Chapter 52: Mama Bears Clean Up Messes

New POV here--Adam's Mom!!!!

Joely

From the doorway I watch Adam lying sideways across the bed, an arm filled with bracelets flung across his eyes, his chest still heaving from retching in the bathroom. Is that all that's going on with him? A stomach situation? Maybe.

Some sort of pain or discomfort? Not sure.

Exhaustion...I'm pretty sure about that part. Exhaustion from a long night partying? Or is MacKenna the source of his exhaustion? Is he weary of fighting the girl, fighting for them? I don't know.

I don't know the answers to these question, and I don't know how to help him.

It used to be easier to know what he needed. A kiss and a cuddle. A nap. A time-out. A soft encouragement. A story and a snuggle at bedtime. A little help tying his shoes. A home-cooked meal. A strict time to start his homework. An unwavering insistence he practice piano. A kick in the butt to clean his room. A fearless driving instructor. A soft shoulder for his first heartbreak. A cheer from the sidestage. A gentle, releasing approval to go be what he wanted, what he needed to be, but not what his father and I had imagined for him.

I knew how to help him with all those things, because I knew him. I knew what he needed.

This boy—my baby—is not the boy I sent to Athens at eighteen. He's not even the boy that has come home now and then, eager to reclaim his place as the adored youngest child, eager to soak up the affection of his sisters and nieces and nephews, seeking approval from his father, seeking all those things from me I always knew he needed.

I don't know my son like I once did.

I don't know if he needs a clean break from the girl he cannot seem to put in his past, but who overwhelms his present. I don't know if he needs encouragement to push past the overwhelm, to make her his future. I don't know if she will let him do that, or hurt him again.

I don't know if this discomfort in him is like the last time he came home—a hurt that she has caused.

Last year, he came home from Portland heartsick. He came home devastated, unburdening himself to his father. He told Peter about MacKenna's assault and how their argument before played a role in it. Adam spent days here, not knowing how to forgive her for what felt like a betrayal to him, not knowing how to blame her for it either. She was hurt by what she did, too...in different and more painful ways than he was, I'm sure.

I knew what he needed then, too. He needed space and comfort and tender care. He needed the scolding, loving mother of his youth to make him feel at home, and he needed the long private talks with his father. He didn't speak to me in detail about MacKenna's assault or the sexual attitudes she has that lead her to be in that vulnerable position.

Peter helped him. Adam left here with the hope of forgiveness in his heart, though it took him some time. I knew eventually, he would do what he's done—make another try with MacKenna. My Adam—he's like his father. He has...capacities that most people don't. Capacities to love, to teach, to endure, to extend compassion.

This time, he's brought her home. The wild girl with demons. The girl with pain and trauma. The girl with his heart held firmly in her hands.

The mother in me doesn't want this for him. I want easy love for Adam. A sweet simple beautiful life. But the woman who has walked this earth sixty-five years knows...

This boy is a man now. And his mother doesn't get to choose whom he loves.

She does still however, still get to poke and prod the man until she finds the boy in him—the boy who might still, on some level, need his mother.

"You just gonna stand there and scold me silently?" he rasps from beneath the arm flung over his face.

I smile. "Do you need a scolding? Do you have a guilty conscience, Adam?"

"I know what you are thinking. This isn't a hangover, or coming down off anything. I'm just fu...really tired, Mom. We were up all night. Didn't plan to be, but it just happened that way. Went to visit Mac's mom at Utopia."

I blink. That's not what I expected him to say. And he's right, I had assumed his sorry state was from drinking all night, or doing worse things, but I gave up scolding him for his rock star lifestyle years ago, and started praying instead. Praying that he would emerge from this reckless season of his life without addictions, convictions, or organ damage. But that's in God's—and Adam's—hands.

"So there wasn't an interview?" I asked.

"No, I just made that up. Mac and her mother...they haven't seen each other in years. Didn't seem like the time or place to get into it,last night at the concert. Mac was nervous about going."

"So, she's not close at all to her mother?" I cast all the decorative pillows from Adam's bed, into a chair and close the blinds.

He sits up slowly. "They have a complicated relationship. But Mac was ready to reach out to her."

"How did that go?" I ask.

