Love Me Broken (31 page)

My eyes are passing over the room when they glance out toward the yard. I stand up, first looking at the fence and imagining what a row of flowers might look like there, when I see a real mess on the lawn. All kinds of things have been thrown on the ground. I’m reminded of those houses with car parts spread all over the front yard, and I feel a little reluctance at living in such a rough environment. But then I recognize the color of some of the parts, a set of handlebars twisted in the drying mud. I gasp. That’s Adam’s bike!

My hand is on the sliding glass door at once, and I tiptoe barefoot across the back patio to be sure, not wanting to be right. But I am, of course. That’s Adam’s bike. It’s been... destroyed. This wasn’t a crash or an accident. And I know right away it was Adam who did this. And then I realize that this is why he needed to borrow a bike from Levi.

I hear an engine down the street, and quickly hop back inside and close the sliding door. I wipe my feet on the doormat and rush back to the kitchen chair, trying to act casual even though my heart is racing and I don’t know what to do with my hands.

An engine cuts off in front of the house. It doesn’t sound like a motorcycle though, and my shoulders relax, realizing it must be one of the neighbors.

But then there are footsteps outside and the sound of a key turning the lock.

Adam slips inside and closes the door. “Good morning, beautiful,” he says, crossing to the kitchen to kiss me on the cheek. “How was your shower?”

I smile, maybe a little too much. I’m still shaken by the sight of the bike. “Good,” I say.

He opens the dryer and the clothes fall to the bottom. He takes out my shirt and feels it. “You ready for the beach?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“I think this is dry enough.” He walks over for me to feel the shirt. It’s warm and smells like fabric softener. I nod and head to the dryer for the rest of my clothes. Then I go into the garage to change, more because that’s where my bra is than out of modesty. Adam is in the kitchen, looking in the fridge, taking out a few bottles of water.

Fully dressed, I walk back into the house. I find a rubber band in a drawer and put my hair up into a ponytail. While I do this, Adam wraps his arms around me and kisses my neck.

“You smell good,” he says. He inhales deeply, and then coughs. “Sorry,” he says, laughing. “Sore throat.”

“From me?”

“No. Probably just my allergies acting up. It’s nothing.”

I’m silent, and he notices. He stands back.

“What’s wrong?”

I consider shrugging it off. I don’t want to talk about this, really. But now that I’ve taken a moment to decide if I want to bring it up, Adam’s thinking it’s something major, and I lose my chance to say nothing. “I just,” I say, and shrug a little, “I just noticed the bike, that’s all. In the yard.” I look up at him. “You loved that bike.”

Adam’s face tenses for a moment, then he lets out a deep sigh. “It’s just a bike. Besides, we wouldn’t have taken that today anyway.”

“What? Why not?”

He places a hand on my shoulder and starts ushering me to the door. “You ready to go?” he asks.

I nod, my eyes on him. He’s acting strange.

“Now,” he says, his hand on the front door, “don’t freak out.”

I open my mouth but he doesn’t wait for me to talk. He swings the door open, and I’m not even on the porch yet when I see it parked on the curb, directly in front of me.

I take a step backward. “No,” I say, shaking my head. “Adam, I can’t.”

Gleaming on the street is a pink Cadillac convertible. It’s old—I guess what is considered a classic—and to other people it might bring to mind a ’50s drive-in or sock hop. But to me it looks like death.

Adam places a hand on my back, stopping my retreat. “Erica,” he says, and turns my head to face him. “Erica,” he says again, when my eyes are still on the car. He waits until I look at him. “I think you’re ready.”

I open my mouth to object, and he holds up a finger.

“If I’m wrong, I’m wrong. But I think you’re ready to try. All I want to do is figure out how far you can go today. We’ll go slow. Maybe you won’t even get in the car. Maybe we’ll just look at it. But you are a human being in the twenty-first century. You can’t go your whole life without getting into a car. You won’t be able to live. Not properly.”

My heart is racing, and I can barely focus on the words he says. I glance back to the car on the curb and start shaking my head. “I can’t do it. I know I can’t.”

“You don’t know what you can do yet,” he says firmly. “Not until you try. Today’s about trying.”

He takes both of my hands in his, and then has me sit with him on the front porch. “We’re just going to sit here,” he says. “We’re just going to sit here and look at the car. That’s all. You’re completely safe. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” I say reluctantly. I don’t really trust that it will stop here though. “Just look?”

