Rainfall (14 page)

Much later we make our way home. Only once we are behind the locked door and alone in the apartment do I begin to feel awkward. I realise that I have not thought of Adam once in the past few hours and I am suddenly riddled with guilt.

“Coffee?” I ask and Kyle nods, heading down the passage to the bathroom.    

By the time I am finished making the coffee he is settled down in front of the TV, his shoes up on the coffee table, his head back, resting on the plush sofa cushions. His eyes are closed and I hesitate before I set the coffee down in front of him, thinking he may have fallen asleep. He half opens one eye as I place the mug down in front of him.

“You’re more fun than I gave you credit for,” he murmurs.

“Thank you, I think.” 

“You know the party doesn’t have to stop,” he waggles his brows suggestively.

“Yes, Kyle, it does,” I say firmly, picking up my mug and heading to the bedroom. Closing the door behind me, I can’t help but smile but as I settle down under the covers my thoughts turn again to Adam, and I am overwhelmed with sadness and an empty feeling
that makes me feel very alone. Praying that Adam will be back by the morning in time for our adventure, I close my eyes and will sleep to come quickly.

“Fun?”
Adam’s tone is incredulous. It is Saturday. The weekend has finally arrived, and with it, my much anticipated idea of fun. Adam’s eyes are as round as saucers. He has a film of perspiration glistening on his forehead. I glance down and immediately wish I hadn’t. For the first time I consider that this may not be the best idea I have ever had. I force the thought out of my mind – it's a great idea! Here we are, about to do something reckless and crazy and absolutely adrenalin-pumping and the best part is that Adam is right beside me.

I had read about Trapeze School on Google. It was recommended for anyone from the 'thrill seeker' to the 'fear facer'. At the 40
th
Street Pier in mid-town Manhattan, the school teaches people to 'fly' on the trapeze which sounded like a marvellous thing to do so I booked us a private lesson. Now, standing on a platform 23 feet in the air I am not really so sure. I take a deep breath and smile at Adam who initially insisted that he would go first.

“You ready?” I ask
, biting my lip to keep from laughing as what little colour remains drains from his face.

“Ready?” the instructor asks Adam and turns to face him. Not wanting to lose face he manages to nod. “On the count of three,” the instructor calls and then counts up, “one, two, three!” 

I have to give Adam credit, I didn’t think that he would go through with it, but he jumped. He jumped and soared through the air screaming like a little girl. 

“Knees up!” the instructor yells as Adam streaks downward. 

“No way!” Adam hollers back and drops straight down onto the net. 

I have not laughed so hard for so long that once I start I just can’t stop. Tears of mirth pour down my face and I clutch my sides trying to control myself. Even the instructor looks amused, but he quickly regains his composure and gestures for me to step forward. Facing my fear quickly sobers me up and I grit my teeth determinedly, stepping forward
and peering over the platform. Adam has climbed out of the net and is staring up at me wide-eyed.

I take a deep breath, close my eyes and jump. It feels like flying! I feel like a child, like anything is possible. It is freedom and flying and fun. I open my eyes and laugh into the wind.

“Knees up!” I hear the spotter call and without hesitation I swing my knees up and hook them over the bar. Not giving myself time to hesitate I let go of the bar and am hanging upside down by my knees. I catch a glimpse of Adam as I swing by and laugh at the concerned expression on his face. I catch hold of the bar again, swinging my legs off and over and execute a perfect back-flip, just as the instructor has shown us. Landing in the net I feel my face is flushed with exhilaration and I climb down, feeling giddy. I skip toward Adam who has his hand shielding his eyes and is gazing up at the platform.

“Ta-
da!” I skid to a stop in front of him.

“What on earth is the matter with you?” he scolds and I look up feeling my heart plummet.  Simon. Simon is back and Adam is gone. 

“No!” I wail.  Not now; not in this beautiful carefree moment. I subconsciously put my hand over my ears trying in vain to block out the monotonous drone of Simon’s chastisement.

“Leave it alone, Simon!” I half-yell and, without
so much as a second thought, I turn on my heel and head back to the platform ladder.

