Chapter 21

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JOHN

JOHN LOOKED from the VHS tape to Adam's tearful face and back, trying to figure out what the boy was silently telling him.

"Look!" Adam choked out, his eyes bright with joyful tears. He pointed at the tape as he thrust it into John's hands. "He rewrote every one."

John took the tape and turned it so he could read the label. He didn't see anything out of the ordinary at first, but when he looked closer, he could just make out the sheen of white-out and the faint marks of old ink beneath it. He grabbed another tape, then another. On one of them, the white-out wasn't as thick, so he could easily read what was written beneath.

On every single tape, Evelyn had been covered over, and Frank had written Adam instead. The man had actually taken the time to go back through Adam's life and validate his son's identity, all without telling Adam that he'd done so. And probably all without assuming Adam might ever so much as glance at those tapes again. Frank had done it for himself. Of course, it could have simply been a way for the man to get used to the idea of his little girl becoming a boy, but John had a feeling it was more than that. Adam had been Frank's entire world, and those rewritten labels proved it.

"It feels like a sign, you know?" Adam went on. He sniffed and wiped roughly at his cheeks, but more tears came as he laughed. "I mean, I know it's not. It's not like he came back from the dead and did this. He obviously did it before he died. But it feels like a message. That he really would have forgiven me. Like he wants me to be happy and have the surgery and be Adam without guilt." Adam paused, his smile dimming. "Or does that sound stupid?"

"No," John gasped. He set the tapes back in the box and grabbed Adam instead. "No, baby. That doesn't sound stupid at all." John swallowed hard as a pang of envy hit him square in the chest. "You know how much your dad loved you. He would never have blamed you for his death. I'm certain of it."

Adam smiled again, then he gasped as his smile turned into a grin. "Oh my god. Six days!" He threw his arms around John. "Holy shit. I can't wait."

John held him, his chest feeling tight. On one hand, he was happy beyond words for his boy. Adam deserved this. Deserved to be free of the weight of the guilt he'd been carrying around for almost a decade.

But on the other hand, John couldn't help feeling like he'd lost some ground. Not just one step back, but a flying leap.

He didn't believe in signs, but a part of him desperately wished that Frank would give him one of his own.

That thought plagued him all weekend as he helped Adam start to clear out the apartment. With the stacks of boxes taking over the dining room, John knew they'd have to haul those away first so they could make some space, so he looked up the nearest donation center and discovered they were open on weekends, after all. Same with a place that accepted documents for shredding. They started with the latter, loading all of Frank's old business files into John's truck on Saturday morning. Once those were dropped off, they went back and started bringing out the rest, piling boxes of clothing, kitchenware, and more into the truck bed.

While John hauled that load across town, Adam took pictures of the furniture with which he was willing to part. The boy got listings up on local market sites, deciding to give it all away for free rather than selling it. By the time Sunday evening rolled around, all the furniture in the third bedroom was gone. In the midst of all that happening, John helped Adam go through the rest of the boxes in that room, checking the contents before deciding whether they'd stay or go.

And Adam never stopped smiling through the whole process. He looked so unburdened that it simply took John's breath away. Adam was able to let go of a lot of things, but he kept the truly sentimental items. Photo albums, of course. And the box of VHS tapes, even though Adam didn't have a machine that could play them. When they came across a box of framed photographs, Adam broke down and cried again. Especially when he found a picture of himself and his dad at his high school graduation. Adam sobbed, staring at his dad's proud face, the last image captured of the man before he died just a few short weeks later.

But all of Adam's tears were happy ones.

"Is it weird that I feel like I've gotten a part of him back even though all his stuff is gone?" Adam asked, hugging the framed picture to his chest as he stood in the middle of the empty room at the end of the hallway. The few boxes that he'd kept were now in his bedroom closet, while a couple of the other framed pictures had found their way to the walls or tabletops about the apartment.

John looked at Adam. The boy had absolutely transformed over the course of the weekend. All the weight was gone from his shoulders. Even standing there, clinging to that picture, Adam looked so incredibly light and free, John almost wondered if the boy might simply float away.

Somehow, it made his own burden feel heavier.

"Maybe I'll try to find a VHS player," Adam went on with a big smile on his face. They had unearthed one from the mess in that third room, but when they plugged it in and hooked it up to Adam's TV, the machine made a horrific noise. Adam hadn't wanted to risk popping in a tape in case it got ruined, so the player had joined the discard pile. "Then I can hear his voice."

