An Orphan

by J.W.Smith

It's funny how first impressions can be so right on, sometimes, and at other times, how very wrong they can be.

I'll never forget the first time I saw Jim, and how very wrong my first impression was. Well, it wasn't really the first time I'd seen him, but it was the first time since he had grown up and became Jim. I had just parked next to a big panel van in the grocery store lot. I got out of my car, headed around the back of it, and walked right into him as he came from behind the van. The collision was hard enough that we both landed on our butts.

I looked at him and thought what an ungainly, skinny, homely kid. He looked to be about seventeen or eighteen and was dressed like so many youngsters dress today. At least three inches of his underwear showed above his baggy, oversized shorts that came down to mid-calf. He wore a cut off sweatshirt, that was at least four sizes to big, over an extra large t-shirt. His longish blonde hair looked like he had just gotten out of bed and ran his fingers through it the wrong way. From his looks and dress, I expected rudeness.

He jumped to his feet, apologized profusely and helped me up. I apologized to him and we laughed about it. We each grabbed a cart and he followed me into the grocery store. I went down one aisle and he went off doing his own shopping. I picked up the few items I was after in the stacks, taking my time, reading labels and looking for the different and unusual. Since there was no one waiting at home for me, there wasn't any reason to hurry. I eventually headed to the fresh vegetables.

As I was picking over the vine-ripened tomatoes, he pushed his cart up next to mine and started picking out plum tomatoes. As he placed his big bagful on top of the load in his cart, he looked at the few items I had gathered.

"Bachelor, too, huh?" He said.

I looked at him in amazement. His first cart was nearly overflowing, and he was starting on another.

"What do you mean 'too'?" I asked. "You must have dozens of children to have to buy that much food."

"Well, I'm buying food for a bunch of kids, but they aren't mine. They're orphans at St. Anne's Home. I do this once a month to help the sisters. It gives the kids a little variety in they're diets."

"I am very impressed," I told him. "In the parking lot I thought you were little more than a kid yourself. I guess I didn't get past your clothes." I pointedly stared at his spiked hair.

He blushed. "I dress like this when I'm going to be around the kids. They're more at ease with me when I dress like one of them."

"How old are you?" I asked. "I would have guessed maybe seventeen."

He laughed. "It's the costume. I just turned twenty-three last month."

The more we talked the more I was impressed with this young man. Men under thirty usually don't interest me. The majority of them seem to be totally into the 'it's all about me' syndrome. And they are usually boring. This young man was not wrapped up in himself; he was generous to a fault and he was most interesting.

We talked for several minutes and the more I talked to him, the more I wanted to know him better. I inquired if he was engaged for dinner and asked him if he would care to join me.

"As you can see I picked up a couple of London Broils," I said. "They are so much better charcoal grilled than pan-fried. I never fire up the grill just for myself. So you must join me."

He chuckled at my wheedling. "You don't even know my name. I could be an ax murderer for all that you know."

"I sincerely doubt an ax murderer would be buying food for orphans. And my name is Hank Colton." I said offering my hand to him. A strange shadowy look passed over his visage. It was a very momentary thing. If I hadn't been looking into his eyes, I would have missed it altogether.

After a brief pause, he choked out, "James--- aaah--- James's my name." He wrapped my hand in both of his. His smile warmed me to the pit of my being, but that fleeting expression moments before when I had told him my name stuck in my mind. I pushed it aside thinking that I was just imagining things.

"Really? James is my middle name," I said.

He blushed and, for a moment, looked like he was going to say something more. His mouth worked like a fish gulping air. No words came out.

"Henry James Colton's my name," I said, wondering what he had almost said.

The silence was growing longer as we just smiled at each other. He still held my hand. I should have pulled it back, but I wasn't aware of it. "Well, I'm only James," he finally said.

"So may I expect you at 6:30 this evening, James?"

He squeezed my hand again before he let go of it.

"I'd love to join you for dinner, Sir. And call me Jim."

"Okay, Jim. It's a date." I placed my tomato selection in my cart and started to move on.

"Mr. Colton," he called after me. I turned and looked at him. "If I'm going to show up at your house for dinner, I need to know where it is." He had a mischievous grin. It warmed me to the pit of my being.

"Oh, of course you do." I pulled out my wallet and extracted a card. He looked at it as he took it and whistled through his teeth.

"What?" I asked.

"That's really a swank address."

"Not at all."

"That's where only the very wealthy live," He insisted.

"Well, yes, but never the ostentatious."

He thought for a second. "I'm sorry, swank was not the proper word to use."

"You don't need to apologize, Jim. I know you didn't mean anything derogatory. I should have just ignored it. "

"No. I stand corrected. Using a slang expression like that was wrong. The good nuns would have cracked my knuckles."

I chuckled. "Let's just forget it. Okay?"

He nodded. "So, I'll see you at 6:30."

He smiled and headed off to fill his other cart with groceries. As he disappeared I realized he hadn't told me his last name. I thought about it as I finished up my shopping, and wondered if he had intentionally not told me. And if so why?

