Chapter 7 – Unheralded Visitor

Elya frowned slightly as she opened the front door, her gym bag slung over her shoulder. Something was on the floor that didn't belong there. When she glanced down, she recognized shards of porcelain, strewn all over the floor, some small, some larger. It looked like the remnants of a plate and she suddenly grew slightly worried. Had something happened to her father? She pushed the door open and carefully went inside, trying not to step on any of the broken pieces.

Once past the mess, she reached the living room in fast paces, calling, "Dad, are you okay? What's with the—"

Her words caught in her throat when she spotted a woman sitting at their dining table. She didn't pay her close attention, maybe her dad was having a colleague over for dinner. Not that it was his habit to invite strangers to their home, but she trusted him that much that he would bring decent people.

At the same time as her father appeared in the kitchen door, the woman stood up. Slowly, she said, "Elya ..."

The sound of her voice, the way she said her name made Elya take a closer look at the woman's face. And then it hit her. "Mom?"

Joan smiled, but the smile was hesitant, unassertive. "Yes, Elya."

"Wow," Elya said. "That's ... holy crap."

Joan laughed softly and Adam looked at her with both eyebrows raised. "You pester me about your mother for weeks and now that she's here, all you can say is 'holy crap'?"

Elya dropped her gym bag on the floor, went over the table and sat down next to her mother. "I get home and you're just ... here? That's ... I don't know what to say."

"Then ... let's eat first," Adam interrupted, setting the small basket with warm toast slices down on the table among the other foodstuffs that he had already prepared for dinner. Elya snagged one from the basket and began piling ham and cheese on it, topping it with mayonnaise before she placed some salad on it and rounded up the combination with another slice of toast on top.

She took a hearty bite. Boy, was she hungry! She stole a glance at her mother as Joan prepared her own sandwich in careful deliberation. Elya had the feeling she was a little nervous. Oddly awkward silence settled over the scene that, to the casual onlooker, would seem like any normal family dinner—but which so obviously wasn't normal for either of them.

Between bites, Elya suddenly asked, "Where the hell have you been all this time?"

So much for subtlety, Joan thought. But she should have been prepared for this, she knew Elya would ask all the awkward questions. The important questions. She drew in a breath to better prepare herself as she placed her half-eaten sandwich on the plate in front of her. "I've ... I've traveled a lot, all over the world. There were so many things I had to do, had to take care of."

Elya's eyes grew wider. "Things like what?"

"Things like ..." Joan stumbled on the words. "I've been fixing things, if you will. Righting the wrongs that others did, helping to get things back in the balance when it was lost. It's ... it's very complicated, Elya."

Elya's face took on an irritated expression. "That's what Dad always said. You never tell me anything. I thought I could get some answers from you. Dad always said there's things that only you can explain. Why do you still treat me like I won't understand, like I'm a child?"

Joan tried to placate her daughter. "Yes, Elya, there's things that I can and will explain. Things that will make sense to you. I will do that when the time is right."

Elya drew a face, but accepted her mother's explanation. For now. She put the last piece of her sandwich into her mouth. There were so many more questions she had, pressing questions that had been on her mind for a long time. "And why did you never come back or visit us? Didn't you miss us?"

Adam raised his head and now looked at Joan as well. This was one question he had been asking time and again—both Joan and himself. And even though Joan had told him her reasons, he'd still like to hear her say it in person.

"Oh, Elya, I missed you so much. Both of you. But the longer I stayed, the more it became evident that there might be the possibility that I would not return, would never return, I couldn't bear the thought of seeing you and leaving again, knowing it would be forever. Knowing we would never be a family. I just couldn't. I don't know if you can understand that, but I hope you can." She fumbled with a crumb of cheese that had caught on her finger. "Then there was also His advice, His hints that ... that I should stay away."

"Who's 'he'?" Elya asked, looking from her mother to her father, both of whom seemed to be in on whatever, or whoever her mother was talking about.

"He's ... someone important," Joan said without elaborating.

There was momentary silence in the room until Elya interrupted it. "And now? Have you come back to stay?"

"I ..." Joan drew in a breath before continuing. "I really can't say."

But Elya wouldn't be satisfied with that answer. "But you said you wouldn't come back if it meant you had to leave again. Why would you come if you had to go away again?"

