Chapter 12 - The Man at Harbor Pine.
Door County looked too peaceful to contain the answer to the worst year of my life.
The lake was steel blue beneath a pale winter sky.
Snow sat on the roofs of small shops and along the edges of empty roads.
Harbor Pine Marina was technically closed for the season, but a repair crew still worked in the large heated building near the docks.
Stellan drove the final mile himself.
He had dismissed the driver at the hotel because, according to him, too many people made everything harder.
I suspected he simply needed his hands occupied.
Fern slept in the car seat behind us.
Helena had insisted on keeping her in Chicago.
I had refused.
Then Stellan surprised both of us by supporting me.
"Fern is why we're going," he had said.
"She doesn't get left behind because adults are uncomfortable."
So Mrs. Thornbury came with us and sat beside Fern in the back.
The ridiculousness of a sixty-something housekeeper joining a Cross family search mission did not seem to bother anyone anymore.
Stellan parked outside the marina office.
He did not turn off the engine immediately.
His hands remained on the steering wheel.
"What if he doesn't remember us?"
The question was so quiet I almost missed it.
"Then we don't punish him for surviving."
He looked at me.
"You sound certain."
"I'm not."
I watched snow drift across the windshield.
"I'm terrified."
"Good."
I frowned.
"Good?"
"It means I'm not the only one."
That was probably the closest Stellan Cross would ever come to asking for reassurance.
We entered the marina together.
The air smelled of oil, wood, cold metal, and lake water.
A radio played somewhere behind a wall.
A man in coveralls looked up from a workbench.
"Can I help you?"
Stellan showed him the photograph on Naomi's tablet.
"Adam Hale."
The man squinted.
"Adam's in bay four."
My heart slammed against my ribs.
"Is he here now?"
The mechanic looked at me.
"Should be."
Stellan thanked him.
We walked down a long concrete corridor.
Bay numbers were painted above metal doors.
One.
Two.
Three.
By the time we reached four, I could hear someone humming.
I knew the tune.
Adrian used to hum it when he cooked.
Not well.
Never on key.
My eyes filled before I saw him.
Stellan stopped beside me.
For a second, neither of us could move.
Then the man inside the bay turned.
He was holding a wrench.
His hair was dark, cut shorter than before.
He had lost weight.
A faint scar ran through his left eyebrow.
His face was older.
His eyes were the same.
The wrench slipped from his hand and struck the rubber mat.
He stared at Stellan.
Then at me.
No recognition appeared.
Not immediately.
That hurt worse than I had prepared for.
"Adam?" I whispered.
His brow furrowed.
"Yeah?"
My breath caught.
Same voice.
Slightly rougher.
Still him.
Stellan looked unable to speak.
I had never imagined that possible.
The man wiped his hands on a rag.
"Do I know you?"
Stellan flinched.
I stepped forward.
"My name is Mara."
Something moved in his face.
Not recognition.
Pain.
He touched his temple.
"Mara."
My knees weakened at the sound.
"Yes."
He looked at me more carefully.
"I've dreamed that name."
I started crying.
I hated it.
I could not stop.
Adrian looked alarmed.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize."
"I don't know why you're crying."
"That's okay."
It was not okay.
Nothing about it was okay.
But I had spent a year believing he had chosen not to come back.
The man in front of me had not even been allowed to remember where back was.
Stellan finally spoke.
"Adrian."
The man turned toward him.
His face changed more dramatically this time.
He stepped backward.
"No."
Stellan froze.
"It's me."
"No."
Adrian's breathing quickened.
"They said you signed it."
Stellan went pale.
"I didn't."
"They showed me your name."
"It was forged."
Adrian pressed one hand to the workbench.
"Don't."
Stellan did not move closer.
"I didn't know you were alive."
"Stop."
"I searched for you."
"Stop."
I stepped between them slightly.
"Adrian."
His eyes moved toward me.
"Please."
I did not know what I was asking for.
Time, maybe.
A chance.
A miracle that did not require him to remember everything at once.
Then Mrs. Thornbury entered the bay carrying Fern.
She stopped when she saw Adrian.
Adrian looked at the baby.
Everything inside him changed.
His expression emptied.
Fern stared at him.
She had been sleepy and irritable after the drive.
Now she became still.
Her eyes moved over his face.
Adrian's mouth opened slightly.
