It was time to face the facts—the outcome of my New Year’s Eve party.
I pull down the long driveway, shaded by thick pine trees. The parking lot is inconspicuous to the rest of the building, which offers the landscape of the location beauty rather than a feeling of hell. The walk along the curb and up the stone steps is more bitter than it was when I left my apartment. I’m higher in altitude, and the temperatures are always a ten-degree difference. I pull my coat tighter around my chest and lift my collar to block out the wind.
The doors open automatically, and I walk in through the serene lobby encased by a botanical garden, a small waterfall, and a koi pond. There’s something special about the fragrance of rare flowers in the dead of winter. The farther I walk inside, the more noticeable the ambient sounds of an orchestra play subtly as a minor backdrop. This place does a good job of concealing the truth within the outer walls. I take the glass elevator up to the third floor, feeling the familiar pain and unease as I step out on the old hardwood floors they kept as original when remodeling the building.
The door to Room 303 is open, as always, and I walk in quietly, finding the guest chair in the same spot it’s always in. I place my bag down and take Adam’s hand within mine.
“Can you believe it’s already Friday?” I ask him. His eyes open, and he peers over to me through his peripheral. “The sun is out today. No more snow for a couple of days, hopefully.”
I stand from the chair and straighten the sheets over his body, being careful not to touch any of the wires or his breathing tube. Adam blinks once, and I know that’s his way of saying hello or agreeing to a comment. Two blinks mean he doesn’t agree.
“I had a bunch of photoshoots this week. They kept me pretty busy, which is good since it keeps my mind off my Dad and all the decisions with the distillery, but I finally decided to sell my share.”
Adam blinks twice. I knew he would.
I shake my head. “No. I can’t walk through there without feeling sick to my stomach. There are so many mixed emotions about the place, but there isn’t happiness there. There are memories and the void of my dad. I couldn’t bear the thought of diving in and running the show with Melody. It’s better off this way.”
Adam doesn’t blink. The guilt about Brody is sloshing around in my head, but there’s no way I’d bring up his name in this facility. It wouldn’t be fair. There are a set number of blinks that he could respond with to make me realize how much the thought of Brody would hurt him. It doesn’t matter if a year has passed for fifteen years. Adam and I haven’t spoken since that night. Therefore, I don’t know how he feels. He’s forever stuck with his last thoughts from before the accident.
“I brought a couple of DVDs. They’re new releases, so maybe you’ll enjoy them.” He has cable, but his channel selection isn’t great, and the TV is old enough that it still has the hookups to play DVDs. Aside from music or something to watch, I can’t offer him much else.
Adam is staring at me, but the look is blank. I don’t know how much activity flows through his brain, but I assume there’s a decent amount if he can respond to the simple statements I make. He blinks twice and keeps his eyes closed the last time.
“I can get a nurse,” I offer.
He blinks twice again.
“Is it me?”
One blink.
His eyes move subtly from the top of my head to my chin as if he’s studying my face, then blinks twice again. I place my hands on my cheeks, feeling around for whatever he’s looking at, but all I feel is the definition of my cheekbones. I run my fingers across them, losing myself in the moment, but I notice Adam blink once.
My cheeks?
Another blink.
His eyes slowly drift to my hand that’s resting on the side of the bed.
“I’m not sick,” I tell him, wondering if that’s what he’s thinking.
He blinks twice and closes his eyes again. He doesn’t reopen his eyes for the duration of my stay.
I kiss him on the top of his overgrown shaggy hair and grab my belongings before leaving Adam to the place he has remained for the last thirteen years.
My legs move much quicker when leaving the facility than they did when I arrived. When I slip back into the Jeep, I normally feel as though I’ve gone to confession for the week, releasing all the details—the good and bad. Except, this week, I didn’t confess all of what is on my mind.
12
The weekend zippedby due to a non-stop work schedule with the wedding I had to photograph and edits. Weekends aren’t my favorite, which may be ironic to most, but I prefer when the world isn’t battling to achieve every errand at the same time. A benefit of working for myself is creating a schedule that can counteract the general public.
I secretly love Mondays. It’s a fresh start to a new week. I’m also offloading the final edits to Marco at the restaurant so I can cross him off my list of problems.
I don’t have a full schedule today, so I will get my typical weekend errands done before digging into the wedding photo edits. The grocery store is first on my list.
It has taken me a while to instill a habit of shopping for food every week. For a long time, I didn’t see a point in shopping for a week’s worth of food when it’s just me who eats the food. Shopping for one is a grand reminder of the current state of my life, but the food is necessary, and takeout has become nauseating, plus there’s one option for delivery. I could live off pizza, but the restaurant that delivers doesn’t know how to make pizza properly, so it’s a no-win situation.
The parking lot is nearly empty, which offers me comfort before walking into the colder than necessary store. I grab a cart and begin my routine of zigzagging down the aisle in order of what I need. On Monday’s there are only a few types of people shopping; moms with young children and the elderly. Then, there’s me, of course—none of the above.
