Beyond the Storm (9780758276995) (10 page)

Adam threw himself into her demands.

 

A sensational whirlwind romance ensued that became small pieces of gossip in the
New York Post
, and in the corridors of KFC's Manhattan offices. Privileged Sarah Jane Stockdale and an unknown trader named Adam Blackburn, who got ink and photos because he was handsome, especially beside the blond and beautiful heiress, they were never without plans after work, on the weekends. Dinner parties at her demanding grandmother's penthouse on Sutton Place, stuffy weekends of tennis at the sprawling estate in Greenwich, Connecticut, each visit accompanied by an interrogation by her family, always politely disguised as curious, enlivening conversation.
Where do you see yourself in five years? Where will you summer? How many children do you see yourself stuffing inside an SUV?
Like there were choices listed on the million-dollar menu, one from column A, one from column B. Frankly, Adam always felt tempted to answer that he saw himself with the American average of two-point-five children, but of course rich people didn't like handicaps. So Adam said the right things, he was courteous and attentive and even played against—and lost to, graciously and willingly—Grandmother in a few gin-soaked rounds of gin rummy. At tennis, with his weak backhand and failure to follow through on his swing, he let his prospective father-in-law triumph handily on the family's clay courts, as the man ended each match with a slap of Adam's shoulder and saying, “Next time, maybe I'll let you win.”

But of course he didn't, he couldn't, or he wouldn't allow himself.

Just like Grandmother.

The Stockdales were only happy when they won.

As a result of his newfound association with the privileged, competitive Stockdale family, Adam Blackburn's own stock began to skyrocket, both in society and in financial circles. Not only did he and Sarah Jane get invited to the swankiest, most exclusive parties in town and out in the country during the season, new clients at KFC who considered “wealthy” an understatement started consulting with Adam on what to buy, what to sell, who to crush in the ever-demanding arena of stocks, investments, portfolios. To these movers and shakers, the stock market was their personal game of Monopoly, and like when he played with the Stockdales, he knew to let them win. They'd better win. They all wanted Adam to purchase them Boardwalk.

Of course, as it would turn out, they would barely escape with Baltic Avenue.

And Adam Blackburn, sucked into this world and unable to extricate himself when things began to swirl downward, well, to keep the famed Monopoly game metaphor going, he nearly needed that “Get Out of Jail Free” card.

T
he word
jail
loomed between them, especially considering the prison they found themselves in today, albeit one filled with temptations of the vine and of the flesh. Adam had rarely spoken of the incident, surprising himself that he had just dropped such a bomb on an unsuspecting Vanessa, given the look of surprise evident on her open face. The flames of the fire flickered, casting shadows on the walls, and on her face too. Like she didn't want to know the truth, the shadows delving deeper into his story. But he knew he had to continue, he wanted to share with her.

“It's okay, ask away. I know you want to.”

She hesitated before saying, “What does that mean, jail? What did you do?”

“Oh, there were never any official charges filed, nothing ever turned serious. Just a lot of threats and supposition and suspicion. And, well, a couple of depositions. It could have been worse for me, and it was worse for others.”

Lying beside him, her fingers had been dancing lazily in the tufts on his chest as he'd told his tale of the proper young woman with the edgy personality and of their grand romance, feeling almost a part of the heat he and Sarah Jane had experienced, pulling away only when he'd spoken about legal trouble. She couldn't help her reaction, she'd lived her whole life reacting with natural instinct. She recognized that Adam picked up on the change in her mood, the loss of her silky touch. Building a wall, and he recognized the materials required.

“Still, to even sniff prison . . . Adam?”

“You're wondering whether I really went to jail?”

Wondering why I'm such an idiot around you,
was more in line with her thinking. “No, no, it's just . . . well, the end of your story took me by surprise. Here, I thought you were telling me a tale of a doomed love affair, and instead . . .”

“It was real life.”

She understood that comment. “Were you detained by police, arrested? Lawyers?”

“Like I said, depositions. But, Vanessa, I'm not a crook.”

“Adam . . . I didn't mean to imply . . .”

“Never mind, I did just kind of drop that bomb,” he said.

“There I was, telling you about Sarah Jane Stockdale and our whirlwind courtship and how she liked to knock back scotch when not in her family's presence, and next thing I know I'm mentioning being carted off to jail. Just one night, but it was enough to make me realize my life had spiraled out of control, and it all came about once I met the Stockdales. Keep in mind, the transition from almost-fiancé to jailbird wasn't quite as abrupt as I make it sound. Sarah Jane and I did have some good times. But when you're involved with someone like her, you're involved with her family, and with her family comes a bigger association: money.”

“So what happened?”

