The Letters She Left Behind: Free Chapter 2

Available January 14, 2020

CHAPTER TWO

Most nights Adam would finish a second scotch – or a third and fourth - in front of the TV and then take himself to bed to lose the loneliness in sleep. Over the course of the last year, days and nights ran together with no beginning and no end. Just moments mixed up without Megan.

But tonight, Alex was going to be at the house putting a doorstop in his routine existence. For some reason, knowing it made his heart palpitate, press against his chest in an awkward rhythm reminding him he was human.

The last time he’d seen her, before today, he’d been so raw. It had been after the funeral and she’d been a rock. So, when he’d turned at the sound of her voice to find her standing inside the doorway of the office with pain he felt etched on her face, he’d had a desire to grieve in her arms. The fleeting wish had been followed by such ravishing guilt for even thinking it. His wife just in the ground even if it had been nearly a year watching her die. He’d lashed out at Alex, made his terrible accusation, even though there was a time in their history he’d been sure that was exactly what she’d done.

He moved through the kitchen toward the living room and stood at the top of the two steps that descended into the space. That’s where the box was now. Full and waiting. He’d carried it down a few nights ago. He’d remembered it was there. The last ten months taunting him with its existence. Megan’s office was a room he avoided because it reminded him the most she was gone. And something in him acquiesced to its call, a loosening in his chest that reminded him he was still alive. So, he’d finally opened the door to her office, collected the box and brought it down into the heart of the house he’d once shared with her.

Now, he recalled stumbling into the office a few days after Megan’s funeral; he’d gone into her office to be closer to her because his need to be near her had felt like his body was being crushed, every bit of air in his lungs pressed out. It was exactly as she had left it before she died. He imagined the smell of her perfume lingered. It didn’t. She’d spent so little time in her office the last year before she passed. Instead, they’d spent it in the awful in-between prison of the wait. Chemotherapy. Radiation. Waiting. Hoping. Praying. Waiting. Dying.

Everything in there, however, was Megan. The L-shaped desk pressed against the wall was neat, a place for everything and everything in its place. Each picture frame, each craft made by the kids, every paperclip in order. The large chair was pushed under the desk and her closed laptop sat in in the center. Waiting. For the last year and a half, everything was waiting for her return, just like him, but she wasn’t ever going to come home.

He knew that now, but then, amidst her things, in the room that felt like maybe she would just walk through the door and get right to work, Adam had sunk to the floor and broke. All of him - his essence - peeled away from his soul and melted into the space feeling as though he’d never return to the land of life, where his kids needed him, where his business was circling, waiting for him to return. When he’d found his breath again, opened his eyes to the ceiling, nothing had collapsed. It all looked so normal despite how wrong his life felt.

He’d gotten to his knees and that was when he noticed the box marked with Megan’s perfectly capitalized penmanship sitting on the floor next to the file cabinet - out of place and unusual for Megan. Where he was unorganized and cluttered, Megan complimented his nature by keeping him in order. She’d kept everything neat, just like her office. He remembered teasing her she was meant to be an architect with handwriting like the structural scrawl on blueprints he worked with every day. The block letters matched her personality. Adam had known he was supposed to find that box.

With care, he’d removed the lid. Inside had been several bound books in a nondescript burgundy color with gilded edging. He’d looked at each of them removing them one-by-one, recognizing them as the same books Megan had written in each day before she left her office for the evening. He’d always assumed they contained ideas for her work. There were twenty books in all.

When he’d opened one and saw her neat handwriting decorating the page, he scanned it. Midway down the page he saw a heading that read, Dear Adam, and it was dated four years earlier. Adam had flipped through the journal and eyed the dates. Megan had written him each day. Some entries were pages; others were single lines. Each entry started with Dear Adam. He’d dropped the book back into the box as though he’d been burned and left the room. He hadn’t been back in there until a couple of days ago, finally ready to face her words.

It hadn’t been that he didn’t want to read her words. God, he had. Every fiber of him wanted to immerse himself in her world, but her words weren’t enough. He’d wanted her. He’d wanted her arms, her voice. He wanted to bury his nose in the space between her shoulder and her neck. He wanted to kiss her and hear her laugh. Adam remembered he’d felt the wall around his carefully preserved emotions crack as his heart imploded. He hadn’t been sure he could ever read them. He poured himself a scotch.

