Page 5 of Outspoken Hearts
Another speech delivered. Another ovation received. Another day as Meadowbrook's golden boy.
"The hospital foundation is thrilled. Three people committed to major donations! You connect with people so well."
If only she knew. I've perfected appearing connected while keeping everyone distant.
"Great news. The pediatric wing deserves it." I check my watch; it's a signal I'm busy. Better than directly asking for space.
"I won't keep you then!" Lisa steps back, beaming.
"My pleasure. Send my regards to the board."
Alone, I exhale, shoulders dropping. I yank my tie looser. These events drain me. Not the speaking, but performing as perpetually positive James Adams.
Outside, autumn air hits my face. My car waits in the reserved "GUEST SPEAKER" spot.
I slide in but don't start the engine. I close my eyes, letting silence wash over me. Three deep breaths: transitioning from Public James to whoever I am alone.
My phone buzzes. The screen lights up with a text from Mayor Pullman:
James! Another home run today. The hospital board is over the moon. Quick question. Any chance you could chair our town branding committee? We need someone with your leadership skills. Let me know!
I stare at the message, feeling that familiar tug of obligation. The responsible part of me—the part that's been making decisions since I was old enough to take care of my younger siblings when Mom got sick—immediately begins formulating a gracious acceptance.
But another voice, quieter but increasingly insistent lately, whispers:When was the last time you did something because you wanted to, not because everyone expected it of you?
I start the car, needing motion to think. Driving through downtown, I see my face on a banner from last month's business conference. That image feels like a stranger sometimes.
At a red light, I check my phone. The mayor waits for an answer. Everyone's always waiting for James Adams to say "yes."
The light changes. I pull over at Meadowbrook Brew instead of heading home. I need caffeine and anonymity.
Inside, coffee aroma surrounds me. The line gives me time to loosen my tie further. Small rebellions.
"Medium Americano," I tell the new barista who doesn't recognize me. The relief is immediate.
"Name?"
"James," just a name, not a brand.
I sit by the window. My phone buzzes. It's Caroline this time.
Caroline
Did you eat after your speech? You probably went straight to decompress.
I smile. She knows me well.
James
About to have coffee.
Caroline
Coffee isn't food. There's lasagna in your fridge. Heat 2 minutes, not 3.
My sister's been bringing meals since I returned three years ago. It's her thanks for putting her through college after Dad left. The Adams way.
"Americano for James!"
