The Enchanted Life of Adam Hope - By Rhonda Riley Page 0,156

who had joined us, recovered first and offered his hand. The boy’s gaze darted past our surprised faces, and then swept the room as Lil introduced him.

Moments later, Adam and I stood in the kitchen and watched the two of them saunter to the stable to meet Rosie and the horses. Adam leaned against the sink, hunched forward for a better view. “I don’t like him,” he said. “He looked away every time I spoke to him.”

Lil laughed and leaned toward the boy, letting her hair sweep toward him.

“There’s nothing we can do,” I said.

“Sarah’s right. It looks incestuous.”

“She lost her twin. She likes him because he looks like Jennie and a lot of the people on my momma’s side of the family. Every red-headed, freckled one of us,” I said.

“He reminds me of Roy Hope. He wants her, but he doesn’t see who she is.”

“You got your skin and face off of Roy Hope. And other parts.” I patted his crotch.

“Your point?”

“She’s getting something off of this boy that she needs now. That’s all she sees—what she needs. I’ll bet she’s not seeing him any more than he sees her,” I said.

Adam glanced quickly at me, as if to speak, but said nothing, then turned his attention back to Lil and the boy.

I continued. “I know she’s vulnerable, but I trust her heart—her eventual heart. If we take the offense now, she’ll take the defense.” I realized that this was exactly the argument he had made after we drank the LSD Kool-Aid. “She’s infatuated and working through something. Let’s just keep our eye on it—on her. We can do that. She still lives here.”

“Okay. But I don’t want him hurting her.”

Before they reached the stable door, Lil took the boy by the shoulders, turned him to face her, and kissed him. I recognized that certainty and directness.

“Shit,” I said. “She’s in love.”

Adam nodded and turned away from the window.

Within a few months, Bryce took up with another girl and avoided all contact with Lil. She sequestered herself in her room to write poetry, refusing to come out even for meals. With only two daughters at home, her withdrawal shifted the balance of the house.

“Let her be,” Adam told me when I insisted she come to the supper table.

But he stopped by her room each night on his way to the table.

“I’m not hungry, Daddy,” she told him.

After days of this, Sarah arrived home from visiting one of her middle-school pals and announced, “I have had enough of Lil’s broken-hearted moping. Time for a cure.” Ceremoniously, she set a large, obviously heavy box on the floor. Gleaming gold satin with geometric designs covered the box and lid. “A surprise for later. Don’t ask.”

Gracie and Rosie showed up for dinner that night. Still, with all five of us at the table, Lil declined to come out of her room.

With a nod to Sarah, Adam said, “Let’s go.” He scooped up the pot of chili and tilted his head in the direction of Lil’s bedroom. Rosie, Gracie, and I loaded up, taking the rest of dinner with us. Sarah followed with the mysterious box.

Lil remained sullen and quiet as we set up the meal on the floor of her bedroom. No protest, no acknowledgment. But she couldn’t resist all three sisters. By the end of the meal, she joined in the conversation, asking Rosie about vet school, telling us about her new math teacher.

After we’d eaten, we pushed the dishes out of the way and Sarah sat the box in the middle of our circle. She took out three objects, each nestled inside a larger one, and carefully unwrapped them.

“Singing bowls!” she announced with a flourish of her hand. But they were not like bowls for serving food. They were cylindrical, their sides straight and high, the largest about eighteen inches in diameter. They were made from opaque glass, each one a slightly different creamy shade. Light from the hall shone through them, leaving one side shadowed. Carefully, she arranged them in a triangle on the floor.

Gracie smiled up at Lil. “You have to be near them.” She patted the floor next to her. Lil shrugged and obliged.

Sarah took out two mallets. She held on against the rim of the largest bowl and moved it slowly around the inside edge. A tone reverberated, vibrant and soothing, through the room. I almost jumped from the shock; I’d never heard anything so similar to Adam’s voice. I glanced quickly at Adam, who sat across