saying that for you to keep your integrity, you need to maintain the life that you’ve made for yourself, and not let anything break it apart.” Adam’s voice was neutral.
“Exactly,” Jenna said gratefully. Adam always seemed to know what she meant to say. “Sometimes I feel like my life is a crystal ball: strong and solid, but full of hairline cracks. I have to be strong and hold it just right in both my hands, or the cracks will widen and the whole thing will fall apart.”
“And with you holding your world together so carefully, you’re not sure how I can fit in.”
“Well, it sounds pretty cold and awful when you say it like that, but you’re right as usual. I don’t know how you can fit in — or if you can at all, for that matter.”
He digested that with characteristic silence. “I understand.”
“Do you?” This time it was Jenna who stopped. They faced each other in the murky light. “I wish you could explain it to me, then. Because I seem to be in a complete mess about you.”
Hope flickered in his face, and she knew that she should have kept that last statement to herself. “That’s encouraging,” was all he said.
She shook her head emphatically. “No, it’s not. At least, it wasn’t meant to be.”
Jenna looked up and down the empty street. Adam caught the meaning behind the gesture. Another metaphor. “Do we keep going forward, or do we go back?” He pointed up the street. “It’s dark up that way, and there’s no telling what we’ll find. Back that way” — he pointed the opposite direction, towards Bill and Kitty’s house — “we know the road. Me, you, Bud — we’ve been over it a million times, and it never really changes. Maybe it’s time we walked forward into the dark, to see what else might be out there.”
Jenna’s voice was hard. “After all these years of running, I would’ve thought you’d know what’s out there.” Memories glinted in the darkness: The silver badge of the kind officer who had knocked on her door one morning and told her that her husband had died. An old photo, showing the man she had loved embracing another woman and a child. A hole dug in the ground for Bud’s coffin, like the hole in her heart, filling up with pain. “It’s just more road, Adam. It’s just more road. I’m sick of the unknown. All I want now is to raise my son in peace.”
Tears threatened behind her eyes, and she summoned her anger to push them away. “You can go on exploring your dark paths if you want to. But I’m going this way.” She turned and started back towards Bill and Kitty’s house. Her words floated over her shoulder in the darkness. “I’m going back to my family. I’m going home.”
* * *
Adam watched her walk away. Her slender figure cut through the night like a sword, until she was swallowed up by shadows. Eventually he started after her, his footsteps slow and resigned. He had ruined the moment. Again.
He hadn’t set out to make this a “moment.” When he’d invited Jenna to walk with him, what he’d really wanted to tell her was that he understood why she’d let everyone think that Christopher was Bud’s son. She’d had no other option available to her. Even if Adam had somehow achieved the impossible and been able to return to Virginia right after Bud’s funeral, would either of them have been able to admit to Bill and Kitty that Christopher was Adam’s child? It was doubtful. Very doubtful.
“I’m going back to my family,” Jenna had said, right before beating a hasty retreat down the street. And although she might not have been conscious of it, to Adam the underlying meaning was clear. She had a family that did not include him. The pain of that knowledge cut him deep, and although he groped for comfort, he could find none.
The next morning, he was up early. It was Sunday, which meant Bill and Kitty would be urging him to accompany them to church. He knew he wasn’t up for that, but he decided to make himself useful
“Exactly,” Jenna said gratefully. Adam always seemed to know what she meant to say. “Sometimes I feel like my life is a crystal ball: strong and solid, but full of hairline cracks. I have to be strong and hold it just right in both my hands, or the cracks will widen and the whole thing will fall apart.”
“And with you holding your world together so carefully, you’re not sure how I can fit in.”
“Well, it sounds pretty cold and awful when you say it like that, but you’re right as usual. I don’t know how you can fit in — or if you can at all, for that matter.”
He digested that with characteristic silence. “I understand.”
“Do you?” This time it was Jenna who stopped. They faced each other in the murky light. “I wish you could explain it to me, then. Because I seem to be in a complete mess about you.”
Hope flickered in his face, and she knew that she should have kept that last statement to herself. “That’s encouraging,” was all he said.
She shook her head emphatically. “No, it’s not. At least, it wasn’t meant to be.”
Jenna looked up and down the empty street. Adam caught the meaning behind the gesture. Another metaphor. “Do we keep going forward, or do we go back?” He pointed up the street. “It’s dark up that way, and there’s no telling what we’ll find. Back that way” — he pointed the opposite direction, towards Bill and Kitty’s house — “we know the road. Me, you, Bud — we’ve been over it a million times, and it never really changes. Maybe it’s time we walked forward into the dark, to see what else might be out there.”
Jenna’s voice was hard. “After all these years of running, I would’ve thought you’d know what’s out there.” Memories glinted in the darkness: The silver badge of the kind officer who had knocked on her door one morning and told her that her husband had died. An old photo, showing the man she had loved embracing another woman and a child. A hole dug in the ground for Bud’s coffin, like the hole in her heart, filling up with pain. “It’s just more road, Adam. It’s just more road. I’m sick of the unknown. All I want now is to raise my son in peace.”
Tears threatened behind her eyes, and she summoned her anger to push them away. “You can go on exploring your dark paths if you want to. But I’m going this way.” She turned and started back towards Bill and Kitty’s house. Her words floated over her shoulder in the darkness. “I’m going back to my family. I’m going home.”
* * *
Adam watched her walk away. Her slender figure cut through the night like a sword, until she was swallowed up by shadows. Eventually he started after her, his footsteps slow and resigned. He had ruined the moment. Again.
He hadn’t set out to make this a “moment.” When he’d invited Jenna to walk with him, what he’d really wanted to tell her was that he understood why she’d let everyone think that Christopher was Bud’s son. She’d had no other option available to her. Even if Adam had somehow achieved the impossible and been able to return to Virginia right after Bud’s funeral, would either of them have been able to admit to Bill and Kitty that Christopher was Adam’s child? It was doubtful. Very doubtful.
“I’m going back to my family,” Jenna had said, right before beating a hasty retreat down the street. And although she might not have been conscious of it, to Adam the underlying meaning was clear. She had a family that did not include him. The pain of that knowledge cut him deep, and although he groped for comfort, he could find none.
The next morning, he was up early. It was Sunday, which meant Bill and Kitty would be urging him to accompany them to church. He knew he wasn’t up for that, but he decided to make himself useful
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