I really messed things up this time. Instead of telling Adam what happened and expressing my feelings, I shut down. I can’t blame him for leaving. I would’ve left too, after a rejection like that.
I walk along the fence line that leads to one of the small cabins along the back of the property. If I recall, there are three or four small cabins within the treeline that were once used for hunting. The previous owners loved hunting elk and black bear of all things. Hunting isn’t a sport I know much about, but I can’t imagine hunting black bear is all that safe.
The ground crunches below my feet. Life hasn’t returned to the land yet, but signs of it are starting to randomly peek past thedead leaves and grass. The last of the snow melted a few weeks ago. I imagine it won’t take long for the green grass to overtake the dead vegetation littering the surface.
It takes about ten minutes to reach the treeline and locate one of the cabins. The cabin is small with a partial wrap around porch. The porch extends along the front and northern side. I glance over my shoulder and immediately understand why. Every position provides a perfect view of the mountains with only a few trees blocking the view.
When I try the door handle, I’m not surprised to find it’s unlocked. One of the first things I learned after moving here is no one outside of town ever locks their doors.
The cabin opens into a combined living, dining, and cooking space. It’s old, filthy, and in serious need of an upgrade. There’s one small bedroom, and an even smaller outdated bathroom. Not a bad size for a couple, but a family would be cramped. If I want to rent them out, it’ll take some serious work.
I head back outside and sit on the front steps. These views really are spectacular. I only wish my mood was better, so I could actually enjoy them.
Lizzy’s call yesterday completely threw me off balance and sent me into a downward spiral of self-pity and grief. I was so upset by her words it didn’t register when Adam came into the bathroom. It wasn’t until later in the day that his words—and my reaction—replayed in my mind in perfect clarity.
I couldn’t process my emotions, and I unintentionally told him I needed time. Away from him.
That isn’t what I meant, but now I can see that’s how it sounded. I was stuck in my head, mulling over the words Lizzy said. She was upset. Not at me, or Adam. But because she misses her dad. Over the past two years, she’s called me often, upset and struggling to cope with her own loss. Mark’s birthday was always the worst for her.
We’d become a crutch for each other. Every time one of us had a bad day, we leaned on the other for support. God help us on the days we were both emotional. On those days, we’d crawl into my bed and watch sappy movies until it dawned a new day. We did that a lot right after the accident. For days on end, we hid from the world—too lost and hurt to find our way out.
But we’re past that—or so I thought. Her bad days were a lot less frequent than mine, so I assumed she was doing better. She encouraged me for months to start dating. I thought she was crazy to think I could ever find someone I cared enough about to date. I wasn’t the least bit interested. But that didn’t stop her from pushing me to do it.
She even supported this move. She supports my healing. And I know she supports Adam.
This will pass. It has to.
After Adam left and I calmed down, I assumed he’d come back in a few hours to work on the house. When he never showed up, I knew I really screwed things up.
Instead of writing, I spent most of the day staring out the window of my studio watching the driveway. It was like I was willing him to appear. As long as I kept my eyes on the road, he’d show up.
He never did.
I checked my phone at least a hundred times, certain he’d text me to check if I was all right. That never happened either.
At one point, I’d even convinced myself he wasn’t upset with me at all. He was just giving me space. I didn’t really say much to him. My words could’ve meant anything. I even convinced myself he didn’t hear me correctly. That he jumped to conclusions, and this was all his fault.
That had become the narrative in my mind that got me through yesterday. But as time passed and he never came backor texted me, I knew I’d been the one to put the wedge between us.
I eventually built up the courage to call him. His crew finished for the day, and it was close to dinner time. I figured whatever he was doing work wise, he’d be done at that point. But his phone rang once and went straight to voicemail. I didn’t leave a message, because I didn’t know what to say. That was the point at which I broke down again. I didn’t eat, and I barely slept last night.
I tried calling again this morning. Same thing. Voicemail. I desperately need to fix this between us, but I can’t do that if he won’t talk to me.
So, I did something I haven’t done in years. I called a friend.
Well, the closest thing to a friend I have these days.
But if I’m being honest with myself—which I’m really trying to do—Rachel is Adam’s friend. Not mine. She willingly agreed to meet with me tonight. She didn’t say anything that indicated she knew I upset Adam, but I’m sure she contacted him after I refused to talk over the phone.
This is a conversation I need to have face-to-face. Other than Adam, I haven’t told anyone else about Alex. I admit to being a widow, but I don’t share any details about how that came to be.
I can fix this. I know I can. I can’t lose Adam, too.
Rather than going out,Rachel agrees to come over to my house for dinner. I told her I would cook if she brought dessert. It was an easy sell.
I choose a simple dinner and make one of my favorites—chicken parmigiana with a side of pasta. It goes great with justabout any red wine. It was one of Alex’s favorites. I figure it's a safe bet Rachel will like it, too.
As soon as I pull the chicken out from under the broiler, the doorbell rings.
