The Refrain (The Bridge Series) (26 page)

Slamming her hand against the keys, Chloe shouts, “Who is she?”

“The client is a forty-seven year old man.”

“Not the client, who are you fucking?” Chloe demands, her voice deep and raw.

Adam takes two steps closer, glaring down at Chloe’s pitiful face. “I’m not fucking anyone. Not even my wife,” he snarls. It’s the answer Chloe needs to hear, but not the one she wants.

She moves a step closer and pokes his chest. “Then explain this to me.”

“Explain what?”

“
This
– this tension. Why don’t I trust you? Why am I so angry – where the fuck have you been?” Chloe’s voice is dry and emotional, the words stinging her throat and falling from her mouth like hot embers. She punches his arm, hits his chest, and slaps at his smug expression.

Adam grabs her arms, his fingers digging into her flesh, but Chloe fights him. “Stop it,” he says. Chloe continues to wave her arms, desperately trying to break herself free. Adam tightens his grip and twists her arm behind her back, controlling her . . . controlling her behavior. “I have a career. Do you understand that? I’m working, I’m being a provider, I’m being a dad – doing the right thing.”

With as much contempt as she can gather, Chloe lets it all go. “The right thing? The right thing – your life is just one blob of obligation now? Fuck you, Adam. Always trying to be perfect – always doing the right thing. We wouldn’t want anyone to know what you really are!”

“What does that mean?” Adam eases his grip, upset by her threat.

“You’re a wall.” Chloe yanks her arms free and shoves Adam’s chest. “A fucking brick wall – no emotion and no attachment to anything that doesn’t fit your definition of right or wrong. I’m sick of it!” Chloe’s voice is shaky and inaudible, tears drowning her words.

“Really?” He smirks. “You need me. You need me to be your wall – you need an excuse to be destructive. You
love
that you can crack me – you love breaking me down – but then when you
need
that brick wall again, who’s supposed to build it?”

Chloe grits her teeth and holds her breath, rage setting in. “You’re a fucking asshole. God, you’re so arrogant – fuck you.” Chloe shoves past Adam, running straight to the front door. She hesitates momentarily to study her bare feet but then impulsively decides to run out into the summer rain. She wants to run away, she wants to feel that sense of purpose again. Adam follows behind her, shouting her name. He’s enraged and bewildered – this is why he loves her – this is why she needs him.

“Chloe stop.” Adam catches up to her and grabs her hand, yanking her in his direction. The raindrops conceal her tears, there’s no end to one and a beginning of another – no separation of pain and passion. Possibly the secret to any great romance . . . passion evolves from pain.

Adam takes Chloe in his arms and forces her against the large maple tree. The fullness of the branches protects them from the rain, but their emotions are completely exposed and unrefined.

Chloe sobs while jerking her hand from his tight grasp. “Leave me alone.”

“No,” he responds.

Adam pins her against the tree, slamming his hands above her shoulders. They stare into each other’s eyes – carnal lust increasing with each sensation, old and new . . . this is one of those moments.

Chloe’s chest rises and falls. Rain splatters against the tree. Adam’s lips quiver with need. Eyes wander over familiar features. Drip drop – it’s rhythm.

And then, associating pain with passion, Chloe bites Adam’s lower lip – sucking and licking the delicate, rain-kissed skin. Adam’s hand moves to her neck, squeezing gently to signify his control. He kisses her, deep and satisfying, absorbing every last drop of painful doubt from her mind. Chloe’s arms move to his shoulders, grasping . . . searching . . .

Words are meaningless. Words are breathless.

“Adam.”

Adam releases his hold, but not his authority. In a hasty, yet sensual effort, he lifts Chloe into his arms – positioning one arm under her legs and the other tightly around her back.

“Shut up.” He commands with a smile.

And just like Rhett Butler seizing Scarlett O’Hara with passionate fury, Adam
reclaims
Chloe. Under the tree. In the pouring rain. Up the steps of their brick stoop. Through the door of their centuries-old brownstone. Dripping wet. Hearts racing. Souls connecting.

. . . and then he slams the door.

“Oh my – you look gorgeous, Nat! I love you so much!” Chloe drapes her body over Natalie, squeezing tightly and blubbering into her shoulder.

Today is the final fitting for Natalie’s wedding dress and a much needed girls’ day. Chloe has been a part of Natalie’s wedding planning through every phase, even talking her out of a destination wedding in Greece. So, the happy couple will be tying the knot in a romantic ceremony at the Loeb Boathouse Central Park on August 21, 2010.

Natalie nudges Chloe off her shoulder and rolls her eyes. “Calm down and don’t get your sappy tears on my dress.”

“I’m just – I just love weddings and your wedding is just so . . .”

“Jesus Christ, Chloe, stop it. Serious question – can you handle it?” Natalie runs her hands over the curves of her Vera Wang satin and silk gown.

“Yes, I think so.” Chloe takes a step back and wipes her face.

“I’m torn, should I wear pasties over my nipples or let them peak naturally?”

Chloe closes her eyes and laughs. “Natural should make for some great photos.”

Natalie smirks at their reflection in the mirror. “There’s my girl! Now put on your dress, I need to make sure you look horrible next to me.”

Chloe carefully removes the mint green gown from the hanger while observing the shape and condition of her half-naked body. “It’s like freaking Versailles in here with all these mirrors. And don’t worry – I have a pouch the size of a kangaroo.”