But as time passed, and the pain grew less acute and more like the dull ache of an abscessed heart, Adam finally returned to her journals. At first, the idea of reliving the relationship he’d had with Megan through her eyes was frightening, but when he started reading, and he’d had difficulty putting the books down to reconnect with the real world--a world without her.

Now, he drew a book from the box, part of his routine, this one was the first journal. It had what he needed to show Alex. He opened it and smiled as the memory of giving Megan the first journal caressed the edge of his consciousness. It had been the day after Emma was born: “Write your story, Meg,” he’d said and then kissed her. They’d only been married a year and barely old enough to start a family.

He returned to the kitchen, mixed himself another scotch and settled in an overstuffed chair in the far end of the family room. He opened the book and read:

Dear Adam. . . I never thought this. I never thought about how full I would feel when the baby was placed in my arms. I love you so much Adam, and when Emma arrived, that love exploded into a supernova of emotion. I didn’t know I could feel this way. To see her and then to recognize you in her face, to know that we made her through our love, to understand that we created this tiny creature dependent on us for her life is awesome and frightening …

Dear Adam. . . Remember the day we met?

Adam smiled at the recollection. Though the edges of the memory were faded like an old photo because of the years, he could still see her, a new freshman at Hawaiʻi State University. He been a sophomore football player testing the waters of being macho.

She’d been walking the mall, pathways that were lined by parallel trees creating a tunnel affect under their green colored hoods. There were grassy knolls in which to sit, benches to stop for a break, and all along the outer edge of the trees were concrete buildings. Adam had been sitting with his football buddies talking about a party they’d all been to the prior weekend. Adam had been so drunk, he could barely remember what he’d done, but there were flashes of a gorgeous girl though no details remained. It made him feel embarrassed he’d gotten so wasted, so he avoided the banter with the guys and spied Megan walking toward them, a piece of paper in hand.

He’d been taken in by her ingénue appearance and appreciated her angelic smile. Her rich golden hair had been slicked straight and reached midway down her back. Her hazel eyes, adorned with only the natural color of her light skin, turned at the corners when she smiled. Her smile had knocked him clear off the back of the bench where he’d been sitting; he’d had to steady himself. She’d been wearing hip hugging pants and tight top, and he remembered because he could recall her curves.

Oblivious to actually feeling timid around a group full of overgrown jocks, Megan approached the bench where they gathered. “Excuse me?”

“You lost?” a fellow teammate had asked, his tone mocking.

“Actually, yes,” she replied and arched an eyebrow in challenge. “Could any of you point me toward Anderson Hall?” His friend had backed off, and Adam had been impressed by this female who wasn’t intimidated by a bunch of overgrown jocks.

Another of his friends, Michael, the one notorious for thinking about his next lay, spoke up. “Sure. I’ll take you.” He’d climbed from the bench and stood beside her. “Anyone want to come?”

“I have to hit the library anyway,” Adam had lied trying to seem cool. “I’ll walk with you.” He gave his remaining friends a quick jock version of a handshake and followed Mike and the beautiful blonde. It was then he’d noticed the brunette. He’d learn her name was Alexandra, Megan’s best friend. Michael attempted to charm Megan strolling ahead of Adam who walked beside Alex.

Unsure of what to say, he’d walked in silence. From the corner of his eye, he’d checked her out. She was also a knock-out. Her dark hair streaked with red highlights was wavy around her face and dropped below her shoulders. Her green eyes framed with dark lashes were downcast as they walked, looking up every so often to check their progress on the path. Her body, rounded in all the right places, filled out her clothing. She was so pretty, Adam couldn’t even string together a coherent sentence. Looking at her, though, Adam felt a tug of something familiar and reached for it but wasn’t sure how to grasp onto the hazy feeling.

By then, they reached the library, Adam hesitated to leave, but for the sake of appearances had to follow through. He slapped his hand against Michael’s which turned into a handshake, “See you at practice,” he’d said. “Ladies,” he nodded to each.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” Megan had asked before he walked away.

“Adam.”

“I’m Megan,” she said and offered her hand. She looked up into his eyes and flashed him a heart stopping smile. Megan introduced him to Alex, but he’d barely paid attention. He couldn’t concentrate but for the feeling that his hand was on fire from her touch.

Adam stared at the page in front of him. He watched the words come back into focus, pulling him from his memory. He picked up his drink, took a sip, and returned to Megan’s words.

If I remember correctly, you had a thing for Alex at first.

Adam smiled rereading it and replaced the sifter on the coaster.

