Chapter Seven

Adam stands in front of me. To someone else, he'd be a Grammy Award-winning musician judging their loungewear and hoping not to be bothered for an autograph.

To me, he's the eighteen-year-old boy I loved. I wasn't sure before, not when so much time has passed, but I'm sure about it now, and it was love, on my part at least.

God, if we hadn't been stopped, I would have given that boy my entire soul.

This man still might have some part of it. His familiar dark eyes find mine, and I'm only aware that I've stopped breathing when he finally looks away and I catch my stifled breath.

After an expressionless once over, I'm no longer worthy of Adam's attention. Instead, he directs my screaming nephew. "Hey," he calls out.

"No!" Grayson shouts.

The colors of the present seep back into reality. I assess my empty hands, the chill of my nipples, the nothingness in front of my body.

I've dropped the goddamned fish bowl.

I did hear it crack – shatter, more like – but I was too busy staring at Adam and being in a state of shock to care. Not that a kindergartener would accept that defense.

Grayson shouts at me. "What did you do?"

My hands stay out in front of me, clutching the imaginary fish bowl and wishing I had dignity within reach. "I – I –"

Adam approaches the towels at my feet and holds a hand to stop Grayson from coming closer. "Stay back buddy, I don't want you to cut yourself," he explains, his voice as thick and deep and smooth as ever.

I stare at the top of his head as he moves to pick up the edges of the unwrapped towel. My breath stops again. I might pass out. Or be sick. He folds the towel and his tan, strong fingers brush against my boot, and I swear I feel it against my skin.

This cannot be happening.

He stands, twisting the gathered towel in front of me, and checks the rocks between our feet. He's so close to me that his breath touches mine. I wish that I could stop my mouth from gaping, stop my eyes from trying to pierce through his skull, but my brain's gone on vacation. My body moves on autopilot.

I remember that scar on his right eyebrow. I don't recognize the speck of gray in his short beard.

"I think it's okay," Adam says, oblivious to my state, instead looking at Grayson in the open front door, as emotionally shattered as his fish's home. Adam gestures to the space in front of the car. "I would just wear thick shoes when you walk out here again. This is a boots-only area."

Grayson huffs, "I only have my sneakers. Ugh, everything is ruined!"

Adam continues to avoid my eyeline. "I'm sure your mom can get you some boots." I realize he won't look at me, but he did motion in my direction with his head. "I've got some tools and a special vacuum in my workshop that'll take care of it. If you call your dad back out, I'll show him to it."

"My dad's not good at tools," Grayson growls. He turns around. "And she's not my mom . "

Adam's head tilts.

"Grayson, what are you yelling about?" Francesca asks, coming outside.

"Auntie Vee broke Miggy's bowl!" Grayson storms inside.

Fran's eyes go wide. She throws her hands in the air. "What happened, Vienna?" Then she sees him. "Wait…Adam?"

I watch the smile break over his face. His dark lashes touch, and he relaxes easily on one hip. "Fran?"

I'm still motionless while the two of them register the connection and cross the distance to exchange a non-awkward hug. For people who only knew each other for few months years ago, they're oddly familiar.

"What are you doing here?" she asks. "David, come outside!"

"Oh, I'm just –"

"Adsy!" David exclaims with surprise, coming through the door. He pounds him on the back.

Adam shakes his shoulder. "Well, I'm just here for the holiday. My sister and her husband wanted some peace, so I thought I'd crash it."

"Oh, they wouldn't get any with us here, anyway," Fran says. "It's so good to see you again! I wondered if we would." Then, exasperation rustles through her nose when she sees the towel in his hand. "And thank you for that . One more task to add to our fun family holiday! Get fish new bowl."

He holds it up. "I think most of the glass stayed contained in here."

The rest of it pierced my soul.

"There shouldn't be much on the ground, but I've got a Shop-Vac if you need it." Adam hands the bundle over.

David takes it carefully, and places it on the porch. He says, "I'll grab it later. Hey, how come we haven't seen you around here?"

"Yeah…" Adam runs a hand through his hair. His back is to me. "My dad and his wife decided to rent out the house and it's a big vacation seller. I try to come back occasionally, but usually in the Fall, when it's available."

"Ah. We're exclusively summer people," Dave replies, catching a leaf midair.

Francesca adds, "We come back every summer for a few weeks."

"Minus one," David mutters.

Her smile strains. "It's nice to be back here. All together."

Even with my internal struggle erupting, I notice Fran's tense muscles relax when David elbows her lightly in the side. Without context, a viewer couldn't read the sentiment.

"It is," he drops with finality.

Adam asks, "Where are you guys living now?"

"Just outside of Atlanta," Francesca says. She rattles the bangle on her arm. "You?"

He answers, "Chicago. I've been there a few years. The country music crowd in Nashville wasn't exactly my scene."

David says, "We didn't make it long in Boston, Fran and I, it was just too cold. I don't know how you deal with that."

