Southern Fried Sushi (21 page)

“Yeah. Faye said something like that.” I picked at my cat-patterned Japanese house slippers. “It figures. Life’s just rotten for everybody.”

“The Bible says the rain fawls on the just and the unjust,” stated Tim, crossing his cowboy boots and reaching for some more garlic-butter sauce. “But when ya think about it, we’s all unjust.” He winked at Becky. “‘Specially that’n.”

She tickled his side, and he squawked.

I must have still looked brooding because Adam eyed me. “You really think there’s nothing good in life?”

“No, but … why believe in God if it doesn’t do you any good?”

“I didn’t say it doesn’t do any good. But all our problems don’t magically disappear. Jesus suffered, and so do we. We go through it with Him. Together. We’re not alone anymore. We’re invited up into an adventure … a mystery … a relationship that changes our lives and makes us better people.”

I raised my eyebrow at Adam’s sudden eloquence over an empty pizza box.

“It’s like a romance,” said Tim, putting his arm around Becky’s shoulders. I couldn’t tell if he was joking or serious.

Together. A relationship. A romance. I hugged my knees, wishing it were true, because I longed for it like nothing else in the world. Someone waiting for me like Hachiko, straining to see my face from afar.

But like everyone else, He’d forgotten me, too. My heart feltbitter and empty, the way it had on the long drive from Richmond to Staunton, staring out at the mountains and listening to Bible Today.

Tim drained his Dr. Pepper and ruffled Becky’s hair. “Reckon we gotta skedaddle, rug rat.”

My eyes bugged out. “Sorry? Can you translate?”

“He means we’ve got to go,” said Adam, cracking his occasional smile. “Skedaddle. Scram. Get out of here.”

“How do I use it in a sentence? Is it a verb?” I’m writing that down the minute he leaves!

Adam and Tim exchanged serious glances. “A verb. Definitely.”

I smiled, surveying the littered—but cleaned and vacuumed—living room. “And thanks so much for today. You can’t ever imagine what your help means to me.”

Becky hugged me. “Shucks! Ain’t nothin’! Least we could do. I’ll call ya t’morrow to check on ya.”

Tim looked around blankly. “I don’t know ‘bout y’all, but I came for the pizza. Was there … somethin’ else?”

I grinned, thinking of him vacuuming the living room and watering my front lawn, after he’d worked overtime at the accounting office.

“Be safe.” Adam double-checked my door locks. “We’ll call you.”

And one by one red taillights glimmered down the driveway. Into the streetlights lining dark Crawford Drive. And disappeared into the country night.

I stood at the door a long time, porch light shining and door open, watching the swallows dart in and out of the front-porch eaves. Dark streets and dark houses were illuminated by yellow windows into the distance.

The mountain loomed shadowy under the stars, and the yard slept in dewy coolness, moist, heavy with the scent of grass. Breathtakingly quiet. I could hear the gentle thump of the dryer in the laundry room as it finished the last load. Down the street

wafted a distant strain of country music.

I slowly eased the screen door closed, clicking the lock. Closed the front door tightly and locked it.

The house felt immense. My whole Tokyo apartment could fit in the kitchen.

Tokyo. Shiodome. My toilet sink and mini balcony. I should be in Chicago now, boarding a flight for Narita Airport.

Pain swelled into choking acid before I could stop it, and for an instant I hated Mom’s dumb house. I hated myself.

And the one thing I hated most of all was redneck Staunton, Virginia.

I was still leaning against the closed door, head in my hands, when the house phone startled me with its unfamiliar ring.

“Hey, Shiloh. It’s Adam.”

“Oh, hi, Adam.” I wound the cord around my hand, relieved to cut the silence. “I should give you my cell number because Mom’s landline hasn’t been paid. It’ll probably cut off any time.”

He paused. “Um … I don’t think that’ll work, unless we all call internationally. You’ve got a Japanese number.”

I smacked my forehead, still sore at the memory of Japan.

“You might be able to buy a chip or something, but I’m not sure.”

“The phone’s Japanese, too,” I reminded him. “The right chip might be hard to find here.” I didn’t want to hang up. Even a little conversation made the empty house seem brighter.

“Listen, I’m sorry to bother you, but I forgot some tools out back. I need them for a job in the morning.”

“You work on Saturdays?”

“Duty calls. That’s running a small business.”

“Sorry.”

“Nah. I’m used to it. Would you mind if I came back and picked them up? I’m just down the road.”

