The Enchanted Life of Adam Hope - By Rhonda Riley Page 0,55

frayed by the air I leaned into as I listened for her return. I stayed close to the house and hung on every little sound.

Exactly two weeks from the day Addie and Roy left, when I had lost almost all hope, I heard footsteps coming up the drive.

I ran toward the back door, hoping for Addie, but Roy stepped into the kitchen. He stood there alone, expectant, wider and taller than I remembered him.

“Where’s Addie?” I craned my neck, peering past him for Addie.

He said nothing and opened his arms as if I would step into them.

I tried to shove him out of the way to see if she was outside. “Where’s Addie? Is she okay? Did you do something to her?”

He refused to move. “I am Addie.”

“No. Where’s Addie? Tell me!” I screamed in his face.

He held his hands out, calmly offering himself. I stared up at him, at Roy’s brown eyes, at Roy’s face and lips, his neck, shoulders, waist and hips, at his feet planted on the floor.

I backed up into the kitchen. “No. Where is she?” I went cool and hard.

“I am Addie.” He stepped toward me. There was something familiar in how he looked at me, nothing like the swaggering Roy.

“No!” I shook my head. “No!” My voice thin as a whip.

“You said that he was a fine example of a man, one a woman could get healthy children off of. And you want children,” he said.

I stared at him. Addie must have told him what I’d said.

“I did this for you, Evelyn.”

His voice did not fit. It was still Roy’s voice, but the phrasing was different. And it was deeper, more resonant. He stepped closer and reached out as if to catch me. I smelled the familiar chlorophyll odor of Addie as I collapsed onto the chair he held for me.

The room dimmed and turned grainy. I grabbed his arm instead of the hand he offered, and dug my fingers in. “Don’t do this to me,” I snapped. “I want Addie back. I want you to look like . . . like me?” My words faded to a whimper and I sat down.

He touched my face gently. “Evelyn, it will be all right.”

I leapt up. “Who are you? Not my skin, not his skin, but you! I have to know! What are you! Show me what you look like! Let me hear your voice! Yours.”

He gave me a long, intent look that made me step back and sit again.

“Okay,” he said.

He planted his feet. His opened his mouth slightly and sighed. His fingertips spread across his chest. Had Roy ever seen Addie do that? Then a sweet chime rang out from him, followed by a slow deep chime that settled into a steady drone. Then the sweetness segued to raw sound. Pure harmonics. A hard wail. He was aiming at me! Wave followed wave, higher, larger. His pupils dilated. The floor resonated. The arms of the chair hummed. My head filled. Louder and brighter, filling me, pulling me out of myself. Overwhelming. I wanted to cover my ears, my chest, my belly, but I didn’t move. Then something in me rose to meet that sound that was now no longer sound. Beautiful and horrible. Not color, not light, nor odor, taste, or touch, but some distillation of all. Buoying me, holding me, pressing. Beyond him, I sensed other harmonics. And it seemed to me I heard the voices of children—our children, I was sure.

Blindly, I put my hand out and touched his chest, and his voice receded, pulling back into him, rippling into questions as it withdrew. We breathed hard. Outside, a bird called. A train whistled far away. The 10:10. The world continued to turn. Morning light shone in across his shoe and up his leg. His hand at his side was large, a meaty man’s hand. The hair on his arm, dark. His face red from effort. Sweat, beading at his temple, ran down past his ear and onto his throat. His hair a deep brown. His eyes the golden brown of burnished oak.

Keeping his eyes on mine, he took my hand from his chest and cupped it in his hand, then moved it down between his legs.

I felt him growing in my hand, pushing against the fabric of his pants. I closed my eyes as he led me down the hall to the bedroom.

He lay down on the bed and opened his arms. I lay down beside him and pressed my