Chapter Seventeen
Adam
WHEN I ARRIVE AT THE guard station at Barking Sands Missile Range, Sam Crowe meets me at the entrance as an escort, since it’s my first time there. She signs a waiver assuming responsibility for me then I follow her truck down the narrow roads to the project trailer on the south side of the base. I pull into the dirt lot and pull my green sedan into an unmarked parking space next to Sam’s old Chevy pickup truck.
“I’ll call the rental company today to see if we can switch out your mom car for something a bit more rugged,” she says with a snort as we climb the steel steps up to the door of the project trailer.
The inside of the trailer is cool and quiet and filled with the rich aroma of fresh coffee and the sweet smell of fresh blueprints. Four desks line the opposite wall of the trailer. On my immediate left is a water cooler and a foldout table topped with a coffee machine and various creamers and coffee supplies. The fourth desk at the end of the trailer is occupied by Larry Cromwell, who is currently on the phone. He nods at me and I salute him even though my dad already told me Larry doesn’t like to be saluted. Larry doesn’t know that I know this about him so I’ll just wait for him to tell me himself.
“That desk on the other end is for Ollie,” Sam says, nodding toward the messier desk at the opposite end of the trailer from Larry. “He had a meeting with the surveyor this morning. He’ll be in soon. These two desks in the middle are for us.”
Great. I’ll be listening to that snort for eight hours a day for the next two months.
After I boot up my laptop, I open my email to find a message from Claire.
Claire: Good morning, babe. I’m on my way to bomb this test on binomial distributions, but I wanted to shoot you a message to tell you how much I miss you. Call me on your lunch break. I should be back in the dorm by then. Love you.
She doesn’t normally send me good morning emails, but then again she doesn’t normally wake up five hours before me on a Monday. I make it through a few more emails from the grading and rebar subcontractors before I get to the last email from my cousin Jamie.
Jamie: Just thought I’d give you a heads up that Lindsay and Nathan are going to be at that competition on Koki Beach. Also, I spoke to Pauline (not about what you told me) and they’re doing okay.
That’s it. Even though we had a nice heart-to-heart discussion about Myles, she’s still a little pissed that I didn’t tell her the specifics of his death. She thinks I should have trusted her not to tell anyone. She doesn’t understand that I still feel like I got away with manslaughter. There’s no way I would have stopped Jamie if she went to the cops because that’s pretty much all I’ve hoped for these past five years since Myles fell to his death. I wish someone stronger than I would confess on my behalf.
So Nathan and Lindsay are going to the competition and Pauline and the rest of Myles’ family are doing okay. I don’t believe that Pauline is okay, but I have no doubt that Nathan and Lindsay will be at the Koki competition. Lindsay and Nathan are the reason I moved to Wrightsville Beach. On one hand, catching Lindsay cheating on me with Nathan was one of the best things that ever happened to me because it led me to Claire. On the other hand, I really don’t want to see her fucking smirk or the scar on his face from the day I beat the shit out of him. Mostly, I don’t want to be reminded of how out of control I was back then.
After a few hours of phone calls spent trying to work out permits and temporary utilities, Larry invites me to lunch while Sam stays in the trailer to hold down the fort. We each take our own vehicles because Larry has a meeting on the other side of the base after lunch. I follow him to Wrangler’s Steakhouse on Kaumualii Highway just a few blocks away from my rental house. As soon as we’re seated at our table, it only takes one sentence uttered from beneath Larry’s craggily gray mustache to know that I’m going to regret this lunch.
“So how long have you been working for Daddy?”
The waitress arrives and takes our drink order, giving me a moment to think of an appropriate response to this inappropriate question. Larry orders an Arnold Palmer and I order a glass of water.
“I’ve been working with my dad part-time for more than two years and full-time since June.”
I’m tempted to add that I started working at Parker Construction after graduating from Duke with my bachelor’s in architecture, but I doubt it would do anything to convince Larry that I deserve this position. Larry smiles as he sits back in his chair and folds his thick hands over his belly.
