Adam's Story

by Jack Weyland

  “You have tomatoes from your garden? Isn’t it too early for that?” Brianna asked.

  “Not if you buy them in March with tomatoes already on the vine, and you put ’em in the window!” my grandfather said excitedly.

  “And treat them like royalty,” my grandmother said. “These are not just tomatoes. Oh, no! To Eddie, each one is like a member of the family.”

  “Stay for dinner, Brianna!” my grandfather said. “I’ll put tomatoes in the salad. It will be the highlight of your summer!”

  Brianna already knew what my reaction would be to her staying. “Well, actually, I should be going.”

  “I wouldn’t mind if you stayed,” I said.

  “You see that? Adam’s heart will be broken if you don’t stay!” my grandfather said.

  “Please stay,” my grandmother said. “If you don’t, Eddie will spend the rest of the summer whining that you didn’t get a chance to eat some of his precious tomatoes.”

  Brianna sighed. “Well, all right, if it’s no problem.”

  Because my grandfather insisted on cooking the entire meal by himself outside on the grill, Doneau and I had a lot of time to fumble around at trying to carry on a conversation.

  “So . . . how have you been?” she asked.

  “Good, real good,” I said. “And you?”

  “Everything’s fine.”

  “You told me once you had a guy waiting for you. How’s that going?”

  “Great. He’s just finishing up his law degree. He’ll be taking the bar exam this September.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Thomas Marler.”

  “What do you like about him?”

  “Oh, we have a lot in common. We both love music. And we have really stimulating political discussions.”

  I couldn’t help being sarcastic. “That sounds exciting.”

  I thought that might get me a dirty look. Instead, Doneau looked kind of sad.

  “So, does this guy come and visit you?” I asked.

  “Well, he’s been very busy.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “He’s doing job interviews right now. He’s had several excellent offers already.”

  “So you don’t see each other?”

  “Not right now. We do e-mails though. Every day. Sometimes twice a day.”

  “That’s good then.”

  “Now he just has to make up his mind where he wants to work . . .” She sighed. “ . . . in Michigan.”

  “Michigan?”

  “Yes, that’s right. Probably Northern Michigan. That’s where he’s from.”

  “Doesn’t it get cold in Michigan?”

  “Just in the winter.”

  The conversation died again.

  After a moment of silence, she asked, “Are you still mad at me?”

  “I’m not sure now if I am or not. When I went home I was. I blamed you for ruining the last part of my mission.”

  “There’s something you need to know. When I called President McNamara, I didn’t ask for you to be transferred. I just told him what was happening.”

  “What was happening?”

  She paused. “Nothing, I guess.”

  “That’s right. Nothing was happening.”

  “You knew my first name, and one time you called me ‘dear.’”

  “I was being sarcastic.”

  “I guess I panicked. I’m so sorry if it made it hard for you. That was not my intent.”

  I nodded. “So, are you engaged now?”

  “Not yet. As I said, he’s preparing to take the bar exam. After he gets that out of the way, there’ll be plenty of time for us.”

  “Well, that will be over soon enough, and then things will work out for you.”

  “I hope so, but sometimes I’m not so sure.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Doneau usually made eye contact while talking, but now she looked away. “The thing is, he doesn’t talk much about us getting married or having children. I thought he’d bring it up at least once in a while.”

  “Guys are like that. Don’t worry. He’ll be more relaxed once he’s taken the bar exam.”

  She sighed. “Thanks. I appreciate that. I’ll never understand guys.”

  “Anytime. Oh, by the way, you look good,” I said.

  “Thanks. You, too.”

  “I’m happier now than I’ve been for a long time,” I said.

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  I laughed. “You know, being with you like this, it’s hard for me to remember why I disliked you so much.”

  “It was because of my phone call you didn’t get to see your grandparents’ baptisms. I still feel bad about that, Adam.” She cleared her throat. “Is it okay if I call you by your first name?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “You do the same with me then, okay?”

  “Brianna,” I said, trying it out.

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  She stood up. “Well, maybe we’d better go outside and see if we can help,” she said.

  I followed her through the kitchen into the backyard. My grandfather was just putting the steaks on the grill.

  “Is there anything we can do to help out?” Brianna asked.

  “I’ve pretty much got things under control here,” my grandfather said.

  “If you want, you can make a salad,” my grandmother said. “If you promise to be gentle when you slice the tomatoes. Eddie thinks of them as his children.” She started laughing.

  “We’ll do our best,” Brianna said as we headed back inside the house.

  “Use whatever salad fixings you can find in the refrigerator,” my grandmother called out after us.

  “You’re in charge,” I said. “Just tell me what to do.”

  She broke into a silly grin. “If you only knew how much I used to hope you’d say that to me.” She opened the refrigerator and began setting lettuce, radishes, green peppers, and baby carrots on the counter. “We really didn’t get along very well, did we?”

  “No, not at all, right from the beginning.”

  “Will you do the radishes and green peppers?” she asked.

  We worked side by side for a few minutes without saying much.

  “What do you do after work?” I asked.

