Author's Note:
Okay, okay. Upon LostSchizophrenic's lovely nudge (or should I say begging?), here's the next chapter for you. The continuation of this story is currently lagging a little behind, but I have my mind set on finishing it, don't worry. I got side-tracked a little with another neat, little project—and I dare say that it's all Sisterdebmac's fault. I want to thank her, though, for her helpful comments and spotting those last few typos and mistakes. You rock, girl!
Chapter 8 – Unexpected Revelations
Unfamiliarity. That was the first thing on Joan's mind when she woke up. Unfamiliar surroundings, unfamiliar sounds, an unfamiliar bed. Not that that was something new to her. The past years she had rarely stayed in one place for more than a few months.
The first few seconds between wakefulness and sleep were a jumble of impressions she couldn't quite place, but then she blinked once and in the hazy gray morning light she recognized her old bedroom. A sideways glance, and she was looking at her husband's sleeping figure, half hidden beneath the covers.
And, boy, he looked beautiful. Older, but still so beautiful. His dark brown hair, now shorter than when she had last seen him, was slightly tousled and it was as if he was just about to break into a sweet smile as he lay on his pillow with his eyes closed.
Joan shifted her position slightly, propping her head up on one elbow, studying Adam's face. So often when they were talking on the phone, she had tried to envision him, had tried to remember what he looked like—what he might look like after those years of separation. Sometimes she had been able to picture him perfectly, sometimes she would have almost cried with frustration because she couldn't. And yet, here he was, and he was more handsome than he had been in her imagination, even with those lines in his face that she didn't recall ever having seen.
Her gaze went around the room. From what she could make out in the dim light, it had been reduced to a bedroom in the most Spartan of meanings. Gone was the decoration, the paintings, the colors, the liveliness. This had become a place one would not want to spend any more time in than necessary; no effort had been made to make you feel at home.
And how could she blame him? He had been living here all this time, not knowing if she would ever come back. And yet, he had stayed. He had waited, waited for what seemed to be impossible, the unthinkable. How easily could he have moved on after she had told him off time and again, told him how she didn't know if she would ever come back. It was so simple. She had turned her back on him. Either he really loved her that much or he was just not courageous enough to take the next step with someone else. And she seriously doubted there wouldn't have been plenty opportunity.
And she was glad he hadn't—more than she could ever say. How close had she been to giving it all up, to leave her old life completely behind? It would certainly have made a lot of things easier all these years.
Adam stirred next to her and her gaze went back to his face, meeting his eyes that had now opened. "Hey," he whispered.
"Hey," Joan whispered back.
And there was the disarming smile on his lips, the one he had been about to break into all this time. "You're really here. It wasn't just a dream," he said, lightly touching her forearm. She could feel the goose bumps running all the way down her spine.
Joan didn't say anything, couldn't say anything. Seeing him, hearing him being the sweetest guy on the planet, how could she ever have even considered being with someone else?
"Jane, what's wrong?" he softly inquired. He knew her too well. And how was that even possible after all this time?
She sank back onto her pillow, staring at the ceiling. "What's wrong?" she repeated. "Is there anything not wrong? Ten years ago, I left you with a kid to take care of and no way to support you. I left and ... God, ten years and I never even came to visit. Ten years, Adam. And I can't figure out why you would still welcome me back without question, without a second thought. I mean, look at what I've done to your life."
He turned around to lie on his side, to look at her, but Joan didn't meet his gaze. "You wanna know why?" he said. "I love you, that's why."
Silence ensued and hung in the air for a few heavy seconds before Adam, his voice now low and crestfallen, asked her, "Don't you? Don't you still love me?"
"Adam." Joan choked on his name. The lump working its way up her throat was threatening to suffocate her. "Yes. Yes, I love you, but ... for a while I wasn't sure if I did. I mean, So many things were happening and you were so far away and ... oh God."
Adam shifted his body away from her, now also lying on his back. She had just managed to estrange him with only a few words. Had just destroyed the careful faith and trust that had slowly seeped from their fingers as the years went by.
