The Enchanted Life of Adam Hope - By Rhonda Riley Page 0,107
if you were looking for something or somebody. For years, I convinced myself you already did, somehow, know. Your daddy didn’t think it would do any good to tell you.”
“Daddy didn’t want me to know?” I fought the impulse to take her by the shoulders and shout, “How could you have kept it from me for so many years? How?” But something in her posture stopped me.
“Evelyn, I didn’t want you to feel you were different from Joe, Bertie, and Rita. I wanted you to feel you belonged to both of us—I owed that to him, if he was willing to take on the responsibility of raising you. Then you got older, I was afraid of what you would think of me.” I heard both a mild challenge and a plea in the firmness of her voice.
As I held her gaze, I heard Daddy and Joe laughing as their footsteps approached.
“You’ll have to forgive me,” Momma whispered. As they walked into the kitchen, she turned back to the dishes, tears in her eyes.
Days later, I went into town with Adam one day and asked him to drive by Momma’s house on the way to the feed store. I knew Momma would be home from the mill by then and when I saw that Daddy’s car was gone and the back door open, I had Adam drop me off. I gave him the grocery list. “After the feed store, pick up these things, then come back for me,” I said as I slipped out of the truck.
I usually did the grocery shopping, but Adam took the list and nodded without comment.
I hoped to find Momma alone. The house was so quiet and still, for a moment I thought no one was home. Then I saw Bertie sitting at the kitchen table sipping coffee. She’d recently dyed her auburn hair blond and the new color unsettled me. A magazine lay open in front of her, and her daughter, Susie, slept sprawled in her lap, legs and arms dangling.
Nothing in the house moved except her hand flipping the magazine pages and then stopping to bring the cup up to her lips.
Her head jerked up when I stepped from the back porch into the kitchen. I saw the pinched look on her face as she took in the surprise of me being there.
“What is it?” I asked. “Where’s Momma?”
Bertie nodded her head in the direction of the bedroom. “I checked on her a few minutes ago. She was still sleeping.” She went back to her magazine. The pages made a soft, rasping sound as she flicked through them. Otherwise, the room was so quiet I could hear myself swallow. The afternoon air brimmed, still and humid.
I tiptoed into Momma’s room. She lay on her side of the bed, facing the window. I walked around the bed. Her face hung slack and gray. A bucket sat on the floor next to her. I touched her forehead; it was cool and moist. I went back to the kitchen.
“How long has this been going on? I thought she was getting better.” I stood behind Bertie as I poured myself a cup of coffee.
She twisted around in her chair, scowling. Susie stirred on her lap. Despite the pleasure Bertie took in delivering news, she always seemed annoyed at others’ complementary ignorance. “At least a week. If you were around more, you’d know. Daddy says she didn’t want to worry us. I’ve been coming by every day this week and checking on her after her shift is over. She’s always lying down. She must come straight home from work and go to bed. Every day. Daddy’s been getting supper for them at Bun’s Café.”
I went back in and checked on Momma again. Her skin didn’t look right. Adam’s truck pulled up, and then the screen door squeaked.
“She’s in there,” I heard Bertie say. She’d hardly said a word to him since the funeral.
He appeared beside me, studied Momma’s face, and glanced at the bucket. Then he touched her forehead just as I had. Momma had always been a light sleeper, but she did not stir.
Adam looked at me then, ran his eyes over my features the way he used to, but his face was sad. “I’m sorry, Evelyn,” he whispered.
We walked arm in arm back into the kitchen. Susie was awake now, her head still hanging over her momma’s arm, and she grinned upside down at Adam and waved. “Hey, Uncle Adam.” She hadn’t been at the funeral.