“If that’s all you’re ready for, that’s all we’ll do.”

So we sit. We sit for a minute or so in silence, and I can’t look away from the car, like it might morph into a pink rhino while I’m not looking and stampede. Adam talks. I can hear him, I can understand the words, but I can’t really pay attention. He rubs my back. Then he leans against me and puts his arms around me. The warmth of his body feels so nice. I think of that for a moment, just a moment, and I feel a little better.

After ten more minutes, I guess I get bored with being afraid. I can’t really explain it. I start to relax.

“Okay,” Adam says. “So you feel fine now, right? You can look at it and you can remember that you’re with me, and you’re safe?”

I nod. “Yeah.” I’m still reluctant though. I really, really don’t want to do more. I just picture us crashing. Crashing in the night with the deer and the fog and losing Conner and—

“Erica,” Adam says firmly. “Stay with me.”

I nod and meet his eyes.

“You’re doing great so far. I’m really proud of you. But I think you can do more.”

“I’m not getting in!” I say, my voice in panic. My heart is racing again, and I start breathing like I’ve been running a mile.

“Shh,” Adam coos, putting both hands on my shoulders. I look up into his eyes. He smiles. “No one said anything about getting inside. Today is just about seeing where your limit is, okay? I won’t force you to do anything. You’re safe. Now just breathe. You’re going to have to trust me, all right? I’m here with you.”

I take deep breaths. When I’m calm, Adam puts his hand in mine.

“We’re kind of far from the car right now,” he says. “Do you think you could take three steps closer?”

I blink. That sounds too easy. “Um, yeah?”

“I’ll be with you the whole time. This is easier than crossing the street, and you’ve already done that.”

I nod, still kind of overwhelmed. He stands up, then holds out a hand to help me to my feet.

We stand a moment. Then he says, “Okay,” and lifts his foot in front of him. “One,” he counts, taking a step and holding my hand so that I follow. “Two... Three.”

We’re now midway in the yard.

“I could probably go a little closer,” I tell him. This part is pretty easy.

We take a few steps, and before I know it, we’re standing right in front of the car. It has cream leather seats inside, and a silver dash with a retro-styled radio. The rear has two fins, and the entire car is shining. It looks very clean and very bright in the mid-morning sun.

“It’s kind of a cool car,” I offer. “Whose is it?”

“Watson’s. It was parked at his home, under a tarp. Seems kind of a waste. But apparently he’s saving it for Florida.” Then, after a minute, he asks, “Do you want to touch it?”

I say nothing, but allow him to guide my hand to the metal on the passenger side door. It’s warm but not burning. He runs my hand toward the inside, so that I can feel the leather side paneling.

Then Adam lets go and fishes in his pocket. He pulls out a set of keys. “I’d like to see if you can sit inside. Just sit, without the car moving.” He puts the keys in my hands. “We can’t go anywhere if you don’t want to. But you’ve made it this far. I know you can do a little more.”

I look down at the keys. I haven’t been inside a car willingly since that night. An ambulance brought me to the hospital after, but I don’t remember that. I was half-asleep, dozing on painkillers when my parents brought me home the next morning. That’s all a blur.

But I want to do this. I want to do this for Adam. If we’re to have any kind of life together, I have to be able to do this myself. What if we need groceries? What if we want to leave Astoria?

What if—what if we have children? I have to whisper that last question even in my thoughts.

“Okay,” I tell him. “I’ll try.”

He opens the door, and I sit down carefully, as if the car were made of glass and I might break it. Adam crosses to the other side and sits in the driver’s seat. He puts his hands on the wheel for a moment, then sees my horrified reaction and drops his hands to his sides. He takes my hand in his.

“See?” he says. “This isn’t so bad. It’s no worse than sitting on the porch. You’re absolutely, one hundred percent safe.”

We sit for a while, and I look around, more surprised that I actually made it this far than anything else. Nicole wouldn’t believe this.

“When you’re ready,” Adam says, “there are still a few more things I want to try. Easy things.”

I look at him, ready to disagree.

“Can you put on your seatbelt?” he asks.

“Oh. Yeah.” I put it on, feeling its strain on my body. I think if I were in a regular car, I might start to feel bolted down and claustrophobic, but in a convertible, it’s not as bad. I wonder if Adam chose this specifically because it would be easier. We’re only inside half a car.

