Today, Tegan and I are going with Salem and Adam to meet the person Salem smugly—and vaguely—mentioned yesterday during our tense exchange in the van. Later, when Tegan was awake, Salem made a real production of revealing a few more details.
“Now that you’re both . . .around,” she said, cutting me a subtle look, “I’ll tell you a bit about Curtis MacSherry.”
A man Salem is certain Baltimore knew well, and so probably a person he saw when he and our mom came here. Another career confidence man, apparently, and likely an associate of Baltimore’s in more than one grift. I asked whether Salem and Adam could simply go on their own to talk to this guy, if we weren’t needed, and Tegan had basically turned me into an iceberg with her eyes.
“I’m here to find out aboutMom,” she said, an accusation. A reminder, I guess, of what Salem’s offering her that I haven’t. That’s what this trip was all about for her.
So, we’re going.
Tegan pulls the brush through another long section of her red hair. We don’t look much alike. From what I remember of her dad, who wasn’t around for all that long before my mom ran off with him, and never again once she came back, Tegan favors his features, though sometimes, when she smiles, I see my mom there.
“You also interrupted me with Adam yesterday,” she adds now, even as she keeps up the brushing.
On instinct, I snap my eyes over to look at my own face instead of hers. It’s as though I’m checking for guilt in my expression. But in the mirror, I look the same as I did a half hour ago, just with smoother hair.
“He has a really interesting story,” she says, and even though IwantTegan to talk to me, even though I want to have something to share with her that’s not this massive, messy thing involving our mom and the man she left us for, I’m afraid to let it be this. I don’t want to think too hard about why.
But I still feel his arm across my chest, holding me back. Strong and sudden.
“I thought maybe he wouldn’t want to talk about it.”
She pauses, midstroke. I can feel her looking over at me, but I’ve busied myself with my makeup bag.
“You looked him up?” She sounds about as surprised as she should be. About as surprised as I still am.
I mimic her noncommittal shrug. I pretend I’m digging for something in this bag, but really there’s only maybe five things in it. Concealer that won’t help with these dark circles. Some mascara. A stick of cream blush, ChapStick, brow gel. I’m so distracted by waiting for Tegan’s response that I doubt I could manage putting any of it on.
After what feels like forever, I hear theswishof the brush through her hair again, and I let out a breath.
A snag, I tell myself firmly, grabbing the concealer.Adam Hawkins is only a snag.
And today, I’m resolved to pull him out.
* * *
LIKEmost things, it’s easier said than done.
Tegan and I eat a free continental breakfast in the hotel lobby, me trying to restrict my coffee intake so I don’t turn into a throbbing exposed nerve in front of everyone, and Tegan loudly proclaiming her delight at being able to eat as many mediocre croissants as she wants, because we’ve never stayed anywhere with a free continental breakfast before. I’m grateful Salem and Adam haven’t shown up to see this display. I can only imagine the little notes they’d write about my poor sister’s deprived childhood.
But when I see them walk into the lobby, I’m inexplicably annoyed that they’ve clearly been out somewhere for breakfast without us, probably working. Salem’s talking on the phone through her earbuds, but she’s also frantically typing at the screen, which is something I see her do a lot. Adam has his trusty binder and a laptop under one arm, and with his other hand he’s typing on his phone, too.
My mind snags on a bunch of things about Adam Hawkins I’ve resolved not to be curious about:What are you typing? Do you have someone waiting for you at home, someone you text every morning? Someone you tell about all those things you stopped putting on your social media?
It’s so disorienting to wonder.
“Oh, here they are, finally!” says Tegan, rising from her chair.
“Teeg,” I caution, because I don’t want her to seem so eager. It’s so risky to do that, when someone wants something from you.
But she’s already walking away, so I drink down the rest of my coffee and follow her.
When I catch up, Tegan’s already telling Salem—who I’m pretty sure is still on the phone—that our bags are behind the front desk and we’re “totally ready to go.” Salem takes it as an invitation, and guides Tegan over there. I clench my fists by my side in frustration at this show of camaraderie between them.
“How are you this morning?” Adam says.
I look over—and up—at him. Yesterday, in the van—I guess as part of my efforts to avoid the snag—I tried hard to avoid looking his way. Except for that near-collision, I thought I’d mostly succeeded, but when I look at him now, I’m disconcerted to realize his features are already familiar to me. He must’ve shaved this morning: the jaw I’ve seen covered with stubble now smooth, the line of it looking even more cut. His hair is darker when there’s no sunlight streaming through a windshield.
The tops of his ears are pink again, but I haven’t said anything rude yet. Maybe he and Salem ate their breakfast outside, and he has a little sunburn. I blink away, watching Tegan at the front desk, Salem beside her, still on the phone.
