Page 80 of Vital Blindside

“Every single time.”

I sneak a glance in his direction once we reach the porch to find him staring inquisitively at the flowerpot housing one tall sunflower. “I made that in third grade,” I tell him.

The pot was once a bright orange colour with puffy white clouds and my name scrawled across it, but after years of weather damage, the pot is chipped, and the paint is dull.

“Mom’s kept it on this porch ever since. I’m pretty sure it’s housed every variation of flower known to man over the years.”

Adam looks at me, smiling. “She loves you. Adores you, really. It’s beautiful to see.”

My heart clenches. “Yeah. She does. I feel the same about her.”

He squeezes my hand, and I realize we’ve been standing, stalled, at the bottom of the porch stairs. “Come on, Scary Spice. It’ll be okay.”

“It will,” I repeat, steeling my spine.

We step on the first step together before doing the same with the second. Too soon, we’re in front of the door.

“I’m going to wait in my car for a few minutes, okay? If you need me, just come outside or call me. I won’t leave until you tell me to,” Adam says when I grab the doorknob. Our hands are still linked.

“I don’t want you to go,” I whisper, a lump building in my throat. I’m not sure if it’s fear, but it sure tastes like it.

His expression is sure, decided. “Then I’m not leaving. I’m staying here with you.”

I want him to stay too badly to keep insisting that he go, so I don’t. Instead, I open the door and lead him inside.

29

ADAM

Scarlett is practically vibrating with nerves as we step past the front door and move inside her home.

There are low, quiet voices coming from the left of the entrance way, and that’s where Scarlett heads first. I follow after her, staying close but not too close, and breathe in the smell of flowers that seems to be in every room.

Their home is small but well-kept. It’s cozy and welcoming, like somewhere you would want to go to relax and be alone. There aren’t many family photos on the wall. Instead, they seem to be kept on a corkboard on the wall above a bin of yarn. Several photos are tacked to the board, and I make a promise to myself that I’ll remember to come look at them all when we’re done here.

Scarlett leads us to a small sitting room off the entrance that houses a moss-green armchair with a tall back and thick armrests, along with a tall lamp tucked in the corner, a television on the wall that’s playing what looks like a Hallmark movie, and an array of plotted flowers scattered along the walls.

We find Amelia staring out the big circular window beside the chair, looking out at a lush side garden.

“Mom?” Scarlett breathes. She sounds both relieved and scared, and I hate that I can’t do more for her.

As much as I try to be there for her, I’m completely out of my depths with this. I’m a fish out of water when it comes to sick family members. Or family at all, really. Or at least I am when we’re speaking of blood relation.

There’s nothing I can do or say other than offer her my support in everything she does from this point forward.

Amelia sucks in a breath before spinning around to face us. Her cheeks blossom with a blush when she notices me beside her daughter, our hands connected and our fingers linked.

“Oh my. Look at you two. I can feel the love from here,” she sighs.

Scarlett’s mother is dressed in an ankle-length, pale pink nightgown with dainty white slippers on her feet. It’s clear she wasn’t expecting me, but I’m both happy and relieved that she’s not upset with the surprise.

“Good morning, Amelia. It should be a crime to look so beautiful so early in the day,” I compliment her, smiling wide. “You’re making the rest of us look bad.”

Scarlett laughs softly as her mom brushes me off, blushing. “You’re going to give this old woman a heart attack, Adam.”

“You’re hardly old,” Scarlett says.

“Well, my wrinkled ass cheeks say otherwise.”

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