A Home for Adam (A Short Story) by Dara Girard Page A

quickly wiped her eyes, surprised and embarrassed by her outburst. It must be the excitement of having someone else, she thought.
    But the next day was no different or the day after that. Every time she looked into his face she was filled with a remarkable sorrow. At first she thought it was because he looked like her husband or a lost relative, but he didn’t resemble anyone—it was those solemn, brown, ancient eyes. They reminded her of missed chances. She hadn’t been a good wife. She’d focused on herself and couldn’t make up for it now. Her husband had left her a long time ago for another woman who made him feel special and worthwhile. And her children wanted nothing to do with her. She’d been alone for a long time and welcomed her punishment. So after eight months she sent Adam packing to her Uncle Dennis: An older man who lived in a crumbly house and smelled of cigars.
    At first Dennis Petrie was hesitant when he saw the boy. He liked living alone and didn’t need anyone in his space. But the boy didn’t seem bothered by his gruff ways. Adam had an otherworldly calm that strangely enough made Dennis angry. So angry he shattered a vase one day after watching the news and seeing the atrocities on the screen, but the boy beside him remained resolute and hopeful. What right did this child have to be calm in this awful world? A world where he’d fought in two wars and seen friends die and family members whittled away by poverty and disease. How could this child not be angered by his own unfortunate situation? Shouldn’t he be at the age where he was unruly and mean? Wasn’t there a reason his mother didn’t want him? Instead, Adam met Dennis’ rough ways with either a shy smile or a kind word. But each kind act and calm brown gaze filled the older man with anger. So he sent Adam away as well to live with his nephew, Jonah Swedan, in Hampsford, Maryland. It was a town with a large Jamaican community where old world ways sometimes clashed with modern times. Adam arrived in Hampsford taller and older (nearly twelve), but his effect on people remained undiminished.
    Claire frowned. “No, I will not have him here in my house. It’s bad enough we have to look after that aunt of yours, but this…absolutely not. I will not have it.”
    She stormed away and Jonah sighed. She was a hard woman when she made up her mind. He looked at the young boy  standing in the doorway. He couldn’t just send him back. He was family. He folded up the note the boy had given him and stuffed it in his pocket.
    Jonah opened the door wider. “Come inside.”
    The boy shuffled in, but his gaze remained steadfast and Jonah understood his wife’s uneasiness. There was nothing rude or arrogant about his gaze, it was just astute observation.
    “Oh he’s a Violet child!” a voice filled with delight said from down the hall. “What good fortune for us.”
    Jonah looked at his aunt and gave an indulgent smile. Her gray hair was pulled back and her fresh face beamed. She’d helped raise him and in her later years, she knew she would always have a place with him. “Sure he is.”
    She tugged on Jonah’s sleeve. “He has to stay.” She went over to the boy and reached for his bag.
    Adam shook his head.  “No ma’am. I can carry it myself.”
    She gently tapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’re home now.”
    Jonah could tell that the boy didn’t believe her and he couldn’t blame him. He couldn’t stay. For one or two nights maybe, but then he’d have to figure out what to do with him. “Aunty, why don’t you check up on Megan?” he suggested to get her out of the way.
    Before she could reply, footsteps came pounding down the stairs followed by a gasp. He turned and saw his nine-year-old daughter, Megan, and her six-year-old sister, Judy. Megan looked at her great aunt who nodded and said, “Yes, a Violet child.”
    Jonah lost his patience. “Aunty, there’s no such thing as Violet children. That’s just a