Then something inside me finally shifts. I trust Adam. He’s planned this whole thing out for me, and knows me well enough to make me feel safe. He wouldn’t hurt me. I trust him. This, more than anything else, gives me the courage to take the keys and put them in his palm.

“Can we drive a little?” I ask. “Slow. Around the block? Just a little.”

Adam smiles. He looks proud and boyishly excited at the same time. “You’re the boss,” he says, and fits the key into the ignition. He places his right hand on the keys and reaches around with his left so that I can hold somebody’s hand while the engine starts. He looks to me, and I give the smallest nod. Then he turns the key and the engine roars into life.

“Just breathe,” Adam says to me. I focus on that. He hasn’t shifted the car, we’re still parked. And I know he’s going to wait until I’m ready. Knowing that I’m in control makes it easier. Although my heart is still racing, soon I feel better. I realize I’ve been wringing Adam’s hand, and I loosen my grip a little.

“All right,” Adam says. “We’re going to take it slow.”

He lets go of my hand for a moment and puts it on the wheel, and with his other hand shifts the car into drive. It’s a stick shift. I don’t even know how to drive those, and I’m distracted enough by being impressed with Adam that I barely notice when we pull away from the curb and enter the road.

I’m okay, I tell myself. I’m okay.

We are going slow. I glance over at the speedometer, and we’re lagging along at about five miles an hour. We pass the houses on the block at a walking pace. Adam slows carefully at the corner, looking both ways, then signals before he turns even though no one else is around. We continue uphill, and to be honest this is a little scarier. If we had started at this location, I would have said stop. But I’ve already begun, and it feels embarrassing to stop now, even though I kind of want to.

Then we turn right, onto level ground, and I’m okay. This part is easy.

“How you doing?” Adam asks me.

“I’m riding in a car,” I tell him, and that says enough.

He turns right, and goes downhill with the brakes slowing us to maybe three miles an hour. Then he turns right again and in a moment we’re at Levi’s house. He starts to pull in, and I put a hand on his shoulder.

“I can do more,” I tell him. “It’s getting better.”

“Into town?” he asks.

I’m not sure. Then I have an idea. “Okay. Yes. I will give you directions.”

He smiles. “Anywhere you want to go, Miss Harper.”

When we get to Commercial Street, I feel like Miss Oregon in the Fourth of July parade. Even though no one even really looks my way. Or thinks it’s any big deal that I’m riding in a car. But I’m grinning like I’ve just gotten back from the moon landing.

I direct Adam where to turn, and we have to wait at a red light to make a left. I watch two middle-aged ladies use the crosswalk in front of us, and it feels so different to be watching pedestrians from inside the car. What was normal growing up now feels so strange after a lapse of one year.

After the turn, Adam must guess where we’re going, because he has his turn signal on before I even tell him. There are no other cars around, so he pulls up to the curb and just waits by the corner.

We’re outside the coffee shop. I see Nicole inside. She’s handing a mug to a customer seated just inside the front window. The car is idling, and I’m willing Nicole to look up. But I’m worried she won’t, so I reach over to the wheel and press the center, making the car horn honk twice in quick succession.

Nicole looks up, at first with annoyance on her face. Who’s this asshole outside honking at her? Then her eyes find me, and her mouth drops open. She is stunned. I giggle and wave to her, one hand rotating in a regal manner, as if I really am part of a parade. In her surprise, Nicole forgets herself and spills coffee onto Margie’s table. The old woman pushes back and Nicole realizes what she’s done. “Drive!” I shout at Adam. “Drive!” He squeals away, and we both start laughing.

“Oh my god!” I shout. “Did you see Nicole’s face? I might as well have pulled up in a spaceship.”

Adam coughs into his hand, using his other to steer the wheel. “So,” he says. “You ready to go to the beach?”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but yes. Let’s go.”

“Seaside it is.”

Adam turns back onto the Commercial, which, after it runs its course through town, turns back into the highway. The roads aren’t crowded, but there are other cars with us, some speeding past in the other direction in the far lane. My adrenaline is pumping, but I’m not scared anymore. I know it sounds weird, but those initial few steps toward the car were worse than this. It was like the idea of the car was scarier than the car itself.