"Who is that?"
My throat closed.
Stellan looked at me.
He did not answer for me.
I loved him a little for that.
I stepped toward Adrian.
"Her name is Fern."
Adrian stared.
"Fern."
"She's eleven months old."
He looked at me.
Understanding began to gather in his face, but fear pushed against it.
"No."
I nodded through tears.
"She's yours."
He took another step back.
"No."
"Adrian."
"I don't remember."
"I know."
"I don't remember you."
The words sliced cleanly.
I forced myself to stay standing.
"I know."
"I don't remember having a baby."
"You didn't meet her."
He looked at Fern again.
Her silver locket caught the fluorescent light.
Adrian's face went white.
"That necklace."
I touched it.
"You sent it."
He closed his eyes.
A visible wave of pain crossed his face.
"Lake Geneva."
Stellan took one careful step forward.
"You remember?"
"A room."
"A nurse."
"I couldn't remember an address."
His hand trembled.
"I remembered a baby."
I started crying harder.
Fern reached toward him.
The gesture was almost identical to the one she had made toward Stellan in the east corridor.
Adrian stared at her tiny hand.
"Why is she doing that?"
Mrs. Thornbury smiled through tears.
"She has opinions."
Fern leaned farther.
I looked at Adrian.
"You don't have to hold her."
He looked terrified.
"What if I drop her?"
"You won't."
"You don't know that."
"I do."
His eyes met mine.
For the first time, something familiar appeared between us.
Not memory.
Trust.
Small and uncertain.
He held out his arms.
I placed Fern against his chest.
She stared at him for one second.
Then she touched his face.
Adrian made a sound like a laugh breaking apart.
Fern smiled.
He began crying silently.
Stellan turned away.
I saw his shoulders tighten.
Adrian held Fern closer.
"Hi," he whispered.
Fern grabbed his collar.
"I'm sorry I missed everything."
My heart broke and repaired itself in the same breath.
"You didn't choose to."
Adrian looked at me.
Something flickered in his eyes.
"Green scarf."
I stopped breathing.
"What?"
"You gave me a green scarf."
Tears blurred my vision.
"Yes."
"I hated it."
I laughed through the tears.
"You wore it every day."
"Because you liked it."
The memory arrived in pieces on his face.
He looked at Fern.
Then back at me.
"Mara."
This time he did not say my name like a dream.
He said it like home.
We stayed in bay four for nearly an hour before anyone suggested leaving.
Adrian sat on an overturned storage crate with Fern on his knee.
He kept looking at her as if his eyes could make up for eleven missing months.
"Does she sleep?" he asked.
"Sometimes."
"That sounds threatening."
"It is."
He smiled faintly.
"What was she like when she was born?"
The question caught in my chest.
"Tiny."
"How tiny?"
"Three pounds, eleven ounces."
His face fell.
"Was she okay?"
"Eventually."
I told him about the incubator.
The wires.
The first time I was allowed to hold her against my skin.
The night she gained enough weight that a nurse finally used the word home.
Adrian listened without interrupting.
By the end, tears stood in his eyes.
"You did all of that alone."
"Rosa helped."
"But I didn't."
"You couldn't."
"I still hate that sentence."
"So do I."
He looked at Fern.
"Did you name her?"
"Yes."
"Why Fern?"
I smiled despite myself.
"Because you once said ferns were impossible to impress."
His brow furrowed.
"I said that?"
"You said they could grow in ugly places and still look elegant."
A slow expression of recognition passed across his face.
"Lincoln Park Conservatory."
My breath caught.
"Yes."
"You dragged me there in February."
"You complained the entire time."
"It was humid."
"You bought me a fern afterward."
"It died."
"Immediately."
We both laughed.
Stellan stood several feet away pretending to examine a boat engine.
Adrian glanced toward him.
"He never pretended this badly when we were kids."
"He was probably less emotionally constipated."
Stellan turned.
"I can hear you."
Adrian smiled for real.
"Good."
The smile faded slowly.
"I don't know what I'm supposed to be to you now, Mara."
I looked at him.
"Neither do I."
He nodded.
"But I want to know her."
He looked down at Fern.
"Every version of her."
"The angry one too?"
Fern immediately threw the cream rabbit onto the floor.
Adrian looked at it.
"That one seems manageable."
May you like
I laughed.
"Give it ten minutes."