He sits up slowly. "Ok, I guess. Considering."

"Considering?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "Just a lot going on. There's alot of hurt there. Mom...Jesus..I'm not going to bed. Not until I bring Mac's stuff in, get her settled. Then we are both going to bed," he grumbles, pulling his foot away and scooting down the bed as I try to pull his boots off.

I ignore the blaspheme—if I didn't ignore it, I'd waste all my breath scolding Adam for his language—but I won't ignore his implication. "Don't worry, we'll get her settled. There's about fifteen people downstairs that can carry Mac's bag, if she's not used to doing it herself."

"Don't be like that. She's not a Diva. She works her ass off—she has for five years. But I want her to be comfortable here and I'm not just going to leave her to find her way upstairs, because I know you aren't going to send her up here willingly."

I put my hands on my hips. "Adam, you know the rules. Your sisters' boyfriends slept in the guest room. Didn't matter how old they were."

"That is so not true. Luke slept in Alex's room once—when the roads were icy. I remember because it was a big deal. And Tyler stayed with Brett for a whole week when his apartment got flooded during spring break their senior year of college."

"Luke and Tyler were not casual boyfriends then. They had been engaged to your sisters for a long time and were just weeks or months away from getting married. The rules we established for your sisters don't change just because you have a penis and a bunch of trendy bracelets."

My irritated son lets out an exhausted laugh and rubs his stubble. "So Ben and Tam are going in the barn apartment, but we guys have to bunk up here and Kat and Mac are downstairs in the guest suite. That's really your plan?"

"Yes, of course."

"We probably all should have stayed at the hotel," he mutters.

I glare at him. "Adam you are acting like a child, threatening to take your toys and leave because you don't like the rules of the game."

"No, you are treating us all like children," he mutters. "It's ridiculous. We are world-weary adults, believe me. You aren't protecting anyone's virtue. You're just keeping up appearances, that's all."

"Well if you are so world-weary, Adam, take a nap," I snap at my stubborn son, moving into the bathroom to check it after Adam's retching session. It's not pretty.

Oh, Adam, Sweetheart. You are very sick.

I search for rubber gloves and cleaning supplies beneath the counter.

"Mom, leave it. I'll clean in up in a minute. I just need to lie down for a second."

"Adam, you're sick, I'm your mother, it's fine."

I clean in silence. After a few minutes, Adam resumes the discussion I thought I had ended.

"Mom, she's not a casual girlfriend, okay? I wouldn't have brought her home if she was. I told you last night...we're together. We're going to be together, for as long as we can see. She's moving in with me when we get off tour. You gonna make us sleep in separate bedrooms when I bring her home at Christmas?"

I turn in the door, peeling off rubber gloves. "Moving in together? Why?"

"What do you mean, why?" he asks suspiciously.

I lean against the door frame, arms crossed. "What are your reasons for wanting to move in together?"

"Because we love each other. Because we want to make a life together. Because we are committed to each other."

"You mean all those reasons that people marry."

"We aren't ready to get married. We've already had that discussion."

"What does that mean?" I ask. "You asked her to marry you? Or she wants to get married?"

He doesn't answer for a long time. "It's been a frequent topic of discussion. It's not happening. Not anytime soon. We're no where near ready. Mutual agreement."

I wash my hands slowly in the sink. "Actually, Adam, I'm glad to hear that."

He raises his head, so he can see my reflection in the mirror as I dry my hands. "You're glad we're going to live in sin?" he grins.

"I'm glad you aren't jumping into marriage just because you and MacKenna are having a better experience for a couple of months," I tell him. "Of course, I don't understand what the need to live together is. Aren't you only Seven Minutes Away from MacKenna's place in LA, anyway?" I tease him.

He laughs. I guess he didn't realize I understood the song was about him. "Yeah, but by the time we finish the American tour we will have spent every day for five months working, living, performing, and sleeping together. The best part of my day is waking up with Mac in my arms. We've finally found the balance and we're very much in love. We're already living together. So Mac moving into my house isn't rushing in...it's just...staying together, like we already are. Which is why this bedroom arrangement is ridiculous."

