Beyond the Storm (9780758276995) Page 12

  Vanessa nodded. She understood.

  “I’m glad to know you think of yourself as the hero.”

  “Yes, ever the hero, dashingly naïve to the end. Like a sailor coming home from the sea, a bit damaged but still himself for having conquered the world, his fears. Home to the lady he loved.”

  Vanessa’s eyes blinked, once, twice. “Why would you say that?”

  “Say what?”

  “The sailor . . .”

  “We’re here in Danton Hill, the lake is just miles away. When you think hero, you think something swashbuckling. One who triumphs over evil, or maybe just over nature? Like we did, today, battling the storm. That accident, it could have killed us. We never would have had this . . .”

  “Our private reunion.”

  “It’s going well.”

  She deflected his comment, brought the conversation back to his tale.

  “Is that what happened to you? You beat evil at its own game?”

  “Actually, I sort of quit playing. Maybe I’m not such a hero. Maybe I should avoid the swirling seas and stick to safety of the land, stick to my own cautionary tale.” Adam spread his hands before him. “So, anyway, you asked about the big love of my life. That’s the story.”

  She nodded, drank down some wine. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Sometimes, I don’t either,” he said. His fingers sought out hers, entwined around them, tying them together. Alone in this farmhouse, nothing to occupy their time but sharing their lives, talking about missed opportunities, regrets, wishes, Vanessa suddenly felt awful for having doubted him moments ago. For having pulled back. He’d been nothing but gentle with her: the fireplace, the wine, the lovemaking. Their impromptu reunion had been special, far more than she could have anticipated when she’d decided to return home to Danton Hill. She hadn’t given tomorrow a single thought. That was how much she wanted today to last. A sudden emptiness found its way to the pit of her stomach, and that’s when Vanessa realized that tomorrow was a strange, uncertain concept, a word without definition, twisting in the storm-ravaged wind. Lost in this singular world of theirs, no sense of time passing, barely a sound emanating from outside the farmhouse, a wave of claustrophobia threatened to sweep over her. Her body wavered, her head felt dizzy. She pulled the blanket tighter around her.

  “Hey, you feeling okay?”

  “I feel . . . odd. Cold, but not really. Sort of disconnected to myself.”

  “You barely ate. Why don’t I reheat the soup . . .”

  “Adam, it’s fine, I’ll be fine.”

  “Maybe I should go down to the road, try to flag someone down. We could be deluding ourselves here, lost in our own cocoon, that we’re both fine after the accident,” he said. “Maybe what you’re feeling is some post-accident symptoms . . . a concussion, shock?”

  Adam uncrossed his legs, pushing himself up from the floor.

  Vanessa reached out and grabbed his arm. “No, no, Adam, there’s no need. Really, I’m fine. It’ll pass. I think I was just feeling . . . I don’t know, maybe sad? Melancholy? For you, for how things worked out with Sarah . . . Sarah Jane. Gee, I don’t even know how to refer to her after hearing your story.”

  Adam laughed. “Join the club. Sarah was always an enigma, stuck between what she wanted and what was expected of her. Two identities.”

  “So, you believe she was the one, huh?”

  “I don’t know, guess not. She was more like the half.”

  “Like one of your imaginary children?”

  “No, no . . . but hey, that shows you were listening. No, with Sarah, it’s funny, when it was just the two of us and she could be just Sarah . . . wow, she was everything I thought I ever wanted. A partner, an equal, proper when needed, aggressive when unleashed; we supported each other emotionally and could always depend upon the other to be there when we needed a pick-me-up. But then we’d be around her family and . . .”

  “She became Sarah Jane.”

  “Big-time.”

  “So, which one do you really think she was?”

  “Ultimately?”

  “Honestly, Adam. Your gut.”

  Without hesitation, he said, “She was a Stockdale, through and through. If she had to do it alone—and by alone I mean live financially independent, it’s not as if she couldn’t survive, she simply wouldn’t want to. She’d never get so far as to make that choice of defying the wishes of Daddy Stockdale . . . of her family. Sarah Jane Stockdale had blood as blue as her grandmother’s. She just liked to occasionally feel scotch run through those same veins.”

  “The rebellious girl who would eventually settle down and do as was expected.”

  “Bingo.”

  “Using you. Poor Adam.”

  “Oh, don’t feel too sorry for me,” he said. “Perhaps a part of me knew the relationship was doomed even as it was getting started. I doubt her family would have granted me full membership into her world—their world. Guess I was on a guest pass that summer. When Sarah and I finally realized we wouldn’t work long-term, we parted. Our breakup wasn’t about love or lust or betrayal, it was just we’d been left no other choice. Once everything went down at KFC, I would have been lucky to date the cleaning lady.”

  “So what really happened?”

  “Not here.”

  “Huh?”

  “Come with me,” he said, extending his hand.

  “Where? Adam, I’m not even properly dressed . . .”

  “I’m not dressed at all.”

