I gently tapped a drawing. “I still think you should try. You’ll never know if you don’t, and wouldn’t you rather be drawing than your current job?”

“Well, yes, but it seems like a futile endeavor. Not even worth the effort.”

I wondered why he was so defeatist, but I didn’t press him. Instead, I studied the work itself. I held up the drawing of President Logan. “You’ve really captured him well, but you could add something here. You’re right that he’s got a really long neck, but in this drawing—where he’s angry—you should make some veins bulge out. They always do when he’s pissed, though that’s rare.”

“Are you giving me secrets about your boss, Nicole Johnson?” He laughed.

“Hardly.” I smiled. “He’d think these were hilarious. Now, he may not like the captions you put with them, but he’d like the drawings themselves and wouldn’t mind them being accurate. He’s got a really good sense of humor.”

“Thanks. That’s good to know.”

“I like that one, too,” I said, spying a cartoon of Gordon Brown. “He’s probably a fun one to draw.”

“Definitely. He’s got a million different expressions, and he looks uncomfortable in every one of them.” Sounding a little more confident, he pulled out a sketchpad and said, “This is what I’m working on right now. I thought I’d practice Angela Merkel since we’re going to Berlin.”

“Oh, let me see.” I looked at the sketch. “This is really good. I’ve met her before. I’d give her a short necklace. She wears them all the time, even though they’re not very flattering.”

“What do you mean?”

“They show off her jowls.”

“Let me add a necklace, then,” he said, grabbing a pen.

As he sketched away, we talked about his drawings and the people in them. He wouldn’t believe me when I told him they had potential, and I certainly didn’t believe him when he said I was helping him. “How on earth am
I
helping
you?”

“You have good insight.” And then he gave me a compliment. “You’re very clever, you know.”

Years ago, he’d called me clever. It was the first compliment he had ever paid me, and I think I had blushed for a week after he’d said it. Today, normally somebody telling me I was smart was no big deal. It would go in one ear and out the other. Coming from Adam, though, it was an entirely different matter.

“Whatever,” I said, but I felt a full-fledged flush come over me, starting with my cheeks and spreading all over. When I tried to look him in the eye, I noticed he wasn’t looking at my face. His eyes wandered around my body, obviously checking me out. From his expression, I guessed he liked what he saw, but he was still polite and said nothing.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of his bed—not what I needed to see at that moment. I looked down and said under my breath, “I should go see what Sylvia is up to.”

“Of course.” His lips twitched into a smile.

We walked back to the kitchen, and everything was normal again. Throughout dinner, Sylvia kept us laughing—sometimes at her, but usually with her—and her cooking, like her art and sense of style, was amazing.

After dinner, I checked my watch. “I really should get home,” I said with some regret.

“When do you get to the office in the morning?” Sylvia asked. “Maybe we could meet for coffee.”

“I don’t think so.” I chuckled. “Unless you want to meet me at six. I’m at my desk by seven.”

Sylvia giggled. “Perhaps not, then.” She pointed to the mess in the kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ll let Adam take you home while I tidy up.”

Alone in a car with Adam? Not just alone in a public museum? I took a deep breath. It shouldn’t matter. And if it shouldn’t matter, I had the power to make sure it didn’t. I smiled at Sylvia. “Well, if Adam takes me home, then I have to say goodbye to you now.”

With the snow falling heavily, there was plenty for Adam and me to talk about as we made our way to Lisa’s apartment. We had a safely boring conversation about the strange weather for March and poor road conditions. That was helpful, as I needed to figure out how I was going to say goodbye.

Just as we pulled into the apartment building’s circular driveway, I stole a look at him. Yes, he looked older than he used to, but in jeans, he resembled young Adam more. When he stopped the car, he turned to me with such a knowing smile that the words of my planned goodbye escaped me for a moment.