Beg Me(72)

“But it’s not even December yet!” I’d gasped when I’d opened the gift. I’d never had something so nice, the downy purple material soft and warm.

“Oh honey,” said Jane Adams gently, “we thought you looked a little cold when we bumped into you on campus last week, you didn’t have a jacket on, not even a sweater,” she reprimanded gently.

I remembered that day. I’d been coming out of science class and unexpectedly run into John and Jane Adams, shivering a bit as I made conversation outside the classroom. But I hadn’t expected something as generous as a puffy winter jacket, new and unused. Their thoughtfulness was overwhelming and really touched me.

“Thank you,” I’d murmured, gratefully slipping into the coat. My family wasn’t poor, but Mom had been distracted with Jenna’s issues and hadn’t had time to go shopping with me, much less buy groceries or cook. So I’d been getting by on my own, wearing threadbare clothes from last year.

Jane Adams just chuckled in reply. “You let us know if you need anything, okay?” she asked gently. “We’re always here, and I know you’re good friends with Brian.”

I was friends with their son. Friends since third grade, in fact, but we weren’t close anymore. It was just a part of growing up. Brian was into football, sports, hanging out with the cool kids, while I wasn’t exactly cool … more of a wallflower, unnoticed, the shy girl.

But Brian was still nice to me, acknowledging me in the hallways, occasionally carrying my bag if it was really heavy. We just hadn’t had any meaningful conversation in years now, our separate interests leading us down different paths.#p#分页标题#e#

So I was ashamed. Brian had died about two months ago under horrific circumstances and I hadn’t had the basic decency to pay my respects to his parents.

“Um, no,” I said shamefacedly, not looking up at Blake and Bryan. “I should have, I know. I should have at least sent the Adams a card or something at least,” I mumbled, still not looking up.

I felt a big hand stroke my shoulder.

“Baby, don’t worry about it,” growled Bryan. “Grief does strange things to people and it takes time to get your bearings. Maybe the Adams didn’t even want you to come around, they weren’t taking visitors.”

That made me feel marginally better, but only marginally.

“No, I think I should visit them,” I said, straightening on the couch. “It’s time. I shouldn’t wait anymore, and if they’re not ready, it’s okay, I can come back some other time,” I said resolutely. I’d get them some flowers maybe, and a card, to express my condolences. I could always leave those on the doorstep if they didn’t answer the bell.

“Good idea, honey,” said Blake. “We’ll go with you for the visit. It won’t be easy,” he said softly, rubbing my thigh reassuringly, “but we’ve got your back.”

And I was grateful. Grateful that I had these men, that they were my everything now. Because even for the most difficult of tasks, they were my back-ups … just like true family.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN


Bryan




Callie looked around nervously as we stood on the doorstep. She was dwarfed by a huge bouquet in her arms, the long fronds and lavish flowers protruding this way and that, causing her to bend awkwardly as she rang the bell.

Out pealed a melodious chime and the three of us were silent, seeing if we could hear any movement inside, our ears alert and aware. The Adams had just lost their only son, and it was totally possible that they wouldn’t be answering their door, instead letting visitors come and go without acknowledgment.

So we stood in silence, waiting quietly but also in awe of the gorgeous surroundings. The white colonial was a mansion, the gleaming clapboard surrounded by a manicured garden. And there had to be someone inside because the Jag in the driveway had just been driven, judging from the slight drip of motor oil staining the drive way.

But it’s okay. Sometimes people don’t want visitors and we’d give the Adams a pass given the tragedy they’d experienced. The three of us were turning to go when suddenly the door cracked open slightly, a pair of faded blue eyes peering out at us.

“Oh Callie,” said an old lady. “It’s you. Thank you for coming,” she said as she opened the door wider. And I could see this was a woman in the throes of grief. Her clothes were rumpled and stained, her grey hair matted, looking like it hadn’t been combed in months.

“Mrs. Adams,” said Callie sorrowfully. “I’m so sorry about Brian. Here, I- I- wanted to bring you these,” she said awkwardly, thrusting the bouquet towards the older woman. “We don’t have to come in or anything, I just wanted you to know that we’re thinking of you. Me and Bryan and Blake,” she clarified, gesturing to my brother and I. “Bryan and Blake are new students at Canterdale.”