Sherman appears carrying a tray of drinks in one hand.
“Adam,” says Nana, “please put the magazine away.”
Adam drops the magazine to the floor as Sherman hands him a drink. Adam leans over to me and whispers, “They always give me a Shirley Temple. What do they give you?”
“I get a Shirley Temple too!”
“Yes, that’s the rule, that’s the rule when you’re a kid, I’m not a kid, but who’s counting, how old did you say you are, Hattie?”
I don’t get to answer because Papa has risen to his feet and is standing in the middle of the room, holding his glass aloft. His other hand is in his pocket, and he stands straight and stiff as he says, “I propose a toast. Here’s to … here’s to this wonderful occasion on which we can all be together.”
I wonder why he doesn’t just say, “Here’s to Adam.”
We raise our glasses, then sip from them. And in the next moment I see that Adam has put his whole hand in his glass in order to pull out the cherry that is hiding among the ice cubes.
I just know this is a bad idea.
Sure enough. “Adam!” scolds Nana.
Adam’s hand flies out of the glass, showering me with ginger ale.
Nana starts to stand up, but I say, “It’s all right. I don’t mind.” I look at Adam. “It’s kind of hot in here. That cooled me off.”
Adam’s face, which had crumpled as if he were about to burst into tears, now lights up. “Really?”
“Yes. But don’t do it again,” I whisper, glancing at Nana. Then aloud I say, “I’m going to be twelve on my next birthday.”
“Twelve! Twelve years old, imagine that!”
Ermaline has entered the room noiselessly and is whispering to Nana. When she leaves, Nana and Papa start talking about friends of Mom’s who are in the middle of a scandalous divorce. Mom and Dad keep glancing at Adam, and Nana keeps asking Mom and Dad questions, pulling their attention back to the conversation. I have seen this before. It’s Nana’s highly effective and very annoying way of not mentioning the elephant in the living room. But why does she have to think of Adam as an elephant? Why can’t he just be their son?
I am not interested in the scandalous divorce, which probably isn’t very scandalous anyway. I swish my drink around, cross my feet, uncross them.
I am starting to feel awfully uncomfortable when Adam turns to me and says, “I know when your birthday is, Hattie, yes I do. It’s July, July sixteenth. I remember when you were born. What are you going to do on your birthday, Hattie? Will you have a party? Ethel’s birthday did not go well, not well at all, she and Lucy had a fight.”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I reply. Now I am trying to figure out if I can get to my own cherry without causing a scene. “I don’t really have enough friends for a party.”
“Not enough friends? Oh, Hattie, Hattie, that is not possible, not possible at all.”
“No, it’s true. I only have one friend. Betsy. And she goes away every single summer.” Why am I telling Adam these things?
Adam is gazing at me intently. Hardly any grown-up ever pays this much attention to me, except for my parents and Miss Hagerty. But then, Adam doesn’t seem like a grown-up, exactly. “Well, this summer your birthday must be special, very special indeed. What do you want for your birthday, Hattie, what sort of present?”
I am thinking about this when Sherman reappears and announces that dinner will be served. We all stand up, and the adults file into the dining room. Adam and I lag behind. “Get your cherry, get it now, Hattie, now while there’s still time!” Adam says in a loud whisper.
I do, and then Adam graciously takes me by the elbow and escorts me to my place at the table.
There is dead silence as Ermaline walks around and waits while each of us takes roast beef and green beans and potatoes from the serving dishes. When she leaves I let out a sigh of relief.
We start eating. Adam eats as fast as he talks. I can’t stop looking at him. He is sitting across the table from me, and I watch with fascination as he shovels forkful after forkful of food into his mouth. Mostly, he forgets to close his mouth when he chews.
Nana is watching him too. Eventually she says, “Adam, what did we talk about this afternoon? Slow down, please.”
Adam glares at his mother. In quick succession he shovels in four more mouthfuls of roast beef, never taking his eyes off of her.
“Adam, party manners,” she says quietly.
Adam slams his fist on the table, and every piece of silverware and china jumps. So do I. “Adam, party manners,” says Adam in exactly the tone Nana just used. But I notice that he slows down after that.
