A Home for Adam (A Short Story)

A Home for Adam

Dara Girard

© 2012 Dara Girard

Published by Ilori Press Books LLC

Cover by Kimberly Van Meter

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced in any fashion without the express written consent of the copyright holder.

A Home for Adam
is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed herein are fictitious and are not based on any real persons living or dead.

***

 “Send him back!”

“But he just got here.”

“I know so it shouldn’t be difficult to put him on a train back to where he came from.”        

“Claire,” her husband, Jonah, said with a tired sigh. “Let’s just think about this.”

Claire folded her arms and shook her head, adamant. “There’s nothing to think about. I don’t want him here.”

“But he’s my sister’s child.”

“That sister of yours has lots of children. If she’d keep her legs closed, she wouldn’t have to farm them out for other people to raise. I doubt this one even knows who his father is.” She looked at the boy and shivered. “And I don’t like the way he looks at me. It’s as if he knows something he shouldn’t.”

Claire Swedan wasn’t the only person to feel that way. His mother had felt the same way  the moment he was born with his two front teeth intact and big brown eyes that had an eerily observant expression not seen in newborns. Adam Trelawn was born with eyes like that of an old man: Wise, judging eyes.

Orphelia felt them watching her when she let different men into her life (especially into her bedroom) as if they were a weight of conscience that she’d ignored years ago when she’d left home to live with her first boyfriend, a man who’d said he was a musician but really made his money selling ganja (also known as marijuana), infusing the air with its smell. Adam’s eyes watched in silent reproof of the cramped, dirty apartment, the always empty fridge, and the new swell of her belly that came every spring. Was it her fault that Reggie didn’t like condoms or that she’d forgotten her diaphragm with Buster?

Adam quietly helped her with changing the diapers and feeding the new arrivals, but she felt his reproach and soon grew to hate him. What did a little boy know about a woman’s needs? Was she supposed to be celibate because she was his mother? Was she supposed to deny herself the urges that filled her? The urge to be in a man’s arms and hear him say how much he loved and wanted her—even though they were lies? She held out a faint hope that one day she would meet a man who didn’t lie and she was determined not to stop until she found him.

No, Adam knew nothing about her or her needs. He was just another greedy little mouth to feed. At least Damon had money. She wouldn’t let Adam make her feel guilty about that. A man with real money was a step up for her. Unfortunately, even though Adam barely spoke, those knowing eyes of his haunted her and made Damon nervous. And because there was only one male in her life who mattered to her, four days after his tenth birthday Orphelia packed Adam’s things (briefly regretting that she’d no longer have free childcare) and shipped him off to her cousin, Wendy.

Wendy Lisle was a lonely woman eager for company and accepted the child who arrived on her doorstep with one suitcase and a meager two hundred dollars to cover expenses. She hustled him into her three-level townhouse and settled him in the kitchen and gave him something to eat. She imagined buying him new clothes--his trousers were too short--and getting him a nice haircut. It had been so long since she’d had someone to care for. Her husband was gone and her children lived faraway. Now she could put all her love and energy into Adam. She made him a tuna fish sandwich with thinly sliced cucumbers and romaine lettuce and set it down in front of him; imagining their new life together then she looked into his eyes and burst into tears.

She hurried out of the room and quickly wiped her eyes, surprised and embarrassed by her outburst. It must be the excitement of having someone else, she thought.

But the next day was no different or the day after that. Every time she looked into his face she was filled with a remarkable sorrow. At first she thought it was because he looked like her husband or a lost relative, but he didn’t resemble anyone—it was those solemn, brown, ancient eyes. They reminded her of missed chances. She hadn’t been a good wife. She’d focused on herself and couldn’t make up for it now. Her husband had left her a long time ago for another woman who made him feel special and worthwhile. And her children wanted nothing to do with her. She’d been alone for a long time and welcomed her punishment. So after eight months she sent Adam packing to her Uncle Dennis: An older man who lived in a crumbly house and smelled of cigars.

At first Dennis Petrie was hesitant when he saw the boy. He liked living alone and didn’t need anyone in his space. But the boy didn’t seem bothered by his gruff ways. Adam had an otherworldly calm that strangely enough made Dennis angry. So angry he shattered a vase one day after watching the news and seeing the atrocities on the screen, but the boy beside him remained resolute and hopeful. What right did this child have to be calm in this awful world? A world where he’d fought in two wars and seen friends die and family members whittled away by poverty and disease. How could this child not be angered by his own unfortunate situation? Shouldn’t he be at the age where he was unruly and mean? Wasn’t there a reason his mother didn’t want him? Instead, Adam met Dennis’ rough ways with either a shy smile or a kind word. But each kind act and calm brown gaze filled the older man with anger. So he sent Adam away as well to live with his nephew, Jonah Swedan, in Hampsford, Maryland. It was a town with a large Jamaican community where old world ways sometimes clashed with modern times. Adam arrived in Hampsford taller and older (nearly twelve), but his effect on people remained undiminished.

Claire frowned. “No, I will not have him here in my house. It’s bad enough we have to look after that aunt of yours, but this…absolutely not. I will not have it.”

She stormed away and Jonah sighed. She was a hard woman when she made up her mind. He looked at the young boy  standing in the doorway. He couldn’t just send him back. He was family. He folded up the note the boy had given him and stuffed it in his pocket.

Jonah opened the door wider. “Come inside.”

The boy shuffled in, but his gaze remained steadfast and Jonah understood his wife’s uneasiness. There was nothing rude or arrogant about his gaze, it was just astute observation.

“Oh he’s a Violet child!” a voice filled with delight said from down the hall. “What good fortune for us.”