"You're right. But ... I don't know why I came." She fumbled with her fingers on the tabletop, studying them as she did, clearly uncomfortable about the whole situation. Was there ever anything to this whole situation to be comfortable about? "No, that's not true. I came because I felt I had to." She looked at Adam. "I think you needed me to."

Adam stared down at his plate, tracing the pattern the crumbs had left with his eyes. In a very low voice, he said, "We needed you to a long time ago."

Matching Adam's tone of voice, she said, "I know."

She didn't say she was sorry. Part of her was, but another part of her wasn't. Yet another part of her knew that her own emotional welfare hadn't been important enough to warrant doing what she thought suited her own interests best. She knew she wouldn't have been able to live with herself if she had acted that way. She also knew Adam and Elya didn't understand, wouldn't understand. But there was nothing she could about it, except maybe try to tell them, teach them what she had seen, she had accomplished. And that she would do when the time was right. As to when that point in time was going to be, shedidn't know.

Adam got up and for a moment stood next to his chair. He didn't want to end the conversation on such a dissonant note, so he went over to stand behind Joan, placing his hands lightly on her shoulders. "I'm just glad that you're here now."

He could feel her tense beneath his touch, could feel that she was tempted to pull away. Yet she said, "Yeah, me too."

Adam looked at his daughter. "Wanna help me do the washing up?" He nodded towards the kitchen.

"Daaad," Elya said, dragging out the vowel. She hated washing up, he knew that. "Do I have to?"

Adam looked at her with a mockingly punishing look. "Yes, you have to, young lady."

She made a show of sighing deeply. "All right."

Adam smiled as he entered the kitchen, holding the door open for Elya, who carried the last of the dirty dishes on a tray. Once they were inside and he had closed the door behind him, he said to her, "Let's give your mother some space."

Elya looked up at him. "When did she get here? How did she get here? Did you know she was gonna come?"

"Easy, easy," Adam chuckled. "One question at a time. When did she get here? Barely half an hour before you got home. How, I don't know, you'll have to ask her that yourself. And, no, I didn't know she was gonna come. I was as surprised as you were."

"But, I mean ... what made her come here all of a sudden? This is all just too wacko," Elya said and shook her head as if she still couldn't believe it.

Adam bent down to retrieve a dustpan and hand brush from one of the kitchen cupboards. He handed it to Elya. "Can you do me a favor and clean up the mess in the hall? I kinda ... I dropped a plate when your mom was suddenly standing in front of me." He gave her a good-natured smirk. "Plus I know how much you hate washing up."

Elya smiled. "Right, sure."

As Elya left the kitchen, Adam rolled up the sleeves of his dark blue shirt, ready to tackle the stack of dishes that had been piling up since breakfast.

In the living room, Joan got up from the chair, studying the room that was strangely both familiar and unfamiliar to her. She noticed that Adam and Elya had made some decorative changes. The walls were painted in a warm pastel terracotta color, as opposed to the stark white she remembered from when she had still lived here. Gone were the paintings that she recalled having chosen and hung from her husband's sheer inexhaustible stash of artwork. Instead there were framed prints from artists she couldn't recall the names of, most of them in subdued but warm colors, depicting impressionist landscape and scenery.

On the mantelpiece there were a few framed photos: Elya with Adam, Elya with Carl, Elya smiling in a portrait shot—and an old photo of Elizabeth. There were no pictures of herself, which didn't really surprise her but still pained her.

Her gaze caught on a framed pencil drawing, one that did depict her and which clearly carried Adam's trademark. Her finger went up and stopped just shy of touching the glass it was framed behind. Adam's ability to capture every intricate detail, every little nuance, even without any visual aid other than his photographic memory still amazed her. His eidetic memory, which, looked at from a rational standpoint, was probably also a burden sometimes.

Joan sat down on the couch, unsure what to do. She expected Elya and Adam to have a lot to talk about in the kitchen, so she didn't want to intrude. Suddenly, a bone-deep exhaustion washed over her and she leaned her head back. The long trip, all those questions, it finally caught up with her. Closing her eyes, she thought she'd be okay if she just rested for a few minutes.