I’d been so jealous you’d chosen to walk with Alex instead of me. I was the one who noticed you right away. It had been my idea to coerce you into helping me find my class. I knew where it was, but it seemed the best way to get your attention.

You’d been sitting on the back of the bench surrounded by other football cronies. And you barely noticed me when I came to ask directions. I’d told Alex prior to approaching the group I could get you to talk to me. She’d said you didn’t seem like that type of guy. I was so irritated that she’d been right. She told me later that day, after I’d pestered her to know what you talked about on the walk to the library where we’d parted ways, and she eventually told me you hadn’t said a word. She’d been right. You’d been too nice to try to get into either of our pants with slick words you didn’t mean.

After that day, before our first date, I looked for glimpses of you everywhere on campus, but the only place I could find you was at the practice field, so I took to dragging Alex with me to football practice every day so I could watch you. Oh, the sight of you dropping back and throwing the ball as though it was an extension of yourself, so smooth and perfect. It was such a turn on. I laugh remembering how I couldn’t stop talking about you. Poor Alex, she just listened and supported my infatuation.

He set the book in his lap, picked up his scotch, took another sip and closed his eyes. More interested in Alex? What could she have been thinking? He set the book on the table, stood and walked into the kitchen.

When had a monster started growing out of the sink, he wondered? He glanced around, walked the main floor of the house realizing everything was in disarray. Megan is scolding me from heaven, he decided with a smile and realized his ability to smile when he thought about her had only begun to happen.

He glanced at his watch. Alex was probably on her way over. “Shit,” he muttered. There was no way he wanted Alex to be witness to his weakness. He went from room to room and picked up stray items, threw away junk mail and trash. As the rooms began to hint of their original selves, he felt a shift in his attitude. The constant pressure that weighed on him over the last year eased.

Adam went to the kitchen and tackled the messy sink. The hot water steamed the window that afforded a view of the stream behind the house. Though the blue-gray night obscured the view and instead offered a strange reflection of him in the misty glass pane. He washed the dishes, scrubbing the food, rinsing, and placing them in the dishwasher and thought of Megan standing in that same spot with a daughter on each side. He and Trey clearing the dinner dishes away from the table, teasing the girls until they were all laughing, and the dishes remaining undone.

Adam wondered if he had envisioned the complete happiness they would share together as a family when he first knew Megan was the woman with whom he wanted to share his life. He knew for certain he’d never envisioned the heartache.

The night he’d realized that he wanted Megan to be his wife he’d taken her to a tiny little Italian restaurant on the edge of the HSU campus. It had been a cliché little Italian place with the red checked tablecloths and the half-burned candlesticks in recycled cans with sand to hold the taper. They’d passed the time getting to know one another, sharing their goals and laughing about stories each had of their life. It was as though they had been created to share the other’s space. In the candlelit moment of their camaraderie, it dawned on Adam why he’d been so nervous about asking her out, about making a good impression. Subconsciously, he’d already known: this was the woman with whom he was going to share his life. He hadn’t known it would only be part of it.

Adam finished the dishes, wiping the counter around the sink with a cloth. He looked around the kitchen and family room at his handiwork, a sense of accomplishment made him smile. He decided he needed a weekly cleaning service and made a note to call the next day. He was attaching it to the refrigerator with a magnet when the doorbell rang.

He opened the wide door. “Since when did you start ringing the bell?” The sound of his voice was harsh to his own ears and he chastised himself; he didn’t want to be that way with Alex. He didn’t want to restart in anger. There was just so much history, so much bitterness and resentment that had built walls between them.

“I didn’t think you’d find it very appropriate for me to just walk in.” Alex’s smiled a quiet smile that didn’t touch her pretty green eyes.

Adam had the distinct feeling she wanted to be somewhere else other than his doorstep. He supposed he didn’t blame her after what he’d done at the funeral. He moved away from the doorway to allow her entry. “Sorry. That was a stupid comment considering.”

“Right.”

“Can I offer you a drink?” He asked as she passed him. He noticed her light gardenia scent and then frowned.

“I’m not sure,” she walked into the kitchen.

Adam followed her and scolded himself for looking at her backside in her shapely black pants. He shook his head. Get it together, Kāne.

She stopped and turned at the bar and looked at him as he walked into the kitchen, the look of an internal battle waged apparent on her face. ‘Thank you.” She nodded as though giving herself permission. “I’ll have what you are having.”