Joan turned back around to face him, her voice now more urgent. "Adam, you have to understand. I can't just go back to the way it was before. It'll never be like that again."
He now also turned onto his side in one swift motion and there was determination and a hint of anger in his face as he met her gaze. "Was there anyone else? Did you ... did you ever sleep with anyone else?"
The way her eyebrows scrunched together, the way she didn't immediately deny it spoke volumes and she could see his face fall, could see him clenching his teeth. "You did, didn't you?" he said, not hiding the bitterness and disappointment in his voice.
Very quietly, Joan admitted, "Yes. Once." There was a pregnant pause before she went on. "It was ... It was years ago. I was in Europe and one night it ... it just happened. I mean, it was one of those things where your brain just switches off. There he was, offering everything I was looking for, everything I had missed for so long. I had almost forgotten what sex was like, what making love felt like. I just ... I wanted it so badly then." Joan stopped and it took her a second to dare look at her husband, afraid to see the reaction on his face, in his eyes.
She could hear him breathing out a long breath, could see him fighting for a response, his eyes dark with something that made her want to turn her gaze away and hide in the nearest mouse hole.
In a voice laden with disappointment and hurt, he asked her, "If it was just about the sex, then why didn't you just come home? I ... I was here all the time, I could have given you all you wanted. You knew that."
Now it was Joan's turn to let out an exasperated sigh. "Adam, you know it wasn't quite that easy. You know that if I had come home, everything would have changed."
"And would that have been so bad?" he asked, his voice raised now.
"Yes," was Joan's bold reply, "at the time it would." Her own voice was now raised and determined. Why wouldn't Adam understand, understand the choices she had had to make, the hard choices that were still tearing her apart now?
"Did you love him?" Adam's voice was hoarse, suddenly devoid of emotion.
"What?" Joan said more than asked. "No," she whispered urgently. How could he even think she'd love someone else? Maybe it was just another sign of how much the distance between the two of them had taken away, had destroyed. "No, Adam, I didn't love him."
"Then why?"
Why what? Why did she sleep with him? Hadn't she already explained that? And shouldn't he be the one to understand the need for physical intimacy without love? Nearly twenty years had passed, but she could still feel the bitter aftertaste of that incident in high school, of that girl—what was her name?
"You should know why." Her voice was now harsh, accusingly defiant. "You should know exactly why. Wasn't that what it was like with Bonnie? Mindless sex without any love?"
She knew she had gone too far as soon as the words were out of her mouth. But she just hadn't been able to stop them.
Adam slowly sat up and got out of bed without saying a word. She didn't know if he was just angry or hurt or disappointed. Or all of it. Maybe he didn't want her to see his tears, maybe he just didn't want to be close to her or maybe he wanted to avoid a heated argument.
The silence he left in his wake as he left the room seemed to choke her. Angrily, she threw the duvet off her body and went after him. He was almost at the bottom of the stairs when her words stopped him. "Adam. Listen."
He stood on the stairs but didn't turn around. What could she say that would make him understand? "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that."
When Adam slowly turned around, even from the distance, she could see the hurt clearly written all over his face. The anger wasn't long to follow. "Are you? Are you sorry?" he challenged her. "And if you are, what do you want from me? Instant forgiveness?" He snorted out an angry laugh before he raised his voice sarcastically. "Because, funny, you didn't forgive me that easily back in high school. You remember that, don't you? You remember what it felt like."
Hell yes, she remembered what it felt like. "That was different," she just stated, loud and clear.
"That was different?" Adam repeated. "How was that different? I slept with another girl while we were still together, how is that different!" He was just shy of shouting at Joan now.
The more Joan said, the more damage it would do, Joan was painfully aware of that. But there was no stopping at this point.
"We saw each other every day then, we were going out, we were a couple!" Joan said forcefully.
Adam raised his hands angrily. "What, and we weren't when you were screwing that guy? We're fucking married, Joan, in case you don't remember!" he yelled at her up the stairs. "That didn't change just because you ran off on... on your stupid little mission from God." In a calmer voice, he added, "That never changed."