“I’ve known your dad for quite some time and I know he’s got plenty of other guys more qualified to do this job. Why’d he send you?”
I grit my teeth together as I try to remind myself that I will only be working with this prick for eight weeks. I dealt with the skeptical looks from employees in the Wilmington office for the first year or so, but everyone there knows I worked my ass off to get my degree and help my dad out for nearly three years and they respect me for it. This asshole doesn’t know that and it’s not my job to school him. But one good thing my dad did teach me was that we teach people how to treat us. Larry Cromwell will not treat me like a spoiled dumbass for eight weeks.
“I assure you that I am the most qualified project engineer for this project. I handled the startup on the Camp Lejeune training center project in June and, no disrespect, but this project is a walk in the park compared to that. My father sent me here because I’m the only one he trusts to oversee the dredging.”
He doesn’t look convinced, but this shuts him up. We make it through the meal without any further questions about my qualifications. We talk about the meetings we have scheduled for the week and when the drilling subcontractor is set to start their work. By the time I get into my car I’m annoyed. I don’t want to call Claire when I’m like this, but she asked me to call her on my lunch break.
I pull out of the steakhouse parking lot behind Larry’s new Cadillac and punch Claire’s number. I put her on speakerphone before I set the cellphone into the cup holder.
“Hey, sexy,” she answers.
“Hey, baby. What are you doing?”
“Studying to retake the exam I just failed this morning.”
“Why did you fail? I thought you were studying for that last night.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “I was gone for a while last night. I didn’t get a whole lot of studying done.”
“Were you partying on a Sunday?”
The silence on the other end of the phone puts me even more on edge. She’s hesitating and I can only imagine why.
“Chris was in an accident yesterday so I was at the hospital for a few hours. I didn’t get to study.”
Fuck. I hate that I feel even the slightest bit happy that he was in an accident. That’s fucked up.
“What happened? Is he all right?”
“He’s fine. He just broke his leg and they had to reset his fibula.”
“You went to the hospital to visit him for a few hours when you had a test to study for and all he has is a broken leg?”
“I didn’t know until I got there.”
“But you stayed for a few hours.”
“I was already there.”
I take a deep breath as I attempt to focus on the road. The ten-mile drive back to the base and the conversation with Claire was supposed to calm me before I got back to work.
“Adam?”
“What?”
“You’re mad.”
“How did you even visit him at night if you’re not family? I thought his mom never adopted you.”
“Adam, please.”
“Please, what? I just want to know if you’ve been lying to me.”
“I have not been lying to you. I lied to the hospital staff.”
“What do you mean, you lied to the hospital staff?”
She sucks in a loud breath then lets it out slowly. “It’s not a big deal. I just told them we were family so that I could get in to see him.”
“I don’t fucking get it
. Why was it so important to see him if it was just a broken leg?”
“Because I ran into Jackie in the waiting room and she wanted me to see him so I lied to the hospital staff and said we were married. Okay? Are you happy now or are you going to keep grilling me?”
Am I happy now?
I blink my eyes to keep the silvery road in front of me from blurring with rage. They taught us in anger management to take a moment to collect our thoughts. Step away until you can work things out calmly. I’ve had to use the shit I learned in anger management a lot lately.
“I can’t talk about this right now. I have to get back to work. I’ll call you when I get off work.”
“Adam, please don’t shut down. I had to deal with Jackie the best way I could. You have to understand what a tough situation I’m in here. She doesn’t know anything about the baby or us.”
“Why doesn’t she know about us?”
“Because I already broke her heart and I’m just becoming a part of her life again. And I need her. She’s the closest thing I have to a mother. Please don’t make me put that in jeopardy.”
“If she’s like a mother to you she’ll understand that you’ve moved on. I think you haven’t told her because you’re not sure you’re ready to move on.”
“What? That’s ridiculous. I… I can’t even believe you would say that. Chris and I are over. We’re just friends and we have to stay that way if we want to have any chance of seeing Abigail.”
Her voice cracks when she says her daughter’s name and I feel awful. Even if I’m still not totally convinced that there’s nothing between her and Chris, I can’t make her feel even guiltier than she already does. I can’t give her a reason to go running to him.
