Adam’s Boys (23 page)

“I'm home!” he announced as he made his way down the hallway moments later.

“Hi, Dad!” two voices chorused from the lounge room, but like the night before and the night before that, his boys didn't run to greet him as they always had when Abbie had been around.

“Hi, guys. Don't I get a hug?” he asked as he walked into the room and nodded a greeting to Mrs Cook. At that point, Pete and Henry climbed slowly to their feet and wrapped themselves in a desultory fashion around his hips. Adam squatted in front of them.

“What's up with you two?” he asked, feigning a brightness he wasn't feeling. In fact, he felt like the boys looked.

“Nothing,” Henry replied but looked teary. “But I think I want Mum.”

With that Adam felt tears well in his own eyes and he quickly brushed them away.

Where in God's name had they come from? He hadn't cried since … since the day Ellen had died.

“Okay. Let me talk to Mrs Cook and show her out and then we'll talk,” he said, trying to invest his voice with purpose.

The boys went back to the lounge and Adam went through things with Mrs Cook for the following day before seeing her to the door. With his court case set down for another two weeks he was going to need her every day that the boys were with him—morning and night; he was not at all happy about having to be away from them so much.

“Okay,” Adam began, squeezing between his sons on the lounge as he turned the TV off with the remote. “Let's talk. What's going on? You both look miserable.”

“I want Mum.”

“You're missing her, Henry. I understand that,” Adam soothed. “It's hard being away from her. But you don't have to stay here every night with me if you're unhappy. Maybe you can have dinner here but sleep at Mum's until you get used to things.”

“No, it's not that. I want you too.”

“I don't understand.”

“He wants Abbie here with us. So do I,” Pete explained. His extra months of life and his recent growth spurt in maturity and confidence was giving him an edge over Henry in expressing himself.

Adam bit his lip as he felt the pressure behind his eyes again. He quickly looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath to steady himself. He had to get a grip before the boys noticed.

“Guys, Abbie and I care about one another,” he explained when he felt he could speak in a voice that would not collapse. “And we love you both. But sometimes that's not enough for two adults to live together in the one house.”

But there was a fundamental problem with that explanation—it sounded utterly empty. In fact, Adam didn't believe it at all. It was nothing but a bunch of words, words, words; just like the ones he'd been listening to in court all week.

“But I liked it best when we were all together,” Henry explained. “And you were funner[12] then too, Dad.”

Adam smiled. “I'm sure I was, but now I'm missing her like you so I'm not feeling very fun.”

“Then if we're all missing her, why don't we all go see her?” Pete declared as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yeah, Dad!” Henry cried out in delighted agreement.

“It's not that simple,” Adam objected, but knew he had no answer as to why it wasn't.

“Why not? We all love her. Let's go see her,” Henry repeated.

“How do you know I love her?” Adam asked curiously, ignoring the little voice inside his head that was telling him not to make life choices based on the wisdom of preschool children.

“Because she makes you laugh,” Henry explained.

“Yeah, and he never used to laugh much before we came here,” Pete leant forward to inform Henry in a matter of fact voice across his father's chest. “And you're nice to her, Dad. And you look after her when she's sick, and you look at each other a lot.”

“Yeah, in that gooey, lovey-dovey way,” Henry agreed with a mock shudder. “And you tidy up the house for each other so the other one doesn't have to do it. And when you're worried about work stuff you talk to each other until you're not worried about it anymore.”

“That's right. And Abbie makes us feel safe, doesn't she, Dad?” Pete finished thoughtfully.

Adam sat in stunned silence.

How had his boys noticed so much? Clearly, every minute of the short time they'd shared together as a family the boys had been taking in their parents' growing love for each other like little sponges.

“Okay, then,” Adam agreed quietly. “Let's go see her.”

“Really?” Pete asked, leaning forward to check out his father's face in disbelief.

“Really.”

“Now? In our pyjamas?”

“Yep, in your pyjamas,” he said, laughing at their gobsmacked expressions, but then they were off the lounge and racing for the front door, whooping for joy.

Abbie's place was only a couple of minutes away. There were no roads to cross so the boys ran ahead. When he rounded the corner and took in Maeve's little terrace, they were nowhere to be seen. The front door was open and he wandered into the hallway where Abbie appeared in front of him.

She was still in the work outfit he'd seen her in earlier that day from a distance—a sleeveless black dress. She'd loosened her hair within its ponytail since then and was wearing a pair of slippers and an apron; it gave her an odd look of homey efficiency.

“Are you just home?” he asked in surprise, taking refuge in trivialities as he fought the urge to sweep her up in his arms and never let her go again.

“I'm trying to catch up at work. My billable hours are pathetic this month,” she explained, but although the subject matter was safe he could hear a nervous tremor in her voice to match his own. “You're going to have to take the rap for me at the next partners' meeting,” she added.

“Why me?”

“Because it's your entire fault that my fees have plummeted. Before you came back into my life and started distracting me I used to bill my head off. Justin was even calling me ‘Abacus'.”

“Justin thinks he's the world expert on coming up with nicknames,” Adam said, giving her a tentative smile.

“What does he call you?”

“Various things. Mostly about my background. ‘Bluey' is one—as in blue blood. Then there's ‘HRH', and ‘The Prince' of course.”

Abbie nodded with a weak smile and then a heavy, meaningful silence filled the space between them.

“The boys said you've come to see me,” she began, looking fragile. “I'm feeling very confused here, Adam. What's going on?”

“Can we talk somewhere?”

“Not that easily. The boys are in the lounge room eating ice-creams in front of the television.”

“Are they all right there for a little while?”

Abbie nodded.

“Okay then, we'll go upstairs,” he announced and after closing the front door he took her hand in his and led her quietly up the narrow staircase as though they were a couple of teenagers creeping back home after a broken curfew.

