Page 102 of Yellow
“I want to find a way to create jobs, get money for college scholarships, and raise our people from the abyss of poverty.”
“Then why don’t you?” I asked.
“It takes time. Ona, me, and others – we are doing what we can. But you can only do so much at a time.”
“What are you doing exactly?”
“I run a program for people suffering from post-traumatic stress syndrome, and I created the Native Nails project.”
“What’s that?”
“Native Nails?”
“Yes.”
“It’s a project where we build homes for people who could never afford one. Everyone chips in with time and skills. Often we use second-hand building materials, but when you come from a worn-down trailer, it’s a huge step up to have a house.”
“Is that how you got your house?” I asked.
Adam nodded. “Yeah. My friends all pitched in. Now we work with remodeling companies. They save money on demolition and we gladly take down kitchens and bathrooms because we can use it for the Nails project.”
“That’s really cool, Adam. I would love to help.”
“Yeah?” He lit up and grinned. “Can you use a hammer?”
“You could teach me, couldn’t you?” I grinned back. “Actually, I was thinking more about helping with a fundraiser or something. There’s a lot of money in Hollywood, you know.”
He smiled and we talked more about this and that.
The awkwardness I’d felt this morning was almost gone now. He didn’t seem in a hurry to escape me and our conversation flowed easily.
“Did you call your sister?” he asked when we left the restaurant.
“I texted her. She’s picking me up at two p.m.”
“Oh, okay, and you’re taking Max for a hike?”
“That’s the plan.”
The streets were busy, and as we got closer to my building I once again thought about how much I needed to find a new place to live. Then I spotted two photographers across the street and tensed up.
“This was nice,” Adam said and out of nowhere he took my hand.
I instinctually jerked my hand back and frowned at him.
“I should have known,” he said and the warmth in his eyes went cold.
“This is not the place or time,” I bit back, my eyes darting to the photographers.
“You’re ashamed of being seen with me, aren’t you?” Adam accused.
“I’m trying to protect you from a publicity storm that you don’t want,” I hissed, low.
“Bullshit.” Adam walked faster and I ran to catch up to him.
“Wait, Adam.”
I reached for his shoulder, but he rolled my hand off his jacket and continued to the door.