But I also can’t fucking stand knowing that she was at the hospital, lying to the staff, and sitting there with him for God knows how long, all over a broken leg.
“I’m sorry. I feel like you’re slipping through my fingers and I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t…. I don’t even know if I should.”
“What does that mean?”
I pull the car over onto the grass along the highway because I’m getting close to the guard station and I’m not supposed to be using a cellphone when I pull up.
“I mean that I don’t know if I should be trying to fight this. If you feel yourself being pulled to him, maybe I should just let it happen.”
I grab the phone out of the cup holder and take her off speakerphone. I suck in a deep breath and close my eyes as I lean my head against the headrest.
“I don’t want to be with Chris. I want to be with you.”
“I don’t want you to be with him. I want you all to myself, and I’m beginning to see how selfish that must seem. But it’s the fucking truth. I can’t stand that he gets to have you at his side whenever he needs you. I’m just not comfortable with it.”
“Are you saying you want me to stop seeing Chris?”
“Babe, I don’t think you see what’s happening because you want to think the best of him. He’s your first love and the father of your child. I get it. But this is exactly what he wants.”
“He wanted to break his leg?”
“No, he wants to tear us apart.”
“He does want to tear us apart and you’re allowing him to do just that.”
“I’m not allowing him to do shit, but I can’t do anything from here. You don’t understand the fucking lunch meeting I just had.” My stomach clenches as my mind goes over the last hour spent with Larry Cromwell. “I’m chained to this fucking island for the next eight weeks. I can’t blow this job. I can’t swoop in and take you back if Chris gets his way with you, but I want to. I want to show up at your door and take you in my arms. I want to kiss you till you can’t breathe. I want to be next to you and on top of you and inside of you. I want to fucking inhale you and every moment we spend together. But I can’t do that from here. I’m at a huge disadvantage. And I’m not giving up, I’m just telling you that I don’t think I can deal with this shit right now.”
“I don’t like where this conversation is going. I—” Her voice cuts off for a moment before it comes back. “It’s Chris calling me on the other line. He’s supposed to call me and tell me what happened with the meeting between Tasha and Abigail’s mother.”
“Go ahead. I know you have to take this. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
I shake my head as I drop the phone into the cup holder. This is way too much stress to put on a two-month relationship. Claire needs to take care of this stuff with her foster mother and Abigail and Chris. And she needs to study. I need to focus on getting this project set up and training for Koki Beach. If we want to have any chance of coming out the other side of the next eight weeks without hating each other, we need a break.
Chapter Eighteen
Chris
CLAIRE’S VOICEMAIL GREETING COMES ON and I immediately hang up. She’s probably meditating or talking to her boyfriend. I told her I would call her with the news about Tasha’s meeting. I move to lay my phone on the rolling table next to my hospital bed and just this small movement sends a bolt of pain shooting through my right leg and up my spine.
“Fuck!”
The phone vibrates in my hand as Nurse Fran walks into my room. “Is everything all right in here?” she asks as I answer the phone.
“Claire, you have to come down here,” I say into the phone, the pain pulsating throughout my entire body giving my voice a hard edge.
“Why? I already saw you yesterday and that was only because your mom insisted. It’s a broken leg, Chris. You’re not going to die. I have to study.”
“Not for me.”
Nurse Fran gives me a pointed look through her swooped black bangs. She ordered me to get some rest since this is my last night in the hospital, and here I am on the phone again. She already jokingly threatened to toss my phone out the window earlier today.
“It’s not for me, Claire,” I continue. “It’s Abigail. She’s here. That’s what the meeting was about. She’s having surgery tonight at eight and Abigail’s—” I hesitate to refer to this woman as Abigail’s mother, though she was nice enough to offer us a chance to see Abigail tonight. “Abigail’s mother is letting us see her tonight before she goes into surgery. You have to get down here.”
Claire is silent and I wish I could be there to give her this information in person instead of lying in this fucking bed. I wish I could have picked her up in my own car and held her hand as I delivered this news, but time is running out. This might be our only chance to see our daughter.
