The Book of Adam and Jo: an Interracial Literary Romance

by C. L. Donley

  C. L. Donley

  The Book of Adam and Jo

  Copyright © 2019 by C. L. Donley

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

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  Contents

  C.L. Donley Books

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

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  1

  Chapter 1

  “Corey, what in the fresh hell is this?”

  Corey just looks at me like he’s a competent tradesman.

  “It’sa ‘lectrical box.”

  “I see the electrical box,” I said to him, “but did you have to warp the shit out of it?”

  “Fix your eyes, Adam. This a nail-on box. Them Mexicans you hired rocked right over it and never cut it out.”

  “And so you hacked it to all hell? Good job. You feel better?”

  “Kenny’s guy’ll get it.”

  “Not before he cusses you and me. And then he’s gonna slap a patch up there so bad, that you’re gonna be pickin’ mud outta the box. It’ll re-crack when a wall plate’s tightened up, and the cycle continues.”

  “Not Kenny’s guy. He’s a fuckin’ wizard. Makes it like it never happened.”

  More often than not, we used Kenny to find our subs, especially in a pinch. Kenny used this guy named Joe Abrams. The name started floating around in the trades about a year or two ago, and slowly gained mythical status. His strange work habits helped that along. Comes in when everybody else is gone, only takes a selective few jobs and charges a little more. A lot more, actually. But when everybody comes in the next day, they all know why.

  “You could learn a thing or two from Kenny’s guy. Nobody knows you by name, do they, Corey?”

  “…Is it not up to code or something? Why you bustin’ my balls?”

  “Corey, don’t be a dick. You know it doesn’t have shit to do with the code. Since when is it okay to not take pride in your work?”

  “…You want me to fix it?”

  I bit back a sigh. “Don’t hurt yourself, I’ll do it. Where’s the router.”

  “I didn’t have the right bit. Thought I did, but I don’t. Wait, you think I meant to cut it like that?”

  I gave him the same blank look that I’ve been giving him since he was stickin’ hot dog pieces up his nose. Finally, I groaned.

  “Fuck it. I’m going to Ace’s, I’ll be back. All your corner cuttin’ is gonna start comin’ outta your check, Pete,” I said to Corey. Sometimes his name is Pete.

  “Yeah, boss,” Corey said. Just then, my phone rang. It was Uncle Charlie.

  “This is Adam.”

  “Nephew.”

  “What’s up, boss?”

  “Just gettin’ back to you. Told the buyers what you told me, about the room in the budget.”

  “Oh no, lemme guess,” I rolled my eyes. “They want a fuckin’ stain glass window.”

  “They wanna finish the attic.”

  I paced around the downstairs while on the phone with Charlie, calculating the cost in time and money.

  “Okay, that’s not bad.”

  “Still in the budget?”

  “Probably. Might have to pay a little extra to get someone in the next two weeks.”

  “Get on it, then,” Uncle Charlie said.

  “Alright…” I hung up the phone. I turned to Corey on the way out. “I’m goin’ to the hardware store, make sure the place doesn’t burn down.”

  There’s only one hardware store where I live, and that’s Ace’s, a local franchise. Older than the big chain everyone else knows, probably a direct rip-off. When I’m in Canton, I pass every big box store there is and go out of my way to find one. Can’t afford to waste an hour in a place so big you can barely even think. Especially when you already know what you need. Plus, I’m not in the mood to go viral on account of my truck today.

  I bought my truck from Uncle Charlie. It’s got a big ol’ Confederate flag on the hood, and it used to be badass when we were growing up. Still is, depending on who you ask. It was brand new when he bought it, and now that it has a new engine I’ll probably be selling this thing to my fuckin’ firstborn. 11-foot bed, tows up to 2 tons, it’s a beast. It’s drawn a few brave admirers in town over the years, but not many. But it still draws plenty of eyes.

  Debbie pretends not to see me when I walk through the door that makes the little chime go off. I can feel the room change once I start looking around. I’m used to it around here. It gets a little quieter. A little more tense, but people just keep going on like normal. The clerks all recognize me, and if I didn’t spend so much money here they’d probably tell me to leave. I used to greet them when I came in but they told me they didn’t want the association. Had to respect that.

  The places I’m still “allowed” are starting to get more and more narrow. I suppose I could comply, cover up my tattoos and whatnot. Maybe one day I’ll come across something that I give enough of a shit about and I will. As it is I got plenty people in my life and they bring me more shit than I care to deal with. So for now, I’m doing myself a favor.

  I glance at the paint section and the girl at the paint counter pretends not to see my big ass. Shannon. She thinks I’m cute, and she’s always the coldest. She’s mad cuz I’m damned sexy, but if she nabbed me, she couldn’t show me off to anyone. I walked past her, straight to the power tool accessories aisle.

  That’s when I fucking saw her.

