Shantih Journal 2.1 - Page 85

of waves, all was still. After, once they ran around the beach, frantic, and finally found Denny toddling along the sand fifty yards away chasing after a bird, Adam could not forget that moment right when he thought the worst had come, how all the noise had been ripped away, how lonely that silence was. ”Tell me,” Adam said, his voice hoarse. “Please.” Adam rustled through his wallet for twenty and held it out. The man studied him a moment, then took the money. “Like I said, it was a few months ago. Some guy came here, buddies with one of the regulars around here. Into some real hippie-dippie shit. Runs a farm down in Lancaster, you know the Amish? Right but he’s not Amish.” Adam nodded. “Okay, but my son?” he prompted. “Well, I’m not sure it’s him, but this guy said he’s got a bunch of people working for him from all over, you know ex-cons, runaways. He’s into all that peace and love stuff. But he mentioned a kid he met here awhile back, brought him out to work on the farm, you know he mentioned Cherry Hill. I made a note of it. I remembered you.” The man smiled, pleased with himself. He gave him the name of the farm and Adam thanked him. The man left and he was alone in the room, the big oval window facing him. Adam thought about the last time he’d been home, and found he couldn’t remember. He stood and watched the snow fall gently, twirling and twisting through the air. He saw a few wisps tumble onto the top of his car resting at the curb, and he recoiled, as if his very own skin had been burned. There were pictures he kept in his coat pocket. He saw himself and Hannah and Denny, aged five, posing in front of their fireplace on Denny’s first day of kindergarten. Denny wore green overalls, and Hannah’s smile was wide wide wide. The edges of his smile were blurred, rubbed down, disappearing, and Adam put the pictures back in his pocket. He wanted to call Hannah, but couldn’t find his phone. The glove compartment was just full of old receipts. He said into his hands, lined and worn, “This is not the end.” His eyes were there in the rear view mirror. The same but older. Black dark. 85