Tock tock tock. The soft but continuous thumping noise hovered just at the edge of Adam's sense of hearing. He knew it was his cell phone in his bag, clanging against the empty Tupperware container that had held his school sandwich which he had forgotten to take out of the bag after school. It made that tock tock sound with every step he took, every step he neared the Girardi's house. It was just starting to get on his nerves and with one hand he rummaged around in the bag to shift the phone and container into opposite corners so they wouldn't make contact any longer.

Inside the bag, his fingers grazed the metal wires of his latest project, the one he was going to deliver to its owner tonight. Or owner to be, he should say. Because this one was for Joan—no, for Jane—as an attempt to heed the advice he had been given. He thought back to the conversation he had had with that strange but somehow enigmatic dark-haired girl in the stand-in class gone haywire a few days ago. 'Then earn her,' she had said, 'You have to go back to pre-Bonnie Adam.'

Pre-Bonnie Adam. Yeah. What exactly was the difference between pre-Bonnie and post-Bonnie Adam? Pre-Bonnie Adam thought about Jane most of the time. Post-Bonnie Adam did that too, but pre-Bonnie Adam's thoughts were mostly positive, happy, whereas post-Bonnie Adam's were filled with dread and anger and sorrow. Pre-Bonnie Adam would make little sculptures and drawings of or for Jane in every minute he could spare. Post-Bonnie Adam had stopped doing that when, after they broke up, she had given him everything back he had ever made for or given to her.

But that had been a place to start, he had thought, and so after Helen Girardi had told him that Joan was at home sick, he had gone straight to the shed and started welding. It had taken him three days to finish it, so that it came out right. And tonight he was going to take the first step to become pre-Bonnie Adam again. Or try to be, at any rate. He hoped with the bottom of his heart that it would not go horribly wrong again.

As he climbed up the front steps to the Girardi's front porch, he felt a jittery tingle in his stomach and wondered if that was a good or a bad sign. This somehow felt like going to a job interview and he had to suppress the urge to smooth out the fabric of his hoodie with his palms.

This was ridiculous. He was seeing a friend, he shouldn't be nervous. But Jane was so much more than a friend, and so much less at the same time. Trying to forget about how much would depend on the upcoming events for him, he lifted his right hand and, with a slight tremble of his fingers, rang the doorbell.

When he heard footsteps nearing, he released a breath he hadn't known he was holding. Nothing could ever prepare him for her face that might be appearing in front of him every second now. Would she be surprised, annoyed, indifferent at him turning up uninvited? As he was still trying to imagine the look on her face, the door opened and he looked not into Joan's, but Helen Girardi's face.

"Adam," she greeted him, her eyes widening a notch in surprise.

Mrs. Girardi, his arts teacher—and Joan's mom. If he had been nervous before, he was even more nervous now. "I... I came to see Joan. I wanted to... to give her something." He fidgeted with his bag, trying to find the miniature sculpture.

Helen now fully opened the door and said, "Well, she fell asleep on the couch a while ago. Why don't you come in?"

Adam looked down at his shoes, then at Helen. "Oh, um... I don't know. Maybe she doesn't want me to..." he trailed off. He took the sculpture out of his bag it and turned it in his hands. "Could you maybe give this to her?"

Helen looked at it and, with her arts-teacher-analytic vision, recognized a figure made out of metal parts and wires with a miniature doctor's bag and a stethoscope around his neck. There was a small sign in one of the sculpture-doctor's hands that spelled in immaculate hand-scripted letters 'Get Well Soon'.

Helen almost blushed for her daughter. This was such an incredibly considerate and intricate gift, she didn't think anyone other than the artist should deliver it. "Adam, I really think you should give it to her yourself."

Adam looked at her with uncertain, doubtful eyes. It made her want to gather him up in her arms for no reason at all. It was difficult to read the subtext that seemed to hover over every interaction between Joan and Adam recently; one would have to be blind and deaf to not notice it. But clearly something needed to be fixed here and she was overcome by that motherly urge to make everything better.

Adam had not made any attempt at entering the house, so she tried to overrule his hesitation. "I don't think Joan will mind. Come on." She took a step backwards and made in inviting gesture with her hand. "All the guys are out, and I could use the company," she added.

That was all it took for Adam to be persuaded. He followed Helen into the kitchen, where she motioned for him to sit down at the table. Adam took a passing glance at the blanket-covered bundle on the couch as he walked through the hall, not sure if he really wanted Joan to find him having snuck into her home without her knowing. Somehow he felt like an intruder, like he shouldn't be here like that.

Helen went over to the kitchen counter and got a mug from one of the cupboards. She held it up in Adam's direction, asking, "You want some tea?"

Adam nodded, so Helen poured him a mug from a teapot she had originally prepared for herself. She placed the steaming mug and a teaspoon in front of Adam and sat down in the chair at the end of the table with her back to the door. Adam reached for the sugar container on the table to pour some into his tea, trying to stir it without making too much noise.

There was an uncomfortable silence next to the spoon-clinking-against-mug noise Adam's stirring made. To find something to do, he lifted the mug to his mouth, inhaling the sweetly aromatic scent of something pleasantly spicy, mixed with a faint vanilla aroma before he took a sip from the hot beverage.

He remembered what he had come here for, so he asked, "So, is Joan doing any better?"

Helen nodded. "Yes, I think she can go back to school in a day or two." With a smile, she added, "Although she sure won't like that."

Adam had to smile at that too. Who ever enjoyed going to school? Though... back when he was still pre-Bonnie/post-Jane Adam, he had reveled in the idea of going to school, just because it meant he would be seeing her. "Yeah, school can be a real drag," he underlined her statement, but quickly added, "Except for arts class, I mean."

