Take This Man (20 page)

Adam
blinked in surprise. “How’d you—”

“Kim
told me.”

Adam
groaned again. Just how out of it had he been, to have missed
that
conversation?

“You
called me a dumbass once, when I was having problems with Andie. Told me to
tell her how I felt about her. Well, it’s time for you to grow a pair, bro.
Talk to Elyse.”

“She
hates me.

“I
thought Andie hated me.”

“Elyse
really
hates me. And I gave her good reason to.” He turned away, unable
to stand the sorrow in his brother’s face. “I’m all right. Just let me sleep.”

Wash
hesitated as though he wanted to say more. “All right. I’ll be in the other room.”

“I
don’t need a nanny,” Adam snapped.

A
pillow landed on his head. “Shut up and go to sleep.”

Now,
Adam rolled out of bed and stumbled down the hall into the bathroom where he
rinsed his mouth in the sink and splashed some water on his face. Adam grimaced
as he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looked like something out
of a horror movie—as sallow and hollow-eyed as one of those zombies from
Night
of the Living Dead
. He felt like one, too.

He
swallowed a couple of aspirin with a mouthful of water, then eyed the bottle
and
aw, fuck it
, swallowed two more. His head felt like it contained a
marching band performing a half-time show.

The
wave of nausea swept over him suddenly, doubling him over. And it wasn’t all
the beer he’d ingested making him sick. It was from knowing how well and truly
fucked he was. Knowing he’d lost Elyse. Again. For good.

He
sank onto the closed toilet seat, still doubled over, holding his gut and
willing himself not to puke all over the floor.

Coffee.
He’d make coffee. Coffee would make him feel half-human again, and give him
something to do. Something to keep him from thinking about Elyse for a few
minutes. For the next few days or weeks or God knew how long, he would live his
life a minute at a time, trying not to think about her. Trying not to miss her.

He
shuffled into the hallway, again just like one of those back-from-the-dead
characters, then stopped before he reached the kitchen. There was one other
thing he could do. Like Wash had said—he could talk to Elyse. They’d done
plenty of hollering yesterday, yeah, hurling accusations back and forth, but
they hadn’t talked.

Elyse
hated his guts, though. What could he say to change her feelings?

Maybe
nothing. But as he pondered it, Adam realized there
was
something. She
might not want to hear it, might not even care. But
he
needed to tell
her.

Coffee
forgotten, he grabbed his keys from the kitchen counter. He strode to the front
door, passing through the living room. Wash was gone. The front curtains had
been drawn, making the room dark. Adam briefly noticed the crumpled afghan on
the sofa. His brother must have sacked out there for a while in front of the
TV.

An
unfamiliar car, an old junker, was parked at the curb. He barely noticed it
until a man stepped out of it and limped across the yard toward him.

Adam
squinted at the man—then felt as though he’d been doused in ice water. It was
his stepfather. Don no longer resembled the man Adam remembered—the bloated
drunk whose face was road-mapped with broken blood vessels. He looked
smaller—shriveled, like a dried apple. His skin was yellow. He looked sick.

Adam
didn’t care. “You’ve got no business here.”

Don
didn’t blink. “Matthew said you got my letter.”

Adam
gritted his teeth. Wash had talked to him? He’d kick his brother’s ass later. “Got
it, tossed it. Get off my driveway, and get the hell off my property.”

Don
persisted. “So you didn’t read it.”

“No,
I didn’t fucking read it. You have nothing to tell me that I want to hear.”
Adam opened the door of his truck and stepped in, but couldn’t close the door.
Don held it open. He was stronger than he looked.

“All
right,” the older man said. “Maybe you got some things you want to say to me.”

“Old
man, everything I wanted to say to you, I already said the day my mother was
buried. That if I ever saw you around here again, I would kick your ass.”
Pushing the man away, Adam slammed the door shut. Don yanked his hand back just
in time to keep from getting his fingers crushed. Adam rolled the window
partway, to fire the parting shot. “So fuck off before I keep my promise.”

“You
got a lot of hate in you still, don’t you, son?”

Adam’s
icy shock instantly melted, transforming to an inferno of rage. He bared his
teeth. “I am not. Your. Son.”

Don’s
mouth fell open, a flicker of fear in his eyes.

Adam
relished the man’s fear. He pressed his advantage, remembering what his brother
had told him a while ago. “You look like shit, you know? You sick or something?”

Don
nodded. “Yeah.”

Adam
wondered why hearing that from the man’s own lips didn’t make him happy. “Yeah?
What, cirrhosis?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh,
well,” Adam replied with a distinct lack of sympathy. “Guess you gotta expect
that when you’re a drunk, huh?”

Don
said, “That’s right. I got only myself to blame.”

“So,
what? You think your number’s coming up, and you want to make amends. Tell
everybody how sorry you are and be forgiven. That’s why you’re here?”

“I
made a lot of mistakes—”

“Mistakes?”
Adam echoed. “That’s what you call it? Being a drunken bum, a leech, an abusive
asshole, that’s a
mistake
?”

“I
never hurt you. I never raised a hand to you or your mother.”

“You
never hurt us? When every day you told us how worthless we were, how we’d never
amount to anything, that we were shit? When you called my mother filthy names,
said she was nothing but a whore and a cheat? When would she have time to cheat?
She was always working to support her children, and the worthless, lazy scumbag
she married. I wish she
had
cheated on your ass!”