"And what was I supposed to do, huh?" Joan now yelled back at him. "What—"
"Mom? Dad?" Elya's questioning voice interrupted Joan's angry string of words. Elya's eyes were sleepy as she stood in the doorway of her room, looking from her mother to her father. "What's going on?"
Joan spun around to meet her daughters gaze, the angry glint in her own eyes not yet gone. "Nothing," Joan told her, trying to sound neutral and calm.
But Elya wasn't the little girl anymore who could be fooled with empty words such as these. "You're yelling at each other in the corridor, that's some pretty heavy 'nothing'."
Joan stared at her for a second, then told her, "All right, we were having an argument." How could she sound so matter-of-fact when a minute ago she had been ready to rip Adam's head off?
"No kidding," Elya sighed sarcastically. "Are you done fighting now?"
"I—" Joan started to say, but Adam cut her off.
"Yes, we are," he simply said and walked the last two steps down the stairs and out of sight.
Joan sighed a heavy sigh. "Look, I'm sorry," she told Elya.
But Elya's reply was sharp and to the point. "Save it for Dad, I think he's the one you owe an apology to." With that she went down the stairs as well, running her hands through her hair to tie it into a loose ponytail at the back of her neck.
Joan suddenly felt very alone, alone in her own home. She slowly sat down on the top of the stairs. How much of a fool was she to ever expect Elya to understand her, to be on her side? How could she ever expect to be part of this family again and make it feel like she belonged?
Downstairs, Elya crossed the living room and went into the kitchen. She found her father pouring spoon after spoon of coffee grounds into the coffee maker in rapid succession. She watched him for a few moments, then asked, "Dad, what are you doing?"
The spoon cluttered to the counter with a metallic clang. Adam stepped aside and, placing his hands on the edge of the counter, leaned forward on his arms. He took in a deep breath through his nose without saying anything. Elya wordlessly went to the coffee maker and put a few spoonfuls of coffee grounds from the coffee filter back into the can Adam had been scooping it out of.
"Yeah, what am I doing?" he repeated her question, his voice weary and tired. Elya knew he wasn't talking about the coffee maker.
"Wanna talk about it?" she offered.
Adam turned to look at his daughter, a surprised expression on his face. Since when had she grown up to become this smart a person? His features softened somewhat. "I ..." he began. "Look, it's complicated."
Now it was Elya's turn to sound exasperated. "You always say that, like it's the ultimate excuse for anything. Then explain it to me," she demanded.
"This is more complicated than you'll be able to understand," he said quietly.
"Okay, fine," she said in a resigned voice. She put the coffee pot onto the hot plate, put the power switch to ON and turned to leave the kitchen. "Be that way. Hope you like the coffee," was her last sarcastic remark.
"Elya," Adam said after her, but she was out the door before he could say anything else.
"Dammit!" He grabbed the can of coffee grounds and hurled it across the kitchen. The lid came off easily as it bounced against the shelf and brown coffee grounds dusted the floor underneath and the smell of ground coffee beans filled the air.
Adam stepped closer to look at the mess on the floor. "Shit," he muttered under his breath.
"Dad, are you okay?" he heard a voice behind him. Elya had come back into the kitchen upon hearing the commotion. When she set eyes on the brown powdery substance on the floor, the now half-empty can lying next to it, she dryly commented, "Wow. I think you're having some anger management issues."
"Yeah, tell me about it," Adam muttered. "I'll get the vacuum cleaner." But before he left the kitchen, he turned around again, addressing his daughter. "Elya, I'm sorry. You know, about before. I just ... I wish this could be easier. For all of us."
"That's okay, Dad," Elya said in a reconciled tone. "I guess we all have a bad day every once in a while. You'll sort it out. Won't you?" The last question wasn't just rhetorical.
Adam didn't know if Elya was aware what this fight had been about, but he doubted she was. "I'm not so sure," he said sadly.
He was at a loss about what to do. He sure was still mad at Joan. How could she bring Bonnie up again? Hadn't they been through this and over it years ago? Hadn't they agreed to put this topic under lock and key after they had finally dared discuss it and everything that surrounded it, back then in their final year in high school?