“Of course not.”

“Thanks. I’ll be there in a second.”

I clicked off the phone, grateful at the thought of a visitor in the too-still house.

Within minutes headlights beamed on the living room curtains, and I opened the front door. Moths swirled around the porch light. Mama Bird peeped at me suspiciously, reflections glinting on her tiny eyes.

“Sorry,” said Adam, coming into the warm glow. He stood almost a head taller than me. “I forgot my wallet, too.”

“That’s right. You paid for the pizza, and thanks again. Come on in.” I held the door open for him.

To my surprise, he balked. “I’m sorry. I … uh … can you just get it for me? It’s on the table.”

I stared at him. “Sure. But … why?”

Color rose in Adam’s cheeks, and he shifted his weight uncomfortably. “Well, it’s just … you’re single, and I’m … you know. It wouldn’t be a good idea.”

My jaw fell open. “To get your wallet?”

“Uh … yeah. Sorry. If it’s a problem I can come back another time.” He scratched his head nervously.

Jerusalem Chapel. Becky’s sedan. I narrowed my eyes at him. “Is that why you sent Becky to meet me when my car ran out of gas?”

“Sort of. But for your sake as well.”

“My sake?” Anger burned, although I had no idea why. If Adam wanted to stay on my front porch all night long, I could care less.

“You think a single woman would feel comfortable having some strange guy she just met come find her in the middle of nowhere?” His eyes bored into me. “Ever think of that?”

Actually, I hadn’t. I’d become so accustomed to working with men in super-safe Japan, even having my boyfriend live with another woman, that such a thing never occurred to me. Then again, Mia’s pajamas definitely had an effect on Carlos. I let the screen door bang shut and went looking for Adam’s wallet.

He had paid for dinner. I could at least be civil.

“Here.” I stood partially on the porch. “Does it bother you if I stand here?” My nerves were shot, and I couldn’t resist sarcasm.

“No. It’s fine, Shiloh. Don’t get the wrong idea. I just want to be careful how I live. For you as well.”

“Really.” I said it as a statement. A moth flew in through the crack in the door and began to circle the living-room light. I shut the screen door behind me.

Adam ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “Look, maybe it doesn’t mean anything to you, but it does to me. You obviously have no idea what a small town is like. Do you want your neighbors thinking you’ve just shacked up with some guy the first night you move in? Is that the kind of reception you want?”

“Who cares what they think?” I waved a bug away in annoyance.

“Well, I care. About your reputation and about mine. I intend to practice what I preach, even if it’s weird. To you or anyone else. I’m sorry, Shiloh. I certainly don’t mean to offend you. But this is who I am.”

I sniffed then leaned against the pillar and looked out at the black night. “I’m not offended.” Bunch of stiffs! Religious freaks! Bible Belt! Kyoko warned me about this!

A long silence billowed between us, and I sensed Adam shifting uncomfortably again. “Maybe not. But you seem to be.”

Finally I plopped down on the porch and put my chin in my hands. Adam hesitated then awkwardly sat down next to me. Keeping (I noticed) a safe distance between us. The fragrance of dew and grass swelled up, fresh and sweet like after a rain.

“Sorry.” I sighed. “But I’m not the Big Bad Wolf.”

“Well, neither am I,” said Adam a little more gently. “But what if I was? You should be more careful, Shiloh. The world can be an ugly place.”

I rolled my eyes but said nothing, resting my chin on my

knees. “Yeah. I guess I’ve gotten used to it.”

“I can’t say I blame you. But … well, I do what I can. Most of the world probably thinks I’m weird, but this is the way I want to live.”

Crickets hummed in gentle waves, pulsating through the dark trees and faraway hills. An enchanting sound, almost hypnotic.

“I envy you,” I finally said softly. “I don’t know how I want to live anymore.”

“Of course not. Your life has been turned on its head, and it’ll take time to sort things out.”

“Time. Yeah, maybe.” I played with a blade of grass by my foot, feeling bitter. “But I wonder if time will really fix things. I’ve made a big mess of my life, and sometimes there’s no going back.”

“There might not be any going back, but there’s always going forward. Don’t forget that. We’ve all made mistakes.”

“You’ve never been fired, have you?” I snapped back, a little more harshly than I intended.

“No.”

“Well, have you ever lost a girlfriend then? If that’s not too personal?”

“Yes, I have.”

I didn’t know what to say. I’d expected him to say no, saintly soul he appeared to be.