Helen had to laugh outright at that. "Relax, Adam, tonight I'm not your teacher."

"Unchallenged," he replied.

"So, how are you? Haven't seen you around for quite a while," Helen inquired conversationally, although at the back of her mind she was aware that she might be opening a can of worms here.

Adam looked uncomfortable, not sure how to reply. "Yeah, Joan and I..." he started. Somehow it felt wrong to be discussing this with Joan's mom, but then he also wanted to tell her what had been and was still weighing so heavily on his mind. When he closed his eyes, he could almost see his own mother sitting there next to him, listening to his problems and burdens.

He stared at his thumb moving over the uneven waves in the enamel of the mug handle and went on, "It's complicated," he sighed. "I really messed up big time, and I want to fix it. I just don't know how."

"Well, this," Helen pointed to the sculpture that Adam had put down on the table, "is a start." She looked into his eyes, as if trying to read whether she should be getting into more detail on this subject or not. "You wanna tell me what happened?"

Adam still stared at the dark blue mug in his hand and slowly shook his head. "No. I think that... That would be wrong."

"He cheated on me with another girl, Mom."

Adam and Helen both jerked their heads up and looked at Joan standing in the doorway.

She had woken up and been surprised to see Adam in their kitchen, talking to her mother. She had not wanted to sneak up on them, but overhearing them discussing her made her stop dead in her tracks as she approached and made her silently edge closer. How dare he come here and discuss her private life with her mother behind her back?

Adam couldn't help but look at Joan, and their eyes met. Joan watched Adam's eyes fill with both tears and a bone-deep sadness that made her swallow and immediately want to take back the stingingly sharp and bitter comment she had just uttered.

In one fluid motion, Adam stood up, picked up his bag from the backrest of the chair he had hung it on and walked to the door, muttering in a disappointed, soft voice, "This was a mistake."

Joan stood there, dumbstruck, not able to move, until she heard the front door click into its lock after Adam. She looked at her mother's accusing eyes, then at the sculpture that still stood on the table. She heard her mother say, "Was that really necessary? I think he went out a limb to come here. To give you this." She pointed at the sculpture.

Joan almost automatically picked it up and ran her fingers over the cold metal plating and wires, taking in every detail. Her eyes involuntarily teared up at the realization of Adam's true reason for coming. All of her anger and bitterness was replaced by regret and embarrassment. "God, I'm such an idiot," she mumbled to herself.

Her mother knew better not to agree with her outspokenly and just gave her a knowing look. Lifelessly, Joan dropped into the chair that Adam had previously occupied, absently fingering the mug his hands and lips had recently touched. "Why is it so hard to get over this? Why does it always have to mess everything up between us?"

Helen's gaze was one of sympathy and compassion, but also of knowledge and parental wisdom. "Honey, everything that involves feelings can get messy sometimes. But it's important that you don't let it cloud your judgment."

Joan snorted dismissively. "Yeah? And how exactly do you propose I do that when every time I see him, I have to work hard at trying not to see Bonnie's doll-face in front of me?"

'So, Bonnie...' Helen thought. She had noticed Adam warming to her in arts class, she remembered that he had been the one to introduce her to her class, persuaded her to stay. She hadn't thought any of it then, but it briefly stung in her stomach that such a seemingly sweet and decent boy like Adam could hurt her daughter by betraying her with another girl. She tried to suppress the mental comment, 'A girl that could never be as special as my daughter.'

Forgetting that it had been Adam's mug, Joan took a sip from it and wrinkled her nose at the sweetness of the contents. She hated tea with sugar. She studied her mom as a question formed in her head. "Did Dad ever cheat on you?"

Helen combed through her hair with one hand before answering. "Once, back when I was still at university. Her name was Annette or Anne or something."

"And how did you ever manage to forgive him?" Joan asked, hoping her mother would give her the answer to the question that was wandering round her mind every day, like a stain in your shirt that just wouldn't wash out.

"Oh, don't get me wrong, I was furious at first," Helen said with more vehemence to her voice. "I was mad and angry and disappointed. But I loved him. In the end, that won over the anger. Of course it helped that your father was eternally sorry and full of regret. He sent me flowers every day, for two weeks." Helen now smiled at the memory despite the bittersweetness of it.

That gave Joan hope that things could one day be okay again between her and Adam. Because she knew she still loved him. And even though she didn't want to admit it, she had to concede that Adam was sorry and did regret ever sleeping with Bonnie. It was just so hard to see that above all the betrayal and disappointment.

She picked up the sculpture and stood up. "Mom, I have to go."

Helen smiled at her daughter, knowing all too well where Joan would be going. If she was well enough to go and see Adam, she would be well enough to return to school.

Joan went upstairs to change from her pyjamas into jeans and that waisted red cardigan that she had only bought the other week. In the bathroom, she frowned at her unkempt hair and quickly tied it into a bun, not wanting to bother with washing it now. She had more important things to do.

--...----...----...—

Author's Note continued:
Boy, this is getting much longer than I originally anticipated. Not that that's a bad thing, right? And don't worry, this is not the end quite yet. I'm sure you can guess what's to follow next, right? Patience, I'm working on it. I just wanted to post this, just so all the fellow Joan/Adam fans out there get their share of reading material.

Again, thank you, Tote, for letting me borrow Mary Jane (although she did not play that big a role—but maybe I'll bring her in again) and your universe. You will have recognized another hint at one of your other stories in this chapter.

Please leave a review if you loved, liked or loathed it. It'll sure speed up my updating frequency!