And now she had openly admitted that she had slept with someone else, that she had been an unfaithful wife. And how could she ever expect him to understand? Bonnie had torn apart their relationship back then, in the worst possible way. And Joan wanted him to just nod and be done with it, with the fact that she had shared a physical intimacy with someone other than her husband.
"What do you mean, you're not sure?" Elya's voice pulled him from his reverie.
He sighed before answering. "Look, I just ... I don't know. I just need some time to think, all right?"
Elya didn't know how to respond to that. She had caught a glimpse of what her parents had been fighting about, but she sure didn't know the whole story. "Okay," she finally said. She was aware that this wasn't something she could fix. "Look, I'll get the vacuum cleaner," she offered. Getting the kitchen back in order was at least something she could help with.
"No, I'll take care of it," Adam said. "I should be cleaning this up." And he didn't only mean the coffee grounds on the floor, but he knew that it was only this part of the mess that he could bring himself to clean up right now.
Upstairs, Joan could hear faint clanging noises from the kitchen, but didn't pay much attention to them. How the hell had things gone awry in just the blink of an eye? She didn't know how long she had been sitting there at the top of the stairs, but she finally gathered the resolve to get up. She walked back into the bedroom and started making the bed, folding clothes she had carelessly left lying around. Her movements were more automatic than anything else.
What had she been thinking? Should she have held her tongue and not told Adam about Marco? It really hadn't been anything more than sex, it had been a one-time thing. She had felt ashamed and unclean afterwards. Guilty. And rightly so, because she was. She was guilty of being an unfaithful wife, there was no point denying it. What on earth could have possessed her to think Adam would be okay with it?
She suddenly heard a noise from behind her and from the corner of her eye saw her husband enter the bedroom, going straight for the wardrobe and gathering clothes from it. He didn't look at her, didn't address her. It was as if she didn't exist, and it shot a stabbing pain through her stomach. This was the man she loved, the man she had a child with, how could she ever have disregarded that?
She turned around and very quietly said his name. "Adam?"
He didn't react other than slamming the wardrobe door shut, leaving the room wordlessly. A minute later she could hear the shower being turned on next door and when he was finished in the bathroom, he went straight past the bedroom and down the stairs.
Joan hesitantly followed him to the front door. She just couldn't stand him being mad at her, not after all these years she had cried herself to sleep because he wasn't there. She wanted him to gather her up in his arms more than anything, telling her it was going to be all right.
When he opened the front door without another word, she tried addressing him again, this time with a certain urgency to her voice. "Adam. I'm sorry. Please, can we just talk about this?"
He gave her an icy glare, one that made her freeze in her tracks. "Not now, Joan," he told her coldly before he walked out and closed the door behind him.
Joan suddenly felt the need to hold onto something for support, because him using her real name showed her just how much she had hurt him, how disappointed he was in her. Red-hot tears shot into her eyes and she quickly tried to blink them back—without much success.
She heard soft footsteps approaching and saw Elya standing there, looking unsure. Joan didn't know how much of this she had witnessed. "Mom?" she carefully enquired. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," Joan said just above a whisper and pushed past Elya to walk up the stairs in fast steps.
Elya was left standing in the hallway, at a loss what to do about this situation. With only her and Dad in the house, things had been pretty straightforward. They didn't fight often, and if they did, it was always about puny stuff like at what time she should be home at night. She had often dreamed about how it would be have both her father and her mother living with her, how it would be like to be a family again. She hadn't imagined it would end up with her mom and dad fighting and being mad at each other.
She looked at her watch and muttered, "Dammit." She'd have to get ready now if she didn't want to be late for school. She rushed up the stairs and to her room.
Twenty minutes later, she was showered, dressed and all set to go. She grabbed her backpack and carefully approached her parents' bedroom. Lingering in the doorway, she studied her mother sitting on the bed, her head bowed and her face buried in her hands.
Carefully, Elya addressed her mother. "Uh ... Mom?"
