Page 49 of Wrecked

“Really? Because your actions speak volumes.” My voice rises at the end.

“That’s not what I think at all.”

I look down and shuffle my foot a bit. “Well, what do you think?”

“I think that those nights in my driveway are some of the best memories of my life.”

My hand runs over my collarbone as I take in his confession. I bite my lip, wondering how two people as close as we were became the emotional strangers we are today.

“For years, I’ve watched you walk into the bar and shake your head in disapproval,” I say, my eyes fixed on the wood planks of the porch floor. “I know when you crinkle your brows, it means you’re thinking the worst of the person you’re looking at. I know that when you are annoyed, you clench your fists and hold them tight to your sides. I know that when you’re angry, you pull at the ends of your hair. I know this because that’s how you look when you’re around me.”

I take a breath. Those words came flying out of nowhere. I hadn’t been prepared to say them.

Adam runs his hand through his hair and looks out to the field. His back now to me, he places both hands on the railing, bowing his head down.

“I was more preoccupied with helping you than seeing the obvious signs that Brad was in trouble. I knew he was running with the wrong crowd, but…” He pauses, sounding almost afraid to make the admission. “I was the best friend. I knew he was spending too much time alone. He stopped writing, stopped hanging out with his friends, and ignored his girl. He stopped living.”

“It all happened so fast—”

“I ignored the signs because I was more concerned with…” His chest is rising up and down, his eyes looking at me with a plea. “Other things.” The words are out of his mouth so fast that I almost miss them.

I place a hand on top of his. I know I shouldn’t, but I need to. And I think he needs to be touched as well.

Slowly, his eyes travel from staring at the ground to moving up until they are locked with mine. A haze is cast over his eyes. They look like glass, and all I see inside of them is me.

“There was nothing you could have done. Nothing any of us could have done. We were young. Drugs weren’t something we were familiar with. We didn’t know the signs. No one did. Especially not you.” I squeeze his hand tighter, letting him know I’m here for him. From now on, this is the way I want to be.

Real. True. The way we used to be.

“Why didn’t you go away to school like you’d planned? What changed?” I ask.

Adam looks down at our hands. I am holding his, but he is not holding mine. He slides it away and then takes a deep breath of air. Stepping back, he looks around at the house, then the field, and then back to me.

“When Brad was lowered into the ground, I couldn’t stop looking at his mom. Couldn’t stop wondering how many other mothers had buried their children. I wanted to make a difference. Being an architect? Designing buildings? That wasn’t going to keep kids out of the ground. Going after pieces of shit like Nico Martinez, that makes a difference.”

I look about the land where the homes are being built. “And this? These homes? What is this for?”

“It’s a way to keep his memory alive.”

A wave of nostalgia penetrates my heart. I have a memory of Brad and me on a porch swing with a notebook in his hand, his gentle voice reading the words he had written down.

“For when the day ends and evening’s bleak, may there be a home for all souls to find peace in the long dark of night.”

Everything Adam has done from the moment Brad died has been in his memory. His career, the way he lives his life, the time he spends building homes. He’s not the monster I thought he’d become. He’s a saint.

An angel to my devil.

Seven years of ignoring each other. Seven years of his callous attitude toward me, of me tormenting him with my antics that I knew drove him crazy. Seven years of wasted time all because I just didn’t understand him.

I walk a few steps toward him but stop so as not to get too close. Being close to him is not what I need.

“Adam.” His name comes out as a whisper. My words catch in my throat. “I don’t want to hate each other anymore.”

When I look up at him, those eyes of glass are shining with hope and despair and want and denial, all in one. I was so lost in the boy he once was when in front of me is a spectacular man who is so angry at the world for all the right reasons.

“Then, let’s not,” he says with a voice so low that I’m glad I’m standing close enough to hear. “And, for the record, it was never you I was angry with.”

I shake my head in disagreement.