“Scotch?” Adam stood in the center of the kitchen and waited for her reply. He was unsure of how to proceed with her and felt ridiculous because of it. He could deal with multimillion-dollar projects, negotiate with owners and corporations, wheel and deal with architects, suppliers and subcontractors. But being alone with Alex, he felt as though he were walking on ice, treading a very slippery slope. They had never coexisted in peace, their battles epic. He hadn’t wanted to seek her advice, to reopen old wounds, but he didn’t know where else to turn.

“A scotch would be perfect. Neat. I’m sorry I couldn’t get away sooner. I just, well, the life of a teacher is never convenient.” She stood at the end of the counter looking as though she were as unsure as he felt.

Adam finished pouring her a scotch. “Please make yourself comfortable. Would you like to go into the living room?”

“This is fine.” She chose a barstool facing the kitchen.

Adam placed the drink in front of her but remained in the kitchen on the opposite side of the counter from her.

She was reticent. Adam wondered where her thoughts were as her gaze drifted with the waves in the glass of amber liquid she swirled. Then she broke the silence and said, “I really miss her, Adam.”

Adam turned away from her and walked to the kitchen sink. What could he say? “I know. Perfectly.” He turned back to her, then, leaned against the counter. He crossed his legs at the ankles and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I,” she started and then stopped again.

“What is it?” Adam paused. He watched her stare at the glass in her hand and continue to swirl the liquid around into a whirlpool. A piece of her mahogany hair, styled so that it shone and waved against her tanned skin, fell forward as she looked down. She pulled the strand off of her face and tucked it behind her ear. She looked up to pin him with her emerald gaze.

The look connected with his spine and threaded it with a new strand. Something confusing. He’d always viewed Alex like the snake in the Garden of Eden, whispering in the ear of Megan, tempting her away from him. At least that was his justification for accusing her of trying to break up his marriage. Now, as she looked at him, and he at her, heat spread through his body chasing away excuses for all the reasons he’d blamed her. It was a heat he didn’t want to acknowledge, a heat built from memories; those memories weren’t her fault.

“Maybe you were right,” Alex stated and stood.

“Right about what?” He walked into the sitting room to retrieve his glass, needing to do something with his body, move, spend the energy moving through him. His thoughts were not sane.

“I shouldn’t have come.”

He turned and looked at her. Her nervousness perplexed him. “Alex,” he said with more control than he thought he possessed at that moment. “I asked you to come, remember. I’m the one who needs your help.”

She sat again, but Adam had the distinct impression she would bolt toward the door with any sudden movement. He treaded with light steps and careful words. “Would you like to see the journals?”

“I should have mentioned this earlier. But I didn’t.”

Adam waited.

She stared at her drink, then lifted it to her lips and sipped.

His gaze fixated on her lips, and his stomach fluttered thinking about them. And kisses. Moonlight. More.

He looked away.

She set the class back on the counter. “Megan left me a letter. She wrote it before she died. You mentioned that there was something strange about her journal entries.”

“Wait. What?” The disorienting effect of her admission on his mind had to be written on his face. “Why didn’t you say anything about the letter?”

She stopped swirling the glass with her hands, and her brows arched over her eyes, incredulous with his last question. He thought maybe they looked like mirror images, both of them stubborn and defensive. “Because it was my letter,” she said and then her brows dropped, coming together with ire, “and why should I? Because, like you, I didn’t think anything of it. I’m sure there all kinds of reasons I didn’t have to tell you Megan wrote me a letter.”

“So like you, Alex.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She stood. She shook her head and reached for her bag. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

“Can’t you put yourself in my shoes for one second?” He asked. He hadn’t wanted to fight with her, but here they were right back to where the path they tread always led them.

“So like you, Adam,” she parroted back at him.

He stared at her.

She stared right back.

The warmth that spread through him, the sudden urge he had to take her in his arms, wasn’t welcome. He didn’t like the vision he had of kissing her until she didn’t have any fight left in her. And he certainly didn’t like that he felt when he shouldn’t. He was a widower. He blinked the images from his mind, focused on the infuriating, obstinate woman in front of him. He just missed his wife; that was all.

Alex took a deep breath the tension draining from her back and shoulders. She sank back onto the stool. “She did the same thing in her letter.” Her anger was gone.

“Did what?”

“She underlined words in the letter too.”

NEXT WEEK: Chapter 3The Letters She Left Behind available 1/14/20

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