"I'm out on tour a ton, traveling for shows and events." Adam shakes his head. "I'm not in any place too long. My dog's my home. I just need a bed to sleep in."

Alice comes outside and leans into her mother's legs. Francesca runs fingers through her soft, golden hair and leans down to say, "We're lucky to live close enough to this place so we can give the kids what we grew up with. And we are so excited to be here for Thanksgiving for the first time and to finally share the house with Auntie Vee! Aren't we, Al?"

"Yes!" Alice smiles.

I don't know what is real or imagined. Does the sun shine, does that squirrel exist, did Adam's head tilt the tiniest bit toward me at the mention of my name?

Francesca catches my eye. "Oh! Adam, do you remember my sister, Vienna?"

He doesn't turn around, but simply answers, "Yeah. We've met."

We've met? Something drops inside of me.

David says, "Come inside! It's cold as balls out here."

" It is ," Francesca agrees. Her eyes bulge, and she motions for me to close my cardigan in front of my chest.

I swallow, gathering the fabric behind crossed arms, and watch them enter the house. I stay outside, burgundy turning blue, another drip of pain hitting my core. The cold air stings now and the sound of leaves angers my ears.

I didn't think I'd ever see him again. I could avoid his music as best as possible, but the human form of him I considered far from my grasp, out of orbit. I only considered the pain of memory. The pain of being in this house and reliving everything I felt that summer. He didn't exist anymore, yet he does. But he doesn't seem affected by seeing me.

And all good things hurt right now.

Chapter Eight

I can't stay outside forever, but oh how I wish I could. I'd live in the boots-only area if it meant not facing the future that I didn't accept.

God, why does he still have that look ? That moody singer-songwriter, catch you off guard when he smiles more than you think he would, stands so firmly on the Earth that he looks as warm and purposeful as an oak tree look . That summer, he spoke in eye flutters and listened with his skin. He treated me like a work of art. I'll forget a million words, but never how he made me feel.

I manage to make it long enough outside for my lips to feel numb before I succumb to self-preservation. They're all laughing in the kitchen. Probably laughing at me and my dry knees and cold, bold nipples.

"Vee!" Francesca calls out.

I close the front door and walk into the room. Adam has his back to me, he and David sitting at the kitchen table, a pulled-out chair where Fran had been. It took five seconds for her to find the coffee cake I made Wednesday night. Yellow beeswax wrapping sits crinkled next to dancing monkey salt and pepper shakers.

Francesca opens her mouth to ask me something, but she stops when Adam asks, "Who made this cake?" He munches on a brown sugar crumble. "It's delicious."

"Vienna did," she answers.

He mulls it over. Then: "You sell this?"

He's not looking at me, that would render me goo, but I'm being addressed. I can't find words. David raises his eyebrows, waiting for me to speak human words with my human brain.

"Sell it?" Francesca scoffs before I get the chance. "Like a bake sale? Or a sidewalk lemonade stand?"

David shakes his head, giving her a look. "It's not a crazy idea, Fran. People would pay money for this."

"Like charity?"

"Like a business," he says, giving her an expression I know all too well. The big brother eyes. The don't be like this look.

"It's my mother's recipe," Francesca snaps. Then, she gauges the energy in the room.

David's admonishment, Adam's indifference, my statue-like state.

"But, whatever, yeah, sure," she mutters. "Not that Vienna wants to become a professional baker or anything. She doesn't have time with her job. Besides, who would watch our children during the holidays?"

"A nanny." David tugs on the chair beside him. "Have a seat, Vee."

Francesca pulls open cabinets. "But first, Vee, where can we put this fish? Where does Heddy keep salad bowls and –"

David laughs, "Fran, you are not putting the fish in a salad bowl!"

I tug off my boots and, barefoot, cross the room, trying to keep my expression as vacant as possible. My feet stick against the wood, the hem of my shorts has a tear in them, and I'm sure my eyes are crusty.

At least I don't have to worry about Adam falling in love with me all over again.

"How about a vase?" I suggest, pausing in front of the stove and pointing to the cabinet above.

"Who puts glass objects on the highest possible shelf?" Francesca complains. "Heddy's a munchkin. You think she'd know better. I'll get a stool."

A gruff, melodic voice offers, "I got it."

" No ," I deny out of instinct.

I'm a lot of undesirable things, but illogically proud is not one of them. If I'm capable, I'd like to do it myself.

Adam and I finally meet eyes again. He's standing, ready to easily reach into the cabinet, a paused look on his vacant face. I wonder if he's doing it on purpose. I'm praying that it's on purpose.

I force my voice to work. "I got it." I walk over to the table and take Fran's chair. It falls on its legs and everyone stares at the sound as I drag it across the kitchen.

"Drama, this one," Francesca mutters.

I climb on the chair and reach for a wide, cylindrical glass vase. After placing it on the counter and hopping to the ground, I call out, "Hey, Gray!"

He shuffles into the room holding his iPad and leans against the doorway. "What?"

Francesca scolds, " Excuse me . Try again."

