Page 64 of Again, In Autumn

“Now, don’t go blaming the fish.”

“If you can’t blame a fish, then what have we got left? I don’t have a dog or homework.”

“Blame the cruel winds of fate,” he groans.

The energy shifts. Our first real conversation has taken us headfirst into the deep end of our relationship. We’re swaying. We’re touching. People watch it happen, take photographic evidence. Lines have been crossed. If Kate sees me, torches will be lit aflame.

Adam mentioned fate. Called it cruel, that doesn’t feel great, but he still dressed our reacquaintance in the language of destiny.

I lower my voice. “But why did you tell her?”

No one can hear us anyway, but he does the same. “I had to tell someone,” he says. “You really never told Fran or David?”

“No. They don’t know anything.”

The sides of his mouth curve downward. “Cool. Then it’s still pretty much a secret. Almost like it never happened.”

We wouldn’t be having this conversation if it never happened. I wouldn’t be wishing I could tattoo the feel of his hand on mine or bottle up his voice and listen to it when I need to feel safe. I wouldn’t want to close my eyes against his gaze because the heat of it warms better than the sun.

I study his face, following his lowered eyes. My grip tightens on his hand, pressing the Band-Aid into his palm. I whisper, “Did it happen?”

Adam snaps back to attention. We stop moving. Even through fabric, my skin burns where he touches it. His eyebrows relax, his lips part to respond.

Maggie calls out, “Yoo hoo! Ads! We’re all done!”

He and I keep focus on each other.

“Coming,” Adam calls out over the noise. The music changes. The lights turn yellow. He drops his hands and rips his gaze away.

He nudges through the crowd at a speed I can’t comprehend while I stand frozen, watching David scan the room for me, Franchestca half asleep on his arm.

Chapter Eighteen

See-ya laters and Have a good nights are exchanged across the wooded area between our houses. The neighbors move up their stairs with cheery conversation while David helps Francesca up the porch into our dark, quiet house. Kate follows behind.

I listen, begging for next-door voices to carry across in the wind.

Maggie has at least one photo of Adam and I, which must develop into questions. They could have had it out in the car. None of us spoke a word to each other when we paid our bill and retreated to our respective cars.

Okay, David paid my bill.

But whatever transpired between Adam and I on that dance floor remained there. He didn’t want to talk about it after, and I can’t hear them speak about it now.

As silently as possible, I clean my face in the bathroom I share with the kids and change into soft matching sweats. I admire Kate’s short, silky pajamas when she comes by to hug me goodnight, but I’m beyond needing to look cute while I sleep in my bed alone. I’d rather not be frost-bitten. With a glass of water in hand, I close my bedroom door and slip under the covers.

It’s cold and dark and quiet. The rod-iron bed creaks. I plant my head in my pillow and fold my hands atop the quilt, staring at the popcorn ceiling, wishing my mind was that blank.

No matter how many times I try to turn the channel, I’m still thinking about him. Even this room, with its teddy bears and Polaroids and movie posters, branded reminders of my childhood, makes me think of Adam.

Nothing happened in this room. Heddy would have lost her crystal-loving mind. But on those nights where we’d gotten to slip away during the day and had our fill of each other, I’d sit with my back against the headboard and listen for the sound of Adam’s footsteps or a rock against my window. Coming back for more when he’d already said goodnight.

I can hear it now. The pitter pat of a rock hitting the glass when he could have just texted me. He said he didn’t want to wake me up, he was just checking, and it felt more romantic that way.

Is he romantic with other people? I’d never known anyone like that before or since. Being eighteen and so bold with his affection just added another layer to how adventurous, focused and outgoing he was, but I wonder if it was youthful swagger. He could have been trying to get in my pants with all of those love notes and hand-carved stones and words of affirmation.

Which definitely worked.

But it felt like more. Every moment of it. Tonight, when his hand slipped into mine, I flashed back to those short cotton dresses and his hand on the side of my thigh. His soft, hairless cheek flush against mine. Teeth dragging over his bottom lip. Whispers into my ear: “Nothing else exists but you.”

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