You didn’t call me because there was no reason to. I’m done. Let go of me.”
“But Adele, I—”
“Now!” she said firmly.
With a grunt and a heavy sigh, he dropped his arms. He muttered that she was being unnecessarily difficult, that she should know by now he was sincere.
She nearly laughed, but inside she was a little too sad. And in desperate need of some hard-core counseling to find out what it was about Hadley Hutchinson that made her insides melt. What had he ever shown her that was deep enough to ponder? Anyone could tell you you’re beautiful; anyone could say holding you was like coming home.
“Goodbye, Hadley,” she said. “Good luck with everything.” She walked briskly to her car.
“And that’s it? After all we’ve been through?”
She turned to face him. “Would you like to talk about the fact that we fought about an abortion you wanted me to have, yet you never once called me to see if I was all right? Or the fact that you had my number all these years and yet you act as if some great detective work was required to find it?”
“I didn’t have it,” he said. “I lost a lot of numbers, and you said you didn’t want to hear from me ever again.”
“And yet even knowing I was pregnant, you didn’t try to find me sooner? Oh Hadley, you’re not very convincing. If you really had loved me, you’d have been concerned.”
“I was con—”
“I’m going home. I’m not ready to rehash all this with you. Besides, you don’t want to talk. You’re looking for something else.”
“You misjudge me,” he said. “There were a lot of unfortunate circumstances, a lot of harsh things said back then, and—”
“Good night, Hadley.”
She got into her car, locked the doors before starting the ignition and began what was a short drive home. And she cried. Not because her heart was broken, not because of the disappointment, but mostly because she felt stupid. It wasn’t as though she had longed for him for eight dreary years. At first she ached for want of him. Then she hated him for what he’d put her through without ever looking back. Then she chalked him up to a devastating mistake and, more recently, let herself wonder if it had all been a misunderstanding of giant proportions.
As she drove by the market, she caught sight of Jake pulling in the awnings. The sun had set some time ago; it was now nearly nine. The market closed at ten. She pulled into the space in front and got out.
“Getting ready to call it a night?” she asked.
“Pretty soon,” he said. “What are you up to?”
“I’m thinking about some pistachio ice cream.”
“Are you celebrating or consoling yourself?”
“I’m not entirely sure, I guess.”
“Wait for me on that bench,” he said, pointing to the secondhand store across the street. They closed at six and the shop was dark. As she sat there, she couldn’t help but think of the many times she’d leaned on Jake when she was upset or unhappy or even a little lonely. He never once complained.
In just five minutes, he came out of the store with a quart of ice cream balanced in one hand. He crossed the street and pulled two spoons out of his pocket. He sat down and put the ice cream between them, then handed her a spoon. He lifted the lid, put it aside, loaded up his spoon and aimed it at her mouth.
She took the bite.
“Better?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said with a laugh. “You are a master at knowing my needs.”
“Actually, no. I get no credit. You asked for pistachio ice cream. What’s eating at you?”
She filled the spoon and aimed it toward his mouth. “I ran into the professor,” she said.
“The professor?” he asked, his countenance darkening.
“That one, yes. I actually ran into him a few days ago on the Berkeley campus, and tonight he wanted to know if we could meet and I went. That might’ve