Inchoate

As in:

“Life’s a funny thing.”

That’s what she heard her mother say on the phone as Adele sat in a wicker chair on her hotel balcony. Her mom was in Little Rock from where she had been talking up her azaleas but also filing her latest complaint about the Arkansas chicken industry. Adele was in Rio de Janeiro, looking up in the sky at the statue of Christ the Redeemer.

It was mom’s turn. And because there is only so much one can add to the general complaint of how mega-chicken ranches are polluting Arkansas, she had tried artfully to change the subject.

“I really thought Wayne had his act together when he worked for Bendix,” she said. Dot. Dot. Dot. She just let the unfinished thought hang there in the expensive telephonic air, fully expecting Adele would finish it for her.

“Mom, I’m just not up to talking about Wayne today.”

And that’s when her mom replied that life’s a funny thing.

“Ain’t it?” she added.

During the first eleven years of their marriage, Wayne had carried the family on his American-century salary. But when he got laid off, he and she learned that he had no particular urgency toward finding another job. Somebody had to work, and to even Adele’s surprise she turned out to be very good at it, a natural not only at relationships, but also gifted with entrepreneurial insights and a good head for numbers. The trajectory of her ascent correlated to that of Wayne’s decline.

On the mahogany table in the suite in Rio was a copy of the most recent Business Week. Her picture was on the cover and in it she looked much younger than her 42 years, and much sexier as well, on account of the Tahoe-blue blouse she was wearing beneath the fashion-savvy mind that had picked it out. It was no wonder there were at least five active suitors who’d garnered the understanding that her marriage would soon be dissolving as she continued to optimize efficiencies and secure the opportunities necessary to prosper in a dynamic global economy.

Which, in truth, was not that far afield from the daily terrain of her thoughts. Wayne was as conspicuously out of place in her life as a vat of jello would be in a tandoori restaurant. And the most peculiar aspect of the situation is that he seemed genuinely oblivious to his own circumstances, not to mention those of his remarkable wife.

Three weeks ago she’d come home, unannounced, to surprise them, only to find Wayne sitting on the couch, wearing only his Guinness boxer shorts, watching “Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby.” It was 1:15 in the afternoon. None of the three boys had been fed lunch and little Brian asked her, immediately, if she could help him find his glasses.

“Wayne!” she called out. “What the hell?!”

“Oh.” he replied, fumbling for the remote. “Shit. I’m sorry. I just love Will Farrell. I must have lost track of the time.”

“Well,” she snapped, “it’s past lunch time and your son can’t find his glasses.”

She headed for the bathroom where she nearly screamed when she found the tub filled not only with snorkeling and golfing equipment, but with three turtles and a garter snake.

“Yeah,” Wayne explained. “I was going to get to that. The guys love these critters.”

“So what?” she said, her voice rising. “Does that mean we’re turning the bathroom into a reptile petting zoo?”

“Turtles are just barely reptiles, sweetie,” he muttered back, as if scoring an important biological point.

It was when Brian found his glasses between two sacks of un-emptied groceries that she saw, again, one of the little miracles in her life that was impossible to explain. It was Brian’s inchoate wise soul. He was a growing, gentle man with a tender heart and an amusing mind.

“We need to talk,” he whispered to Adele as he motioned her into his bedroom.

He was wiping his glasses with his little boy handkerchief, and he continued in a whisper.

“You know, I don’t want to hurt his feelings, but I think dad’s going to need some help.”