  She was next to the primer, looking at putty knives. Her hands had white blotches on them like she was workin’ on somethin’. Probably some diy, HGTV coffee table shit. She was even dressed like she hosted one of those damn shows. A blue plaid shirt and tight jeans, a white tank top showing underneath. Her hair was in a low ponytail, but she had little bangs comin’ down. Even when women wear somethin’ to get messy in, they gotta do it pretty.

  She was somethin’ straight out of my mind, like clickbait from my subconscious. “Looking for a new girlfriend?”

  There was only one problem with all this. She was the wrong fuckin’ race.

  She, of course, couldn’t be white. No, no. That would be too easy. That’d be too much of a smooth sail for ol’ Adam.

  She wasn’t Mexican, wasn’t Asian, wasn’t Puerto Rican, hell she wasn’t even Indian.

  She was black. Bonafide porch monkey black.

  Her dark hair was long and straight. Well, her hair, or whoever the hell’s hair it was. I’m confused just whose heads they’re tryin’ to turn with that shit.

  But of all the wrong colors to be, sh
e was the rightest wrong color.

  She had beautiful skin… the perfect brown. Like if brown became human. And, of course, looked silky smooth from what I could tell.

  It was the kind of brown that almost glowed and just made a man associate it with only good things. Food, summer, tea, cedar trees. The perfect stain on a wood floor that’s been neglected for decades and then freshly sanded. The kind of perfect that turned you into a gawker. And her whooooooole body was wrapped in that perfect. Far too much for a normal white man’s brain.

  A normal white man just wasn’t built to settle in just any old land, and fuck any ol’ woman from that land. It just makes him depraved, unfocused. Cucked. He can’t live in his own community, and sure as shit can’t live in theirs. He loses his ability to be perceived by outsiders as a threat. There are a few exceptions, of course. Joel Tannebaum married a black woman. Matter of fact, so did Sarge— common law, mind you. But that was after he’d been to war. And so nobody said shit about it.

  But anyway none of that mattered, because here came problem number two buzzing around her knees not a few moments after I finished gawking and made my way up the aisle next to hers.

  “Mom, how do you say ‘cement mix’ in Spanish?”

  She went around the corner up the next aisle over but I could hear her loud and clear.

  “I don’t know ask Magellan,” she absent-mindedly replied.

  Now the kid couldn’t have been more than five years old. But he was clearly reading and started asking Magellan how to say things in Spanish. He was lighter-skinned, so he probably had a white dad.

  I unconsciously shook my head. What were the odds that she was married to this son of a bitch, I thought to myself, pretending to be looking for the right size brass elbow.

  The way she interacted with the kid had single mom written all over it. She was letting him go up and down the aisles, hadn’t reprimanded him once, had him using the phone to look shit up, showing him how to be as resourceful as possible as soon as possible… usually meant that he had no dad to help her.

  Color me surprised.

  “How do you say ‘paint stirrers’ in Spanish?”

  “I don’t know, Judah,” she sounded exasperated.

  Nice. Helluva strong name for a kid.

  “Want me to ask Magellan?”

  “Yes. Please,” she said sarcastically.

  Poor girl. Did she mean to encourage him? At the same time, I could hear little footsteps heading in my direction. Little Judah turned the corner and saw me standing there. His eyes were just two big black saucers. He went back around the corner and I could hear him plain as day, even though I think that was his version of a whisper. Hell, the whole store could hear him.

  “Mom! It’s Thor!”

  There were a couple of giggles heard around the store from the regulars. I just shake my head. I can feel the energy let up a bit.

  It’s not the first time I’ve gotten that. But probably the most innocent. Those Avengers movies did wonders for the ol’ sex life. Not that I was doin’ that bad before, shit just got… aggressive. Pretty sure I caused a crash once. I should really write that fucker a check.

  “Woow,” his mom absent-mindedly responds. She has no idea that he’s referring to a real person. But she will.

  “Mom! Look! Look! Hurry!”

  A second later the kid is back, and he’s got company. I see her plaid shirt in his tiny fist before I see anything else.

  As soon as she comes around the corner and sees me, she turns back around the way she came, stifling a nervous laugh. Judah stays put.

  “Judah… come here!” she says in a low reprimanding tone.

  Judah’s not listening. Judah’s working up the courage to ask me if I’m really Thor or not.

  “Hi,” he says, politely.

  “Hi there,” I answer.

  “What’s your name?”

  “My name’s Adam,” I say. “What’s your name?” I can see between the shelves of the next aisle that mom is frozen while her son was in the midst of a social interaction, probably just as curious as me to see what he would say.

  “Judah.”

  “Nice to meet you, Judah.”

  “Are you Thor?” he tried again.

  “I just told you, kid, my name’s Adam,” I said again. Right before I gave him a little wink.

  Judah just looks at me like I’m Santa Claus.

  Before it was Thor it was sexy Santa Claus— on account of the beard, I guess. Used to get chicks to sit on my lap and tell me what they wanted for Christmas.

