Wishful Thinking by Lynette Sofras

sighed as he slipped the single folded sheet of paper out of it. He had a good idea what it would say, but he was wrong.
     
    Stop trying to delude yourself. You can’t fool me, Amber or yourself.
     
    He sat on the edge of the bed and stared gloomily at the wall. The fact was that he needed Adam to be here, with Amber. He needed him to be in love with Amber – and her with him – to appease his conscience. If she was with Adam, he was free to move on with his own life – to unshackle himself from her bonds. He didn’t believe for a moment that Amber was still in love with him, but he did believe that she was frightened of letting him go, and that she needed Adam now more than ever. She was teetering on the edge – had been for a long time and both he and Adam secretly acknowledged it, but refused to confront it. He wasn’t sure enough about Adam, but he knew he would never be able to abandon her. He was stuck with her, like a deeply embedded thorn in his side, too firmly rooted now to be removed. Maybe that’s what Adam was thinking.
     
    He was roused from his gloomy reverie by the vibrating of his phone in his pocket. He saw it was Jess and smiled in relief, though it was a smile that wouldn’t have convinced many people. Somehow he felt it would not be good news.
     
    “I’m so sorry, Christian. I won’t be able to make it today after all. The doctor’s just been and Ben needs to stay in bed. I can’t possibly leave him.”
     
    “I’ll come there.”
     
    “No! You shouldn’t, really. It’s some sort of virus and you might catch it. You’re flying to the States next week – I don’t want you to be ill.”
     
    He paused for a moment to marvel at her considerateness. He couldn’t remember when he’d last known such unselfishness from a woman other than his mother. “I don’t mind taking my chances.”
     
    “But I do. I’d feel terrible. And I need to be at his side – at least until the fever goes down. Maybe we can talk again later?”
     
    He nodded and then released a long, weary sigh. “Of course. I’ll call you this afternoon. I hope he gets better soon.”
     
    “Me too. Thanks, Christian.”
     
    He dropped the phone onto the bed and then stretched out on it himself, lying on his back so he could stare at the ceiling, his fingers steepled together over his chest. Is it always going to be like this? Am I ever going to get a stab at real happiness? Wishful! It should be renamed Albatross. He drifted off into a reverie for a few moments, staring fixedly at a tiny blemish on the ceiling which, as he stared at it seemed to spread and grow and begin to move across the pristine surface of the ceiling like some surreptitious spider. He blinked rapidly, saw the minute spot had not actually moved, then rose and left the room.
     
    Downstairs the new shift of party planners had arrived to continue the clearing up process. He hated this kind of upheaval and had hoped to be absent for it. He felt awkward and clumsy in his own house, as if he was in the way wherever he went. He wandered into the kitchen in search of coffee. Every surface appeared to be piled high with leftover food which a couple of staff members were packing into boxes. Not such great party planners if they miscalculated so badly, he thought.
     
    “What do you do with all this leftover stuff?” He asked, eyeing it with mild disgust.
     
    “Well, we’ve filled up your fridge and the nurses have asked for a couple of boxes. As for the rest, we can leave it here, or dispose of it. There is a homeless shelter we often take stuff to – they’re always very grateful.”
     
    “Take it all. Just get it out of here, please.”
     
    “Yes, sir.”
     
    He paused a moment, “Only…as you’re making up boxes, do you think there’s anything here that might tempt a six year old? He’s not been very well, so you’ll need to go easy. And maybe you could put aside some of that salmon and caviar too, for a friend who couldn’t