John winced. A part of him was tempted to offer that voicemail message on his phone again, but he stopped himself. Adam still wouldn't want to hear his dad in anger. Especially not after the joy he'd found after discovering those tapes. And even though John knew he needed to finally man-up and listen to the message himself, he couldn't find the strength to do it.

Come on, Frank. Give me something .

John inwardly cursed. Frank wasn't going to give him a sign. He knew that. Somehow, he was going to have to let go of the past all on his own.

But that was easier said than done.

"What do you want for dinner?" Adam asked, cutting into John's thoughts. "Shit. I probably need groceries." Adam laughed. "But I'm sure I can come up with something." He headed for the kitchen, and John slowly followed. "Or we can order in?" Adam asked over his shoulder. He reached the kitchen, set the picture frame on the dining table, and started hunting through the refrigerator. "Oh! Chicken and roasted vegetables? I can get started while you take a shower."

John blinked, feeling like his brain was being slow to catch up. Normally, it would be John himself suggesting that Adam start cooking while he went to take a shower, but Adam had beat him to it. John was just about to agree—if for no other reason than to give himself a few moments of privacy to relax and try to clear his head—but then he realized he hadn't been home for days and didn't have any clean clothes with him. Christ . For that matter, he suddenly couldn't remember the last time he'd done chores at home or bought groceries or paid his bills. That was last weekend, right? John inwardly cursed. He had no idea.

Who's the hot mess now?

Adam closed the refrigerator. "You wanna go home, don't you?"

John sighed. "I'm sorry, baby. Yeah. I need clothes for work tomorrow. I don't remember the last time I did laundry."

He fully expected Adam to offer washing the clothes that he had there. Either that, or ask if they could go stay the night at John's place instead. John was about to make the latter suggestion himself, but Adam said, "You're probably dying for some alone time, aren't you? I'm so sorry. You probably feel like you've been stuck here, taking care of me."

John's heart clenched. He crossed the room and grabbed Adam's head with both hands. "Not stuck," he insisted, then blew out a heavy breath. "But, yeah. I really could use a night at home." John barely paused before he added, "If you want to go pack a bag–"

Adam shook his head. "I'll be fine."

John studied Adam's eyes. "You sure?" he asked, but he didn't need Adam to reply. The answer was right there on the boy's face. In those stunning grey eyes, so clear of grief and guilt.

So John gathered up his overnight bag full of dirty clothes and took himself home.

As much as he hated fast food, he stopped at a drive-thru on the way, just so he wouldn't have to scramble for dinner. Once he reached his house, he could barely figure out where to start. He began to carry all his stuff inside, then paused as he passed the laundry machines, setting everything down so he could dump the contents of his overnight bag into the washer. Except he was sure there were more clothes in his hamper, so he continued inside and went to grab that. When he came back out, he found the takeout bag still sitting on the dryer. Despite being hungry, he'd forgotten all about it.

John sighed, started the machine running, and continued into the house, having to stop and go back since he'd forgotten to shut the garage door.

Christ!

By the time he ate, showered, finished his laundry, made a grocery list, and haphazardly tackled a couple of chores, he was beat.

John sank onto the couch with a groan. It was only eight o'clock, but he seriously considered going straight to bed. Maybe a good night's sleep in his own familiar space would help.

He opened his eyes and spotted his guitar straight ahead of him. John got up and snatched the thing out of its case, then dropped back onto the couch, laying his head back and closing his eyes as he idly strummed.

The one complete verse of Adam's Song ran through his head. John tried to find the right notes with his fingers as he imagined Adam singing the words. A frown took over his face. There was still something so off about it all. For one thing, plans and man didn't rhyme. Granted, when sung, it probably wouldn't be noticeable to the average listener, but John would know.

But there was something else. Something he couldn't put his finger on.

John muttered a curse and tried to think of the lines Ward had given him instead. He went through them over and over, trying to make a line of verse out of each one, trying to find rhymes for them. The words raced about in his mind. John felt like he was chasing them, the words always just out of reach.

He set the guitar aside and grabbed his notebooks, scribbling things down, hoping that putting them on paper might help. But no matter how long he sat there, the rhymes eluded him.

Eye-to-eye. What rhymes with eye? Pie? Sky? Why? Guy? High? Shit.

John wrote several variations of lines ending with those words, but none of them felt right.

