Nick looked at him with caution.
“Adam,” said Forbes. “Come here.” He welcomed him over with his stump wrist.
“Adam, why don’t you set those peanuts on the floor. Go on. I’ve got a bright idea. Put the
peanuts down and cluster ‘em together.”
Adam followed his directions.
“You do anything to that boy and I’ll destroy you.”
“Already been destroyed, Nick. Adam, I said it once a long time ago, and I’ll say it
again. Your dreams are gonna come true. Better than you hoped.” He stepped off his stool and
raised his foot. Nick raised his fist. Forbes poured his beer over their little cluster to a shocked
but animated Adam. “They’ll grow, Adam,” he said. “Just plant em.”
As he approached Hollyspring Park, he passed truck after truck parked alongside the shoulder.
Men and their wives walked with their children hand-in-hand between them, carrying blankets
and picnic baskets. The men had large sweat spots underneath their armpits, while women
fanned their ruddy faces. Children lay on their picnic blankets, too limp to play on the swings.
Forbes squinted hard from the glare off the hood of a red ’91 Ford F -150.
Hung from two cottonwoods was a bann er for the focus of the day’s festivity: “HAPPY
BIRTHDAY CHARLES!!! WE LOVE YOU!!!” Forbes wiped his brow and inadvertently
placed his hand on a sideview mirror. Before he had time to pull it away, the metal seared his
flesh. He sucked it to cool it down. Limping into the park he sat on a vacant swing in the shade.
This was the swing. He remembered the sweat spots from his little thighs when he had picked
him up. Now, his own clothes clung to him like soiled skin that he couldn’t rid himself of, and
the stench of himself seared his nostrils.
52
Made with FlippingBook Digital Publishing Software