Harkham's Corner (Harkham's Series Book 3) (23 page)

She gave him another kiss and sent him on his way.

He put a hand over his phone in his pocket, hoping she would be okay.

Bzzz . . .

He checked his phone as he walked. It was a smoochy text kiss from her.

Much better.

He sent back three hearts and two kisses. She was his wife.

Today he was a graduating man and about to start a Master’s program.

As he thought about how they were going to handle him continuing school if she was indeed pregnant once more, his phone buzzed again.

This time it was Zach.
Congrats, loser. Now I can say you’re smart without having to cringe. Haha! See you after. There’ll be food, right? Lots of it? :D

Adam chuckled and answered with a simple:
Always was smarter. That was never a question. :P

He found the sea of graduates in their hideous caps and gowns and joined the crowd being ushered into the appropriate area.

It was never a good idea to wear box-shaped hats on one’s head—too stabby and dangerous on the corners to people’s eyes if the wearer wasn’t careful. They were a sea of walking eye-death traps today.

He sighed and made sure to stand up straight and tall so he wouldn’t damage anyone’s corneas.

Over the next five minutes he got several texts from his dad, Thomas and even Dr. Harkham, but not one from his mother.

His heart restricted on him a little because it felt tethered somehow to her. Yes, he knew now she was a big old loony nut, but still . . . It would be nice if she acknowledged all his hard work.

Samara . . .

Jesus—the vision of her smiling at him, screaming out his name in pride and clapping louder than anyone else in the audience as he took the stage, was in his brain now.

Why did that have to be?

She was gone, and he was glad.

But what if she could’ve been here? Wouldn’t it have meant something to her?

Kind of like Thomas? He was clearly beyond proud of Adam.

God fucking hell—why was his mind saying things like this now?

He shuffled forward, kept his head down, thumbing his phone to keep his mind elsewhere, but it wouldn’t quit.

Images of both Thomas and Sam swirled and pulled in his head like toffee being made and stretched, forced to be something yummy and gooey, later to dry out a little more and molded into something mouthwatering.

He was being stretched at times to his limit.

His mind kept going deeper—deeper into memories of when Sam had encouraged him and wasn’t so hard on him.

Then it would shift to a few memories he had of his biological father.

Why did they have to believe in Adam and his potential at all? It would be so much easier if they were all bad, and not even a little bit good.

“Stop it,” he whispered to his mind. “I need to focus on walking and being here.”

“You okay?” the middle-aged woman to his right asked.

“Yeah—fine. Just thinking about useless information. My brain does that sometimes.”

She snorted a tiny laugh. “That’s called school.”

He laughed in return. “Very true. And a lot of school can really mess with a person’s head.”

She tipped her head down so he could read her cap. He stepped back a little to keep his eyes safe. It read—
All work and no play made Jane a dull girl. Party time?

She’d written it in glittery paint somehow.

“Jane—is that your name?” he asked when she pulled her head back up.

“Yeah. What’s yours?”

“Adam.” They shook hands, and he stared at her for a moment. “You look familiar. Did we have a class together?”

“No, Mr. Apprentice, we did not. I came in for help a few weeks ago at the doctor’s office you work at, and you took my vitals.”

“What were you there for?” He followed her into the door they were all being funneled through.

“Well, at the time, I was there for these debilitating headaches. I thought it was possibly stress from school and eye strain. I got my eyes checked, got a new prescription, and that helped some, but it never fully went away. So, Dr. Latham there—”

“That’s my dad,” he interrupted, smiling and feeling a weight lift from his chest. That man would be so proud of him today that it would make up for his mother being absent and not saying anything to her son about this achievement.

“I think I knew that,” Jane replied, her eyes echoing it with kind smiling unspoken words. “He was great. He gave me a referral, and I went and got looked at.”

“And did they figure out what was going on?”

“Yeah, they did. I had some blood work. Turns out I’ve got a thyroid that’s falling apart. I was putting on weight, even though my diet and exercise hadn’t changed. I was depressed—also unexplained since I loved being back in school. I waited until my kids were older, and now that they are, I was able to focus on me again. I also was really anxious, it screwed up my sex drive and my cycles. I was worried menopause hit me early. It was all so bizarre, but the headaches—whoooo! Those were the worst by far. I could barely see straight by the time I got home from school. My family almost had to fend for themselves.”

“I’m so glad you found out what was happening.” He walked with her over to the seating area, contemplating what would happen to his little family if Mari had all that happen to her. Would they make it if she wasn’t able to function?

She would definitely be upset about it. His wife’s indomitable spirit would not have that. Not at all.

Jane found her spot, said her goodbye to him and he wished her luck on the stage.

What a nice lady.

A text came in from Mari, apologizing for earlier.
I’m sorry I was a sad sack earlier. Not cool of me. Hope you enjoy this special day of yours despite my surliness.

You. Are. Perfect. So, I have no idea what you’re referring to. *hugs*
was his response.

She didn’t send any words back, only a picture of her with both kids in her lap, and they all looked cozy and peaceful.

He wished he could be with them.

Instead, he kissed their picture and simply stared at it as the graduation ceremony geared up to start.

After what seemed like an eternity, the program began, and it was dryer than any desert he’d ever been in.

Why must they blab endlessly about junk no one wanted to hear about?

“Sir, please put your phone away,” one of the professors or someone official said.

