Release(38)

Adam knew the answer was supposed to be no, so he only said “yes” in his head.

For a moment, as he scrubbed the dust that had been baked in by a surprisingly hot summer, he wondered how his parents saw him, what he seemed like to them on a day-to-day basis. Up until today, Marty had been such a perfect son – blond, well-behaved, boring, yes, but safely so – what must they have thought when Adam came along? He, too, was blond, and well-behaved for that matter, never in trouble at school, no run-ins with the police, hardly ever even tardy.

“But there’s something different about the boy,” he’d overheard his father say, a few years before even the baptism. He’d been eavesdropping from upstairs, his bedhead hair sticking through the railings, thrilled and a little sick at the risk of being out of bed, listening to his parents’ secret conversations.

“He’s too little to say that about, isn’t he?” his mother had answered. They were sitting in front of the fireplace, his mom with a Christian romance novel, his dad with one, too, a secret vice neither of them would admit. But the way his mom had answered left the question open, not as if she was disagreeing, but as if she was curious at how his dad might convince her.

“He’s … dreamy,” his dad said. “Off in his own little world.”

“You do that. You disappear.”

“You know what I mean, Lydia. His eyes are so smart. Like there’s all these little calculations going on in there that you’ll never know about.”

Adam liked the sound of this.

“Like he’s judging you,” his mother said.

Adam liked the sound of this less, because though he didn’t understand what she meant exactly, her tone clearly suggested it wasn’t anything desirable.

“I don’t say ‘judging’,” his father said. “I wouldn’t say that. He’s obviously bright, and that should be encouraged. It’s more … you watch him at the church and he’s looking at the other little ones and you can see him, wondering.”

“Wondering what?”

“Exactly. Wondering what to do. Wondering how to talk to them. Wondering how soon he can leave and go back to talking to adults.”

“Ooh, yeah, he does do the adult-talking thing. I caught Dawn Strondheim telling him about her divorce.”

“That woman.”

“I know. Though, knowing him, he probably gave her advice.”

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing necessarily. Maybe that’s God’s gift to him. The noticing. The wisdom beyond his years.”

“Are you comparing him to Jesus? Because that’s taking it a little far.”

Adam, who liked being compared to Jesus, wasn’t happy about this part either.

“It just bothers me sometimes,” his father said. “Are we that much of a mystery to him that he needs to spend all that time figuring us out? What goes on in that little head?”

“God in his endless variety, sweetheart. Be a boring life if they weren’t different. Marty is a good, good boy. I wish Adam were a little less of a suck-up, but he’s a good boy, too.”

“I think we’re getting near for done,” his dad said, coming in now, catching him in the same half-dream state they’d been talking about that very night.

“I’ve still got to fill the Jacuzzi up,” Adam said. “Get the water heating.”

“Yeah, but–” his dad looked at his watch, being of an age where he still went there first rather than his phone– “not bad. You did good work today.”

Adam turned on the water. It’d be a good twenty minutes filling, then he’d need to chlorinate and set it heating, but his dad was right: they’d done pretty well.

“Thanks. Plenty of time to get to Angela.”

Big Brian Thorn sat down on the bench they used for those waiting to be baptized. This wasn’t even a proper room, really, just a storage area his dad had turned into the baptismal, complete with benches and doors leading to where the choir robes were kept and where those getting baptized changed into baptismal garments. “You really care for her, don’t you?”

“She’s my best friend,” Adam answered, simply. He’d decided not to tell his dad about Angela leaving yet. That felt like too personal a pain to be shared with someone as far away from him as his father.

“Not too many boys have a girl as a best friend,” his father ventured, but Adam didn’t think it was a poke. Oddly, it actually seemed like his father was genuinely making conversation.

“It’s different now than when you were young,” Adam said. “Fewer divisions.”

“That’s certainly true.” His father leaned back on the bench, crossing his arms, looking down at his feet. “We thought you’d marry her, you know?”

Adam decided to ignore the past tense. “I don’t think I’m her type. Too tall.”

“Oh, people get over bigger things. You’d be surprised.”

“Things like what?”

“Things like … things. It’s amazing what you can do with the Grace of the Lord.”

“Dad–”

“I’m not digging at you.” He was still looking at his shoes. He sighed. “This thing with Martin has … thrown me.”