Also, he stops talking.
I am disappointed. The adults begin discussing a show that is opening in New York City, Nana and Papa speaking a little too fast.
I keep looking at Adam, hoping he’ll ask me about my birthday again. Or tell me why he thinks I could be a person with a lot of friends.
But Adam’s face has darkened. Later, when dessert is served, Adam picks up his dish of créme caramel with both hands and tries to slurp it down like milk left over from a bowl of cereal.
Papa leaps to his feet. “All right. That does it. Adam —”
Adam doesn’t wait to hear anymore. He pushes his chair back from the table and stomps out of the room, in exactly the same way I had wanted to stomp out of the kitchen the other morning.
That is the last I see of Adam on his first day home.
Our family is really not much for church. That is, my parents and I are not. Nana and Papa are a different story. They go absolutely every Sunday. In nice weather, they walk, which means they walk by our house. So the next morning I am not surprised to see them outside in their church clothes at 9:30. But I am surprised to see them stop, then make their way to our porch. And I am quite happy when I realize that Adam is with them, sort of slouching along behind. I open our screen door. “Hello!” I say.
Adam pushes between Nana and Papa. “Hattie! Hattie! Good morning!” he calls. “Good Sunday morning!”
He is dressed in a pale green short-sleeved, button-down cotton shirt with a bright red bow tie, neatly pressed wool pants, and sneakers with white socks. The white socks are just right for the sneakers, but not at all right for the pants, which I think are part of a winter suit. Last night Adam’s hair, which is nicely wavy, was parted neatly at one side. This morning he has parted it straight down the middle and slicked it flat with Brylcreem.
“Good morning!” I reply.
Mom joins me on the porch. “Well … good morning, everybody,” she says. She notices Adam and raises her eyebrows.
“Dorothy,” says Nana, “church starts in half an hour, and Adam refuses to go with us. Can he stay here this morning?”
Mom looks at her brother.
“Nope, no thanks, I won’t go, no church for me. No church, thank you very much,” says Adam.
“Well, can’t he just stay at home?” asks Mom.
Dad appears on the other side of the screen door. “What’s going on?”
“Let’s go inside,” Mom whispers to Nana and Papa, as if Adam weren’t standing just two feet away from her.
Nana and Papa follow Mom into the house. Adam looks at me. “Where’s Miss Hagerty?” he asks.
“Miss Hagerty? You know her?” I say.
“Yes, oh yes, lovely lady, lovely lady indeed. Does she still live here? Oh, maybe she died, maybe she has passed on, gone over, she must be eighty, maybe ninety, maybe more than ninety.”
“Good Lord in heaven, I have a long way to go before I turn ninety, young man.” Miss Hagerty bustles onto the front porch, clutching her knitting bag.
“Miss Hagerty, Miss Hagerty, oh, ho, ho, ho! You are here! They said you would be, but I had to see with my own eyes.”
Adam gives Miss Hagerty one of his hugs, and they sit down on the porch swing together.
“Do you know Mr. Penny too?” I ask Adam. This is fascinating.
&nb
sp; “Mr. Penny, Mr. Penny, why of course I know Mr. Penny, the White Rabbit, late, always late, checking his watch, repairing his clocks. Late, late, late and hurry, hurry, hurry. Where is he? Frankly Mrs. Ricardo you’ve contracted a terrible terrible attack of the gabloots. Gabloots?! Doctor what kind of a disease is that well we doctors don’t know too much about it but there’s a terrible epidemic of it lately —”
I rush to stop Adam before he gets carried away. “Would you like to see Mr. Penny too? He’s right upstairs. I can go get him.”
“Yes, oh yes, and fine, fine, fine.”
I am wondering if Miss Hagerty is going to be all right alone with Adam, when she looks up from her knitting and says to him, “So tell me everything.”
I intend to run straight upstairs to Mr. Penny’s room. I really do. But I can’t help stopping to listen outside the parlor for a moment.
“Adam is not a baby, Mother,” Mom is saying. “He’s almost twenty-two years old. Can’t he stay at home alone?”
“He’s your own brother, Dorothy,” Papa says. “Is he not welcome here?”
