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The living room contained a sitting area with two mismatched, much-loved old couches and a rocking chair. A tall vase filled with huge yellow sunflowers sat on the coffee table in front of the couch. In pride of place on the wall hung a studio portrait of a very young couple in Native American garb, possibly still in their teens. The pair were looking straight at the camera with shy, nervous smiles, their posture ramrod stiff. The girl was clearly Shani’s mother. She looked startingly like Shani, save for the eyes, which were rounder and a little closer together. The guy, Shani’s father, was very tall, his skin swarthy, his nose curved like a hawk’s beak, his almond shaped eyes exactly like Shani’s.
There were framed photos of the girls at various stages of their lives cluttering the end tables and shelves, along with lopsided ceramic mugs and children’s drawings, no doubt made by the girls when they were little. The whole place had a warm, lived-in feel, bursting with love and family.
How different from his parent’s large, pristine home, with its immaculate white rugs, entire rooms forbidden to little boys with sticky fingers, and the silence at their dinners in the formal dining room. While he’d never felt unloved precisely, he had felt like an inconvenience. One more thing to be scheduled into his parents’ busy calendars, always coming after professional obligations and their busy social life. He’d used to wonder, once he’d left for college, if they’d even noticed his absence. He thought he’d put his childish yearning for parental love away a long time ago. But being in this warm, cluttered space filled with laughter and chatter reawakened the old longing.
There was a long wooden table at the back of the space by the kitchen. Benches lined either side of the table, a chair at each end. The table was set with brightly painted ceramic dishes, plastic cups and pitchers of what looked like iced-tea and lemonade.
“Hope you’re hungry,” Malia said to Adam as their mother and the rest of the girls disappeared into the kitchen. She was a little shorter than the other girls, her frame more delicate, a gentle expression in her eyes.
“Starving,” Adam said, smiling down at her. This was the sister who had taken Shani in when she’d escaped from that bastard’s clutches. While they were alone, and aware he might not have another chance, Adam said, “Shani told me about what happened to her with that guy. And how you were there for her. You’re a wonderful sister and a wonderful friend, Malia.”
Malia colored slightly, her eyes troubled. “She told you?”
“She did,” Adam said. “And I want to kill that fucking bastard, excuse my swearing.”
“No need to apologize,” Malia said with a grin. “May the Great Spirit curse him, my mom would say, if she knew. He hurt my sister. She left us because of him. He stole a piece of her soul. If I’d had my way, I’d have cut off the son of a bitch’s balls and fed them to him.”
Adam barked a startled laugh. “Well put. If and when I find this guy, I’ll save you the trouble.”
Malia regarded him with narrowed eyes, clearly appraising him. “Shani looks happy. Her sparkle is back. I can see you’re a good man. Be good to her, okay?” She was smiling, but the underlying warning was clear. No one was going to hurt her sister again.
“Absolutely,” Adam affirmed, glad this spitfire of a sister was in Shani’s corner. “We’re still new together, but your sister has already captured my heart.”
Before Malia could reply, the door to the kitchen swung open and the women entered carrying bowls and platters of food. Shani set down a large basket covered by a cloth napkin and gestured to Adam. “Come sit down.”
As Malia and he moved toward the table, Shani directed, “You sit at this end.”
As he took his seat, Adam’s mouth watered in anticipation. Shani’s mom sat at the other end. The girls took their places along either side of the table, Shani just to his right, Malia to his left.
Everyone began passing pitchers, platters, bowls and baskets around the table, filling their plates along the way. Adam chose the lemonade for his drink, which was tart and not overly sweet, just the way he liked it.
He took more food than he was probably going to be able to eat, but he couldn’t resist—it all looked and smelled so wonderful. There was a hearty vegetable stew comprised of corn, beans and squash in a savory broth, along with sizzling hot fried green tomatoes. The basket contained golden, frisbee-sized discs of deep-fried softly puffed bread. Adam tore off a piece and took a bite, an involuntary moan escaping his lips. “This is delicious,” he enthused. “What is this?”