Adam dried his hands on the kitchen towel once he had pulled the plug from the kitchen sink. Elya was still drying off the last items, putting them back where they belonged. He went back into the living room to see what his wife was up to. He found her on the couch, her head tilted back, her eyes closed. She looked so exhausted, so drained. No one who was sleeping should look this exhausted.

He took the blanket from the foot of the couch and gently draped it over Joan's limp, steadily breathing body. And he could see that beneath all the exhaustion, there was still something peaceful, something innocent. With a bittersweet pang it came back to him that her life had been anything but innocent, that these past years must have been just as hard on her as they had been on him and Elya.

As he stood there and watched Joan's sleeping form on the couch, he thought back to today's sudden and completely unexpected appearance of her on his doorstep.

Humming a tune that he had listened to in the car on his way home, Adam took the plates and cutlery from the kitchen into the living room to set the table that was in the corner of the room near the windows. Elya would be coming home in a short while and he knew she would be hungry after an hour and a half of jujitsu practice.

The ringing of the doorbell interrupted his routine movements. The plate he had been about to set down still in his hand, he went to the door and opened it, saying out loud, "Elya, how often do I have to—"

The person standing in front of him wasn't Elya and the plate he had been holding slipped from his fingers. It hit the tiled floor and shattered into countless pieces.

"Joan?" Adam gasped. Her hair was short—too short—and she was much thinner, but she was definitely, unmistakably his wife.

Joan didn't say anything at first. She just looked at him, and there were questions and doubts and uncertainty in her eyes, maybe even shame. Those eyes, he remembered those eyes, and stared deeply into them as if there was nothing else to look at.

"Joan," Adam said again, as if saying her name would convince him that she was actually here, standing in front of him in the flesh. "You're here," he whispered.

"Yes, I'm here," she finally said. Her voice was deep, troubled, full of uncertainty.

For a few seconds, neither of them said anything. Adam looked her up and down, slowly assessing the person standing in front of him. Then his hands came up and pulled her into a careful embrace.

Joan felt helpless for a moment. All those doubts she'd had, all the reserve she had so determinedly built up suddenly fell away, and she returned the embrace, feeling for the first time in years and years what it was like to be protected and loved—something she hadn't thought possible after all this time.

After a moment, they pulled apart and Adam stepped back into the corridor, heedless of the mess on the floor. "Please, come in," he invited Joan into her own house. Or what used to be her house. Their house. She followed him maybe a little too hesitantly, feeling like a stranger in her own home. In ten years, a lot had changed. For both of them.

He was still studying his wife when Elya came into the living room, saying, "Dad, there—"

But Adam quickly silenced her by placing his finger to his lips, saying, "Shh."

Elya came closer and saw her mother sleeping on the couch, comprehension spreading over her face. She stepped closer yet, so she was standing next to her father. Adam placed his arm around Elya's waist and gently drew her to him. Her hands moved to his back and she gave him a loose hug. Adam bent his head to softly kiss the top of her head as Elya had turned it sideways, looking at her mother.

Still in her father's arms, she whispered, "Are we gonna be a family now?"

Whispering back, Adam replied, "I don't know, Honey. But I really wish we could be."

He took a step back and looked at his daughter. "Why don't you go up and get ready for bed?" It wasn't really a question but a subtle demand.

"There's so much I wanna ask her, I wanna talk about," Elya protested.

"Tomorrow's another day," Adam told her. "She's not gonna leave so soon."

"And how do you know? She could be gone in the morning for all we know," Elya pressed on, her voice slightly worried.

"I promise you she won't be gone tomorrow morning," Adam told her. A promise he couldn't be sure about keeping, but something told him that Joan wouldn't do that, not after she had so much as admitted that she had finally listened to his pleas to come home.

That seemed to be good enough for Elya because she said, "Okay," before she left the living room. Adam could hear her walking up the stairs and sat down in the armchair across from Joan. He was sure he could sit here and watch her for hours on end, taking in every little detail of her face, all the wrinkles and lines he wasn't used to, the darker rings under her eyes, the scar on her right temple that hadn't been there before.

"Where's Elya?" Joan asked, making the question sound innocent enough, but Adam could see the apprehension in her face. He could only imagine that Joan didn't know what to expect after all these years of absence, years of non-communication between her and her daughter. Adam didn't think she had anything to be afraid of, but then Joan didn't know that, did she?

