The conversation stalls. Then he says, “Did you see Donny Ray while you were down there?”
“I did,” is all I offer.
“And? Anything new with him?”
“Just his entire attitude.”
“Really . . .” He straightens his posture. “Like, how?”
“Like he seemed a lot more comfortable than the first time we saw him.”
Adam crosses his arms over his chest, leans back in his chair. “Couldn’t keep the scared puppy routine going for very long?”
“Maybe.”
“Can’t say it completely surprises me.”
“I’d imagine not. It sounds like you’re pretty close to a decision about him, anyway.”
“Actually, I’ve already reached one. I’m just finishing up my eval.”
“Already?”
“Well, yeah. It’s kind of a no-brainer from my end. I’ve gone through all the tests and Ammon’s notes, and I’ve concluded my physical exam of Donny Ray, which answered any remaining questions.”
I look at his computer screen, then back at him. “So, you’re going to say he’s malingering.”
Adam laughs. “You look more surprised than you should there, buddy. What’s up?”
“No . . . nothing, really. Just seems like you turned it around pretty fast.”
“With only five days left ’til deadline, time is a luxury, partner.” He taps his watch. “You saw Jeremy cracking the whip.”
“I figured maybe you would have consulted with me, first.”
Adam gapes at me.
“Sorry . . .” I try waving off my concern. “Guess I’m just feeling pressured because you got done so fast.”
But to be honest, because of all the mixed messages Donny Ray has been sending, I feel even further away from the truth than before.
And I’m still slightly irritated by how Adam just minimized what I saw in Alpha Twelve.
He squares his focus on me. He knows me all too well, can easily detect when something is bubbling inside.
“Chris,” he says with a sidelong look. “Is there anything else going on that you’re not telling me?”
“No, why?”
“You seem—I don’t know—a bit high-strung?”
“I had a car accident last night,” I remind him.
“Right . . . right. Of course,” he says with a smile, but the slightest trace of hesitancy strains it.
He knows.
Knows what?
“Oh, jeez.” I check my watch, but the action feels a little too abrupt and perfunctory. “Didn’t realize how long I’ve been here. Better get busy on that evaluation.”
I don’t wait for Adam’s reaction as I head for the door. But after turning back to smile my good-bye, I catch the fretful look on his face.
22
I was wrong.
The tree looks worse at night, and drawing closer, I could swear the big ugly thing is staring at me, its gnarled roots bulging from the ground like giant arteries full of poison, waiting to wrap themselves around me.
Devour me.
As my car’s headlights hit the trunk and our shadows cross, a brittle sensation claws through my intestines. At first, I’m unable to name it, but as the road curves away, and the unsavory and magnetic draw diminishes, my emotions take shape.
I feel anger.
Anger so gritty, so carnal, that I can taste the rancidness on my tongue. Anger that grabs hold and shakes me, anger that refuses to let go; and in that instant, I come to an agreement with myself.
I hate that Evil Tree.
Hate it more than I’ve ever hated anything before. A new brand of hate, caustic, corrosive as battery acid. Hate running deeper than those roots could ever reach, farther than those branches could ever stretch.
I know the feeling is mutual, that we share an understanding, this tree and I.
We are mordant and dangerous enemies.
And that once this battle is through, only one of us will be left standing.
23
Before entering the house, I strike a deal with myself to leave today’s stress at the door. Home is my safe harbor, my distant shore, and I won’t let what happened at Loveland rob me of that. I’ve worked too hard at drawing the line. I’m not going to stop now.
Jenna catches sight of me, and her expression falls. I get a little wobbly and wonder whether my attempt to appear calm is perhaps too transparent. Then I’m relieved to see she’s actually looking at my forehead.
I tell myself to settle, that everything’s fine, that allowing her to see me flustered will only bring on more worry about the accident.
I kiss her on the cheek. “Looks better, right?”
She pulls back to inspect the wound. “Still not great, but yeah, better. A little time is what it needs.”
“Not sure the guy playing bongos on my head got the memo.”
“Oh, dear. Did you have Adam take a look?”
I open the fridge, reach for a soda. “He said everything’s fine.”
When I turn back, Jenna’s expression softens with observable relief. She smiles, but then the corners of her mouth sink appreciably.
“Something wrong?” I ask, unsteadiness making an unwelcome return visit.
“What did you do with your hair?”
Oh, God. Not this again.
I break from her gaze, move to the counter, then mindlessly thumb through a stack of mail. “I just changed the part.”
“How come?”
“I don’t know. Trying something different, I guess?” I glance back at her. “Why? Don’t you like it?”
Her shrug is tentative.
This morning, my style adjustment seemed reasonable, but now, in retrospect, it feels sort of silly.
“No Corvette next,” I say, trying to create diversion through humor, “I promise.”
My joke falls flat. Jenna’s smile seems obligatory.
“Gosh,” I say, then head quickly into the dining room, “I’m really hungry.”
I make it to the dinner table without further conflict, helped in part by my son, who’s stirring up trouble of his own.