Breakup In A Small Town. Kristina Knight

he wondered if they would all be better off without him. Better off without worrying about when the next seizure would hit, better off because then an able-bodied someone could take his place.

      He flexed his fingers against the armrests. The thought of Jenny being with another man, of another guy teaching Frankie how to hit a curve ball or push Garrett higher on the swing set had the pretty blue sky outside the window turning red. He didn’t want another man taking over any tiny, little piece of the life he’d loved before the tornado. Adam sighed. Did it really matter what he wanted? Letting Jenny and the kids move on with their lives, since his was stuck in the wheelchair, was the adult thing to do.

      Jenny wouldn’t tell him to leave. If he wanted his family to have a better life, he would have to be the one to leave. Pressure in his chest built up, making it hard to breathe. It was the best option, one that would allow them to heal in a way that his presence never would. Jenny would keep crying herself to sleep. Frankie would still be afraid to so much as hold Adam’s hand, and Garrett... God, Garrett would keep looking at him through green eyes filled with terror.

      Adam didn’t want his kids to be afraid of him. He didn’t want his wife to pity him. He just wanted things to go back to normal. To a time when he and Jenny would walk the four blocks to Buchanan Cabinetry together in the mornings. To a time when he’d play with the boys in the backyard before dinner, and wrestle with them before bedtime.

      To a time when his touch could soothe whatever troubles made Jenny cry, instead of making those troubles so much worse. He’d been lucky that she fell in love with him before; now it was time to admit that she deserved better. More.

      Pushing his hands against the hated wheels, Adam turned the chair from the window and propelled himself to the kitchen. At the step between the kitchen and the living area, he got up, feeling the sharp pain in his knee as he stood. He smiled at the feeling. Pain he could deal with. Pain he could use. He limped across the room, got a glass from the cabinet and poured a beer into it, not caring that he wasn’t supposed to mix alcohol with the medications. He held the glass up, closing his eyes as he let the smell of barley and yeast and hops wash over him.

      God, he loved a cold beer.

      The back door slammed and Adam dumped the full glass down the sink as his kids rushed through the mudroom, chattering about the Panama Canal and the best way to mix paints in art class. The conversation didn’t make any sense, but then, his kids’ conversations rarely made sense. Frankie, three years older, talked over Garrett, who chattered on whether anyone was listening or not.

      Their noise stopped abruptly and Adam turned. His sons stared at him with eyes as wide as quarters.

      “Daddy, you’re not s’posed to be out of the chair,” Garrett said, taking a step into the kitchen. He dropped his little backpack onto the tile.

      “I was just getting a drink,” he said, rinsing the glass in the sink as he surreptitiously pushed the empty beer bottle into the recycling bin. He limped back to the chair, his injured knee screaming in pain as he went.

      “Can I have a snack?” Garrett asked, putting his empty lunch box on Adam’s lap, looking at him expectantly. “I ate all my lunch, even the crusts off my PBJ.”

      “Sure. How about a cookie?”

      “Mom doesn’t let us have cookies after school, Dad,” Frankie said, rolling his eyes as he spoke in that husky voice that made him sound so much older than seven. “Healthy snacks first. Sweets for dessert.” He motioned to his younger brother. “How about an apple?”

      “With caramel?” Garrett asked, rocking up to his tiptoes and clasping his hands together.

      “Sure.”

      “Cut up, no peel,” he said.

      Frankie sighed. “You know I’m not allowed to use the knives.”

      “I’ll take care of it,” Adam said.

      Frankie sighed again, and this time shook his head. “You’re not allowed, either, Dad. No sharps because of the seizures.”

      “Cutting up an apple for your brother isn’t going to give me a seizure.” And he could damn well do one normal thing today.

      Frankie pressed his back to the cabinet drawer holding the knives. “It’s against the rules.”

      Adam gritted his teeth. “I can cut up an apple for a snack,” he said, putting steel into his voice and hating himself for it. He’d never raised his voice to the kids, not once, before the tornado. Now, it was as if he couldn’t make it through a single conversation without getting angry. He clenched his hands around the arms of the wheelchair and stood up again.

      Adam limped across the kitchen, picked up his son and set him aside, then drew a small paring knife from the drawer. He put the apple on the cutting board and set the knife, but before he could make the first cut, the back door opened and his kids were off like shots through the kitchen.

      “Mom, Dad’s using a knife!”

      “It’s against the rules,” Garrett hollered. “I don’t want Daddy to sheeshur because of the knife, Mama.”

      “I’ll take care of it.” Jenny’s soothing voice washed over him. “I’m sorry I couldn’t pick you guys up at school today. How was the bus?”

      No answer from either of the kids. Adam sliced the knife through the apple and was rewarded with a perfectly halved green Granny Smith.

      “Well? How was the bus?” Jenny asked, and he could hear her heels on the hardwood floor. He continued slicing until he had eight even pieces and then began peeling.

      “We missed the bus,” Garrett finally said, his voice quiet.

      “It’s okay, though. I walked us home. It wasn’t that far,” Frankie said, the words coming in a rush.

      “You...” Jenny was quiet for a moment and Adam pictured her running her hands through her hair as she gathered her thoughts. “Okay, well, in the future, don’t walk if you miss the bus. Just call Buchanan’s and I’ll come get you.”

      “I don’t like the bus,” Garrett said. “Those big kids are mean.”

      “It isn’t a far walk, Mom. And I’m practically eight now.”

      And until the tornado had sidelined Adam from work, Jenny had picked up the kids every day at school. Things were different now, he reminded himself. Just one more reason to let them get on with their lives. Without him.

      “You won’t be eight until next summer. That’s more than six months away. And your age isn’t the point, kiddo. The point is you’re supposed to ride the bus. Was this ‘miss’ intentional?”

      Though his back was to his family, Adam could picture Jenny with her arms crossed over her chest, looking from Frankie to Garrett with her pretty blue eyes narrowed and calculating. She’d hone in on Garrett as the weak link.

      The kids didn’t answer. Adam turned from the counter to her, back to him, just as he’d imagined. Garrett looked to Frankie, who stared right back at him. Neither said a word, but that look said everything. Yeah, an intentional miss.

      Jenny watched them a moment longer, but when it became apparent neither would answer the question, she shook her head slowly, then knelt before them. “What did we talk about when school started? I have to stay at the warehouse now until three thirty. That means a bus ride home. Teamwork, right? You guys ride the bus, I meet you here.”

      Frankie scuffed the toe of his untied shoe against the tile. “It isn’t fair.”

      Jenny looked at Garrett, who scooted a little closer to his older brother. “We don’t like the bus,” he told her.

      “The bus is the best option we have until Uncle Aiden gets into town in a few days. Papaw is busy with the guys in the workshop, and Mamaw is dealing with the phones and office stuff while I deal with the warehouse shipments. It’s just for a little while longer. Okay?”