“Of course he’s welcome here. It’s not that. He’s welcome here any time. I just don’t understand why … don’t you think Adam is a bit old to need baby-sitting? He’s a grown man after all.”
“I am aware of his age,” Nana replies. “But it’s too soon to leave him to his own devices. He’s still getting used to everything.”
My mother lets out a sigh.
I hear Papa say, “Church starts in twenty minutes.”
Dad steps in quickly. “It’s fine if he stays here this morning.” I step back from the parlor and run upstairs to Mr. Penny’s room. I knock on his door and tell him who’s downstairs. “He says he wants to see you,” I add.
“Adam Mercer. My stars. I’ll come down as soon as I can.”
” I reach the first floor just as Nana and Papa are about to leave.
“Wait, everybody!” says Dad suddenly. “Let me get the movie camera.”
“Jonathan, we’re going to be late,” says Papa.
My father is already rushing down the hallway, calling that it’s a beautiful day and Nana and Papa are in their nice church clothes.
A few minutes later, Nana, Papa, Adam, Mom, Miss Hagerty, and I are lined up on the porch steps, squinting into the sun. “Wave at the camera!” calls Dad, and we all do, except for Adam who seems to have gone deaf, and just keeps squinting.
Then Nana and Papa rush off.
“We’ll see you in a couple of hours, Adam,” calls Papa.
“Mind your party manners,” adds Nana.
Mom and Dad chat with Adam and Miss Hagerty and me until they have to start getting lunch ready. When they leave, I glance gratefully at Miss Hagerty. I don’t know how I would feel, what Adam and I would talk about, if we were left by ourselves. But Miss Hagerty can talk a blue streak, as she often says. And I am glad.
Miss Hagerty is asking Adam something about I Love Lucy, when Mr. Penny steps onto the porch. Adam leaps to his feet. “There he is! There he is! Mr. Penny, my dear friend, it’s been such a long time. How’s your shop, how are the clocks, how are the cuckoos?”
The corners of Mr. Penny’s eyes crinkle a little, which is as good as a smile. “Well, the shop is closed now, Adam, but the clocks are fine.”
I wonder if Adam doesn’t feel like Rip Van Winkle, greeting these people he hasn’t seen in so many years.
“The shop is closed, closed now, is it? Well, that is something. My, my, my.”
Miss Hagerty and Mr. Penny talk quietly with Adam, and after a few minutes I realize that he isn’t speaking quite as fast as before. Everything about him has slowed down.
Mr. Penny is telling Adam about his grandfather clock and how I wind it so faithfully each week, when Miss Hagerty looks at her watch and struggles to her feet. “Goodness sake!” she says. “Adam, I must leave for church. I’m sorry to cut our visit short.”
Miss Hagerty is one of Millerton’s Presbyterians. Nana and Papa are Episcopalians. (Mom and Dad call them Presbies and Episkies.) The Presbies worship later in the morning than the Episkies do. Mom and Dad say we can worship anytime we please by sending messages to God with our minds, which, also we don’t need a fancy building for.
Miss Hagerty leaves with two other old ladies who pick her up in their brown Chrysler. Mr. Penny drifts back inside. Adam and I are alone on the porch. I realize Adam is staring at me.
“Hattie,” he says at last, looking thoughtful, “I believe you are one of the people who can lift the corners of our universe.”
A slow smile spreads across my face. I feel very flattered, even though I have absolutely no idea what Adam means by that.
“Well, thank you. I —” I start to say.
“Morning, Hattie.” I am interrupted by a sleepy voice on the other side of the screen door.
Angel Valentine is standing there in a pale summer dress, looking lovely and not all the way awake. I have never known a grown-up who sleeps as late as Angel Valentine does on the weekends.
“Hi,” I say. “Angel, this is Adam. He’s my uncle.”
Adam has swiveled around to look at Angel. Now he jumps to his feet. He becomes a blur of motion, wiping his hands on his pants, scraping his shoes on the porch floor, pushing his glasses up his nose, and extending his arm as if to shake Angel’s hand right through the screen.