  “Why do you want to know? Are you asking me out?”

  “No, not at all. My motto is never get between two hotshot lawyers who could bring legal action against you. I’m just curious, that’s all.”

  “Well, I send an e-mail to Thomas every night. And then there’s always work left over from the day. Let’s see, what else do I do?” After a long pause, she said, “Oh, well, one thing, I’m taking singing lessons.”

  “Really? What kind of music do you like to sing?”

  “Country western,” she said with a straight face, and then started laughing. “No, just kidding. It’s classical. I have a terrific teacher. She’s worked with Metropolitan Opera singers, so she’s very good. I’m lucky she agreed to take me on.”

  “So, are you a good singer?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe . . . I’m good enough to sing in church anyway. I’m singing in my ward in a couple of weeks, if I can find an accompanist, that is. The music is very difficult. It’s from Handel’s Messiah.”

  The truth is that, because my second mom had insisted I take piano lessons when I was growing up, I realized I might be able to play for Brianna. I just wasn’t sure I wanted to. Even though we were getting along well, I still had some resentment toward her.

  All this time she had been washing the three kinds of lettuce we would be having in our salad, and having done that, she brought everything over to me. I thought it strange that in this big kitchen she would choose to work so close to me.

  I think we were both aware of standing next to each other, although, of course, we didn’t say anything.

  When she leaned over to see how I was doing, she put one hand on my back. “You’re do
ing a very good job.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I believe, based on your performance so far, that I might be able to trust you with the tomatoes.”

  “Oh, what a thrill! My life is complete now.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up yet. I haven’t come to any kind of final decision.”

  She leaned forward and turned her face toward mine, so we were looking directly at each other. “These are not just ordinary tomatoes, my boy.”

  “I know that. They are special.”

  “And they must be handled with great care and respect.”

  “I am up to the task.”

  “Well, all right, just don’t drop them.”

  She walked ceremoniously to the counter where the tomatoes lay, picked up three, then pivoted, and tossed all three of them at me at once.

  I managed to catch two, but dropped one on the floor.

  She ran over to where the tomato lay on the floor, and got down on her knees to examine it. She tugged on my hand. “You get down here and look at what you’ve done.”

  We ended up on our hands and knees opposite each other, heads nearly touching as we looked at the tomato. It had split open on contact with the floor.

  “How could you have been so careless?” she asked.

  “You’re blaming this on me?”

  She made a silly expression. “Of course I am.”

  From the grill, we could hear my grandfather. “I forgot the Tabasco sauce.”

  “You don’t need Tabasco sauce.”

  “Some people like Tabasco sauce on their steaks. I’ll get some, just in case.”

  “He’s coming!” Brianna cried out.

  I grabbed the tomato from the floor and buried it in the pile of lettuce on the counter. Brianna started giggling.

  “Shush,” I demanded sternly before I also started to laugh.

  By the time my grandfather opened the door and stepped inside, Brianna and I were busily working on the salad.

  “How are you guys doing in here?” he asked.

  “Good,” I said quickly.

  “Great. We’ll be ready to eat in just a few minutes.”

  “Good,” I said.

  “Yes, good,” Brianna said, and then started giggling.

  “Do either of you want any Tabasco sauce with your steak?” my grandfather asked.

  “Brianna does,” I said quickly. “She likes things hot.”

  She looked at me like I was crazy.

  “I’ll get some then.”

  As he turned his back to us and opened a cupboard to look for the Tabasco sauce, Brianna moved the pile of lettuce to the side, leaving the damaged tomato visible for my grandfather to see if he were to turn around.

  “Let’s see, it’s in here somewhere,” he said, rummaging through the bottles on the shelf.

  I pushed her away and covered up the tomato.

  She slipped in, grabbed the tomato and dropped it on the floor. I picked it up and put it in a bowl.

  My grandfather found the Tabasco sauce and then went back outside.

  “What do you have to say for yourself?” I asked.

  In her best Primary teacher voice, she said, “Adam, I really think you need to be honest and admit how you carelessly dropped the tomato on the floor.”

  “And you take no part of the blame in the tomato incident?”

  “None whatsoever.”

  “I see.”

  I picked up the damaged tomato, rinsed it off under the tap, and began cutting so it could go in the salad. She, thinking the fun and games were over, went back to her work.

  I cut up the two-thirds of the tomato that hadn’t been damaged in falling to the floor. The remaining third I sliced into two parts.

  “We need to destroy the evidence. Open your mouth.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  I showed her the part she had to eat. “It’s just this much. Open your mouth.”

  She opened her mouth, and I stuffed the entire piece in her mouth. She started giggling, grabbed the remaining damaged piece, and, after swallowing what was in her mouth, said to me, “Open your mouth.”

  I opened my mouth. She stuffed my share of the tomato into my mouth, then ceremoniously threw in some baby carrots and a radish. “You can close your mouth now and commence chewing.”

  I put one hand on the top of my head and the other on my jaw and pretended to try to shut my mouth. “I caan’t doah dat.”

