Breakup In A Small Town. Kristina Knight
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I’m not going to be any good to him or to you or, hell, the business, if I swoop in on the morning flight. Why don’t I drop by the house around six tomorrow evening? I’ll bring dinner.”
Since she didn’t have a choice, Jenny agreed. She hung up and finished the boys’ lunches. One more day. She could deal with Owen and Nancy at the cabinetry shop one more day, could keep Adam’s spirits up one more day, could... Damn, she needed to run that load of pink-striped laundry again. She shoved the brown bag lunches in their respective backpacks and hurried down the hall. Only to find Adam in the room, folding newly brightened whites. The washer was still going.
“I separated them out this morning. Whites first, colors are going now.”
Jenny blinked, thinking this had to be a figment of her imagination. But when she opened her eyes, Adam was still there, standing at the folding counter with the wheelchair discarded by the washing machine.
“Adam,” she said, and although she wanted to inspect the clothes he folded, she didn’t.
“I made the mess,” he said. “I figured I could clean it up.”
“Oh. I, um. Thank you. I could have taken care of it.”
“I know. But you asked me to do it.” He leaned a hip against the counter, the way he’d done in the kitchen a million times. Funny, before yesterday and then this morning, she didn’t think he’d ever set foot in the laundry room. He looked at home here. As if he folded the laundry every day.
A man folding laundry should really not make her heart pound in her chest like this, though. Jenny stepped back. She didn’t need any heart-pounding moments in a laundry room with Adam. He was just being nice. Folding a load of whites didn’t change anything, not really.
Before she could say anything, the boys’ stomping feet clattered down the stairway. Frankie was yelling at Garrett, who was chattering as if Frankie were actually listening to him. Typical morning.
“I’ll get breakfast and walk the boys to school. We have a client meeting at the warehouse this morning. A new construction company may want to contract with us.”
“What about the distributor in Springfield? Can we spare the manpower for more cabinets and still meet the demands for the furniture?”
Jenny shook her head and grimaced. “Your father canceled the meeting while you were still in the hospital. And told him on several other occasions that Buchanan’s was only a cabinet shop. I’m still working to get him on board.”
Adam blinked as if this was news to him. She’d told him at least three times about his father’s meddling in the family business. How Owen had taken their plans to expand Buchanan’s and basically spit on them.
“You didn’t stop him?” he asked.
“I was a little busy at the time. You know, I had a husband in a hospital two hours away, two boys who were terrified of their shadows, a house and yard to care for. Not to mention a dozen other contracts to protect from your father’s helping hands.” The words were laced with sarcasm, but Jenny didn’t care.
She’d had it with the whole Buchanan clan, as much as she loved every single one of them. Owen and Nancy would never see the business as more than what they had worked to make it, and neither would admit Adam was more than a twelve-year-old who needed their guidance. Aiden had called almost daily, but she’d told him over and over not to come. Until she realized a couple weeks ago that she was losing her grip not only on the business, but her boys. And Adam. Now that he’d agreed to come back, Aiden was taking his sweet time getting here.
And Adam just kept sliding away. He’d been moping around the house for months, rude to the doctors trying to help him, unavailable to comfort or care for their children...and he’d acted as if she existed only to force him to go to doctors’ appointments he didn’t want to attend.
“It’s our business, Jen, not his. Not theirs. We—”
“What’s this we you’re talking about? Yeah, we both signed the papers when they retired three years ago, and yes, we were both working on the expansion. But since the tornado it’s been me. I’ve paid the bills, ordered materials, approved layouts and figured out design issues.”
She could hear the boys in the kitchen, debating the merits of the mini muffins she’d left on the table for them against the sugary goodness of their favorite cereal. She intentionally lowered her voice. They didn’t need to hear their parents arguing, not on top of everything else. “I was the one who got the extension from the distributor in the first place, and I’m the one who has been busting my ass to win him back since your father treated him like a pariah. I begged you to go with me to a meeting last month, and all you did was stare out that damn window, feeling sorry for yourself. And now you’re surprised that, because you folded a freaking load of laundry, the life we’d been building is falling down around our ears?”
“What was I supposed to do? Go in this wheelchair? So he could take us on out of pity?” Adam put a hand on her arm, but Jenny jerked away from him.
“No, you were supposed to go as Adam Buchanan, a damn fine furniture designer. A man who, yeah, is temporarily in a wheelchair. The wheelchair doesn’t stop your mind from working.”
“No, the epilepsy does that,” he said, the words dripping with sarcasm.
“Temporarily. They’ll figure out a medication regimen—you heard the doctor. You’ll get the surgery for your hip and knee, and you’ll have your life back.” Jenny held her hands out at her sides. What wasn’t he understanding about this? “But you couldn’t even do a load of laundry without calling your mom for help. You know what that means, don’t you? It means for the first hour that I’m at work today, instead of actually working, I’ll be listening to her lecture me on your condition, as if I don’t already know it by heart.”
“I’ll call my mom—”
“No. No, I’ll deal with it, just like I’ve been dealing with everything else. But let me tell you one thing that you don’t know. I’m done, Adam. I’m done. I’ve been the supportive wife. I’ve been encouraging since the accident, and I’ve tried everything I know to help you deal with this. I still believe they’ll find the right medications, and I still hope that somehow the epilepsy won’t be permanent. When they find the right meds, and if the epilepsy goes away, I’ll be cheering for you.”
Jenny squeezed the bridge of her nose between her fingers. “I hate that I’m angry. God, I don’t want to be angry at you. I’ve done my best to just be angry with the tornado or the destruction, but I’m not just angry about that. I can’t be the supportive wife when you refuse to be the husband who at least tries to deal with his condition. I can’t hold your hand while you refuse to even consider how to make this new life work for you.”
Adam’s face was a strange shade of red, as if he was just as angry as she. Maybe he was. He should be. Yes, the tornado had been awful, but he was still here. Alive. He had two amazing boys who were unhurt. Parents and a twin who loved him. He had had her, right up until the moment he’d called his mother to do the laundry. Jenny knew it was a silly thing to throw her over the edge. That should have gone to his refusal to meet with the service dog company, or his lies to the doctor trying to fix his brain. She shook her head as she picked up a pair of Frankie’s shorts. Carefully, she folded the garment into a square.
“I know about separating out the loads, now. It’s not that big a deal.” The redness had gone from his face. Adam tossed an unfolded pair of the boy’s underwear atop the carefully folded shorts, then a haphazardly folded T-shirt.
Jenny had thought Adam calling his mother to do their laundry was the last straw. It wasn’t. The carelessness with which he said the words and tossed the underwear made up that final straw. These things mattered. His involvement mattered.
His noninvolvement mattered even more. She was not going to go through her life desperately waiting for him to take an interest; she’d had enough of that as a child.
“I