At 6:30 sharp the doorbell rang. I was suddenly nervous. I quickly rechecked the table and everything I'd been doing, wiped my hands on the apron as I took it off and scurried to answer the door. When I opened it, I was amazed at the change. Jim was dressed very collegiate, in khaki slacks, a pale blue buttoned collared shirt with a lightweight navy blue cashmere sweater and brown loafers. The blues complimented the sparkling color of his eyes and set off his blonde neatly combed hair.

Something about him all spiffed up tweaked an image in my subconscious mind. I was looking out a dirty-paned window at a sad little boy standing alone in the yard below. He was looking back at me with a yearning in his eyes. But then Jim flashed his bright smile at me and the image evaporated.

"Jim! What a make over."

"Hi Hank." He grinned at my astonishment.

"Come in, come in."

"Thanks," he said, as I closed the door. As I turned, he thrust a bouquet of blue Dutch Iris toward me. "I'm not very good at picking out a good wine, so I brought you these instead."

"Wow, how did you know these are my favorite flower?" I asked.

"I didn't. I just picked my favorite and hoped you would like them," he said and smiled.

"Thank you, it's been a long time since someone gave me flowers. May I offer you a glass of my favorite wine? It's an Italian. Most Italian Reds are low in histamine. California wines, as good as they are, are usually quite high, while French wines lay somewhere in between. Of course, if you are susceptible to the effects of histamines you can always take an antihistamine and go ahead and enjoy a good California, but why bother when we have access to such wonderful Italians?" With that question I stopped talking and looked at Jim.

He grinned and cocked an eyebrow at me.

"Pardon me, I'm blathering. I do that when I'm nervous. Let me get you a glass of wine." I turned and fled into the kitchen. I held onto the edge of the counter with my eyes shut and breathed deeply a few times. He reminded me so much of the little boy I had watched though a window at St Mary's. The image of a little blonde waif floated though my mind, followed by images of him as he grew into a handsome young pre-teen.

"Are you okay, Hank?"

Jim had followed me into the kitchen. I opened my eyes and studied him. He looked like that boy would have looked grown up. But that boy's name was Tommy Perkins. My imagination must have been working over time.

"Yeah, I'm fine now." I answered. "Once in a while I have these little panic attacks. I'm over it. I'm fine now."

I had opened a bottle of wine, a little earlier, to let it breathe. I picked it up and filled two glasses. I handed one to Jim.

"Cheers," I said and took a sip.

"To us," he responded.

I choked, wondering what he meant by that.

"I do seem to affect you adversely," he said, taking my glass out of my hand and setting it down. He grasped both my wrists and held my hands above my head. I recovered. He handed my glass back to me.

"You remind me so much of a boy I once knew," I said. "His name was Tommy. Tommy Perkins."

"Oh?" He suddenly looked nervous.

"He was an orphan at St Anne's. I think he'd be about your age now."

"Really?" He was looking everywhere except at me. His eyes alighted on the two broils I had seasoned and placed on a platter.

"I'm very good at the grill. Would you like me to cook these?" he asked, picking up the platter. "I'm an expert at grilling."

"Certainly. I'll check on the baked potatoes and get the salad mixed while you do."

He took the platter, and went out the door to the grill. I checked the potatoes; they were perfectly done. I tossed a salad of mixed baby greens, chopped scallions and thin slices of sweet apple with light honey mustard dressing. And then stood at the window studying Jim. His back was to me the whole time he was outside. I wondered if it was on purpose?

When the steaks were done, I watched him place them on the platter, turn off the grill and bring them inside.

"I hope you like them medium. That's how I feel a London broil should be done. Not bloody, but not too done." He smiled at me with raised eyebrows.

"That's perfect," I said, taking the platter and moving the steaks to the dinner plates. I placed a baked potato on each and handed them to Jim to place on the table while I served up the salad on chilled plates. He stood next to a chair and watched me place them on the table. I quickly pulled two salad forks out of the freezer and placed them each horizontally above the dinner plates.

"Sit down Jim. Let's eat before it all gets cold."

He waited for me to pick up my knife and fork before picking up his. We ate quietly for a few minutes.

"It just dawned on me, Jim. You've not told me your full name."

"It's James Thomas." He said as he cleared his throat.

"Thomas is your sir name?"

"No, Sir. It's a--- Colton."

"Colton, the same as mine."

I smiled at him. I was feeling like a cat at play. I was quite certain he was feeling like the mouse. "Tell me, where did you go to school?" I asked.

"Well, I attended the university here in the city for two years before being accepted into Harvard Law School. I couldn't believe I actually got accepted. I graduated last June. I'm working for the Law firm of Colton, Hargrove and Stokes."

"A most prestigious firm, if I may say so," I said. "Another Colton, too. How coincidental is that?" Did I just meow?

"You know? I've met Mr. Hargrove and Mr. Stokes," he said, "They've both been most kind to me. I've never met Mr. Colton. He seems to be retired or only goes in to the office when he feels like it. He must be ancient the way everyone seems to hold him in such reverence. No one seems to want to tell me anything about him. I haven't figured out if it's out of respect for the man, or fear of him, or what."