I hang the towel and eye the bathroom one last time, but I see no cause for concern now. I sigh. "Adam, in the future when you bring Mac home for more intimate family events, I'm sure your father will agree, that it's no big deal for you to share a room. But we have a houseful of guests and many many people invited to the lake day and the barbecue. This isn't about you and Mac. This is about setting expectations. If you and Trace are sharing space with your girlfriends...it sets a tone for all the other guests too, doesn't it? Leed and Bodie, Riley, the crew that's coming over. Let me put it like this, Adam...I do not want the grandkids roaming the house during the festivities and stumbling on sex in dark rooms. This isn't a frat house, it's the Reverend Heartley's home. You can keep it in your pants for a few days. And if you can't, you make sure to pull up that ladder into the hayloft so that the little one's don't spy on you."

Adam blinks at my bluntness. "Jesus, Mom."

Just then, the bedroom door edges open. The drummer—Bodie—peaks his head in. His chin vees in a grin, and his dreadlocks swing. "There you are! Mac said y'all got wild in Utopiaaaaah!" Bodie's energy is as high as every time I've ever met him. "Is that why you are strugglin' man? Come on now, confess your sins to Brother Bodie. Did you break Rock Star Commandment #1? Thou shalt not take candy from strangers? You know those hippies lace everything with acid. Or did you just say fuck it and go straight for the shrooms?"

Adam shoots a look at me. "He's just giving me crap."

Bodie jumps. He hadn't seen me, standing just inside the bathroom. "Oh...MJ, didn't see you there. I was just jokin' around. Adam is basically Captain America. True blue. Clean through and through. No drugs for him. Like, hardly ever," Bodie qualifies.

I put my hands up in surrender. "I don't want to hear about it. I'm just glad you boys are all here and we are all looking forward to a wonderful weekend. Adam, I'll go downstairs and make sure MacKenna is settled."

"Oh, she's good," Bodie says quickly. "She wanted to lie down, Kat took her to their room." Bodie gives Adam a solid nod. "She's good," he repeats, coming into the room, throwing himself down in the chair. "I was sent to check on you, and I ain't walking off the job because Maneater will eat me for dinner."

"See? Your girlfriend has good grace, I like her already," I stick my tongue out at my handsome son and he smiles at me—a genuine smile. "Speaking of dinner...it doesn't cook itself," I put my hands on my hips. "Are you sure you don't need anything for your stomach?"

Adam shakes his head. "I'm good," he lifts a glass of water from nightstand. "Just need to catch some sleep." That's not entirely true. I can see it in his troubled eyes...he's holding back. There's a truth he's keeping from me.

But he's a man now, and men are entitled to keep their own counsel.

"I'll tell him a bed-time story and tuck him in for you," Bodie beams at me. I roll my eyes and flap a hand good-bye.

Downstairs, I find that Alex and Brett are already peeling potatoes and snapping beans, and Peter is marinading meat for grilling. I get to work on the rolls. We're all working in comfortable silence when Gwennie comes in, almost dragging her long legs and picking at her fingers. She wanders to the island where Alex and I are working. I exchange a look with my eldest daughter, but she sees it too—Gwennie is troubled.

"What's up?" her mom asks lightly. Gwennie picks at her fingers some more, and traces them through some spilled flour. Finally she meets her mother's eyes. "I need to tell you something."

Peter, always sensitive to the moods of his women—big and little, turns and says, "Well, I'll leave you girls to talk," with a wink.

"No—" Gwennie says. "It's not about me, and they will tell you anyway..." she blushes slightly. "It's just...I don't know if I did the right thing, and I think I need some help."

Peter nods and looks at his daughter. "Well, that's what families do. Help. You better tell us, Gwen."

"Baylor and Mason came to me outside a little while ago. They were having an argument they wanted me to settle. Baylor said an abortion was a way not to have a baby and Mason said abortion was the same thing as murder and they wanted me to tell them what the word really meant."

"What did you tell them?" Alex asked softly.

"I...I...didn't really. I asked them why they were arguing about it—where they heard that word. They said they heard Mac's brother's saying it." Gwennie lowers her eyes. "They said he said Mac had an abortion this morning. Baylor said that meant she didn't want to have Adam's baby, and Mason said no, that meant she murdered somebody and that we should tell Papa Pete and MJ they had a murderer in their house."

