Page 14 of All the Ways You Save Me
My heart aches for him. “I’m so glad you have a friend like that.”
With a creak, the heavy iron gate begins to slide shut, and Adam gives the security guard one more wave before checking the mirrors and pulling back out onto the tree-lined street. We follow a winding road along the river, leaving the town behind. It’s a beautiful drive with views of sprawling wooded hillsides across the sparkling water below. Eventually Adam slows the car next to a wide roadside berm covered in gravel. He puts the car in reverse and backs it into the makeshift parking area so the tailgate faces the view.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, opening his door.
I nod and follow him out of the car to where the gravel drops off and the river flows thirty feet below. Dizzy, I take a step back away from the cliff, and Adam takes my arm to steady me. “Careful, it’s a long way down.” He tugs me back another step and hitches his chin across the river toward the hill covered in thick trees. “That’s where I grew up. In those woods.”
“I’d like to see it someday… I mean, only if you want to show me.” I can’t imagine what it was like to lose his childhood home and I’m sure it would be painful to go back there. I think about our little beach house with its three tiny bedrooms, 1950s kitchen cabinets, and wide front porch with a rickety wooden swing. My heart breaks every time I think about it, and I didn’t lose my family when I left.
“Someday, I’d love to show you.” Adam grabs the blanket and bag from the back seat and opens the Bronco’s tailgate. He spreads the blanket across the worn carpeting of the trunk areaand opens the bag to reveal two bottles of lemonade, a pack of crackers, a container of sliced cheese, and some grapes. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like. But since you pack cheese sandwiches every day, I figured this was a safe bet. Cheddar, right?”
I’m charmed that he took the time to notice. “My favorite.” I hop up onto the tailgate and slide backward, leaning against the back of the seat. Below us, the river shimmers in the sunlight as it winds around the hillside and disappears in the distance. I take a deep breath, savoring the faint mineral scent of the water, the freshness of the woods, and a hint of something spicy and unique to Adam as he settles in next to me.
His broad shoulders fill the narrow space, and when he leans closer to hand me a bottle of lemonade, I can feel his warmth radiating through the thin sleeve of my T-shirt. “Tell me what it was like growing up at the beach,” he says.
I can’t help but smile. “It was amazing. I loved it. I could swim before I could walk and spent my days completely covered in sand and salt. From May through September, I’m not sure I even wore real shoes. It was such a great way to be a kid.”
“I can see how much it meant to you. You said it was kind of a surprise when your family decided to leave?”
I twist the cap of my lemonade bottle. “I think that was the hardest part. It was so unexpected. I got home one day, and my mom had put the house on the market and said we were moving. No explanation other than she got a new job. And that was it—we packed up and were gone in a week. I barely got to say goodbye to anyone.”
“And what about your dad? Did he have to change jobs, too?”
“My dad died when I was not quite two. I don’t really remember him, but I know it was hard on my mom. I think that’s partly why it was so shocking. We’d lived my whole life on Sandy Harbor and had a whole community there. They were like family.”
“Do you have any idea why it all happened so quickly? Why she didn’t warn you?”
My mind drifts back to my conversation with my mom this morning. “I always got the feeling—” I say, but then I hesitate. For months, leaving Sandy Harbor seemed like the worst thing that ever happened to me. But talking to Adam today puts my problems into perspective. “Never mind, it’s silly.”
“Madeline, it’s not silly.” He’s leaning forward so he can see past my hair to look in my eyes, and there’s only concern and interest etched on his face. “I want to know about your life.”
My mom obviously isn’t saying much on the subject, and Josie doesn’t really understand how hard it was for me. She was busy getting ready for her freshman year at Berkeley, and the move seemed like the least of her concerns. It would be nice to have someone to talk to for once.
“Well, to be honest, I sometimes got the feeling that my mom cared more about leaving in a hurry than she did about coming here for a job.” I turn to meet Adam’s eyes. “But I don’t have any evidence of that. My mom just kept saying the job was a good opportunity and it’s time for a change.”
“Do you think you’ll want to move back to Sandy Harbor after graduation?”
I stare out at the river winding below us, disappearing around a bend in the distance. “I don’t think so. I love the beach. But with all the weirdness of leaving, Sandy Harbor doesn’t feel like home anymore.” I tear at the label on my bottle. “I keep in touch with a few friends, and they’ve sent photos of beach bonfires and parties, but their messages have been dropping off. I feel like they’ve all moved on without me and going back would never be the same.”
He slides an arm around me. “I’m so sorry your mom handled it like this. It’s tough to leave, but to feel like you can’t even go back really sucks.”
I lean in, comforted by his solidness. “My sister, Josie, says Ishould move on and make new friends like she’s doing at UC Berkeley. She doesn’t seem to understand how much the old memories meant to me. It’s not a switch I can turn on and off.”
“Your whole childhood was spent on that island. You don’t just move on.”
My heart squeezes because somehow, he’s managed to sum up exactly how I feel. “It helps to have someone to acknowledge that. My mom acts so artificially cheerful, always going on about how great living here will be if I just keep an open mind. And”—I shoot him a quick glance—“it’s growing on me. But it’s still a loss…” I trail off.
Though he said he wants to hear this and his face shows only compassion, I can’t help thinking of how I must sound, complaining about my mom and going on about moving away from a beach house after all he lost. “Will you tell me about your parents?” I ask.
He gives me a sad smile. “I grew up in a trailer and we never had much money, but I never would have known it. My mom was one of those people who could always make things special. She’d sew my Halloween costumes and craft Christmas ornaments and make a big fuss over everything. Her mother died of breast cancer when she was young, and I think she understood how fleeting time can be. She was diagnosed when I was seven.”
“Oh, Adam, I’m so sorry. I can’t even imagine.”
“It all happened really quickly. She passed when I was eight.” He stares out at the view, and I wonder if he’s picturing his home in the woods across the river, warm and bright with his mom sewing costumes or decorating a Christmas tree. My heart breaks for him.
“My dad loved her so much,” he continues. “When she was gone, he couldn’t handle it. He started drinking, the trailer crumbled into disrepair, and everything kind of fell apart. I was lucky that I met Jason on the baseball team in fourth grade. Ateacher knew about my home life and thought it would be good for me to play. Jason noticed my parents were never at the games, so he started inviting me home with him for dinner. Soon I was spending most of my time at his place. My dad passed of cirrhosis of the liver last year, and Jason showed up at the trailer, packed up my things, and insisted I move in with his family.”
My throat tightens and my eyes burn with an overwhelming gratitude for Jason. He has so much more depth and kindness than I could have imagined on that first day. “I’m so glad you have a friend like him,” I say with a waver in my voice. “And I’m sorry to be dramatic over leaving my home at the beach when you’ve lostsomuch?—”