“Claire?” A soft sob comes through the speaker and it feels like a fucking knife in my chest. “Claire, can you get Senia to bring you?”
“I’ll be there.”
I hang up the phone and Fran glances at my chest and I’m pretty sure she’s just putting together my conversation with Claire and the tattoo over my heart. “You need a wheelchair?”
“Yes, please.”
As soon as she leaves the room, the aching in my chest spreads through my throat, choking me, until it reaches my face, stinging my eyes. I clear the thickness in my throat and try to compose myself before Fran returns. Then I hear the click of someone’s heels in the corridor and I know who’s coming.
Tasha enters my room wearing a cleavage-popping green dress that makes her red hair look even redder. The navy-blue cardigan she wears buttoned at the waist does nothing to hide the soft, round flesh bulging out of her neckline. A blue sweater, green dress, and cherry-red heels… somehow she pulls it off. It’s the sexy red-framed glasses and red lipstick that pulls it all together.
“Is she coming?” she asks as she walks right up to my bedside and stares at my bare chest.
I swallow the lump in my throat before I answer. “She’s on her way. You didn’t have to come here.”
The last thing I need right now is for Claire to feel intimidated by Tasha, if that’s even possible. I’m
pretty certain Claire knows she has me wrapped around her finger.
“I know I didn’t have to come, but I have to be here in case they try to make a verbal agreement,” Tasha replies as she peels her gaze away from my chest and takes a seat in a chair. “You have virtually no rights here, Chris. I’m just protecting your best interests.”
“Yeah, you’ve told me that before.”
Fran walks in with the wheelchair and I grit my teeth as I attempt to sit up. “Hold on there, bad boy. I’ll lift you up.”
“I don’t need you to lift me,” I say as she reaches for the button on the side of the bed to lift the head of the mattress, but she’s too late. I’m already sitting up and reaching for my leg in the splint.
“You can’t move your leg. I’ll do it.” I attempt to lift my leg out of the splint and the pain stops me cold. “Just hold your horses and I’ll do it for you. For crying out loud, eight o’clock isn’t for another ninety minutes. You’ve got time. Do you want something for the pain?”
“No. I want to go in there with a clear head.”
She nods and I try not to grimace too much as she slowly helps me into the wheelchair and props my leg up.
“I looked up the information for Abigail and I can take you straight to her as soon as your friend arrives,” Fran adds as she moves toward the door. “You may want to put a shirt on.”
She leaves and I look down at the jeans that Fran allowed me to put on earlier today. The right pant leg is cut off below the knee.
Tasha and I make small talk for a while as we wait for Claire. I want to ask her if Abigail’s mother told her how serious Abigail’s condition is, but I almost don’t want to know.
“Can you hand me that shirt you’re sitting on?” I ask Tasha.
She quickly stands and hands me the black NOFX shirt that is now nice and warm from her ass. It’s already hot as fuck in this hospital room so I wait a minute before I pull it on. Claire and Senia walk in as I’m shaking out the T-shirt and Claire instantly looks away from my chest. She hasn’t seen the new tat yet. I know this isn’t the right place or time to show her so I quickly pull my shirt over my head to cover it up.
I lean back a little and hit the nurse call button.
“Claire, Senia, this is Tasha Singer,” I say, nodding toward Tasha who’s standing on my left.
Senia ogles Tasha’s cleavage for a moment, before they shake hands. “Nice to meet you,” Tasha says before she turns to Claire.
Claire doesn’t seem to be in the mood for introductions, but she holds out her hand. “Nice meeting you.”
Fran arrives and immediately starts pushing me out of the room. No one speaks as we travel through the cold hospital corridors. Fran takes us down to the first floor, past the gift shop, and to the children’s hospital. We pass straight through the lobby and to another corridor toward the Heart Center.
I’m afraid of what we’ll find when we finally see her. I don’t want this to be the first and last time I ever see my daughter. I look to my left and Claire’s face is twisted with worry. I wonder if broken hearts are genetic.
Chapter Nineteen