I press my hands in the soft dough, working it silently. I don't trust myself to speak. Peter and Alex will ease the child.

Alex leans across the bar, and draws Gwen's hands into hers. "Then what did you tell them?"

"I told them that eavesdropping on guests was wrong, and they were stupid-heads that probably didn't know what they heard and that shouldn't go around gossiping about things they didn't even understand, and...that deep down they knew that, because they were asking me what the word meant instead of Papa Pete or MJ or You or Dad or Uncle Peyton or Aunt Janie. I told them not to gossip to the cousins, but you know they don't listen to me..."

"I'll find the boys and talk to them. You did right,telling us, granddaughter. You are very wise. Proud of you," Peter says, kissing the top of her head, and walking swiftly out the door to deal with our liveliest two grandchildren. Trouble-stirrers, both of them, but I still love them.

Gwennie looks from her mom to me to Brett. "Is it true, do you think?"

Alex looks to me, with guileless eyes, and I look to Brett, because if Adam were going to confide in any of us, it would be the sister he is closest to.

She turns to her niece and puts an arm around her. "I don't know. Adam hasn't said anything like that to me. If it is true, I'm sure it's a private and sad thing that Adam and Mac would like to put behind them."

Gwennie nods. "That's kinda what I thought."

Alex looks at her daughter. "Is your dad still out back with the little kids?" Gwennie nods. "Then, I'm relieving you of babysitting duty. Go take some time with your phone," Alex squints. "I don't have to tell you not to gossip about Uncle Adam...not even to Sadie or Claire, right?"

"Of course, not," Gwennie grins wide, already pulling her phone from her back pocket and skipping out of the room.

I'm still kneeding the dough. My daughters watch me in silence. Finally, I punch it down. "Adam told me that they went to Utopia last night."

Alex draws in a long breath. "So it's possibly true," she says. "Mom, I scouted Mac's social media accounts a little, just to try to get to know her a little better. I'm pretty sure her mother is close with Dr. Crane...the lady that runs the mid-wife school out there? And also..."

"The abortion clinic," I say. "Yes, I'm seeing the connection." I fold the dough, and sit down at a stool, pressing my hands together over my mouth, heedless of the flour.

I still don't trust myself to speak. I'm not sure what I'm feeling exactly. I think it's highly possible that the children heard correctly. It would explain MacKenna's unusually fatigued and unkempt look this morning, why she looked pale and barely said a word. Why tears sprang to her eyes watching Adam with Eli and why Adam seemed so overcome and handed him off quickly. Maybe Adam's illness isn't an illness at all, but more of a heartsickness.

Again. Over that girl.

Alex sighs heavily. "Mom, we don't know for sure."

"And even if we did, it's not our business," Brett interjects. "If they terminated a pregnancy, they had their reasons. Reasons they don't have to justify to us."

"It's not our place to judge, no, but this family is my business," I say. "If Adam is hurting, it's my business."

"You can't just confront them," Alex says. Brett chimes in, "It's a private thing, Mom. Dredging it out into the light will only make it worse for Adam."

I've raised two wise, compassionate, and patient women. I'm very proud of them. Of all my children. "Oh my girls, come give me a hug," I say. "And finish these rolls. I'm going to pray, and regroup, all right?"

On the way to my room, I crack the door to the guest suite. MacKenna is lying on the bed asleep, her reddish curls strewn across her face, her hand curved over her lower abdomen. I wonder if what the boys overheard was true. I wonder if even in her sleep, she is in pain, or perhaps feeling the absence of a lost gift. I wonder if god will grant me the grace to move past these wonderings and see MacKenna as Adam sees her.

Even prayers don't settle me. I still don't know what to think or do. When I return to the kitchen, Brett is popping in the first tray of rolls and Alex is opening a bottle of wine. She pours a glass and offers it to me tentatively, unsure if I will accept.

"Your brother tries my soul," I mutter to them as I take the glass and sip. "I've spent twenty-four years praying for that child and I always end up with no answers and a glass of wine."

Alex laughs and hugs me again. "Maybe that's why he's your favorite. Without Adam, you would have never developed a taste for a good Cabernet!"