He headed for the room he knew was Abbie's, although he'd never been through the door before. As he walked inside he couldn't help but look around in wonder at the sensory wonderland she'd created for herself.

Dimmed rose-coloured lighting bathed the room and haunting Irish folk music was playing quietly in the background. Her walls were filled with paintings he suspected were Maeve's, and framed black and white photographs—mostly of Henry—which he suspected were hers. Her double bed was made up with layers of crisp white linen, velvet throw rugs and soft pastel scatter cushions. A lighted candle gave off an aroma of vanilla and strawberries melding with the scent of the freesias propped up in the vase beside her bed. And at that moment Adam found himself fighting off an intensely powerful urge to throw himself amongst the soft layers of Abbie's bed and breathe in that oh-so-familiar scent of her that he'd grown to love so much.

“It's a bit girly,” she said quietly behind him.

He turned and smiled at her. She looked completely lost, even within the sanctuary of her beautiful retreat. But then behind her on the wall his eye was caught by an embroidery, carefully crafted and framed. Depicted was a cottage looking cosy and very Irish—words were sewn in below: ‘Today is good. Tomorrow will be better.'

Adam sighed, shoved his hands in his pockets and swung his gaze towards Abbie.

“I'm glad you're here,” she murmured quietly before he could speak. “There's something I've been wanting to give you.”

Abbie moved past him to approach a bookshelf on the far side of the room below a narrow window looking out over her tiny back garden. She stooped to pull a large box from the bottom shelf and then carrying it across to Adam passed it to him without a word.

“I made these for you and I want you to have them,” she said very firmly. “I can't turn back time but it might help you to know Henry a little better.”

Adam looked at Abbie inquiringly before lowering himself into the wing chair next to her bed and placing the box beside his feet. Opening the lid he could see that four bulging scrapbooks were inside. Taking the top one he opened it and began to turn its pages slowly, unaware that he was about to embark upon the most poignant journey of his life—Henry's first years.

As he turned the pages, slowly and painstakingly, absorbing every detail before him, Adam wondered whether there had been a joy, a sadness, a milestone, a set back or even a humdrum event experienced by his son from the day of his birth which had not been documented by Abbie.

Henry's life as a baby, a toddler and a preschooler exploded and leapt from the pages like a fabulous show of lights trailing colours through Adam's heart and mind. There were photographs, tickets, certificates, drawings, paintings, medical reports and endless notes in his mother's small careful hand about all of the events which punctuate a child's early years, but which are so often lost along the way in the rush hour of life—not Henry's.

When Adam finally reached the end of the last book he found photographs of his little boy in his new uniform, proud as could be and about to leave Maeve's front garden for his first morning at school. Adam guessed that was the day he'd met Henry for the first time. There was nothing beyond that day and Adam knew why—his life with Henry had begun.

Adam lifted his eyes to see that darkness had well and truly fallen through the window opposite. Abbie was lying on her bed amidst her pillows, watching him with an unreadable expression

“I can't take these from you,” he began croakily, his throat dry and swollen.

“Yes you can. I'll always have them here and here,” she explained touching her forehead and her heart with her fingertips.

“You've put these together for me in the last few weeks, haven't you?” he said in a quiet voice.

She nodded, sitting up a little in her bed. “I started them the day after I told you Henry was yours. I know they'll never replace those years, and they'll never make up for what I took from you, but I want to give you something of his young life that you can keep.”

Adam gave her a twisted smile. “I told you, I've put that loss behind me, but these books are incredible, thank you.”

He dropped his eyes and watched his fingertips trailing over the collage of photos of his son adorning the front cover of the last book still resting on his lap.

“Are we okay to stay up here for a little while?” he asked finally, lifting his eyes to meet hers again. “The boys …”

“Are asleep in Maeve's bed,” she interrupted gently.

“You left the room to put them to bed? I didn't even notice!”

“During Henry's third year,” she smiled, remembering how she'd leant over and rested her hand on his shoulder before leaving the room, but he hadn't registered her touch. His head had been bowed over his son's third Christmas, his mind and body completely absorbed.

“I guess you'd like to know why I'm here tonight,” he began huskily.

Abbie nodded. The truth was she could hardly bear the agony of suspense that had held her rigid from the moment he'd walked through her front door.

Adam placed the fourth book carefully back into the box next to him. Locking his hands behind his head he sat back amongst the down cushions on his comfortable chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him as though he was taking in the sun on a pool-side deck.

His outfit didn't quite match the resort image though; he was still dressed in his suit pants, a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal his powerful forearms, and a plain sky-blue tie. It was the one that matched his eyes perfectly, ramping their heart melting gorgeousness up to an even more breathtaking level every time he wore it.

“I'm here because of Henry,” he explained.

“What about Henry?” Abbie asked anxiously as she sat more upright against the pillows behind her.

“He's not coping with what's happening between you and me, is he?”

“I know,” she whispered, her heart racing as she absorbed Adam's confirmation of her own anxiety. “The irony is that if a stranger had met our boys a month ago they'd have sworn Henry would be the one who would cope with this set back between us and that Pete would be the mess. But the thing is …”

Adam leant forward and wrung his hands together, listening closely to her words. “Go on, Abbie,” he urged when she hesitated and fell silent.

“The thing is, that's not the right assessment at all, is it? I know Pete still needs to gain more confidence but his difficulties are out in the open. We can help him manage them. But Henry's anxieties are buried beneath a mountain of smiles and chipper chitchat. I don't know where to start with him.”

Adam nodded and said, “He does that for you. He pours everything he's got into keeping life looking rosy so that you won't worry.”

Abbie groaned and covered her face with her hands. “I have no idea how to fix that except to make sure he spends more time with you and less with me.”