“I
don’t remember—”

“You
don’t fucking remember ‘cause you were drunk all the fucking time! You don’t
remember how my brother and I never had friends over, because your drunken ass
was always passed out someplace. Or how the whole place stunk of piss, because
you were so bombed you couldn’t even make it to the toilet. Or how my mother used
to beg you to stop drinking and get some help. But no, you didn’t have a
problem. It was us, we were the problem. So now you’re sober. So what? It’s too
late to do my mother any good. And me, I don’t give a shit. So go someplace
else for your forgiveness.” Adam pushed the key in the truck’s ignition and
turned on the engine.

The
man didn’t step away from the door. “Your mother would want you to hear me out.”

Black
spots danced in front of Adam’s eyes. He shut the engine down and shoved the
door open so hard that his stepfather stumbled backward. Don fell on his ass on
the lawn. Adam leaped out of the truck and grabbed the front of Don’s shirt,
dragging him to his feet. “You don’t talk about my mother, do you hear me?” He
shook the man like a terrier might shake a rat before snapping its neck. “After
the shit you put her through, you don’t get to say her name.”

As
if in slow motion, his fingers curled into a fist, and his arm moved back,
ready to deliver a blow.

“Adam!”
someone screamed.

Chapter
Fifteen

He
stopped. Elyse stood on the stoop in her stocking feet, terror on her face. His
arm, suddenly heavy, fell limply to his side.

She
approached him, her hands up in a defensive manner. “Let him go, okay? Just let
him go.”

Him?
Who? Adam looked down and realized his other hand was still grasping Don’s
shirt. He loosened his grip, and his stepfather stumbled back.

“That’s
good,” Elyse told him. She was next to him now, but why was she using that tone
of voice? The kind of voice someone would use to calm a frightened, angry
stray.

She
took him by the hand. “Let’s go inside now. All right?”

Adam
frowned at her shoeless feet. “Where are your shoes?”

“Inside.
I was asleep on the sofa.”

“I
didn’t see you.”

“That’s
all right. Come on.” Her gaze slashed toward Don. “You need to go.” The old man
stared at them for a moment, then turned and stumbled away.

Elyse
got Adam into the house and lowered him into the armchair. She clicked on a
nearby lamp, and sat on the sofa across from him. Again he noticed his mother’s
afghan crumpled on the cushions.

“You
were sleeping when I got here, and I didn’t want to wake you,” she explained. “Matthew
said it was all right for me to stay.”

“Uh-huh.”
He didn’t know what to say. He should be glad to see her. He meant to find her,
and she was already here. But he couldn’t concentrate. He heard Elyse speaking,
but only a few words made sense. “You talked to my brother?”

“I
came to get my stuff. We talked. I’m glad we did.”

Adam
hated to imagine what Wash Boy had told her. He should be pissed. But he couldn’t
seem to connect with his anger. With anything. He kept seeing Don’s face, just
as his fist was about to pound into it. Don was scared, yeah, but there was
something else there as well.

Don
wanted
Adam to punch him. He wanted to be punished. Adam started to
shake. He’d almost beat up a scrawny, sick old man. He gritted his teeth, tried
to force his muscles to be still, but the trembling wouldn’t stop.

Elyse
came to him, wrapped the afghan around his shoulders. “It’s all right.” Her
hands moved up and down his arms, comforting him. “You’re okay.”

Shit.
He didn’t want her pity. But he couldn’t tell her that—he didn’t trust himself
to speak without his teeth chattering.

“I’m
going to make us some coffee,” Elyse told him. Jesus, she was talking to him
like he was some frightened little kid. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

He
managed a nod. Shit.

When
she came back a few minutes later, he’d gotten himself under control. The
shaking had stopped, but his head was throbbing again.

“Coffee
should be ready soon.” Her voice was soft.

“You
don’t have to wait on me,” he growled. “I don’t need a frickin’ babysitter.”

Elyse
froze, pressing her lips tight. “You can never let yourself need anyone, can
you? Maybe I
like
being needed.”

Adam
glanced at the blank television screen, then back at Elyse. “Sorry,” he said.

She
brushed his words away with a wave. “Never mind.”

“No,
I mean I’m
sorry
. That’s why I wanted to see you tonight. I was going
over to the hotel to find you. I had to tell you I was sorry.”

She
was silent for a beat. “What are you sorry for, Adam?”

“Sorry
for that night. Sorry I pushed you into it. I wish I could go back and make it
never have happened.” His shoulder’s fell in utter defeat. “I fucked up the
best thing that ever happened to me. Being with you.”

He
stared down at his hands which had clenched into fists. When Elyse remained
quiet, he risked a glance at her, his chest aching.

“I’ve
been doing a lot of thinking,” she told him. She licked her lips, suddenly
seeming apprehensive. “I wanted to tell you
I’m
sorry.”

Adam’s
eyebrows flew up his forehead, and he cocked his head, not sure he heard her
right. “You—”

“All
this time I’ve been blaming you for everything that went wrong between us. I
wanted to put it all on you, so I wouldn’t have to look at myself. But I had
the choice to say no that night. I could have walked out when you proposed all
three of us go to bed. But I didn’t.”

Adam’s
throat felt thick. “Why didn’t you?” he asked. The same question he had the day
before. But this time he was not accusing her or laying blame. He simply needed
to know.

When
she spoke, her voice was flat. “I needed to make a point.”

****

Elyse
felt
herself leave her body. She
was hovering above it somehow, looking down at herself with disgust. What a stupid
bitch. How many times did she have to get kicked before she learned her lesson?
You couldn’t trust anyone in this life. Hadn’t everyone let her down—her
mother, her grandmother, her best friend. And now, Adam.

Her
throat ached, her eyes burned. She wanted to cry, to ask him, if you really
love me, how could you bear to have another man touch me?

Simple,
stupid. He doesn’t love you. Never did.

Suddenly
the tears dried up. Anger rose in her, so bitter she could taste it. It was
followed by a glacial calm.