  She started laughing. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

  We were both laughing, and then we turned to look at each other. Against our better judgment we kept looking long after we’d quit laughing.

  “You look good too,” she said. “Much better than I remember.”

  “I spend a lot of time outdoors, helping my grandfather.”

  “That must be it.”

  We ate at the patio table with the grill just a few feet away. “If your steak isn’t done enough, just let me know, and I’ll put it back on the grill,” said Grandfather.

  “Mine’s fine,” my grandmother said. “I’m sure the others’ are too. Sit down, Eddie.”

  “Is yours done enough, Brianna?” my grandfather asked.

  “It’s great. Just the way I like it.”

  “What about you, Adam?”

  “Mine’s good too.”

  “Because I can put it back on the grill if it’s not exactly the way you want it,” he added.

  “It’s great, really.”

  “Eddie, I swear, you’re driving us all crazy!” my grandmother said. “Just sit down and eat.”

  “Oh, Brianna, here’s the Tabasco sauce,” my grandfather said.

  “Yes, help yourself,” I teased. “We all know how much you like it.”

  “You know what? This is such a good steak it doesn’t need anything on it.”

  “Some people like steak sauce,” my grandfather said, “but others don’t. I’ve got A-1. I’ve got Heinz 57. I’ve also got Worcestershire sauce. Also, if you want, I’ve got ketchup.”

  “Eddie, I swear, this is the last time I’m letting you cook if you don’t be quiet about the steaks,” my grandmother said.

  “My lips are sealed. You won’t hear me say the word steak again this evening. Sister Doneau, how does your baked potato go with the dark brown broiled meat sitting next to it?”

  Brianna burst out laughing. I very much liked that side of her.

  At one point during the meal, we exchanged glances. She still had those amazing blue eyes. After a few seconds, we caught ourselves and turned away.

  When we were nearly done eating, my grandmother said, “Guess what we’re having for dessert.”

  “Cannoli?” Brianna asked.

  “That’s right. All you can eat.”

  “Wow. I’m so glad I dropped by.”

  “We’re glad you did too. Aren’t we, Adam?” my grandmother asked.

  “Yeah, actually, I am.”

  After we finished eating, Brianna and I helped clean up. I told her I was staying in the same room my mom had been in when she was growing up. “I’ve been going through some of her things. You want to see what I’ve found?”

  “I’d love to.”

  I went up to my room with a couple of empty boxes from the garage and grabbed everything that belonged to my mom and then hauled it all downstairs to the kitchen. Brianna and I sat at the kitchen table and started going through it. I’d also brought some paintings my mom had done when she was my age.

  “She was beautiful, wasn’t she?” Brianna said, looking at a photo.

  “Yeah, she was.”

  “What’s it like for you to be staying in her room?” Brianna asked.

  “It’s hard to explain. Sometimes it’s almost like she’s here.”

  “And what’s that like?”

  “Very peaceful.”

  “She must be proud of the way you’ve turned out.”

  “I hope so.”

  Brianna pulled a Monopoly game fr
om one of the boxes. “I haven’t played this since I was a little kid.”

  “You want to play?”

  “Sure, let’s go see if we can talk your grandparents into playing too.”

  We played on the kitchen table. The four of us started out eager and hopeful, but, by ten-thirty, my grandfather was bankrupt and my grandmother was dozing. They excused themselves.

  By midnight I was broke, trying to make it around one time so I could collect two hundred dollars. Unfortunately, I landed on one of Brianna’s holdings—Boardwalk. “Uh . . . I’ll need a loan,” I said.

  “No, what you need is a miracle. Let’s call a truce, okay?”

  “All you have to do is ask me to pay what I owe, and you win.”

  “I don’t want to win this game.”

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  “I’m hoping to get a friend out of this.”

  “Oh, and clobbering me at Monopoly is the way to do that?”

  “Something like that. Can we quit now and maybe talk?”

  “Sure.”

  We carefully put everything in the box, treating the pieces and cards with more respect than we normally would because they had belonged to my mom.

  “Is it okay if I explain why I was such a control freak on my mission?” she asked.

  “You were fine. Really.”

  “Still, I’d like you to know.”

  “All right.”

  “I grew up in Denver, Colorado. When I was a freshman in high school, my dad left my mom and me for another woman.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head. “He took everything. He cleared out the checking and savings accounts, took our only car, and all the money we’d set aside for rent.”

  She lowered her gaze. “My mom was devastated. She had no skills, no education. She got one job working in fast food and a second job in a grocery store. We had to move to a cheaper apartment. We had nothing. It didn’t seem fair that he could do that. My mom tried to collect child support, but the legal system seemed powerless to help us . . . because we had no money to pay for a lawyer.”

  “Is that when you decided to become a lawyer?”

  She nodded her head. “I wanted to be an advocate for those who had no voice. It’s what I still want. But first I need to pay off my student loans, and then I’ll start my own practice and go after the bad guys.”

  For the next few minutes she told me how she had dedicated her life to getting good grades so she’d be eligible for scholarships, and how hard she’d worked to get through school as fast as she could.