“Easy. The stock market crashed, big-time, and bankers became Public Enemy Number One. The recession hit, and the greed-mongers on Wall Street nearly threw the country into a second Great Depression. Jobs were slashed, unemployment skyrocketed, and investment firms and banks were suddenly seen as the devil. Once upon a time I could mention that I made my living as a stockbroker and it was my ticket to anywhere cool in the city. Clubs, bars, parties, I had money and cachet and life was damn good—no, better, it was great. I was having a blast and could afford most anything I wanted. You read any cautionary tale, though, you know the hero is going down at some point. He needs to learn his lesson until he can appreciate where he came from.” He paused. “Where I came from. Danton Hill.”

Vanessa nodded. She understood.

“I'm glad to know you think of yourself as the hero.”

“Yes, ever the hero, dashingly naïve to the end. Like a sailor coming home from the sea, a bit damaged but still himself for having conquered the world, his fears. Home to the lady he loved.”

Vanessa's eyes blinked, once, twice. “Why would you say that?”

“Say what?”

“The sailor . . .”

“We're here in Danton Hill, the lake is just miles away. When you think hero, you think something swashbuckling. One who triumphs over evil, or maybe just over nature? Like we did, today, battling the storm. That accident, it could have killed us. We never would have had this . . .”

“Our private reunion.”

“It's going well.”

She deflected his comment, brought the conversation back to his tale.

“Is that what happened to you? You beat evil at its own game?”

“Actually, I sort of quit playing. Maybe I'm not such a hero. Maybe I should avoid the swirling seas and stick to safety of the land, stick to my own cautionary tale.” Adam spread his hands before him. “So, anyway, you asked about the big love of my life. That's the story.”

She nodded, drank down some wine. “I don't know what to say.”

“Sometimes, I don't either,” he said. His fingers sought out hers, entwined around them, tying them together. Alone in this farmhouse, nothing to occupy their time but sharing their lives, talking about missed opportunities, regrets, wishes, Vanessa suddenly felt awful for having doubted him moments ago. For having pulled back. He'd been nothing but gentle with her: the fireplace, the wine, the lovemaking. Their impromptu reunion had been special, far more than she could have anticipated when she'd decided to return home to Danton Hill. She hadn't given tomorrow a single thought. That was how much she wanted today to last. A sudden emptiness found its way to the pit of her stomach, and that's when Vanessa realized that tomorrow was a strange, uncertain concept, a word without definition, twisting in the storm-ravaged wind. Lost in this singular world of theirs, no sense of time passing, barely a sound emanating from outside the farmhouse, a wave of claustrophobia threatened to sweep over her. Her body wavered, her head felt dizzy. She pulled the blanket tighter around her.

“Hey, you feeling okay?”

“I feel . . . odd. Cold, but not really. Sort of disconnected to myself.”

“You barely ate. Why don't I reheat the soup . . .”

“Adam, it's fine, I'll be fine.”

“Maybe I should go down to the road, try to flag someone down. We could be deluding ourselves here, lost in our own cocoon, that we're both fine after the accident,” he said. “Maybe what you're feeling is some post-accident symptoms . . . a concussion, shock?”

Adam uncrossed his legs, pushing himself up from the floor.

Vanessa reached out and grabbed his arm. “No, no, Adam, there's no need. Really, I'm fine. It'll pass. I think I was just feeling . . . I don't know, maybe sad? Melancholy? For you, for how things worked out with Sarah . . . Sarah Jane. Gee, I don't even know how to refer to her after hearing your story.”

Adam laughed. “Join the club. Sarah was always an enigma, stuck between what she wanted and what was expected of her. Two identities.”

“So, you believe she was the one, huh?”

“I don't know, guess not. She was more like the half.”

“Like one of your imaginary children?”

“No, no . . . but hey, that shows you were listening. No, with Sarah, it's funny, when it was just the two of us and she could be just Sarah . . . wow, she was everything I thought I ever wanted. A partner, an equal, proper when needed, aggressive when unleashed; we supported each other emotionally and could always depend upon the other to be there when we needed a pick-me-up. But then we'd be around her family and . . .”

“She became Sarah Jane.”

“Big-time.”

“So, which one do you really think she was?”

“Ultimately?”

“Honestly, Adam. Your gut.”

Without hesitation, he said, “She was a Stockdale, through and through. If she had to do it alone—and by alone I mean live financially independent, it's not as if she couldn't survive, she simply wouldn't want to. She'd never get so far as to make that choice of defying the wishes of Daddy Stockdale . . . of her family. Sarah Jane Stockdale had blood as blue as her grandmother's. She just liked to occasionally feel scotch run through those same veins.”

“The rebellious girl who would eventually settle down and do as was expected.”

“Bingo.”

“Using you. Poor Adam.”

