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This is the second text he’s sent me since I left his house yesterday, and I know I need to respond. It would be completely cruel if I didn’t respond.
Before I can second-guess myself, I open the message box, type out a simple response, and hit send.
Me: I did and it was good.
There was no music lesson, but I just didn’t know what else to tell him when I left yesterday morning. Seeing the painting with the tattoo, my old tattoo, it was too much to bear, too much to process.
Ansel: Good. I’m glad. Everything else okay?
Me: Yep. I’m just a little busy running errands. Talk later?
More lies.
Ansel: Of course.
God, I hate that I’m lying to him.
And my reasoning is shit, I know that, but I can’t seem to do anything else but put some distance between us until I can wrap my mind around what I saw.
I just need a little more time. Just a little more time to understand why.
Before I put my phone to sleep, I catch sight of the name Sally in my text message inbox again, and maybe it’s because of the visit to Adam, but this time, I open up the text conversation.
Sally: Hey, sweetie. I’d love to see you. Call me soon.
Sally: Hi, Indy. Just wanted to let you know I thought of you today. Would love to hear from you.
And there are another four or so messages just like those.
Always kind, Adam’s mom has been reaching out to me with a consistent sweetness despite going unanswered by me.
She deserves better than this.
Before I second-guess it, before I can stop myself, I find her name in my contacts and hit call.
This is one promise that I need to keep.
Sally answers on the second ring.
“Indy,” she greets, and the way she says my name is equal parts heartwarming and painful. She is the sweetest, kindest soul. A woman who always puts everyone else’s needs before her own. A woman who loved her son more than anyone in the world, and somehow, even after she lost him, she still kept her thoughtful, unjaded heart.
“Hi, Sally.”
“Wow,” she says, and I can practically hear the smile in her voice. “It’s so good to hear from you.”
“I’m so sorry I haven’t reached out for a while.”
“That’s okay, sweetie,” she says in her familiar, motherly tone. “I know you’re busy, and I also know sometimes…it’s hard.”
“It is.” My voice quivers, and I have to swallow back the emotion that threatens to take up residence in my throat.
“Why don’t you come over to the house for a bit, Indy? I know Bill would love to see you, and I’d really like to give you something. Something Adam would want you to have.”
I squeeze my eyes shut against the impulse to pull away and force myself outside of numb comfort. I’ve been frozen there long enough. “I’d really like that.”
After I drop off my Zipcar at the pickup location near my apartment, I hop on the subway and take a ride across town to Adam’s parents’ house.
The instant I arrive—before I even ring the doorbell, actually—Sally steps out onto the small porch and wraps me up in her arms, pulling me inside and demanding I make myself at home.
Bill and Sally’s house is just as I remembered. Warm and cozy with a Southern Living vibe and enough quilts and hand-sewn inspirational quotes to give TED Talks a run for their money.
Adam hated those quotes. He cringed whenever he spotted a new one on the wall. But I think he’d be proud to know that between all the country rustic items of décor are more than a few of his architectural photographs that had been published in popular magazines across the country.
The thought of that, the thought of him, makes me smile.
Sally sets a fresh plate of oatmeal-raisin cookies onto the kitchen table, and Adam’s dad is the first to reach out and snag one in his hand.
“Bill,” she chastises her husband, and I grin. “You don’t have to be such a hooligan about it.”
He just chuckles and takes a big ol’ bite in spite of her.
Adam’s mom rolls her eyes and turns her attention back to me. “When I talked to your mom a few months ago, she said you were still at Great Elm and giving music lessons after school. That still going well for you?”
Ever since I stepped through the door, she’s kept up a steady stream of questions, asking me about anything and everything she can think of. I don’t mind, though. If anything, it’s nice to see Adam’s parents again.
“It is,” I answer. “The kids are wild some days, but mostly, I enjoy it.”
“You teach all grades?” Bill asks through a mouthful of cookie, and his wife groans in annoyance at his lack of manners.
“I do.”
“That’s good, Indy. That’s really good.”