“This is completely irresponsible behaviour!” he calls after me. “You're being reckless, Paige!” I'm momentarily touched by his concern and then, “Who's going to drive me home if you get yourself killed up there being a show-off?”

“Oooh!” I scream, climbing more quickly.

“What’s up with him?” Chad, the instructor, raises his eyebrows. 

“He’s schitzo,” I reply, choking back a half-sob. I'll be damned if I'll let that pompous son-of-a-bitch ruin this for me. I grab hold of the bar and leap, soaring through the air and forgetting, for just a moment, the troubles that await me on the ground.

Probably fearful of saying too much in front of Chad whose disapproval is radiating off him, Simon waits until we are safely ensconced in the Audi before he continues with his lecture. I give him five minutes. As soon as I realise that he will not stop talking for some time, I turn the stereo on full volume and sing along to Kings of Leon. Simon purses his lips into a grim line and winds his body up so tight I begin to fear he might never unravel.

By the time I reach
This sex is on fire
he has turned an alarming shade of magenta and I have recovered enough of my good spirits to turn down the stereo and risk his wrath once more. As if determined to take the moral high road, he remains silent, staring unblinkingly out of the window.

When we finally turn into the parking-bay at the apartment block, I unbuckle my seat-belt and turn to face him, determin
ed to find some common ground. Unless Simon and I can learn to get along I am in for a very long night.

“Simon,” I begin, firmly. He sniffs, turning his head ever so slightly away from me.

“Simon,” I say, even more firmly, and he deigns to glance over in my general direction.  “What is it exactly that you are so wound up about?”  I ask.

“What do you think?” he snaps. “I wake up to find myself falling through the air. I could have died!”

I contemplate this. Simon must have emerged just before Adam hit the safety-net.  Okay, fair enough, that would have been a shock for anybody.

“How dare you risk my life like that?” he hisses and I recoil.

“There was a safety-net Simon. You were never in any real danger,” I explain gently. 

“How was I to know that? I could have had a heart attack! Imagine waking up and plummeting toward the ground?” He shakes his head as though the thought alone is vexing.

“Simon, I’m sorry. But we wanted to do it. Adam wanted to do it.”

“I don’t care what Adam wants to do!” he hisses through clenched teeth and it is the most emotion I have ever seen from him. “This is my body, Paige. Mine! What makes you or Adam,” he speaks the name as though it is a four-letter word, “
think you have any right to use it for these ludicrous acts of lunacy?” 

I sigh, banging the steering-wheel in frustration. There is no point in arguing with Simon; he is far too rigid and stiff-upper-lipped to ever accept or even understand my way of life.

“Let’s just go inside Simon,” I concede. “I’ll make us some supper.”

He is still bristling with indignation but I know that Adam hasn’t eaten since breakfast – he must be starving. He strides ahead of me into the apartment and perches on the edge of the couch, switching the TV on and immediately flicking over to National Geographic. I heave a sigh and head to the kitchen to make us something to eat.

I am just getting some steaks out of the ice-box when my phone starts ringing. Thank God for the diversion. It is an unknown number and I frown, glancing at the clock on the wall. It is after seven, it had better not be a telemarketer.

“Hello?” I answer, lifting the phone to my ear.

“Is that Ms Paige Petrova?” The voice is feminine but direct and authoritative.

“This is she,” I answer, shutting the refrigerator door and dropping the tomatoes and onions onto the kitchen table. “How may I help you?”

“Ms Petrova, my name is Doctor Jones and I’m calling from Fairways Care facility. You're listed as the emergency contact for Mr Christo Petrova, is that correct?” 

“Yes,” I say, in barely more than a whisper.

“Ms Petrova there’s been an emergency; we need you to come into the centre immediately.”   There is a pause, during which I am too terrified to even breathe. Doctor Jones continues in a grave tone, “I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.”

I stand, frozen, in the middle of the kitchen, the paring knife I was using to prepare the salad in mid-air, tears coursing down my cheeks. I don’t know how long I stayed that way, but long enough that Adam, not Simon, found me, much later. He takes the knife from my hand, puts the now defrosted steaks in the refrigerator and then enfolds me in his embrace, letting me cry until my tears run dry.

