The Enchanted Life of Adam Hope - By Rhonda Riley Page 0,93

protective arm around a child who huddled against him. Beyond them, a woman bent, hugging her swollen, pregnant belly, stepped between two pews, and retched. A baby sobbed, red-faced, its cries drowned by Adam’s.

Adam reached into the coffin. The instant his hand touched her, a second, harsh wave lashed the room. The floorboards vibrated under my feet.

The coffin trembled.

Sarah peeled my hands from her ears. The girls dashed to Adam, hugging his waist and legs. Immediately, his cry softened, shifting higher in tone. It rose higher still, and then, like a hand lifting from us, vanished. The pain in my chest and head released. The air suddenly vacant, benign.

Gasping coughs filled the church. Dismay rippled through the remaining congregation. A single rush of footsteps, a door shut. Through the open windows, I heard the sound of someone gagging.

Adam’s hands relaxed. He turned to the girls, touching their heads. His shoulders slumped. He stared, sightless, as the girls took his hands and led him from the coffin.

I slipped my arm through his and shepherded the girls ahead of us. Everyone, even Momma and Daddy, stepped back. No one offered condolences. No one touched us as we passed. A baby cried, full-throated. Someone moaned. Fear and anger were palpable. Odors of sweat and vomit leached through the air.

My skin scorched. Sarah reached back and took my hand. Gracie glanced back over her shoulder at me and her father, her chin quivering. I nodded for her to continue. Rosie looked straight ahead and never hesitated. Lil fumbled for her hand. Adam was solid, inert. The eyes of everyone I knew were on us.

I understood, then. This was more than the end of Jennie’s life.

The graveside service was brief and very quiet. Few came with us. I didn’t look at any faces other than my daughters’. Words were said, but I did not hear them. Numbly, we witnessed Jennie’s coffin being lowered into the ground.

At the farm afterward, Mildred and the other churchwomen who’d left the service early to help with the meal, welcomed us somberly. They’d spread the dining table with bowls and trays of food that people had brought by earlier. The chairs had been pulled away from the table so everyone could serve themselves buffet-style. The smell of ham, sweat, and pies filled the room, which felt too quiet.

Adam sat down in a chair against the wall, his face empty, his hands hanging mute in his lap. The girls gathered around him. Gracie and Rosie seemed to be standing guard, on either side of his chair. Gracie with one hand on his back as she gazed blankly at the floor. Rosie’s eyes darted around the room. Lil and Sarah bunched up between his knees. Adam patted Lil’s head and stroked her long curls as he stared out the window. Her slender hands traced the buttons on his shirt. Sarah bumped against Adam’s thigh and stared vacantly at the food-laden table as she sucked her thumb.

I stood stupefied in the middle of the room, paralyzed until Sarah took her thumb out of her mouth and waved to me as if I was far away. When I took the few steps that brought me to her side, she patted my hip and fingered the cloth of my skirt.

Reverend Paul, Momma, Daddy, Joe, Bertie, and Rita stood awkwardly on the far side of the dining room, as if huddled against some contagion, breaking apart only to make way for the bustling churchwomen. One of the women dropped a ladle. Rita startled and gasped, covering her mouth. Her head swiveled in Adam’s direction. Bertie patted her on the back and whispered something to Momma. I understood then that Momma was responsible for all of them being there.

Joe pulled me into the kitchen. “Bud took his momma home. Mary wasn’t feeling up to . . .” he whispered. His eyes shifted to Adam, then back to me.

“It’s okay, Joe. I understand.” I forced my voice to a normal volume. I had no idea what to say or how to hold my face.

Cole trudged into the kitchen from the back porch, holding a huge platter with a whole turkey. His wife, Eloise, close behind with their little daughter, Tina. Their two boys stood patiently, each holding folded metal chairs. Their eldest son, a little younger than Gracie, gave me his normal, self-conscious nod.

Eloise took the turkey platter from Cole and wedged it onto the table. Cole hugged me. “I am so sorry for your loss, Evelyn.” I