  Finally, mom meets Judah around the corner. Judah is just looking up at her like he has a secret to tell her once they’re alone. This kid. I just smile.

  “Sorry about that,” she says. Our eyes meet.

  “He’s alright.”

  “I’m sure you get that a lot.”

  “Get what a lot?” I tease her.

  “The… Thor thing.”

  “I’m just teasin’ you. Yeah, I do.”

  “His name’s Adam,” Judah reminds us all.

  “I know baby, I heard,” she says. She’s holding Judah by the shoulders with both hands, which makes me paranoid that she’s probably leery of me, probably more so bein’ a stranger and all. She should be. Partly because I’m a white supremacist, but mostly because she’s leaned over her little boy, and I can see her pert little cleavage. And now I gotta get to know her.

  “And who might you be?”

  “This is my mom,” Judah interjected politely. Well, I figured that. Mom laughs nervously again at the gaff.

  “JoAnn. Abrams. People call me Jo.”

  Jo Abrams??

  That’s one hell of a coincidence.

  “I know a guy named Joe Abrams. Well, not directly,” I babbled, “Works for one of my guys.”

  “One of your guys?”

  “Yeah. I build houses. Well, not directly, not anymore. I’m a foreman,” I say. Judah wriggles out of her grasp and down the aisle and she keeps one eye on him as she crosses her arms.

  “You’re kinda young to be a foreman, if I may say.”

  “You may,” I said, clearing my throat. “Been at it four years. Been workin’ since I was about 23. Got my GED and started workin’ for my uncle.”

  “Is your guy Kenneth Owens?”

  I looked at her and smiled as my brow furrowed. A strange feeling comes over me as I realize the two of us are connected somehow, though I still can’t figure out how.

  She started to laugh and I was blinded by her gleaming white smile.

  Now. Lemme see if I can describe seeing Josie smile. For the first time ever.

  It was like… her smile was some kind of new truth, like hearing the gospel. It felt like I was a new man with a new life, and if she stopped smiling I would die. Right there on the spot. It was both exhilarating and terrifying.

  Thankfully she didn’t stop smiling. But my brain was useless. She kept on smiling and smiling, but I couldn’t figure out why. I wasn’t trying to figure out why anymore, is what happened. I was just watchin’ her.

  Eventually, I smiled. Then she laughed again.

  “What?” I said.

  “The guy named Jo Abrams that works for your guy, Kenneth Owens?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Is he your drywall guy?”

  Son of a bitch. This Jo was that Jo.

  “He’s a hell of a drywall guy, yes.”

  Jojo just wiggled her mortar coated fingers like she uncovered a big plot.

  “No shit,” I grin in disbelief looking at the shelf and back at her.

  Now I’m flirting. I give Jo a little of my profile and I just keep quiet. The girls like lookin’ at my strong jaw. They like to see the gears workin’, wondering what I’m thinkin’.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking right now.”

  What’d I tell ya?

  “I’m thinkin’… if you worked faster you could be makin’ money hand over fist.”

  “I like to take my time,” s
he said.

  Mmm…

  Mm-hm. Yup.

  Wasn’t a damn thing appropriate about what I was thinkin’, so I just had to keep my mouth fuckin’ shut. Tiny little fun-sized thing like her was exactly what I dream about. I wish I knew where that came from, a big fucker like me obsessed with tiny women. Hell, I coulda just said all that, it’s not like I needed to impress her. But I didn’t want her hating me just yet. Didn’t want her liking me either, really. That was the thing. The whole damn thing was awkward.

  “Maybe once Judah starts kindergarten I’ll pick up an extra job or two a month. But not too much if I still want to be there when he gets home every day.”

  Dammit, I nearly forgot about the goddamn kid. Honestly, I don’t know how any man does it, watchin’ men in his house going this way and that, with this kid or the other. Your woman’s like the damn Americas after Christopher Columbus sailed the ocean blue. And her pussy’s the damn Louisiana Purchase. Where the hell is this kid’s no good, piece a’ shit father anyway?

  I didn’t know it for sure, but I would bet all my money he was a no-good piece a’ shit. Any guy who would let me get anywhere near his woman was definitely a no-good piece a’ shit, asking to get humiliated.

  “What about Judah’s dad?”

  “What about him?”

  “Does he work?”

  “…More or less. He’s in grad school.”

  “Up at the college?”

  “No, at Baudier, in Charlotte.”

  “I see. I take it you two aren’t together.”

  She gives a slow, tight-lipped shake of her head. I can’t tell if it means she still loves him or hates him, or that it’s none of my damn business. Probably a combination.

  It doesn’t matter. The whole thing’s messy as all shit. Plus, now that I know Jo Abram’s identity, I’ll probably keep running into her. It’s just the way life goes.

  “You’re Adam Kerr, then.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “That house on Cormier, that’s you guys? Stroud Builders?”

  “That’s us.”

  “Tell your electrical guys to stop putting in switches so close to the corner bead.”

  “That’s the very reason I’m out right now.”