Free The Adored by Tom Connolly Page B

months ago.”
    There was no air left in the room. Neither man could breathe.
    “I’m sorry, Eddie.”
    The young Wheelwright got up, looked at his father still seated, and left the room. He did not see Valerie McGuire again. He could not face her, did not return her calls, and when she came to his door, he did not answer.

PART 2
     

Chapter 16
     
    Recife, Brazil, is that point in South America that juts furthest east into the Atlantic Ocean. If Pangaea, the original supercontinent of earth, were put back together, Recife would tuck nicely into the African country of Cameroon.
    In the sky above the city of Recife, on a day when the sun is not baking the red clay roofs, it is filled with clouds. The clouds come in columns, like they were puffed out of a great chimney. Straight as arrow columns, then rows of them. But not too far inland, mainly along the coast, they float along, like a quiet army.
    The boy sits on the sand of BoaViagem beach looking at the clouds, thinking about them. He is the only figure on the beach on this cloudy day. The boy is sitting there in tan shorts with no other clothes. It is not that he is going swimming; these shorts are all the clothes he has. He sits with his arms wrapped around his knees.
    A dog has been swimming, and now, emerging from the surf, notices the boy. He shakes the water off of his long, short body. It is sort of like a chain reaction; the water flies off in small beads, beginning at his head and progressing all the way down his body.
    Chunk smiles as he sees the dog looking at him. The dog notices the smile and comes slowly to the boy and sits beside him. The two sit on the beach, not communicating, just each with their own thoughts beside each other.
    After some time the dog gets up and walks off. He stops once and looks back at the boy. Then the dog turns and goes further down the beach before heading to one of the seaside carne-de-sol stands that specializes in sun-dried beef. Usually the dog can count on the owner for a scrap.
     
    The following day the boy Chunk is walking across the Santo Antonio Bridge, which crosses over the Juquia River as it flows to the sea. The river is a filthy brown cesspool carrying all the elements of city trash: papers, boxes, plastics, rubber, fruit, vegetables, and occasional dead birds. Pieces of clothing float lazily on top, next to tree branches.
    At this moment late in the afternoon, four brown mulatto boys, clad only in the same type shorts as the boy, are running on the far side of the bridge, their shoe leather like feet scurrying across the hot cement. They have hold of the same dog that sat beside Chunk yesterday. They lift the dog up and toss him in the river. Then the four boys climb the cement rail and one by one dive into the ooze after the dog. All five swim to shore and climb back up to the street to once again to escape the steaming humidity by launching themselves into the river.
    As the boys grab for the dog, he barks, then snaps at them, trying to escape their grasp but longing to be with them. As the four mulattos get their hands on him by grasping one leg each, Chunk approaches them. He is smaller than the other four, but about their age, somewhere in the early teens.
    “Hola,” he calls. “Put the dog down.”
    The tallest of the four boys looks over his shoulder and laughs, “OK boys, let’s put him down—in the water.” And they proceed to toss the mangy cur into the slime.
    The new arrival runs to the rail and watches as the dog struggles to get to shore.
    The older boy approaches Chunk and tells the others, “Now let’s throw this nosy dog in.”
    As they all laugh and start to move in on Chunk, he promptly flattens the older boy with a punch squarely on the nose. With lightning speed and a face now twisted into a battle glaze, looking more bulldog than human, he rapidly punches and kicks one, then another, till all four boys are down on the cement bridge at once.
    He does not say a word; he turns his head