“I’ve gone through a lot of things. We all have. Tim, Becky, Faye, everyone. That’s life.”

I snorted. “Everybody keeps saying how they’ve suffered, but you all are still smiling! If it was bad enough, you wouldn’t.”

Adam shook his head. “No, Shiloh. I don’t think that’s true. We have plenty of reasons to smile every single day. The sun, food, friends, the seasons, the earth … and most of all, Jesus. God gives us far more than we deserve.”

Missionary!
I fumed, running my fingers through the moist grass. “I don’t think so.”

He pressed his lips together. “I’m sorry to hear it. But that doesn’t change the fact that Jesus loves you and died for you.”

He said it so simply, so honestly, I didn’t even have time to retort. I wished I could believe in something with all my heart, the way I did with Faye over coffee. But I couldn’t.

“If He does, He sure has a funny way of showing it.”

Adam leaned back on his hands. “It might seem like it sometimes, I guess. But I never thought of it that way. Even in our hardest times, we know He’s there, working everything out for our good.”

“I know about your brother,” I blurted a little too abruptly. “Becky told me. I’m sorry he lost his legs.”

Adam blinked, obviously stunned. “Uh … thanks. But I wasn’t talking about Rick. I was talking about Becky.”

I jerked my head up. “Becky? Why? She has a perfect life! A husband and mother-in-law who love her, good friends, living in the same place she grew up. Soon she’ll have a houseful of kids and everything she ever wanted,” I grumbled, stabbed with unexpected jealousy.

Jealousy toward Becky Donaldson—who still curled her bangs with a curling iron. I was pathetic.

Adam’s eyes were luminous. “Becky can’t have kids,” he said hoarsely.

I
must’ve heard wrong. “Sorry? What?”

“Becky has some … problem. She can’t have kids, and nobody really knows why. They’ve been trying for four years, and she’s tried in vitro for free, mainly because a rich doctor felt sorry for her. She told Becky if it didn’t ‘take’ the third time, she’d have to give up. But Becky keeps believing for a miracle.”

My mouth fell open. “Has she done it the third time?”

“Yes.” He swallowed hard. “All her tests and readings are showing up the same, regardless of all the shots and things.” Adam ran his hand through his hair sadly and looked away. “They signed up for adoption years ago, but it hasn’t worked out yet either.”

I dropped the piece of grass in my hand, flabbergasted. Thought of Becky bounding down the stairs at her little brick house, flashing her bright, naive smile. How she talked about children in the parking lot of Jerusalem Chapel. She’d even tried to convince me to have kids, for goodness’ sake! And tomorrow she’d feed Cheerios to other people’s kids while they enjoyed the couples’ service.

I hung my head. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

“Don’t tell her I told you. I think it’s best if she tells you herself. But I wanted you to know.”

I nodded, resentment washing over me. Everything in Staunton was wrong—death, dying, problems. Even Becky, the friendliest girl I’d met, lived her own sad nightmare, and I couldn’t do a thing about it. I was stuck in the spiderweb with them.

“I hate this town,” I finally whispered, kicking the lawn.

Adam looked up. “What? Why?”

“I’ve seen nothing but trouble in Staunton. Everybody’s sick or dying or struggling with something. It’s not normal! They must have done nuclear testing here in the ‘50s or something.” Anger pumped through my veins, and I threw the handful of grass I’d picked out into the yard.

“What are you talking about? You’ve only been here a few days.”

“Five. Enough to recognize a giant redneck pit when I see one. Before the day’s over I’ll probably sprout buckteeth and a gut, and tomorrow I’ll be dead of high cholesterol from that hominy stuff!”

Dead
. I actually said the word, sitting on Mom’s front porch. I rolled my forehead in my hand.

Adam obviously missed my gaffe. He laughed out loud, which only made me madder. “Hominy doesn’t have cholesterol, Shiloh. It’s corn.”

“Yeah, soaked in lye! Try soaking our pizza in lye and see what happens! Maybe that’s why everybody’s so weird and backward. Bible thumpers and racists!” I waved my arms. “I’m going crazy here surrounded by weirdos! Nobody has any brains!”

A too-long silence. “You think everybody around here is weird and backward?”

“Are you kidding? People don’t even know how to conjugate proper verbs, Adam! They watch cars go in circles for hours! If anybody actually made sushi in Staunton, they’d use squirrels or—what did you call them … starlings?—shot out of their front