  Still, Adam tossed her the now-wrinkled blue dress shirt, and she quickly buttoned it over her otherwise naked self. He donned the goofy checkered pants. Half-dressed but respectable. Before whisking her away from the comforting fire, he took her into his arms and held her, kissing the top of her head. She sighed while feeling the heat emanating off his body, burying her face in the comfort of his chest. They could have remained there, but when a blast of wind rocked the house they parted and gazed at each other. Wordlessly, he led her out of the living room and up the stairs of the old farmhouse, one creaky step at a time. She attempted to ask where they were going, but he put a finger to his lips, then asked her to trust him.

  “Your questions are just delaying our adventure.”

  “Adventure? What kind of adventure could be waiting for us inside this house?”

  “Don’t you like surprises?”

  Her eyes darkened, just slightly. “Not always, no.”

  “I heard a story once,” he announced. “Now I’m wondering how much of it is true.”

  “A story about what?”

  “Destiny.”

  “Oh, great, that again.”

  “You’re such a cynic.”

  “And you’re not?”

  He grinned as he looked upward. “Perhaps not. Perhaps in the long run I’m a lost soul, still seeking out the great romance of my life.”

  “And you think it’s up these stairs?”

  As he took her hand in his, he said, “I think anything is possible between two people.”

  “Now I think you’re the one suffering from some post-accident concussion,” she said. “Adam, where are you taking me?”

  “Vanessa, venture with me, upstairs.”

  “That’s a strange choice of words,” she said.

  “What, what did I say? Come with me, right?”

  “Never mind,” she said. “Lead on. Let’s get this over with.”

  “Aren’t you having fun yet?”

  On the second floor of the house, Adam led them down the back hallway, where a small doorway revealed itself. He tested the knob, found it opened easily. Before them was a winding staircase, cobwebs caught in their cast-iron curls. The lightbulb didn’t work, so Adam guided Vanessa up and around the curve of the stairs, climbing high, higher. At last they emerged inside the farmhouse’s dusty, but surprisingly spacious cupola. It was bare of furniture except for a large wooden trunk with iron fixtures tucked into a dark corner. Moonlit rays streaked through the dirtied windows
. The storm seemed to have cleared some, but still they needed a moment for their eyes to adjust to the darkness.

  “Adam, this is beautiful . . . like a hidden fort.”

  “The perfect escape,” he said.

  “Haven’t we already done that?”

  He smiled, holding her tight from behind, his strong arms encircling her body. With a swift, easy motion he brushed back her silky hair, kissed her neck. “It’s strange how being here makes me feel. I was trying to remember when last I felt this content, you know . . . my mind, my body, at peace. Strangely, I think it was the last night I spent with Sarah Jane. A warm summer night had fallen upon us after a storm had swept by, not unlike the one today. I was out in the Hamptons, at the Stockdales’ summer place, and Sarah Jane had just told me that, and I quote, ‘It’s just not going to work out between us,’ which was doublespeak for ‘You’re not good enough for me, for my family, anymore.’ Her parents, namely her father, had decided that his precious Sarah Jane needed someone who understood the value of money—who was part of their world. Which meant someone who already had money, and lots of it. It was just too much hard work to integrate me into society.”

  “That’s ridiculous . . .”

  “Truthfully, it was liberating.”

  “Still, after what you’d shared. How you helped her escape that perfect little existence.”

  “Vanessa, in their world they believed they were perfectly justified. I’d just been fired from KFC, and no other investment firm in the city would hire me. I was branded an outcast even in my own world.”

  “Adam, can you tell me why?”

  “I need to. For nearly nine months I’ve buried everything, pretending to enjoy my life but still stinging over life’s betrayal. But here, in this cupola with only you and the cracks in the walls to hear me, I think I can speak of what happened.” He paused, clearing his throat. “Okay, so here’s how things played out. As I said earlier, I was working under the guidance of one of the partners, Carpenter Franklin. He was one of those moneyed executives who found himself, after KFC nearly went bankrupt, under investigation by the SEC for fraud, embezzlement, mishandling of corporate funds, whatever else they could think of. He denied all the charges, but the evidence was overwhelming. He was guilty as sin and the company had already decided he’d become their sacrificial lamb. Ultimately . . . well, perhaps it was true, or perhaps he simply didn’t want to deal with the publicity . . . we’ll never know.”

  “Why not?”

  “Carpenter Franklin jumped out his office window at work.”

  “My God . . .”

  “We worked on the thirtieth floor.”

  Vanessa’s hand flew to her open mouth, her mind doing its best to shut out the image. “Adam, why are you telling me this—here, and why now?”

  “Carpenter Franklin was a jerk, a toy for the industry and the firm, a yes-man who would do whatever it took to get the job done. As a result, he rode my ass daily, urged me to make more money—his attempt at setting me up with Sarah Jane was just his way of insinuating himself into Stockdale cash. I joked once about that phrase being engraved onto his headstone—MORE MONEY, ALWAYS MORE. And you know how he responded? ‘Good way to go.’ The man, faults aside, he loved who he was. And so, coming up here to the highest point in the house, I guess I wanted to look at the sky, but also be able to look down at the ground too . . . and ponder what Carpenter must have been thinking seconds before he ended his life.” Adam paused, his expression tinged with regret. When he resumed, his voice was quieter. “Yeah, in business he was a total suck-up, but he wasn’t a bad guy when you shared a few good scotches with him outside the office. He just got caught up in the world as much as I did, probably more. He was a good fifteen years older than me, so for him, KFC—the stocks, investments, money—represented the sum of his entire life, one that offered no escape other than the one he chose for himself. I’d been granted clemency, both from the senior partners at KFC and from the Stockdale family. From the SEC too, thank God. But I was still one of Franklin’s men. Taint by association. So I was out. I was finished.”

