Page 137
Story: Sin City Lights
Adam looked to the sky, where a plane flew in the distance, red and green lights blinking.
“Always looking skyward,” she murmured, “even as a baby.”
She was silent for a beat.“Your father thought it was time we apologized.”
The plane flew overhead. Small piston, Adam automatically recognized. He wished he were up there, flying it.
She was waiting for him to say something, he knew, but he couldn’t think of a response.
She sighed.“You know, parenting is the toughest job you’ll ever love. When I began having children, no one ever told me what it would be like to love them. The fear you have for their safety and well-being. The hope that they find happiness in life. The guilt you have for making bad decisions.
“You were our firstborn—the one who had to suffer from ourinexperience and mistakes. When your father and I made that agreement with Ingrid’s parents, we thought it was the best thing we could do for both of you.”
Adam’s jaw clenched. Forget flying that plane. He wanted to throw himself into the lake.
“They, too, got married and had children early. We were happy and wanted you to be the same. We thought—”
“I know.”
Please let this be the end of the discussion.
But she was determined to be heard.“You know how we always drilled it into the four of you to take responsibility for your actions and to admit when you were wrong?”
Adam nodded. He uncorked the bottle, splashed the last of Blake’s birthday scotch into his glass, and took a big gulp, feeling it burn a fiery path from his throat to his stomach.
Mom took a deep breath.“We were wrong. And I cannot tell you how sorry we are for pushing you to marry Ingrid.”
“I was eighteen, Mom.”
“Seventeen.”
“OK, a few months short. But I was old enough to make that decision. No one put a gun to my head and dragged me to that altar.”
“You saw your father and me and wanted the same thing.”
He nodded.
“We also wanted that for you. How could we have known—”
“You couldn’t have. You know what they say about good intentions.”
“We put you on the road to hell.” Her voice trembled a little.
Jesus. Good thing Mom never cried. He couldn’t have handled that too.
“I am so sorry, Adam. Your father and I wanted… We wanted you to know that we are sorry.”
He tossed back the last of the scotch.
“Can you forgive us?”
He cleared his throat.“Yeah, Mom. All good.” He put his arm around her and gave her a squeeze.
She exhaled sharply.“Thank you. And now…” She took a big mouthful of wine as if to fortify herself.“What are you going to do? Ian said you’ve finally started divorce proceedings.”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“Always looking skyward,” she murmured, “even as a baby.”
She was silent for a beat.“Your father thought it was time we apologized.”
The plane flew overhead. Small piston, Adam automatically recognized. He wished he were up there, flying it.
She was waiting for him to say something, he knew, but he couldn’t think of a response.
She sighed.“You know, parenting is the toughest job you’ll ever love. When I began having children, no one ever told me what it would be like to love them. The fear you have for their safety and well-being. The hope that they find happiness in life. The guilt you have for making bad decisions.
“You were our firstborn—the one who had to suffer from ourinexperience and mistakes. When your father and I made that agreement with Ingrid’s parents, we thought it was the best thing we could do for both of you.”
Adam’s jaw clenched. Forget flying that plane. He wanted to throw himself into the lake.
“They, too, got married and had children early. We were happy and wanted you to be the same. We thought—”
“I know.”
Please let this be the end of the discussion.
But she was determined to be heard.“You know how we always drilled it into the four of you to take responsibility for your actions and to admit when you were wrong?”
Adam nodded. He uncorked the bottle, splashed the last of Blake’s birthday scotch into his glass, and took a big gulp, feeling it burn a fiery path from his throat to his stomach.
Mom took a deep breath.“We were wrong. And I cannot tell you how sorry we are for pushing you to marry Ingrid.”
“I was eighteen, Mom.”
“Seventeen.”
“OK, a few months short. But I was old enough to make that decision. No one put a gun to my head and dragged me to that altar.”
“You saw your father and me and wanted the same thing.”
He nodded.
“We also wanted that for you. How could we have known—”
“You couldn’t have. You know what they say about good intentions.”
“We put you on the road to hell.” Her voice trembled a little.
Jesus. Good thing Mom never cried. He couldn’t have handled that too.
“I am so sorry, Adam. Your father and I wanted… We wanted you to know that we are sorry.”
He tossed back the last of the scotch.
“Can you forgive us?”
He cleared his throat.“Yeah, Mom. All good.” He put his arm around her and gave her a squeeze.
She exhaled sharply.“Thank you. And now…” She took a big mouthful of wine as if to fortify herself.“What are you going to do? Ian said you’ve finally started divorce proceedings.”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
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