My father has developed pneumonia and is in Memorial Medical Centre. They are treating him with antibiotics but the prognosis is not good. His dementia has also deteriorated rapidly and he is being permanently sedated. I will be catching the first available flight back to California. Adam will stay in Manhattan. He'll follow as soon as I call for him and we'll fly back together. I need to be alone. In truth, I need to be away from him. From all of him. This is about me. I need to focus solely on myself for a change and, being Adam, I think he understands. 

When he drops me at the airport he holds me for a long time then kisses my hair.  Lifting my chin he meets my gaze levelly. 

“I’m implementing an escape clause, Paige,” he swallows, forcing back his emotion.

“What?” I ask; I'm so preoccupied with the news of my father that I'm barely paying attention.

“I just want you to know that at any time you can exercise your escape clause,” he smiles sadly. “Think of it as a get-out-of-jail-free card.” He rubs his hands up and down my arms and despite my grief my body responds and the hairs on my arms stand up. I shiver, involuntarily.

“I know the sacrifices you've made for me Paige. I know how hard this is on you.” He pauses, his eyes taking in my eyes, my lips,
my hair. “If it ever gets too much I don’t give a damn what Doctor Sheldon may have told you, you get out, do you understand me?” I look down at my feet shaking my head and he rattles me until I look up and meet his gaze. “You get out, Paige.  Promise me!” He is so serious and I am shocked that he is saying these things. I cannot even comprehend being without Adam. It would be like trying to live without my own soul. 

“Adam, I don’t... I wouldn’t...” I cannot even put into words what I am thinking and he shakes me again, although more gently this time, and I laugh a little.

“Adam, you're crazy. I could no sooner leave you than leave my own heart. We're in this together.”

“I know you love me, Paige but I won't let this destroy you. You've been through so much, already.” He shakes his head stopping me before I can speak, “Just promise me, please, Paige. If it gets too much, you’ll get out.” He looks so forlorn and so defeated and I don’t have the energy to explain, so I simply take both of his hands, stretch up on my toes to look him straight in the eye and do as he says. I make a promise that I have absolutely no intention of keeping.

My father died a week later. He slipped into a coma the day after I arrived and he never regained consciousness. At least I got to say goodbye or so everyone keeps telling me.  It was early, I keep thinking, over and over. The average life span after the diagnosis of Alzheimer's is eight years. My father didn't make six. I had always known the disease was terminal and that there was no cure, but I had expected to have more time. My father hadn't started to show the symptoms of late progression of the disease, he was still fairly calm and responsive to his environment and was not entirely reliant on caregivers. 

Not that any of
that matters now. 

Adam arrives the day my dad passes away. He holds my hand as I say goodbye and he holds me tightly in his arms that night. We are staying at mom and Frank’s, although in separate bedrooms; my mother, of course, turning a blind eye to the fact that the bed in my own room is unmade every morning. I am grateful for the support but in truth I feel numb. For the first time in a long time I switch off my emotions. I am so close to breaking point and I'm terrified that if I let it all in it will consume me and I will simply give up. I go through all the motions of arranging and executing the funeral which is beautiful; all regal lilies and teal organza.  We hold it in my mother and Frank’s garden. So many well-wishers offer their condolences that I lose track and my jaw aches from smiling. Eventually, just as I think I can take no more, I hear Adam standing beside me utter, “Enough.” Before I can even consider what he means, he grabs my hand and pulls me through the crowd, not even bothering to apologise to anyone he knocks out of the way. Not allowing me a moment to say goodbye to anyone, he pulls me into the house and up the stairs. At the top of the stairwell he turns and kisses me with an unbridled passion and I respond with alacrity. I do not give a damn
who might see us, and when he asks which room is mine, I don’t hesitate. I pull him by the collar until my back hits the door. Adam reaches around me and turns the doorknob and we practically fall into the room pulling at each other’s clothes frenziedly.