Joan sniffled once and looked up at her through teary eyes.
"I gotta go to school now," Elya said, but didn't make any move to go.
Joan wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand to get rid of the tears on her cheeks. She felt slightly ashamed for crying here, in front of her daughter. "Yeah, I ..." she started. "Your father took the car."
"Don't worry, I'll take the bus," Elya just said as if it was the most normal thing in the world. And maybe it was.
Elya made a movement and Joan thought she was gonna leave, but Elya turned back and looked at her mother with a worriedly probing gaze. "Will you be all right?"
Joan let out a noise that Elya wasn't sure was a sob or a snorted laugh. "Do I look all right to you?"
Elya put down her backpack and leaned her back against the doorframe, her hands behind her back. "What the hell happened?"
"I guess we had a fight," Joan said hollowly.
Elya raised her eyebrows. "Yeah, I kinda got that from all the yelling and the throwing things through the kitchen."
Joan looked up at her with a confused gaze. Of course she hadn't witnessed Adam's tantrum. Elya didn't elaborate, though. She silently took in her mother's sad look and slightly puffy eyes—and she knew she had to say something that would make her feel better, that would give her hope.
"Whatever it is you fought about, dad will calm down eventually. He's a brooder. He's gonna get over it, just give him some time," Elya told her mother.
Joan let out a short, ironic laugh. Elya knew her father well.
Trying to make her voice not sound so teary, she said, "Yeah, like he did when I smashed his sculpture. It was weeks before he'd even talk to me again."
Elya's eyes went wide. "You smashed his sculpture?"
"Hisbest sculpture," Joan emphasized.
"Why?"
Now Joan had to smile a bittersweet smile. "It was in high school, shortly after my family moved to Arcadia. We hadn't known each other long. But I already loved him. I didn't really understand that I did... But I did. He wanted to quit school to make a living from his art. I knew it'd be the wrong decision, so I made sure he couldn't sell his sculpture."
Elya was astonished. "So you smashed his sculpture? Wow. Isn't that a bit drastic?"
Joan nodded slowly. "Yes, it sure was. I don't know what possessed me then. I mean, I realized it was wrong the moment I saw the pieces of metal and glass on the floor. God, I still remember the way he looked at me when he realized what I had done. I wanted to drop dead in shame right that second."
"But he forgave you eventually, right?" Elya asked.
"Yes, he forgave me. But it was a long, hard road to get there. It made me realize how much he actually meant to me."
There was silence for a few seconds before Elya picked her backpack back up. Her voice was quiet, her words carefully chosen. "You know, it's, like, the best thing that's happened in a long time that you came back, but I don't want you and Dad to fight."
Joan met her daughter's eyes and tried hard not to recognize too much of Adam in them. "Yeah," she whispered. "Me neither."
She took in her teenage daughter's looks, the way she had grown, was starting to look almost like a young woman. And once again, it hit her how she had missed so much of her life. "Elya, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I left. But I had to. I'll ... I'll explain it to you. But it's just ..." Joan didn't know how to find the right words.
"It's okay, Mom," Elya told her in a soothing tone.
"No, it's not," Joan replied. "There's things I need to tell you."
Elya looked at her watch again. "Yeah, but I ... I gotta go, I'm gonna miss the bus. It's first period English and we have a quiz next week, and ..."
Joan nodded and said, "Okay, sure, you're right. We'll talk later." She got up from the bed and accompanied her daughter downstairs, asking, "Are you okay with going to the bus stop on your own?"
Elya gave her a 'you're kidding' look. "Mom, I'm fourteen."
Joan lifted her arms defensively, chuckling slightly. "Okay, okay. Sorry I asked."
"It's all right, Mom," Elya smiled at her. She might as well have said, "How are you supposed to know, you didn't see me grow up."
And the feeling of guilt and remorse for those choices Joan had made were back with a vengeance. She opened the door for Elya as Elya put on her jacket and slung her backpack over her shoulder. "See ya tonight," Joan saw her off.
"Yeah, tonight," Elya repeated before she walked away.