Page 109 of Love, Second Chances and Other Nonsense
Sometimes, I stop and watch Adam as he works, seeing the precise way he measures twice before cutting, the care he takes with even the smallest details. There’s something deeply sad about the intensity of his focus, as if he’s pouring every ounce of himself into this house to avoid facing what’s happened between us. The dark circles shadowing his eyes look like bruises. Adam looks like he’s running on fumes and determination alone.
But every time I try to bring up his obvious exhaustion, he changes the subject.
Today I’m elbow deep in dinner prep at the restaurant when Jenny bursts into the kitchen, her normally composed face pinched with worry.
“Adam’s gone,” she says without preamble. “He got a call about twenty minutes ago, stepped outside to take it, and hasn’t come back.”
I set down my knife and turn towards her. “Do you think he left?”
“His truck’s still here,” Jenny says, twisting her apron between her fingers. “But I can’t find him anywhere.”
Uncle Peter glances at me, his expression unreadable. “Go find him,” he says simply. “I’ll handle things here.”
I nod quickly, washing my hands. As I dry them on a towel, I try to tamp down the worry gnawing at my insides. Adam wouldn’t just disappear in the middle of a shift without a reason. Something must be wrong.
I scan the dining room quickly, but there’s no sign of Adam’s tall frame. I check the back storage area, the bathrooms, even the small office where we handle paperwork. Nothing.
It’s not until I push through the back door into the parking lot that I find him. Leaning against the brick wall, phone clutched in his hand. His face is pale, almost gray.
“Adam?” I approach carefully, as if he might startle and bolt. “Are you okay?”
He looks up, and the raw pain in his eyes makes my heart clench. “Caitlin,” he says, his voice hollow. “I’m sorry. I just… I needed a minute.”
“What happened? Jenny said you got a call.”
“It’s my dad.” His fingers tighten around the phone until his knuckles whiten. “He had another heart attack. A bad one this time.” His voice cracks slightly on the last words. “Lauren says… she says the doctors aren’t sure which way it’s going to go.”
“Oh, Adam.” I reach for his hand without thinking, covering his white-knuckled grip on the phone. “I’m so sorry.”
He stares down at our joined hands as if they belong to someone else. “I don’t know what to do,” he admits quietly. “Part of me wants to get on a plane right now, to get to Iowa before it’s too late. And part of me…” He trails off, shaking his head.
“Part of you what?” I prompt gently.
His eyes meet mine, tortured with conflict. “Part of me wonders if I should go at all. I’ve been so angry with them, Caitlin. With my mother for manipulating me my whole life. With my father for never stepping in, for letting it happen.”
“I’ve been avoiding his calls,” he admits, his voice barely a whisper. “Not answering his texts. And now…”
His words hang in the air between us, heavy with pain. I keep my hand on his, a small point of connection in the midst of his turmoil.
“What do you want to do?” I ask, careful to keep my tone neutral.
Adam runs his free hand through his hair, a gesture so familiar it makes my chest ache. “I don’t know. I don’t want him to die thinking I hate him. I don’t want him to die without seeing him again.” He takes a shaky breath. “But going back there… seeing my mother, seeing Millie, it feels suffocating, like a trap is closing around me again…”
I understand his fear. Mount Pella is where everything fell apart for us, where Adam was pulled back into toxic patterns by the people who should have protected him. The thought of him returning there, alone and vulnerable while his father is dying, makes my stomach twist.
Aunt Charlene’s words echo in my mind: “Adam was abused as a child. A parent doesn’t have to raise a hand against a kid to abuse them. They can do it with words, with expectations, with emotional manipulation.” I look at Adam now, my strong, capable Adam, who is rebuilding my childhood home board by board, and I see the wounded child beneath, the little boy who was never allowed to put his own needs first.
I make my decision in that moment, as clear and certain as anything I’ve ever known.
“If you want to go back,” I say slowly, “to say goodbye, or to try to make peace, or whatever you need to do… I’ll go with you.”
His head snaps up, eyes wide with disbelief. “What?”
“I’ll go with you,” I repeat, more firmly this time. “As a friend. For support.” I squeeze his hand. “You shouldn’t have to face this alone, Adam.”
He stares at me as if I’ve started speaking in tongues. “After everything that happened there? After everything I did? You would go back to that place with me?”
“Yes.” The simplicity of my answer seems to floor him.
