Chapter 2
“Look at my baby.”
Adam stepped into the kitchen of his childhood home with the same bright smile his mother’s enthusiastic greeting always drew from him.
One footstep in and the smell of country sausage and buttery grits made him moan in anticipation.
Not just because it smelled divine, it most certainly did.
But because every morning of his formative years and adolescence, he’d awakened to his mother preparing this same meal.
Her ritual of starting him off for a good day with a full belly and an even fuller heart.
“Morning, Mama.”
He quickly shut the door and closed the short distance between them, planting a quick kiss on her soft, brown cheek.
“The food smells amazing. You need any help?”
She leaned into his kiss, patting him on his arm as she continued to stir the pot in front of her.
“No, baby,” her smooth, soothing voice warmed him as well as the hot food she was preparing would. “You g’on and wash your hands while I plate up this food.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He made a quick dash to the mudroom sink then returned to a steaming bowl of grits and a small dish of sausages waiting for him.
He bowed his head, quickly saying grace as his mother expected him to do. He wasn’t terribly religious, but his mother was, and showing her deference in her kitchen was a small price to pay for the savory dish she’d placed in front of him.
Never one to lack appreciation for a good meal, Adam tucked into the food, his leg bouncing underneath the table as he softly hummed while he ate.
“Mama,” he called after he swallowed a few bites. “Food’s great as always.”
“I know, baby.” She walked over to him, with another bowl of grits in one hand while patting him on the shoulder with the other. “I made it.”
He chuckled at her reply. It was the same answer she’d given him every time he’d complimented her cooking. Some might see it as hubris, but anyone who’d sat at Dorothy-Mae Henderson’s table knew she was only telling the truth.
He half chewed, half smiled while he watched her place the bowl at the head of the table, and instantly his back stiffened.
He had hoped it would just be the two of them as it had been so many of his school-day mornings during his childhood.
If she was creating a place setting in that particular spot, no one, absolutely no one sat there but his father, Grady Henderson.
“Look what the cat dragged in to eat up all my food.”
His father’s raspy voice drew Adam’s attention to the doorway connecting the kitchen and living room. As if the thought of his name had conjured him up, Adam’s father opened the swing door, using his walker to maneuver himself into the kitchen and to his favorite seat.
Tall, muscular, and broad, the mold from which Adam received his own build, Grady Henderson made a striking picture with his salt-and-pepper cropped curls and neatly trimmed mustache before his accident at work that had nearly taken his ability to walk unassisted.
He was a freight truck driver until four months ago when he’d had a bad wreck that had left him with a comminuted fracture of his right tibia, requiring internal screws to put his leg back together.
That accident had taken away Grady’s independence, which meant anyone who’d tried to help him, including Adam’s mother, had been pushed away.
That was how Adam had landed back in Monroe Hills. His father’s accident made him realize that his parents needed him and no matter how uncomfortable returning home was, Adam had to do what was right.
His parents had sacrificed so much for him. What good son wouldn’t quit his job and come home to take care of the people he loved?
Once he made it to the table, Grady leaned down to give his wife a sweet peck on her cheek, much the same way Adam had when he arrived.
“Morning, darling.”
Adam might find the man lacking in warmth toward everyone else, including Adam, but Grady loved himself some Dorothy-Mae Henderson and treated her like the treasure she was.
“Morning, Grady. Your food’s waiting for you.”
“Thanks, baby.” Grady gave his mother another peck on the cheek before turning toward Adam.
“Is that my number one son sitting here eating up all our food?”
His father gave Adam’s shoulder a loving squeeze before taking his place at the head of the table, waiting for Adam to acknowledge his presence.
And he would. Adam’s communication style with his father might be … tense, for lack of a better description. But his father was an admirable man who always loved and provided for his family, who always stood in front of them, ready to protect them from the world if necessary.
With that kind of love in his heart and track record, Adam could forgive some of the man’s less favorable qualities.
“Morning, Dad.” Adam’s greeting was slightly garbled by the jaw full of food he was currently chewing. “As far as I know, I’m your only son. Or do you have something you need to tell me and Mama?”
