Read Online The Enchanted Life of Adam Hope by Rhonda Riley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rhonda Riley
Tags: General Fiction
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believe me? Eventually, I slept, dreaming the same dreams as the night before—disturbing, beautiful dreams of touch and taste.
For two more days I explained the farm and its various chores to the strange man who shadowed me, ever more agile and confident, recalling nothing of who he was or where he came from. The rain abated for hours at a time, then swept through with renewed fury.
Sunday morning arrived. I got up in the darkness, stoked the stove, set the coffee on it, and then went back to bed. On Sundays, I allowed myself the luxury of snuggling warm in bed for the time it took the kitchen to warm up and the coffee to begin percolating. Aunt Eva would have considered it a sinful self-indulgence not to begin the chores immediately upon waking, which I did every other morning. But I was queen of the farm now, and the animals were no worse for the half-hour Sunday delay, and the Lord, I was certain, had better things to judge.
I returned to the bedroom with the lantern, and, as I slipped back between the covers and settled on the pillow, he turned, his face inches from mine. His eyes were green now, flecked with gold. Like Momma’s eyes and Eva’s, the eyes I’d looked into all my life. We lay there for a long time, absorbing each other. No one had ever regarded me like that, not even Cole when he lay with me. We touched each other’s faces—lips, eyelids, cheeks. A single reverberation of thunder broke our reverie. The rain began its pounding anew. We got out of bed.
I heard a voice call my name as if from far away. I turned him to face me, to see if this was one more strange thing he could do.
His shirt had come unbuttoned in the night, and I saw them—breasts. Not the fatty chest muscles of a boy, but a woman’s small, fully formed breasts. I stepped back, alarmed.
“I have to see!” With my hands shaking, I fumbled the lantern and pulled him toward the light.
I opened his shirt. His nipples puckered in the cold. “You’re a girl!”
He peered down at his breasts, too. “I’m like you.” He smiled, as if his breasts were gifts for me. Behind his voice was another, fainter, more familiar call: “Evelyn!” He had breasts, and he called my name without opening his mouth. Blood banged in my chest and ears.
I pulled the long johns away from his stomach. He was a woman for sure: small breasts, curve of hips, and nothing at all coming out from the patch of light red pubic hair.
Blood rose to my face, a flush of embarrassment, not for his nakedness but for my own. I was in deep waters, drowning in innocence, betrayed in some new way I had no name for.
“Don’t,” he said softly. “It’s okay.” He wiped a tear from my chin, and I realized that I still held his pants open, still stared down.
Again, I heard my name as I turned to the mirror on the wardrobe. Just for a second, I saw the two of us, facing the mirror, identical. He had my face. I took a deep breath. My diaphragm locked. Then he turned from me, toward the voice that I suddenly understood was coming from outdoors. My name again, small under the pelting rain, “Evelyn! Help, Evelyn!”
It took great effort to breathe, to pull myself away from him, from the reflection of us in the mirror. A voice outside called and the stranger was a woman now and looked just like me. Anything was possible. Anything, anyone could have been outside calling my name. I had to go and be ready. I wanted, suddenly, to get away from him. I stopped only to put my boots and coat on, and I ran to the voice that continued to call to me.
Sharp, icy rain slashed at me. I clenched my jaw and willed myself not to shiver. Cold was easier to take than what I had just seen. Rain pecked my face, so I could barely see. There was no ground, not a surface to step on, just an expanse of moving, shallow, clay-red water. I waded toward my name. “Help! Evelyn!” It was Cole’s voice.
I staggered down the driveway until the ground dropped away suddenly. Cole sprawled on
For two more days I explained the farm and its various chores to the strange man who shadowed me, ever more agile and confident, recalling nothing of who he was or where he came from. The rain abated for hours at a time, then swept through with renewed fury.
Sunday morning arrived. I got up in the darkness, stoked the stove, set the coffee on it, and then went back to bed. On Sundays, I allowed myself the luxury of snuggling warm in bed for the time it took the kitchen to warm up and the coffee to begin percolating. Aunt Eva would have considered it a sinful self-indulgence not to begin the chores immediately upon waking, which I did every other morning. But I was queen of the farm now, and the animals were no worse for the half-hour Sunday delay, and the Lord, I was certain, had better things to judge.
I returned to the bedroom with the lantern, and, as I slipped back between the covers and settled on the pillow, he turned, his face inches from mine. His eyes were green now, flecked with gold. Like Momma’s eyes and Eva’s, the eyes I’d looked into all my life. We lay there for a long time, absorbing each other. No one had ever regarded me like that, not even Cole when he lay with me. We touched each other’s faces—lips, eyelids, cheeks. A single reverberation of thunder broke our reverie. The rain began its pounding anew. We got out of bed.
I heard a voice call my name as if from far away. I turned him to face me, to see if this was one more strange thing he could do.
His shirt had come unbuttoned in the night, and I saw them—breasts. Not the fatty chest muscles of a boy, but a woman’s small, fully formed breasts. I stepped back, alarmed.
“I have to see!” With my hands shaking, I fumbled the lantern and pulled him toward the light.
I opened his shirt. His nipples puckered in the cold. “You’re a girl!”
He peered down at his breasts, too. “I’m like you.” He smiled, as if his breasts were gifts for me. Behind his voice was another, fainter, more familiar call: “Evelyn!” He had breasts, and he called my name without opening his mouth. Blood banged in my chest and ears.
I pulled the long johns away from his stomach. He was a woman for sure: small breasts, curve of hips, and nothing at all coming out from the patch of light red pubic hair.
Blood rose to my face, a flush of embarrassment, not for his nakedness but for my own. I was in deep waters, drowning in innocence, betrayed in some new way I had no name for.
“Don’t,” he said softly. “It’s okay.” He wiped a tear from my chin, and I realized that I still held his pants open, still stared down.
Again, I heard my name as I turned to the mirror on the wardrobe. Just for a second, I saw the two of us, facing the mirror, identical. He had my face. I took a deep breath. My diaphragm locked. Then he turned from me, toward the voice that I suddenly understood was coming from outdoors. My name again, small under the pelting rain, “Evelyn! Help, Evelyn!”
It took great effort to breathe, to pull myself away from him, from the reflection of us in the mirror. A voice outside called and the stranger was a woman now and looked just like me. Anything was possible. Anything, anyone could have been outside calling my name. I had to go and be ready. I wanted, suddenly, to get away from him. I stopped only to put my boots and coat on, and I ran to the voice that continued to call to me.
Sharp, icy rain slashed at me. I clenched my jaw and willed myself not to shiver. Cold was easier to take than what I had just seen. Rain pecked my face, so I could barely see. There was no ground, not a surface to step on, just an expanse of moving, shallow, clay-red water. I waded toward my name. “Help! Evelyn!” It was Cole’s voice.
I staggered down the driveway until the ground dropped away suddenly. Cole sprawled on
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