Natalie sits on the small sofa next to Sophie’s baby carrier and smiles. “But isn’t Sophie worth it?” She bends over and kisses Sophie’s chubby foot. “Look at you, Auntie Nat could eat you up.” Natalie pretends to nibble on Sophie’s toes, making her gurgle and coo.

Chloe lowers the gown over her body and starts to cry. “Nat,” she says.

“Chloe, what’s wrong?” Natalie demands.

“I don’t know. I mean I know, but I don’t want it to be true.” Chloe turns to face Natalie, ashamed and overwhelmed. “I’m back on meds – for postpartum depression.”

“Oh sweetie, come here.” Natalie stands, opening her arms.

After grabbing a tissue from one of the many boxes scattered throughout, Chloe accepts Natalie’s embrace. “Nat, I’m not depressed, it’s the panic attacks. I’m so out of control and Adam – he doesn’t – he works all the time.”

“I’m not defending him, but he’s probably distancing himself. You know he doesn’t handle surprise well. What can I do to help?” Natalie consoles Chloe by rubbing her back.

“Mom’s coming down in a few weeks . . . I don’t want to ruin your wedding. Maybe I shouldn’t—”

“Zip it! We have over a month – you can take your medicine, enjoy your babies and lose another ten pounds . . . because I still can’t zip your dress,” Natalie admits, tugging at the zipper.

“Shit. I’m such a mess.”

“Yes, but you’re my mess and I love you. Let’s get lunch – would you like that Sophie, a girls’ lunch with milk for you and cocktails for us? We need to discuss the bachelorette party.”

Chloe slumps over in defeat. “Oh shit, Nat. I haven’t been in any state to plan your party.”

“I know. That’s what we need to discuss – Chris’ sisters want to host a spa weekend near Austin . . . and since the wedding is here, it’s only fair.”

Chloe helps Natalie out of her custom gown and asks, “Are you okay with that? I had you pegged for a night at a strip club with booze and debauchery.”

“Meh, strippers don’t really do it for me anymore. Have you seen Chris’ body?”

Chloe rolls her eyes as she hangs the dress on the rack. “Please don’t.”

“Holy shit, don’t be a prude.” Natalie pulls on her shorts and buttons her organza top. She sits next to Sophie as Chloe dresses. “When you get older Miss Sophie, I’m going to read you
The
Little Prince
– it’s magical!”

Natalie pulls out a brush and lipstick from her large purse. “C, I’m okay with the spa . . . you wanna know why?”

“Sure.”

“Because I’m getting married in six weeks!”

A
DAM KNOCKS ON
the door with the little gold heart, confused and desperate.

Natalie unlocks the door and swings it open, her mouth gaping in response to the weary man before her. “Adam, what’s wrong?”

Adam leans against the door and exhales. “Is Chris here?”

“No, he’s having dinner with a client. Do you need him – do you want me to call him?”

“No. Can I come in?”

“Yes. Please tell me everything’s okay – are you okay?” Natalie grabs his arm and pulls him inside the apartment.

Natalie and Adam not only share a mutual love, but they’ve built a relationship that is steadfast and dependable. But this is the first time Adam’s showed up at her door, worn and distraught.

“Are you drunk? Holy shit – you’re scaring me.” Natalie takes a step back and crosses her arms.

Adam takes a step toward her and places his hands calmly on her shoulders. “Natalie, stop freaking out and I’m not drunk. It’s Chloe . . .”

Natalie turns her head toward the kitchen, avoiding eye contact. “Oh,” she says.

Adam moves his hands from her shoulders to his pockets – he’s uncomfortable and he doesn’t know what to do. “The pharmacy called my cell, asking if I wanted the prescription for Zoloft delivered to the house again.”

Natalie turns back to look at him and sighs. “Oh.”

“Did you know? Fuck.” Adam’s voice is loud and angry.

“Why are you here, Adam? You should go home and talk to Chloe.”

He laughs nervously, hiding his fear. “She won’t talk to me. She won’t even take my fucking call.”

“Maybe she’s embarrassed. Postpartum is difficult.” Natalie moves toward the kitchen in hopes to escape the awkward conversation.

Adam follows behind her and shouts, “What?”

At the sink, Natalie fills a tea kettle with water and then places it on the stove. “Chloe has postpartum and she’s back on her meds. It’s been over a month. She didn’t tell you?”

“How could she – how did I not know?” Adam braces himself against the cabinet, bringing his hands to his head. Rubbing his temples, breathing slowly and closing his eyes – it’ his silent cry.

Heartbroken, Natalie recoils to the other side of the kitchen. “You should go home. I’ll make you some tea and then I can go with you—”

“No.” Seething, Adam slams his hand against the cabinet. “She kicked me out. Chloe hates me.”

Startled by Adam’s reaction, Natalie begins to cry. “Adam, I’m so sorry. Aunt Eileen is coming, maybe that will help things?”

Adam stumbles toward the door, hopeless and broken. Natalie chases after him, only to have the door closed in her face. He leaves the apartment with the little gold heart because he’s sick – nauseous without his oxygen. Adam staggers into the old elevator, clenching his fists and grinding his jaw. He’s angry because he couldn’t control the outcome. Bitter that she didn’t give him a chance. Terrified of reliving painful memories.

Being watched. Being evaluated. 

The darkness.