Jonah looked at his aunt and gave an indulgent smile. Her gray hair was pulled back and her fresh face beamed. She’d helped raise him and in her later years, she knew she would always have a place with him. “Sure he is.”

She tugged on Jonah’s sleeve. “He has to stay.” She went over to the boy and reached for his bag.

Adam shook his head.  “No ma’am. I can carry it myself.”

She gently tapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’re home now.”

Jonah could tell that the boy didn’t believe her and he couldn’t blame him. He couldn’t stay. For one or two nights maybe, but then he’d have to figure out what to do with him. “Aunty, why don’t you check up on Megan?” he suggested to get her out of the way.

Before she could reply, footsteps came pounding down the stairs followed by a gasp. He turned and saw his nine-year-old daughter, Megan, and her six-year-old sister, Judy. Megan looked at her great aunt who nodded and said, “Yes, a Violet child.”

Jonah lost his patience. “Aunty, there’s no such thing as Violet children. That’s just a story.”

She shook her head. “You’ll see.”

Megan glanced at Adam’s bag with interest. “Is he spending the night?”

“Yes.”

“Great!” She took his bag before he could protest. “You can be my warrior. I was going to ask Dad, but you’ll be better.” She grabbed his hand. “Come on,” she said then led him upstairs and Judy quickly followed.

His aunt nodded pleased. “She knows it too.”

“Aunty--.”

“A Violet child is a child of great wisdom. Sometimes they can uncover the deep desires of your heart, or help you heal from your lingering fears. They can even bring peace if you let them. That’s something this house needs.”

“This house needs new siding and flooring not another occupant.”

“Don’t throw this gift away.”

Jonah sighed. “Our place is crowded enough and you know how Claire is when she wants something.”

Her tone became firm. “You’re the man of the house.”

Jonah laughed. “Is there such a thing anymore?”

“Only if you choose it.”

She was right. He’d let his wife rule him for years because it had been easier that way. But the child needed a home, a place to stay. He was his nephew. He could give Adam a few days and perhaps Claire would get used to the idea. But there was something strange about the boy. He was too quiet and knowing. He was the same way at dinner as he politely ate with manners Jonah knew he’d developed on his own. His sister would never have taken the time to teach a child such studious etiquette –the way he placed the napkin on his lap and ate his soup without slurping. No lifting up the bowl to get the last drop. He was so mannered and precise that Jonah almost felt like a klutz around him. Yes, he was a strange child indeed.

***

“I want him gone by morning,” Claire said that night as they prepared for bed. She lathered moisturizer on her face.

Jonah watched his wife engage in her nightly ritual and sighed. “Why?”

“I told you why.” She squirted the lotion into her palm then lathered her arms. “I don’t like him. There’s something wrong with him.”

“The girls don’t think so.”

“They’re children.” She lathered her legs.

“Aunty doesn’t think so.”

Claire scowled at him. “She’s an old woman.”

Jonah took a deep breath. He briefly thought of closing his eyes and praying, but decided to just say what needed to be said. “I think we should give him a few days.”

His wife looked at him with outrage. “What!”

“Claire, I--”

“Don’t you care what I think?” She pounded her chest. “How I feel?”

It was a moment he’d been trying to avoid. Her anger always made him feel small. Guilty. “Yes, honey I do. It’s just—” He heard a knock on the door and said, “Come in,” glad for the reprieve. Adam stepped into the room. “Yes?”

“Can I get a glass of milk?” he asked.

Claire shook her head. “No.”

“Yes,” Jonah countered.

“He might wet the bed.”

“He won’t.”

Claire walked into the bathroom and slammed the door.

Jonah turned to Adam. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen,” he said then went to the bathroom door ready to knock, but then he stopped and listened. He didn’t hear anything breaking or the sound of her crying so that was a good sign. He would deal with her later.

He turned and grabbed his robe and left unaware that the bathroom door had opened a crack and the vicious glare of his wife followed him as he walked out the door.

***

 Jonah went downstairs and saw the porch light on. Adam stood in the front yard looking up at the house. Jonah noticed his pajama top was too big, Uncle Dennis must have given him a hand me down. He watched the boy touch the railing then the post, looking up at a window and for a moment Jonah saw the house through new eyes. He didn’t see the ugly siding or that the floors needed a new polish, but the wild wisteria clinging between the railing, the sturdy porch stairs, and the bright welcoming windows. At that moment, Adam made him feel proud of the life he’d built for himself and his family.

Adam saw him, but didn’t seem startled. “I was just looking around.”

“Come inside and get your milk.”

Once Jonah had given him his milk, Adam took a sip then set it down and said, “I won’t get to stay, will I?” It was more a statement than a question.

“I don’t know.” Jonah hesitated then said, “Would you like something to eat?”

Adam shook his head but Jonah didn’t believe him and gave him a maroon cookie. He sent it in front of him. Adam’s eyes remained lowered. He took a sip of the milk and then bit into the cookie and chewed. His face lit up.

Jonah couldn’t help a smile. “You like it?”

Adam lifted his gaze. “It’s the best thing I’ve ever had.”

Those amazing, beautiful eyes hit Jonah with a pain he didn’t know was possible and tears threatened to choke him. He cleared his throat and gripped his hands, desperate to control his response to the boy. He remembered being a young boy. He’d always had a home and a place to belong. Something reached deep inside him--a sense of protectiveness, a determination. This boy, this child of his blood, would never be without a home again. In his shining eyes he saw the man he wanted to be. The man he needed to be. In a moment he became the man he was meant to be: A man who would listen to his wife but not be dominated by her.