Chapter Six

Our two houses were separated by an expanse of woods, but a path had been laid by the old neighbors, a retired couple who used our dock to paddle board and kayak.

Adam's dad and new step-mother took residence a month before we arrived. Heddy met them, explained that they would be coming and going all summer, that they bought the property as an investment and planned to use it solely as a vacation home. She did not mention, or they did not, the presence of an eighteen-year-old crooner who showed up in the yard that first day looking to make friends with David.

He got more than he bargained for.

On that third summer day, I had carefully walked across the trees to Adam, at his behest, knowing nothing about the people living in the house. It felt like trespassing. When I saw the gray shirt covering his back, I called out.

He spun around and I stopped walking, taken aback by the mask and protective eyewear covering his face. Adam quickly took them off, and said, "Hi. Sorry, I was working."

I looked anywhere but his captivating smile: the stool he sat on, the table in front of him, the tools plugged into an electrical socket on the wall. He grasped something small in his fist.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I carve stones," he said with a shrug, like it was the most normal hobby and I must know a million people who do that.

As of that moment, I knew one single person – him. When I made that fact obvious, he invited me over to the table.

He explained, "My dad moved my tools up here from the city, he's going to let me keep it all here."

"Where are you from?" I asked.

"Kennesaw."

He didn't ask me the same question. I learned later that he already knew what high school I went to, where I was going to college, where I hung out with my friends. He'd asked David all the questions, and he'd memorized the answers. We found parts of our lives that overlapped.

Adam held the stone in front of me, turning it back and forth, showing off the intricate swirling design he had etched. I noticed how closely he stood to me, our elbows bumping.

I had no reason to feel anything but physical attraction, but even in those early days, his closeness clawed deeper inside me than surface-level interest.

Adam had all of the confidence in the world. He wasn't a shell masking an inner truth. He just was , an absence of mystery and ambiguity, so completely honest and sure of himself and pure that his soul could pierce even the most solid fortress.

"Wow," I mused, running my finger over the bumps and ridges. I tried to keep neutral. Unaffected. "You did this? That's really cool."

I felt his eyes on me. When I looked up, he smiled and said, "It's something I like to do. What do you like to do for fun?"

"I bake." I crossed my arms and surveyed the workshop, taking a casual step back. He waited for more. "I take Amber for walks. I like to read magazines. I watch Bravo."

"What's that?" he asked.

"TV that rots my brain," I admit.

"Oh…I don't watch much TV," he says. I felt instantly confused. He might as well have tried to explain quantum physics to me.

I gawked, " Why not ?"

Adam swallowed a smile. "I try to be conscious of what I'm putting in my brain. Plus watching tv leaves a huge carbon footprint."

I knew those words from school. The words, not the meaning. I cleared my throat and took a step back. "So, Dave said you wanted to see me?"

Adam nodded, his eyebrows knitting together, and wiped his hands helplessly on his shirt. He raised a shoulder apologetically. "I wanted to ask you…I just wanted to say…" He stopped and restarted. "I think we should go on a date."

Heat burned my face.

" What ?" I asked breathlessly, working one hand into the other. A good bit of distance separated us.

Easily, Adam repeated, "I think we should go on a date."

"Why?" I whimpered.

"Because I like you."

I looked up from under my lashes and saw the look . Immediately I dropped my nervous twitch and realized I had been wrong about him the day before. I hadn't found the elusive handsome good guy, I'd stumbled upon the very common handsome Lothario.

"You don't know me," I said.

"Yes, that's the whole point of the need for a date," he explained. "To get to know you."

"You're only asking me because I'm the girl next door and it's convenient."

He clearly didn't anticipate pushback. He wasn't offended or defensive, just curious and maybe a little amused.

"That's not true," he defended himself. "I can go into town and find another girl to date, no problem."

I half hoped he would have said, No I want to date you because you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen and when you scaled that wall of coffee yesterday, I knew I had met my soulmate.

He didn't say that, though. He insinuated that he could get any girl at the drop of a hat. So, I figured the challenge was worth taking. I stepped over an extension cord to reach him.

