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

story.”
    She shook her head. “You’ll see.”
    Megan glanced at Adam’s bag with interest. “Is he spending the night?”
    “Yes.”
    “Great!” She took his bag before he could protest. “You can be my warrior. I was going to ask Dad, but you’ll be better.” She grabbed his hand. “Come on,” she said then led him upstairs and Judy quickly followed.
    His aunt nodded pleased. “She knows it too.”
    “Aunty--.”
    “A Violet child is a child of great wisdom. Sometimes they can uncover the deep desires of your heart, or help you heal from your lingering fears. They can even bring peace if you let them. That’s something this house needs.”
    “This house needs new siding and flooring not another occupant.”
    “Don’t throw this gift away.”
    Jonah sighed. “Our place is crowded enough and you know how Claire is when she wants something.”
    Her tone became firm. “You’re the man of the house.”
    Jonah laughed. “Is there such a thing anymore?”
    “Only if you choose it.”
    She was right. He’d let his wife rule him for years because it had been easier that way. But the child needed a home, a place to stay. He was his nephew. He could give Adam a few days and perhaps Claire would get used to the idea. But there was something strange about the boy. He was too quiet and knowing. He was the same way at dinner as he politely ate with manners Jonah knew he’d developed on his own. His sister would never have taken the time to teach a child such studious etiquette –the way he placed the napkin on his lap and ate his soup without slurping. No lifting up the bowl to get the last drop. He was so mannered and precise that Jonah almost felt like a klutz around him. Yes, he was a strange child indeed.
     
    ***
    “I want him gone by morning,” Claire said that night as they prepared for bed. She lathered moisturizer on her face.
    Jonah watched his wife engage in her nightly ritual and sighed. “Why?”
    “I told you why.” She squirted the lotion into her palm then lathered her arms. “I don’t like him. There’s something wrong with him.”
    “The girls don’t think so.”
    “They’re children.” She lathered her legs.
    “Aunty doesn’t think so.”
    Claire scowled at him. “She’s an old woman.”
    Jonah took a deep breath. He briefly thought of closing his eyes and praying, but decided to just say what needed to be said. “I think we should give him a few days.”
    His wife looked at him with outrage. “What!”
    “Claire, I--”
    “Don’t you care what I think?” She pounded her chest. “How I feel?”
    It was a moment he’d been trying to avoid. Her anger always made him feel small. Guilty. “Yes, honey I do. It’s just—” He heard a knock on the door and said, “Come in,” glad for the reprieve. Adam stepped into the room. “Yes?”
    “Can I get a glass of milk?” he asked.
    Claire shook her head. “No.”
    “Yes,” Jonah countered.
    “He might wet the bed.”
    “He won’t.”
    Claire walked into the bathroom and slammed the door.
    Jonah turned to Adam. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen,” he said then went to the bathroom door ready to knock, but then he stopped and listened. He didn’t hear anything breaking or the sound of her crying so that was a good sign. He would deal with her later.
    He turned and grabbed his robe and left unaware that the bathroom door had opened a crack and the vicious glare of his wife followed him as he walked out the door.
     
    ***
     
     Jonah went downstairs and saw the porch light on. Adam stood in the front yard looking up at the house. Jonah noticed his pajama top was too big, Uncle Dennis must have given him a hand me down. He watched the boy touch the railing then the post, looking up at a window and for a moment Jonah saw the house through new eyes. He didn’t see the ugly siding or that the floors needed a new polish, but the wild wisteria clinging between the railing, the sturdy porch stairs, and the bright