He swept out an arm, flinging the notebooks aside, then cursed as he got up to retrieve them all, straightening the pages and stacking them neatly before tucking them away, out of sight. Maybe he should start entirely over. He wished there were some way to purge all the ideas from his mind and start fresh.

Burn it all down to a clean slate.

But that wasn't going to happen that night. He was exhausted, mentally and physically. John shut off the lights and went to bed, collapsing almost instantly into sleep.

He woke up the next morning, relieved to find himself in his own familiar surroundings. That sense of peace lasted right up until he looked at the clock and realized he was going to be late.

"Shit!" John lurched upright in bed. He flung back the covers, raced into the bathroom to use the toilet, then hurried out to the kitchen to get some coffee. Except the machine sat there, silent and empty. He'd forgotten to preset it last night. "Fuck!" John quickly set the pot to run, then went to get dressed while the coffee brewed.

He eyed himself in the bathroom mirror while he brushed his teeth. Who are you? John shook his head, barely recognizing himself. He wasn't supposed to be this chaotic disaster. Everything in his life was carefully organized and controlled. Planned out and predictable.

But he couldn't seem to keep anything straight lately.

John filled a travel mug with coffee, got into his truck, and rushed off to work. He arrived only a few minutes late thanks to his hurry and skipping breakfast, but he still cursed himself for it. John rushed into his office so he could talk to Ward and get their day started.

But he no sooner set foot inside than he heard a crash just beyond his office wall.

"What now?" John muttered, racing into the warehouse to see what happened.

He went to the barrel room first, worried that one of the barrels had fallen over somehow. Everything there looked intact. Nothing broken. The racks of barrels all stood silent and still, patiently waiting for their time to come. John went to the storage warehouse part of the building next and immediately ran into a commotion.

In the midst of the main aisle, a full pallet of wine lay on its side, the boxes mangled within their plastic wrapping. As John drew nearer, a puddle of dark red wine began to ooze out from under the cases, like a body losing blood. John froze, staring at it while warehouse workers swarmed about, bringing in mops and buckets and trash cans. He stood there dumbly as they started to tackle the mess, carefully separating cases to sort the broken bottles from those that were still intact.

"What happened?" John asked no one in particular.

Someone stepped out from behind the mess and said, "Looks like a board snapped. The pallet itself gave way, and the weight of the cases brought the whole thing down."

"Shit." John went to see for himself. Sure enough, the pallet itself had broken, and even with just one board snapped, it had been enough to tip the weight of the entire assembly forward, and gravity had taken over from there. Now fifty-six cases of wine lay in a heap on the floor while the puddle continued to spread.

John jumped in to help with the cleanup, desperate to see the mess fixed. It took the lot of them over an hour to sort the intact cases from the ruined ones, plus get a final count on how many bottles had broken and how many needed to be relabeled because of the wine stains. And all that on top of mopping up the wine and sweeping the broken glass away.

Once all was said and done, there was still a dark stain blotting the concrete floor. It wasn't the first and it wouldn't be the last, but it was definitely the worst one John had ever seen. He couldn't help standing there, staring at it. Like a chalk outline at a crime scene.

That accident seemed to set the tone for the rest of the week. John felt like he was constantly racing from one problem to another, putting out fires, cleaning up messes, trying to fix an endless list of things. He was so behind that when Adam texted him on Thursday morning, it took him far too long to understand what the simple message even meant.

Adam : Heading to my consultation. Did you still want to come with me?

"Shit," John swore, shooting up out of his chair. He'd forgotten all about Adam's appointment with the surgeon. Before John had left Adam's place on Sunday, he'd finally returned Adam's car keys, then promised to take time off work to meet him at the doctor's office.

John stepped out from behind his desk, patting his pockets to make sure he had his own keys, then lurched to a stop when his office door opened.

"Whoa," Ward said with a chuckle, nearly running right into him. "Sorry."

John waved off the apology with a quick flick of his hand and tried to get past him.

"I was just out by the riesling fields," Ward said as he stepped aside. "The neighbor's weeds are–"

"Not now," John interrupted him. He couldn't take any more problems that week, especially when he had somewhere else to be. His boy needed him, so he had to be focused on that, even while his skin crawled with the need to fix the growing pile of issues there at work. "I'll be back later."

John rushed out the door, got into his truck, and took off as fast as he dared, not wanting to be late.

And with everything else on his mind, whatever Ward had been about to tell him was completely forgotten.