Grady sipped from the cup of coffee Adam’s mother handed him before taking her seat at the right side of his father.
“Trust me, son. If I had another kid, you’d know it because all my stuff would be sitting in the yard. We both know your mama don’t play.”
Adam and his father shared a knowing chuckle as they glanced at each other, then to Adam’s mother, and back again.
Dorothy-Mae sat there with a sweet smile, batting her lashes in just the right way that made her look angelic.
But Adam and his father knew from experience that beneath those long lashes and sweet smile was a stern countenance that didn’t take crap from anyone.
Adam relaxed in his chair, comforted by the good food and the good mood shared between him and his parents. Moments like these didn’t happen often when he lived in New York and now that he was getting older, Adam found himself wanting more and more to connect with his roots.
When Adam had left Monroe Hills, he’d been like every other kid from a small town who couldn’t leave the dust from the dirt road behind him quick enough. For him, it wasn’t just about the excitement of the city, though. No, for Adam, it was about finding a way to break free of his father’s hold.
“Your mother tells me today’s your first day over at the school.”
“Yes, sir.”
His father picked up his spoon, gathering a heaping spoonful of grits before he resumed speaking.
“And what’s your title again?”
Here. We. Go.
Adam heard the seeking tone in his father’s voice, and it instantly triggered a deep inhalation. Trained in the art of deciphering what his father really meant when he used that tone, Adam prepped himself for the verbal attack he saw peeking around the proverbial corner.
“It’s interim superintendent.”
His father chewed on his food, nodding as if he were turning Adam’s words over in his mind.
“Interim, huh? Why not permanent? Don’t they know about your credentials. Your twenty years as an educator in New York?”
“Yes, Dad. They know.” He spoke slowly, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice.
Adam knew his father meant well. But his ability to make Adam feel inadequate when it came to his decision making was one of those less favorable qualities Adam often had to ignore throughout the course of their relationship.
“They had difficulty with the last hire to fill the position, so the school board decided to make the position interim to give them a chance to make sure the candidate was the right fit for the job and the district.”
His father nodded, looking up from his food and staring directly at Adam. There, in the depths of his dark brown eyes, Adam saw what he always saw when his father didn’t necessarily agree with the path Adam was taking: disappointment.
As a man who’d spent more than forty years on this earth, one would think Adam would be used to this now. But the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach still managed to catch him off guard, sucker punching him in the gut, making him want to gasp for air.
“I will never understand how you gave up making millions of dollars in the NBA for this.”
The negative emphasis on “this” made Adam’s jaw tighten. He sat there quietly grinding his jaw as he fought himself to keep quiet. The grown-ass man in him very much wanted to lose his shit while the respectful son begged him not to say anything.
As his frustration grew, Adam could tell the grown-ass man was winning, until he looked across the table and saw the soft pleading in his mother’s eyes.
Following a slow, calming breath, he placed his spoon in his half-eaten bowl of food, before standing, and walking around to his mother’s side of the table.
He leaned down, placing a gentle kiss on her cheek. “Thanks for breakfast, Mama. I really appreciate it.”
His mother placed her hand on his forearm, her brow furrowing as she looked at him with questioning eyes.
“You’re leaving already? You haven’t even finished your food.”
He kissed her cheek again. “I want to get there a bit early since it’s my first day.”
By the way his mother lowered her lids and shifted in her chair, Adam knew he wasn’t fooling her. She knew exactly why he was leaving, why he’d always left. And like always, she was graceful enough to let him leave without making a fuss with his father.
“See you later, Dad.”
“See you, son. You make sure you go down there and demand them folks give you your due. You’re too good and too qualified for them to treat you like this.”
Even while angry at his father’s earlier slight, Adam warmed with his father’s words.
Although he didn’t agree with Adam’s choices, there was still a part of the man that seemed to acknowledge Adam’s accomplishments.
As much as his father’s disappointment over his career path haunted Adam, he knew deep down it came from a place of love.
“Thanks for the advice, Dad. I’ll check in on the two of you later.”
His father gave him a genuine smile before returning his attention to his food, giving Adam the out he needed to retreat.