Page 9 of New Hope

Chapter Four

RIVER

The car bounced along the gravel driveway, kicking up a plume of dust behind me as I neared my parents’ house. Their property consisted of thirty acres of rolling hills, a pond, several barns, and a small grove of fruit trees.

My father, Jed Adams, had been a renowned cardio-thoracic surgeon for over fifty years while my mother had been a CPM, Certified Professional Midwife. It was through my father that I’d learned my love of medicine and biology, but it was my mother who taught me how to care for the whole patient. She’d instilled in me the importance of listening not only with my ears, but also my heart, so that I might hear the things they weren’t saying as much as the things they were.

Everyone in New Hope knew and loved my parents, but there was no denying they were an unlikely pair. As steadfast and practical as my father was, my mother was the complete opposite. Both recently retired, my parents had found new hobbies to spur their interests. Dad had become quite the amateur radio enthusiast. Most days, when he wasn’t puttering around in the yard, he could be found inside his den, fiddling with his collection of ham radios, and celebrating each time he was able to make contact with someone far away.

On the other hand, my mother, Helen Adams, spent most of her time tending to her beehives and the large menagerie of animals she’d accumulated, including chickens, sheep and goats, horses, and a zonkey named Eunice. She’d become an expert at gathering honey, as well as making beeswax candles, and bars of goat milk soap, along with various other things which she and Hannah sold at the farmers market each Saturday morning.

My parents were as different as night and day, but somehow, they’d made it work for over fifty-three years. Together, they shared a deep friendship and an unwavering love for one another, as well as for their only son, but the person they loved to dote on the most was their granddaughter. They loved having her spend the night every Friday, so I could work on Saturday mornings. It was a big help to me, but I also knew they looked forward to it as much as my daughter did.

Hannah was out the door and running toward the house before I even had time to get my seat belt off. “Was that my granddaughter or a streak of lightning?”

I turned in a full circle, searching for the owner of the voice. “Dad?”

“Up here. In the tree.”

I walked around a nearby oak and found a ladder on the other side, where the legs of his khaki pants and his worn brown Dockers were; the only visible part of him. The ladder shook with his movements, and I grabbed ahold, steadying it. “What are you doing up there?”

“I’m hanging a tire swing for my favorite girl.” He made a grunting noise as he finished tying the rope around a thick limb. He climbed down, brushing stray dirt and leaves from his clothes.

I waited until he was solidly on the ground before picking up the tire that rested against the trunk of the tree, which together, we secured to the other end of the rope. “Hannah’s going to love this, Dad.”

The words were no sooner out of my mouth than she came sprinting out of the house, a cookie in one hand and a juice box in the other. “Papaw!” she exclaimed, running over to my father, and wrapping her arms around his waist.

Mom followed a few steps behind. She’d always had her own unique style, not caring what anyone else thought of her. I’d always felt like her clothing was a perfect symbol of the woman who wore them. Funky, carefree, and full of life. This time, she was wearing a fuchsia shirt, a colorful skirt that hung loose, swaying around her ankles as she walked, and a pair of Birkenstock clogs.

Her snowy white hair hung in a long braid down her back, and she had a pair of brightly colored earrings dangling from her ears. As she got closer, I was able to make out that they were in the shape of flamingos. With her bright clothing choices and personality to match, it was no wonder my mom had earned herself the nickname, Sunshine by the people of New Hope. They’d called her that for so long, I sometimes wondered if any of them remembered her real name.

“Well, if it isn’t my Hannah Banana!” Dad hugged her back, not caring that she was getting cookie crumbs all over him.

“Nana said you had a surprise for me. Is it this swing?”

“It sure is. You finish your snack then we can take this thing for a spin.”

“Thanks, Papaw.” Hannah continued eating while she and my father looked over the new tire swing.

“How’s my favorite son?” Mom asked as she sidled up next to me. I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and grinned.

“I’m good. Loving this beautiful weather. Makes me want to pick apples and bake them in a pie. Or better yet, I’ll pick the apples and you bake the pie. That way it’s edible.”

She patted my cheek lovingly and laughed. “You’ve got a deal. You may not be the best baker, but you’re an excellent cook. Speaking of which, your dad went down to the docks this morning and picked up some fresh quahog for dinner.”

My stomach rumbled hungrily at the thought of my mom’s homemade clam chowder. “Oh, my gosh. That sounds delicious. I haven’t had anything since noon and I’m starving.”

“Well, come on inside. You can help me start dinner while these two play. Dinner will be ready in an hour,” she called out to Dad. He nodded to let her know he’d heard but didn’t take his eyes off Hannah, who was swinging higher and higher with every push. Hannah gripped the rope tightly in her hands as she threw her head back and laughed, the happy sound ringing through the air. It was my favorite sound in the world.

“There’s no better sound than a joyful child,” Mom murmured, voicing my thoughts exactly.

I glanced over at her, recognizing the love she had for her granddaughter, shining in her eyes. I swallowed around the lump in my throat, caused by a sudden surge of emotions. My parents hadn’t planned on having children. When they’d discovered they were pregnant with me, they said they felt like the luckiest people on the planet. I knew it was the other way around though. I was the one who was lucky. I was blessed to have parents who loved me without limits or reason. I’d been born into a home where kindness, honesty, and loyalty were paramount and where love was valued above all else.

That had been proven time and time again. Like in high school when I’d told my parents I had a crush on a boy and that I thought I might be gay. And then in college when I confirmed it by bringing my boyfriend at the time home with me for Thanksgiving. Neither of my parents had batted an eye. They’d simply wrapped me up in a hug and told me they loved me then proceeded to have “the talk” with me even though they’d already gone over all of it with me about a million times. Of course, they each had their own version of the talk. Dad with his condoms and lecture on proper safety and Mom with her advice on how to make the experience more pleasurable for myself and my partner. I still wasn’t sure I was over that particular talk.

I knew, without a doubt, that my parents loved me unconditionally and were proud of the man I’d become, but I’d never felt that love more than the day they held Hannah for the first time. The three of us had gathered close, gazing down at the squirming bundle of perfection wrapped in a soft pink blanket, and we’d cried. All of us.

Our love for that baby girl bonded us in a brand-new and wonderful way. Our family of three had miraculously become a family of four and it didn’t matter that she had a different skin color than the rest of us or that I’d decided to adopt and raise her all by myself. Hannah Grace Adams was ours and we were hers.

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