Adam held up his phone to show he was only admiring a picture of his family.

“I don’t care. It’s not allowed. Put it away. Don’t be rude,” the person in charge hissed.

Adam’s stomach notched down his spine about two inches as he slumped in his chair. “What kind of ridiculous rule is this? I’m a man. I’m an adult. It’s my own damn phone, and I’m paying to be in this thing.”

His eyes moved back to Jane, two rows back.

She waved and pointed at her cap, mouthing the words, “Party!”

He chuckled to himself, hoping a sense of humor was allowed at least.

Pricks, making up dirty, rotten rules no one liked. What if they all revolted?

They could all chuck their sharp edged caps at that mean man and blind him very easily.

Adam folded his arms over his chest and wondered if maybe he could snooze a little until it was his turn to stand up and make it known he was smart and had graduated.

His mind was too active, though—running loops around this place, wondering if Thomas was here, or even his mom.

But why did he care?

He ran his hand along the seam on his robe, wishing they
would be
in attendance, and that they would know he was worth something outside of music.

Outside of being a father, struggling to make ends meet.

Names were being rattled off, feet were moving as a herd of gowned people moved onto the stage.

In a matter of minutes, his row was standing and ambling in that direction.

A flock of nerves hit him in the form of numbers, but he shoved them back by looking for his Mari.

He
knew
she was here, so he only had to find her.

With his head lifted, his sights set for only her, he almost tripped on a chair, but somehow his friend, Jane, on her way back to her seat, helped him out.

Her hand was on his arm, steadying him.

“I’m very married. You shouldn’t touch a married man. It’s not a good idea,” he told her, his eyes tracing over her fingers, searching for a ring.

It was missing.

“And your husband wouldn’t like it either,” he tagged on when her eyes flew wide.

“I’m sorry, I was just . . .”

“It’s okay.” He took her hand off him, straightened up and looked her in the eye. “An honest mistake. Just know this—it’s better to let a man fall on his face and be embarrassed from clumsiness, than to make his wife worry that there’s another woman in his life.”

She nodded, her expression turning to one of curiosity and maybe fear, and then she walked past as if nothing had happened.

Once more, he was searching for his wife, but this time being more careful about his foot placement.

It wasn’t until he was three feet from the stage he found her and his kiddos.

He waved, and they waved back so big he wondered how he ever missed where they were sitting.

They kind of stood out now, because Meg was flashing her coloring book around in the air, shouting, “Daddy! It’s me! Meg! I’m being good for you! See?” She shook her coloring book.

He laughed so light and airy, it carried him up the stage. His hand was steady as he took whatever they handed him. It was some kind of leather cover.

He wanted to roll his eyes. What was the point of pretending to get the actual diploma and accepting something else instead? And what was with all the sharp edges on this thing too? Didn’t anyone around here care about protecting people’s eyes? Only the people wearing glasses seemed to be safe for the most part. Why punish him for having good eyesight?

He eyed the presenter and told her as he walked past, “We deserve the real thing, and these should have rounded corners for safety’s sake.”

The woman tried to shoo him off, but he stood in front of her.

“Don’t you think we deserve it? We worked hard for years for this, and we paid to be in this ceremony, all for what? A piece of cheap leather with stabby, pointy corners?”

She frowned, and her eyes sparked to angry beads.

“I’m only saying, get it right next time and you’ll be happier, too. That’s all I want—happy people.” He bowed, took his exit off the stage, and a big chunk of the crowd applauded.

Had they heard him?

He dropped his head, careful to stay away from any nearby eyeballs, as he went back to his seat.

His seat was colder than before when he sat down, so he shot back out of it.

“Take a seat, sir,” the same authority from earlier with the phone rules told him.

“No way. It’s like someone rubbed it with ice. How is that nice to me? I earned a nice seat.” Adam moved over one spot.

This time when he sat down, it was a little more agreeable.

“You can’t sit there. That’s not your spot,” the man told him.

“I’ll trade him,” Jane said, standing up behind them.

“I don’t want your spot,” Adam told her.

She smiled, but her eyes said he was being awful to her. And yes, he was, but she touched him. That wasn’t allowed unless he said it was.

“It’s nice and warm. I’ve been sitting there for a few moments, and no one will care if we switch.” She motioned with her hand to her empty spot.

“Fine. But it’s not because you touched me earlier. I don’t feel bad about teaching you a lesson about that. It’s more because we talked before that, and you seem nice in some ways.”

She nodded, smiling in a more genuine way now. “I hope you like that seat better.”

“I will if it’s warm like you say it is.” He passed through his row, careful not to get anywhere close to her.

It was warmer than the seat he’d stolen a moment ago, he had to admit that.

He sent Mari a quick text, breaking the rules, but it was fine—he already went on stage. If they kicked him out now, it would be a blessing.

A woman touched me. I don’t know this Jane woman. I told her it was wrong, but then we switched spots because my bum got too cold in my old seat. I think someone iced it down. Brrrr. Love you.

His text hopefully would explain to her so she wouldn’t worry or wonder too much.

You don’t know her, but you know her name?
Mari replied.

She came to the doctor office once. I didn’t remember her, but she told me she had. I believe her, and her name is on her hat. Anyone can read it and know her name.
He sighed.

Why did it all seem so complicated now? Shouldn’t be that way at all.