“Oh, don't feel too sorry for me,” he said. “Perhaps a part of me knew the relationship was doomed even as it was getting started. I doubt her family would have granted me full membership into her world—their world. Guess I was on a guest pass that summer. When Sarah and I finally realized we wouldn't work long-term, we parted. Our breakup wasn't about love or lust or betrayal, it was just we'd been left no other choice. Once everything went down at KFC, I would have been lucky to date the cleaning lady.”

“So what really happened?”

“Not here.”

“Huh?”

“Come with me,” he said, extending his hand.

“Where? Adam, I'm not even properly dressed . . .”

“I'm not dressed at all.”

Still, Adam tossed her the now-wrinkled blue dress shirt, and she quickly buttoned it over her otherwise naked self. He donned the goofy checkered pants. Half-dressed but respectable. Before whisking her away from the comforting fire, he took her into his arms and held her, kissing the top of her head. She sighed while feeling the heat emanating off his body, burying her face in the comfort of his chest. They could have remained there, but when a blast of wind rocked the house they parted and gazed at each other. Wordlessly, he led her out of the living room and up the stairs of the old farmhouse, one creaky step at a time. She attempted to ask where they were going, but he put a finger to his lips, then asked her to trust him.

“Your questions are just delaying our adventure.”

“Adventure? What kind of adventure could be waiting for us inside this house?”

“Don't you like surprises?”

Her eyes darkened, just slightly. “Not always, no.”

“I heard a story once,” he announced. “Now I'm wondering how much of it is true.”

“A story about what?”

“Destiny.”

“Oh, great, that again.”

“You're such a cynic.”

“And you're not?”

He grinned as he looked upward. “Perhaps not. Perhaps in the long run I'm a lost soul, still seeking out the great romance of my life.”

“And you think it's up these stairs?”

As he took her hand in his, he said, “I think anything is possible between two people.”

 

“Now I think you're the one suffering from some post-accident concussion,” she said. “Adam, where are you taking me?”

“Vanessa, venture with me, upstairs.”

“That's a strange choice of words,” she said.

“What, what did I say? Come with me, right?”

“Never mind,” she said. “Lead on. Let's get this over with.”

“Aren't you having fun yet?”

On the second floor of the house, Adam led them down the back hallway, where a small doorway revealed itself. He tested the knob, found it opened easily. Before them was a winding staircase, cobwebs caught in their cast-iron curls. The lightbulb didn't work, so Adam guided Vanessa up and around the curve of the stairs, climbing high, higher. At last they emerged inside the farmhouse's dusty, but surprisingly spacious cupola. It was bare of furniture except for a large wooden trunk with iron fixtures tucked into a dark corner. Moonlit rays streaked through the dirtied windows. The storm seemed to have cleared some, but still they needed a moment for their eyes to adjust to the darkness.

“Adam, this is beautiful . . . like a hidden fort.”

“The perfect escape,” he said.

“Haven't we already done that?”

He smiled, holding her tight from behind, his strong arms encircling her body. With a swift, easy motion he brushed back her silky hair, kissed her neck. “It's strange how being here makes me feel. I was trying to remember when last I felt this content, you know . . . my mind, my body, at peace. Strangely, I think it was the last night I spent with Sarah Jane. A warm summer night had fallen upon us after a storm had swept by, not unlike the one today. I was out in the Hamptons, at the Stockdales' summer place, and Sarah Jane had just told me that, and I quote, ‘It's just not going to work out between us,' which was doublespeak for ‘You're not good enough for me, for my family, anymore.' Her parents, namely her father, had decided that his precious Sarah Jane needed someone who understood the value of money—who was part of their world. Which meant someone who already had money, and lots of it. It was just too much hard work to integrate me into society.”

“That's ridiculous . . .”

“Truthfully, it was liberating.”

“Still, after what you'd shared. How you helped her escape that perfect little existence.”

“Vanessa, in their world they believed they were perfectly justified. I'd just been fired from KFC, and no other investment firm in the city would hire me. I was branded an outcast even in my own world.”

“Adam, can you tell me why?”

“I need to. For nearly nine months I've buried everything, pretending to enjoy my life but still stinging over life's betrayal. But here, in this cupola with only you and the cracks in the walls to hear me, I think I can speak of what happened.” He paused, clearing his throat. “Okay, so here's how things played out. As I said earlier, I was working under the guidance of one of the partners, Carpenter Franklin. He was one of those moneyed executives who found himself, after KFC nearly went bankrupt, under investigation by the SEC for fraud, embezzlement, mishandling of corporate funds, whatever else they could think of. He denied all the charges, but the evidence was overwhelming. He was guilty as sin and the company had already decided he'd become their sacrificial lamb. Ultimately . . . well, perhaps it was true, or perhaps he simply didn't want to deal with the publicity . . . we'll never know.”