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Show -29 Morgan looked at me fondly, her anger forgotten. That sort of loony behavior wins her heart every time; it's the practical men she can't abide. "It's a pity you never met Adam," I told her. "You would have liked him a lot." Rain drummed on the roof; in front of us a farmer in a blue raincoat pulled his tractor to the side to let us pass. "We're almost there now," I said. "Only about fifteen more miles." I was surprised how well I remembered this road after so many years; I could have counted off the turns and dips and little bridges in my sleep, almost called every tree by name--it was familiar as places are familiar in dreams. "Were you and Adam close?" Morgan asked Jacob. "Adam wasn't close to anyone," I said. "He thought he ought to love everybody but if anyone came too near he ran off and hid." Once or twice he nerved himself to stay but then with uncanny precision he chose the wrong person. Like my mother. That's one I couldn't blame on Adam unless poor judgment in choosing somebody to love is a sin. My mother Linda and her Hawaiian convict. What a joke on my dad. Some of the neighbors who'd never liked him were probably still laughing after twenty years. "Did he ever actually talk to you like a father is supposed to?" I asked Jacob. "He lectured a lot, especially about how wonderful the Indians were, but talk? Never." |