“Adam, this is Angel Valentine. She just moved here last month,” I say. “She has a job with a bank and one day she’s going to work in a big city like Philadelphia or New York.”
“Hey, hey, oh, hey, oh, all right,” Adam stammers. His face has turned scarlet. “Ho, ho!”
Adam plunges forward to get the door for Angel and pushes it several times before realizing he needs to pull it. Then he swings it open with one hand and tremulously ushers Angel onto the porch with the other.
“Thank you,” says Angel Valentine in her husky voice. “God, it’s hot today.” She ambles to the porch railing and looks toward Grant Avenue. She is barefoot and smells of shampoo and toothpaste.
Adam can’t take his eyes off of her. “You work in a bank, work in a bank, do you?” Suddenly he is at top speed again. “Lucy now look I’m serious I don’t know what’s the matter with you every month every single month your bank account is overdrawn now what is the reason?”
Angel Valentine looks puzzled for a moment, then laughs. “Oh! That’s from I Love Lucy. The one when Lucy and Ethel get jobs in the chocolate factory, isn’t it?”
Adam positively beams. “Yes, oh yes. That’s the one. One of the best, one of the very best.”
Angel yawns. “I guess I missed breakfast, didn’t I, Hattie?”
I love Angel Valentine for not seeming to notice that there is anything unusual about Adam.
I nod. “But when Miss Hagerty gets back from church it will be time for lunch.”
“Okay.” Angel lets herself back into the house. “Nice to meet you, Adam. I’ll see you later.”
“Yeah, I’ll see you later,” Adam echoes. He presses himself to the screen door and watches Angel until she disappears into the upstairs hallway. Then he begins pacing back and forth across the porch. “My, my. Boy, oh boy, oh boy, oh boy. Hey, Hattie, Hattie,” he says without looking in my direction, “when was the last time you were on a train? A train, Hattie. They have sleeping cars, you know, with berths, and quite good food, good food on the trains, Hattie.” Adam is smiling, excited.
I watch him. Adam is something of a train himself, I think, barreling along. He can come to a screeching stop, though, at any moment. I know because I saw it happen last night at dinner.
I am thinking about dinner and Adam and his moods, when I realize Adam is saying, “Oh, ho, ho, ho, Hattie! Are these friends of yours?”
I jerk to attention and look toward the street. There are Nancy and Janet, dressed in fresh skirts and blouses, pocket-books over their arms, probably on their way back from church. They have paused at the end of our walk, arms lin
ked. They gape at Adam.
“Good morning, good morning, and how do you do!” calls Adam.
The girls do not answer. But I think I can see the edges of smiles on their lips. Nancy pokes Janet in her side, and Janet pokes her back.
“Hattie, are these friends of yours, are they? Come on, come visit us, come join us. We could offer you some lemonade, some zesty lemonade, fresh from the country kitchen.”
Nancy and Janet put their hands to their mouths, which does absolutely nothing to hide their giggles. It occurs to me that they must not be getting much out of their churchgoing. They turn and run. I hear their laughter all the way to the corner.
Adam has sagged into a chair. He looks at me. I think maybe he is going to cry. Instead he gives me a small smile and says, “And they went wee, wee, wee, all the way home.”
Ever since the day I found out Adam was coming home I have been busier than usual. Today I finally have time to chat with my friends downtown. I sit beside Mr. Shucard in the Meat Wagon for a while, and he lets me ring up two customers. Mr. Hulit is very busy in the shoe store, so I don’t stay long, but Miss Conroy is having a slow day. “Can I help you with anything?” I ask her, and she gives me a whole box of china animals that need price stickers on their bottoms. When I leave Stuff ’n’ Nonsense I see Jack at his usual corner. I buy a strawberry shortcake ice-cream bar and tell him about my new uncle. “He might be here all summer,” I say, “so you’ll probably get to meet him.” Jack has heard about Adam, of course. There’s not a soul in Millerton who hasn’t heard this piece of gossip.
I set off down the street again. Fred Carmel’s Funtime Carnival signs are everywhere now, advertising cotton candy and bearded ladies and rides and prizes and more, always more, I absolutely cannot wait for Saturday.