"She has jujitsu practice, she should be home before long," Adam told her, absently brushing at a breadcrumb on the tablemat in front of him before he looked at Joan, who was sitting next to him at the round dining table.

Joan raised her eyebrows. "She does jujitsu?" she asked surprised.

Adam had to smile. "Yeah, she's quite something. You should see her, she's almost up to the purple belt," he said, pride clearly evident in his voice.

Joan looked down, studying the tablemat in front of her. "I missed so much of her life. She's like a stranger to me now," Joan said regretfully, her voice low.

Adam's voice was just as low but more sad than accusing as he replied, "You would never let me talk about her. I could have told you so much."

"I know, Adam, but don't you see?" Joan said almost forcefully now. "I couldn't. I couldn't hear you talk about her, with me not knowing whether I'd ever see her again." She looked down yet again, her voice becoming quiet. "It would have hurt too much."

"So what made you change your mind?" Adam asked brazenly. "What made you come back?"

Joan looked at him briefly, then stared out the window. "It was ... Look, can we not talk about this now?" Joan requested.

Adam sighed, but nodded slowly. "Okay. Sure." He got up from the table. "Look, I have to finish making dinner. Are you hungry?" He tried to break the sudden tension.

"I ... yeah, I guess." Joan said.

He didn't know how much time had passed when he suddenly jerked awake. Rubbing his aching neck from the awkward position he had nodded off in, he slowly got up. He softly sat down next to Joan, who hadn't awoken yet. He lightly touched her shoulder, gently saying her name. "Joan?"

He had to repeat it a second time before she groggily opened her eyes, seemingly disoriented at first. "Adam," she finally said. "Oh my God, did I fall asleep? I was just gonna rest for a minute," she said, slightly panicky.

"Relax," he reassured her. "It's not like you have anywhere to be, right?"

"No, not tonight," she said.

"You should go to bed." This was something he hadn't considered yet. Were they going to sleep in the same bed tonight? Was it presumptuous of him to think she might not want to? Uncertainly, he lifted his arms. "Look, I can sleep here if you ..." He trailed off.

She blinked once, deciphering what he might be meaning. "No," she then said. "No, I want to be with you tonight."

"Yeah," he replied softly. "Yeah, me too."

Together they walked up the stairs. Adam lingered in front of Elya's bedroom, opening her door a notch. The ray of light from the lamp in the corridor partly illuminated her bed and Adam was relieved to see that their daughter was sleeping soundly, her blankets all bundled around her.

Joan sidled up to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. The first sign of affection that he had seen or felt her display tonight. "She's so beautiful and sweet," Joan said.

"Yes. She's perfect." Adam's voice was just above a whisper. "She's a lot like you," he added.

Joan breathed out through her nose. "If I was perfect, I wouldn't have left you behind, either of you."

"Maybe not, but ..." he sighed. "Like you said, it's complicated."

Joan nodded against his upper arm and Adam closed the door as silently as possible.

Later, lying in their bed, Adam turned around so he could face his wife. His hand came up and he gently, affectionately traced the hairline on Joan's temple, something he had imagined doing so often while he was lying there all on his own. "I missed you. I missed you so much," he told her.

"I missed you too," was her reply. Even in the dark he could see that her eyes were brimming with tears. He wiped one from her cheek that was spilling down.

"How long can you stay?" he suddenly asked. There was no accusation in his voice, no plea, no demand. Just the plain curiosity and the need for assessing how much time they had together, how short-lived their reunion was going to be.

"I ..." she stammered. "I don't know, I really don't know. I don't know if He has anything planned for me here. Adam, I can't ... I don't ..." She choked on a sob and Adam's finger went to her lip, shushing her softly.

"Shh, it's okay. It's not important now," he told her. She lay still for a moment and then softly kissed his finger that still lingered on her lips. He drew closer to her and her hand slid round his waist. He started tracing her jaw with soft kisses until first their lips and then their tongues met. And for the first time today, Joan truly felt at home, truly felt safe.

And the intimacy that followed went far beyond what either of them expected and started healing wounds that were gaping wide open.