"Okay, then, go find another girl to date," I suggested.

"But I don't want another girl," he stated clearly.

Butterflies again. I tried not to look at his intense eyes. I said, "I can't date you."

"Why?" He had taken a step closer to me and breathed out through his nose. I hadn't seen anything that covertly sensual outside of a PBS made-for-tv movie.

"My sister and I are here to have a sister's only summer. No distractions."

He tilted his head. "She's with her boyfriend ."

"Dave doesn't count. I've known him since they were on the same summer soccer league thirteen years ago and my godmother babysat him and his sisters twice a week. He's not a distraction."

Adam scrutinized my face, and I held my breath, turning inward, fearful that up close he would get a good look at my flaws and decide he had made a giant mistake and wanted his money back. He scraped his teeth against his bottom lip.

"Okay," he said finally. "I understand. I won't ask you anymore."

Deflated, I dropped my head and said, "Thank you."

"Just know," he added, "that I'll always want to. And more ."

Francesca slams a packet of frozen ground turkey on the counter. "What do you want to make for dinner?"

Flinching, little scream sneaks out from my throat.

"Earth to Vienna?" she demands. "What is wrong with you?"

I swallow. "I'm here." Barely. "Lost in thought."

I learned that stomach butterflies can appear on recollection of a memory. Who knew? That's an inconvenient bodily reaction.

Grayson brushes past me and drops a plastic container on the kitchen counter. The blue Beta fish inside swims frantically in circles, and he begs, "Mom, where's Miggy's bowl?"

From inside the pantry, she replies, "It's wrapped up in beach towels in the front seat. Wait for your dad, I don't want you carrying a giant glass bowl. Where's Alice?"

In need of fresh air, I offer, "I'll go get it," as Alice comes careening through the hallway to show off the most beautiful leaf she's ever seen in her life.

I hop off the stool and walk toward my boots. They're tall and dirty beside Lego-themed sneakers and a pair of tiny, glittery Uggs. I smile, sliding my feet into the warm soles, remembering our jelly sandals and white Keds tossed in a heap beside Heddy's gardening boots and umbrella. It never occurred to me how gratifying it would be to share this home with the kids.

Crossing the threshold, I finally see the lake in its Autumnal, daytime glory, and it's like stepping into a burgundy world. October feels orange, but November is warm and deep like a cabernet, having been aging slowly for an entire season. The sounds outside are sharp: a closed door, a squirrel scampering in the forest, my breath floating off toward the lake.

The wind whistles between branches. The soft rattle of it shudders through my soul. I close my eyes, feeling the chill wrap around my body and loving the shock on my bare knees as my feet crunch through the gravel to the van's open passenger door. I'm leaning inside, reaching for the pile of towels on the floorboard, ass out and on my tiptoes, when footsteps crunch behind me.

"Excuse me," a man says. "Sorry, to bother you. Are you all renting the house for Thanksgiving?"

I twist my head, hair covering my eyes. "Oh, no, we're not exactly renting. We're family."

There's silence on the other end.

I hold the ridiculously heavy fish bowl against my shirt, in between my bra-less boobs, and turn around.

He's just a few feet away. Worn jeans, scuffed brown boots. Plaid flannel peeking out from behind a blue sweater. Dark rumpled hair, thick broody eyebrows, and a short, untamed beard that surround the same chocolate eyes I see in my dreams. I immediately commit this moment to memory. I know I'll see it, every detail, for the rest of my life. Paint him in black and white, fingers folded into guitar strings, and he's the portrait I've been avoiding for fourteen years.

Adam's frozen too.

I focus on his frown and the eyes dragging from bedhead to bare thighs, and my body drains of blood. For a second, our eyes meet, and I can't imagine what's going through his mind because all I see is that last day.

The world is sunny, sticky, hot. He's clean-shaven, just the same height, with a sweat-stained shirt and bright red eyes. He's asking again, just like he did the first time under the stars and the second time in the dining room in front of my father. With a single look he's asking me to run away with him, but I don't have an answer this time. One yes, one no, one moment of silence.

That's all over.

It's Autumn now.