The Enchanted Life of Adam Hope - By Rhonda Riley Page 0,31

asks questions and certainly never pries, particularly about emotional situations or conflicts. These men give an angry or sad woman a wide berth, and they will leave a hapless child to wander into trouble. At times these unquestioning men may seem wise and patient. Other times, they don’t seem to be there at all. They can have an air of absence about them that leaves their women and children lonely.

Daddy was the second kind of man. He rarely asked me about anything except money, food, and the farm. The only subjects of conversation for him were the concrete, daily arrangements of things. He did not seem to want to know what was in our hearts. Whether it was shyness, lack of curiosity, or indifference, I never knew. Once, when he had come to the farm to bring me some flour and feed, Cole’s cap lay on the sofa where he had left it the night before. Daddy glanced at it without a word.

Perhaps Daddy was like that because he had too much of his own burden to keep hidden and quiet. It made sense that he would not want to speak of his half-sister who, without benefit of marriage, ran off with a strange man, but he seldom mentioned anyone else in his family either. They were all poor farmers. Most of them drunks, I heard, his father the worst of them. His mother had died when he was a boy and his father married again. With his new wife, he had had Doris, Addie’s “mother.” When other men told their stories, Daddy would laugh with them, but he told none of his own.

He was not a bad father, not much of a disciplinarian, and never cruel. Yet his love was like light to me. I could see it and I knew intellectually that it touched me, but I could not touch it back. And like the sun’s light on an overcast winter day, it did not warm me, just reminded me of warmth and made me hunger for it.

With Daddy, Addie and I were safe from scrutiny. But Momma was a curious woman, one who liked to know the end of stories. Out of respect, she would leave Addie alone, for a while, at least. But over time, I was sure, she would give voice to her curiosity.

They would, I knew, be coming to check on me as soon as they could, and so I did my best to make Addie look less like me. I curled her hair on Eva’s bobby pins. That made one small difference—she had short, very curly hair. Mine was long and hung in waves. Aside from her hair, there wasn’t much I could do. I went over her story several times. But my knowledge was limited. All I could tell her was the names of her momma and daddy and where she was from. I hoped no one else knew more than I did and that my father’s half-sister had truly vanished.

I coached her to shake hands with my parents when she first met them and to call them ma’am and sir till they told her not to. They would, I assured her, be like Cole’s family and nothing like Crandall Lay.

So when we heard the truck shut off down the road, we were ready. They came walking up the driveway, just Momma and Daddy. They had left my brother and sisters at home. Daddy had on a good shirt, and Momma had on one of her shopping dresses. Not Sunday stuff, just better than their everyday clothes. Clearly, they had heard about Addie.

She emerged from the chicken coop with the eggs. They hollered a hello to her, and she raised a hand hesitantly. Momma started over to her, reaching out to touch what she thought was my newly shorn hair. She turned to me when I called.

“Good Lord,” she said and shut her mouth on whatever else she had been about to say. We all stood there a minute—Momma and Daddy looking back and forth at me and Addie.

Momma glanced back over her shoulder to Daddy. “No doubt about it, she’s kin.” Then she took the hand Addie offered. By the time we all got inside, I had told them most of Addie’s story, being careful to meet Momma’s gaze once or twice. The discomfort of lying to my parents fluttered through my chest. Then I felt the very faint, now familiar humming of Addie next to me. Momma and Daddy did