24
“Do you know someone named Adam?” Bruce asked.
The blonde boy sat cross-legged on the motel bed and stared. Bruce wasn’t entirely sure whether the boy understood him. His pupils were about the size of the little dots scattered across the bedspread. (Bruce told himself the dots were part of the design.)
“Do you mean like the son of God?” the boy asked, pale brow wrinkled.
Good to know they still get to them early here. “No, not a Bible person. I mean a real person.”
The kid tilted his head, a parody of a confused child. “Is he a boy in my class?”
“No, I mean someone like—” he caught himself. He’d almost said someone like me. “I mean, someone like your dad. An adult.”
“What’s he look like?” the boy asked.
Once again, he’d almost slipped and said a little bit like me. Except with d