He sighs. "Yes, Auntie Vee?"

I squat, meeting him at eye level. "I'm sorry I broke Miggy's bowl. It was a complete accident. I'll buy you another one. For now, will this work?"

He glances behind me. His eyes narrow, his mouth purses. He doesn't want to let me off the hook, but he answers, "That works."

"Do you forgive me?"

A small lift creeps into the corner of his mouth. "Only if you make up for it."

David snorts a laugh.

"How?" I squint.

Grayson bites back a smile. "It'll come to me. It'll come to me." He looks over at the laughter coming from the table. "Who are you?" he wonders.

At that, Adam takes a step forward, crossing his legs and leaning his hip into the counter, things I only notice from my periphery because I can't bear to look at him straight on again.

"I'm Adam Kent," he says. "I live next door. I'm a friend of your parents."

"We don't know the neighbors," Grayson argues.

"I'm not here during the summer." Adam clears his throat. "We, uh, we spent a summer together. Years ago."

"Oh." Grayson asks, "Was Auntie Vee here?"

My head moves involuntarily toward Adam. He's nodding slowly, focused on Grayson.

"Sure." He shrugs. "She was around somewhere."

Drip.

There's a blankness in the way he answers, and I beg his eyes to care about mine, but his demeanor is one of ease. He keeps his gaze squarely on my nephew.

It leads me to wonder if I exaggerated all of it, if he never cared that much, if we were just lustful, hormone-impaired kids.

"Because she doesn't come here in the summer with us ," Grayson says. He casts his eyes to the side. "I usually sleep in her room."

I say, "So sorry for the inconvenience."

"We are glad Auntie Vee is here," Francesca begins. "I just hope she didn't stay away from this place because she knows something we don't. Like where the bodies are buried."

"Alice snores," Grayson pouts.

David stands and says, " Anyway , Gray, Adam's a singer. Your mom listens to him all the time.

"It's true." Francesca nods proudly. "I really, really do. If I'm in public and a song comes on, I always say to the stranger who thinks I'm crazy, I know him! "

Damn that smile of his, even under a layer of facial hair.

Adam jokingly waves them away saying, "Thanks, guys. It takes a village to make me a successful, rich, and famous person – I'll remember you in my will. Plus, I wrote every song about you, you know."

"Those were the best three months of our lives," David commiserates.

"I've never recovered," Adam breathes.

"You ruined everyone else for me."

"I'll never love again."

Grayson squints through their ridiculous exchange, his lips moving, mouthing something, and then his face lights up. "Oh! I remember seeing your name on my mom's phone."

David narrows his gray eyes. "You can read?"

Francesca, Grayson, and I answer in unison: " Yes ."

"Vee taught him to read. He's actually pretty advanced and a little insufferable about it," Francesca adds under breath to Adam.

" And I read his name on mom's phone." Grayson pauses. "Auntie Vee hates your songs."

"Grayson!" I snap.

Adam looks at the floor and laughs. "Well, I'm not everyone's cup of tea."

Grayson's hands start moving around wildly. "Every time we're at the grocery store or in the car or she's on TikTok, she's like, ‘No – no! Turn this off! I hate this song –"

"Okay!" I interrupt, plastering my hand over his mouth. "We're going to find Alice."

Francesca jumps in, "Why don't you put some actual clothes on, Vienna."

"Why don't you parent your children?" I call over my shoulder.

She shrugs. "We're on vacation."

Before I can leave the room, however, we're all frozen by the sound of something in the pantry. It bumps against the door.

"The peacock," Grayson whispers.

"The ghost," Francesca says.

"The Alice," I decide.

David opens the door to a surprised, horrified scream. Alice pauses, cross-legged in the middle of the closet, one cookie in hand and another in her mouth.

David and Adam laugh while Francesca comes to scoop her up from the floor.

"Alice Marie!" she admonishes. "When did you sneak in there? Where did you get those cookies from?"

"Auntie Vee must have made them," Grayson says. "They're too pretty to be from the store."

Fran takes the cookie and spins it around in her hand. "Oh yeah. Thanksgiving cookies. These are great, Vienna!" She takes a bite. "Cinnamon?"

I nod, tense. Still begging for a reason to get out of this room.

She says, "We should send some with Adam, you always bake enough for a Star Wars convention and my children turn rabid on sugar."

I nod. Tense.

I listen to the sound of Adam's breath. He's about to speak. It makes me more tense.

He says, "Actually, why don't you all come over for dinner tonight? My sister Maggie and her husband Diego would love to meet you. We're just grilling out: hotdogs and hamburgers, chips, s'mores."

As the three other adults discuss their plans, Grayson begins to walk out of the room and my hand's still glued to his shoulder, so I take the exit with gratefulness. In the hallway by the back stairs, I exhale.

Adam's voice carries through the kitchen, but I stare at the back door, imagining the sound coming from below the buzzing porch light as its surrounded by bugs. He's whispering to me through the screen, asking if everyone else has finally gone to sleep.