Floating Staircase(7)

“Can we not have this discussion now? Can we at least enjoy our first night in our new home?” I reached for her hands, but she quickly tucked them inside her coat.

“It’s cold out here,” she said. “I’m going in.”

Jodie went immediately upstairs. A minute later, I heard the water pipes clank and start to hum and the sound of water filling the bathtub.

Standing in the darkness of our new living room, an assortment of cardboard boxes crowded around me like tourists gazing at a street performer, I exhaled a deep, pent-up breath. From nowhere, a defeating weight clung to my shoulders, pulling me down, down, down. I was still picturing Jodie from moments ago, standing like a ghost outside in the snow, her face hollowed by futility.

Fuck it, I thought and went outside, a cigarette already between my lips.

The front porch creaked and grew restless under my weight. I sucked down a lungful of smoke and felt my eyes grow wet in the bitter cold. Across the front yard, the naked trees seemed to undulate almost imperceptibly like living things. Beyond the trees, the moon was a luminescent skull behind black wisps of clouds.

I heard the snapping of twigs and the crunch of frost and dead leaves before I saw a figure emerge from the woods several yards down the winding dirt path that emptied out onto Waterview Court. The figure was carrying something as he—for the figure was undeniably male—made his way in my direction.

It was Adam.

“Freeze,” I called out.

He stopped and peered through the darkness before spotting me mixed in with the late night shadows on the porch. A cloud of vapor trailed up from his silhouette. “Jesus. The hell are you doing out here?”

“Hiding.”

“Want company?” He held up what must have been the bottle of port he’d been hunting for earlier.

“Depends. Who you got in mind?”

Adam took a swig from the bottle and wedged his free hand into the hip pocket of his dungarees. He leaned against the porch railing. It groaned but held him. “I hope you guys like the place.”

“What’s not to like?”

“I hope I didn’t start anything with that talk of raising a family,” he said.

“It’s fine.”

“Is it a sore subject?”

“It is what it is.”

Adam took another swig of wine. He refused to join me on the porch and did not look at me as he wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

“What’s on your mind? I know you didn’t just come over here to make sure I got home safe.”

He lowered and shook his head. He was smiling but there was nothing humorous about it.

Again, I was temporarily taken aback by Adam’s resemblance to our father. This ignited a memory of our old man’s Chrysler pulling into the driveway of our tiny duplex in Eastport, a Christmas tree strapped to the car’s roof. This had been when Kyle was still alive and we still decorated a real tree. The memory was sudden and fierce and nearly brought tears to my eyes.

“I guess I’m just hoping this was a good idea,” Adam said, calling me out of my reverie. “You guys moving out here and everything. You and me living across the street from each other, I mean.” He tapped his wedding ring against the wine bottle. “Do we need to talk about things? You and me?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Because last time we saw each other, things didn’t end well.”

I looked out over the yard. Beneath the moonlight the snow radiated like something not of this world. “Forget about it. We were both drunk.”

“It bothered me for a long time.”

“It’s in the past.”

“You really feel that way? Don’t shut me down if you don’t really feel that way.”

For an instant I searched deep within myself only to discover I didn’t know how to feel. Yet fearing that my silence would condemn me, I quickly said, “Of course.”

“We’ve already missed out on too much time. And for no good reason.”

“Now we can make up for it,” I told him.

He nodded once perfunctorily. “Good. I’d like that. I really would.”

“So it’s settled. No hard feelings. The past is history. Water under the bridge. Whatever other cliché I can’t think of at the moment.”

Adam chuckled and took another drink from the bottle. “I should probably get back. Unless you want to get shitfaced on the rest of this port with me?”

“No, thanks.”

“Wanna get shitfaced by yourself, then? I’ll leave you the bottle.”

I smiled. “Maybe tomorrow.”

Adam heaved himself off the railing. “Fair enough.” He raked a set of long fingers down the side of his unshaven neck. The sound was like sandpaper. It occurred to me that some of his courage to speak his mind was in that bottle. “You know where I live. Don’t be a stranger.”

“It’s good to see you again,” I said, watching him plod through the snow toward the trees.

Without looking back at me, he raised a hand in response.

I watched him go for as long as the dark allowed it.





CHAPTER FOUR

Startled, I awoke.

Where am I?

My heart fluttering in my chest, the tightening grip of panic rising up through the trunk of my body, it took several drawn-out seconds for me to remember where I was. We were no longer in the crooked little flat in North London; we were in our new bedroom in our new house in Westlake, Maryland.