  Words seemed inadequate right now. Vanessa just allowed him to hold her; she snuggled tighter against his body. Like their bodies were conjoined, connected.

  “The week after I’d been fired was when, out at the Hamptons, Sarah Jane handed me my other walking papers. She said I could come back to bed for one last night. Like I should be grateful that I got another roll on the golden mattress. I didn’t go back to her room, I didn’t even pack my bag. I just set out on foot and left the Hamptons that night, waited at the train station for the first morning train back to the city. I promised myself I would never look back and I didn’t. Sarah Jane got married three months ago to the son of a British lord, if you can believe it. The wealthy Stockdale family needed to find some new old money for their baby girl.”

  “And you, Adam? What have you been doing since then?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re not working?”

  “Not since my last day at KFC.”

  “But that’s been nearly a year . . .”

  “Yeah, how great is that? It’s been good for me, mostly. The time off has given me a chance to find out who I really am—or maybe I’m just rediscovering myself. Who I might have been, who I’d like to be again. To see what else awaits me in this world.”

  “You talk like you’ve got other lives to live.”

  “Or that I’ve already lived some.”

  “Really? You believe in stuff like that?”

  He shrugged. “Sometimes I wonder . . . don’t you ever feel that sense of déjà vu?”

  “Yes. But that doesn’t mean it’s because I existed in a previous life.”

  “But what if it did? Vanessa, what if you and I knew each other before?”

  “We did. We were both stupid teenagers.”

  “No, I mean, before that . . . before we were born,” he said, turning to face her. “What if the prom all those years ago was our chance to remember a different time, and we failed to recognize the signs? What if the universe is now giving us another shot?”

  “A high school reunion? Is that our ‘shot’?”

  Adam let out a snort of disapproval over her cynicism. “Maybe it is—or maybe, I don’t know, just maybe, the accident, our finding this farmhouse, maybe this is our moment? We needed to grow up first, experience the world before we could find what was in front of our faces years ago. We were too young, too naïve, back then. It’s funny, but when the invitation to attend the reunion popped into my in-box, I nearly deleted it. I mean, I’m jobless, unemployable in my chosen field, and the woman of my supposed dreams dumped me because ultimately I wasn’t good enough for her fancy family. Gee, that’s the perfect scenario to chat up people at your high school reunion. A real proud moment. Living up to the promise I had way back then.”

  “You sell yourself too short.”

  “Again, just like high school.”

  “Adam, is everything a joke?”

  “About then. Yeah, mostly.”

  “So why did you decide to return? This other-life thing?”

  “Not really, no, it’s something fun to speculate about, when you’re alone, or with someone you trust . . . someone you can admit crazy things to . . . but in the end, no, I’m me. Adam Blackburn, a product of Danton Hill High. Can’t change that, that’s not only the past, it’s truth,” he said, a nervous laugh accompanying his denial. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness inside the old cupola, and Adam found himself moving around the small space. He wandered over to the wooden trunk, sitting down upon its lid. He heard a sharp creak, but it was just the wood settling, adjusting to his weight. “Who knows? Maybe I need to take a step back in order to take that next step forward in my life,” he said. “Being humbled is a great place to start. And who better to leave you humbled than the people who did that to you on a daily basis years ago?”

  “So you’re willingly taking a step back into the past to find out
what you should be when you grow up?”

  “Something like that.”

  “At thirty-eight?”

  He shrugged. “It’s never too late to grow up, isn’t that what those self-help gurus say? It’s never too late to become the person you always envisioned you would be, just follow their easy ten-step program,” he said. “But it’s also never too late to remain young. The beauty of life is you don’t really have to decide between young and old, you just have to live.” He pounded on the wooden trunk, a hollow sound echoing from within. “You can’t keep yourself locked up. Sure, you can pack the bad stuff away and think it’s gone. But it’s not really, it’s always waiting to be unlocked.”

  “So why not do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Unlock it?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The trunk you’re sitting on. You keep speaking in maybes, so let’s play your game even further.”

  “I’m not following you.”

  “You keep speaking about fate, destiny . . . stuff like that. Let’s indulge ourselves, Adam, play out your fanciful scenario of you and me in another time, another place. Say that you and I were meant to be, even before the prom came calling. Now other forces have pushed us together again, first by having our cars collide and then in finding this house. Like invisible hands have been guiding us, pushing us toward each other. Well, perhaps the universe further directed us upstairs to this cupola, and the reason why is because we’re supposed to find this old trunk. We’re supposed to see what’s inside. Aren’t you the least bit curious? If the owners are gone, why leave the trunk behind? Come on, let’s open it, and see what’s inside.”