Although I hadn't seen him in twelve years, I had kept up with his education. He was a brilliant outstanding student. I'd pushed for his acceptance into Harvard, where I had graduated. When Tommy graduated from Harvard Law School I had made certain that our firm hired him. Wanting to keep my anonymity, I had made certain that every one working for the firm would help me keep it. I thought it would be embarrassing to both of us if he were to learn that his employer was also the benefactor of a particular little orphan.

"Jim, tell me truthfully. Did you change your name before or after you applied for an internship with Colton, Hargrove and Stokes?"

He blanched. I could see that he had figured out who I am and that I knew who he is. He gulped.

"About three months before."

"And why did you choose the name James Colton?"

"It was my way of saying 'thank you' to my benefactor, Sir."

I nodded. I had basically figured that out. "How did you learn who your benefactor is? That's suppose to be confidential information."

"I helped in the office at St. Anne's, as I got older. I saw the records of your generous donations. I know you financed my college education. I know it was you that put in the application for me to go to Harvard. It was totally serendipitous that we met the way we did. I had never seen you up close without a smudged window pane between us. I was twelve the last time I saw you. When we met in the grocery store, I had no idea that you were my angel. "

I colored at the name. The sisters had always called me that when I stopped to visit.

"I'm sorry, Sir, I didn't mean to embarrass you. I know you wanted to remain anonymous. I tried to let you be, but you've found me out."

I had watched him from a distance most of his young life. I had witnessed his parents death in a horrible car crash. I had watched his small body removed from the wreckage and taken away in an ambulance. I had kept track of him and paid all the medical bills and had seen to it he had only the best of medical care. When no family was found to take him, I had been so torn with the desire to adopt him myself, but I was only nineteen at that time.

Later when I'd graduated from law school, at the beginning of a very successful career and always on the run from my home city to D.C. or to New York, it would not have been fair to the child. When he entered the orphanage, I had prayed that a good family would adopt him. But it didn't happen. So through the years I had observed him growing into a handsome youth. I hadn't seen him since his twelfth birthday. My career had taken an upswing and I could never find the time. And now he was expressing a gratitude I had never expected, or really felt I deserved to hear. It had been enough to know that I had helped. I thought I would always be anonymous. And here he knew it all, almost.

"Are you okay?" Jim asked. I nodded, although a great emptiness had opened up inside of me.

"You don't look very good. Would you like more wine?" He asked. "Sir, maybe I should have said something about knowing who you are the moment I realized who you are. I felt like I was deceiving you by not saying anything. If you want me to, I'll leave. I think I've caused you enough distress. But before I go, I want to say that I am very grateful for you help. I don't think I can ever repay you. That's the reason I try to do so much for the kids at St. Anne's."

He had gotten to the door before I finally got my wits pieced back together. "Where are you going? Come back and sit down, please. I'll try to stop acting like an ass."

He moved back to his seat on the sofa. I moved across the room and sat down on the other end.

"Jim, the biggest regret in my life is that I didn't adopt you as my son. My life has always been such turmoil that I felt it would have been unfair to you for me to do so. I did the next best thing. I made sure that you got the best education I could afford. I didn't do it because I wanted any gratitude. I did it because I fell in love with a darling little tow headed boy who needed that help. I know there were so many more that needed help, too. I guess I was selfish; I wanted it all to go to you. That's where you are so much more generous than I am. You give to them all on your meager earnings. Seeing you with those overloaded shopping carts for the children at St. Anne's was more than any repayment I could ever want. I am so proud of you, Jim."

"Sir, you may dissemble all you want, but I know that it was through your generous donations that the new dorms were built and furnished. I know that it was through your guidance that they were made to feel more homey and warmer than the old institutional ones that were so austere and cold."

"That was a mere drop in the bucket compared to what you do."

"Thank you, Sir, I have only followed your example."

"Jim, I started out being Hank. I'd like to continue being Hank to you."

He nodded and said, "And rather than calling me Jim would you use my middle name, Tom. Only my close friends and the nuns at St. Mary's call me Tom. I kept it when I changed my name."

A comfortable silence enfolded us. We simply sat there studying each other. Then I said, "I probably shouldn't admit this to you, but when I met you in the grocery store I had every intention of seducing you."

"I know. I was very willing to let you."

"This is very awkward."

Tom looked everywhere except at me for a moment, and then his eyes settled on me and he smiled. "Would it be less so if I made the move on you?"

I chuckled. "No."

We sat at each end of the sofa and stared at each other in silence. Tom started speaking. I was so into recalling the little boy he once had been that it took me a moment to realize what he was saying.

"I remember as a small child, new to the orphanage and very frightened of the whole situation, I was standing in the yard, alone, feeling lost and abandoned. I looked up at the window to see a man standing there watching me. I wanted so much for him to take me in his arms and love me. I was bumped by one of the other kids and when I looked back up at that window he was gone. I eventually integrated with the rest of the kids and dreamed about the man, until the day that I came across the records revealing who he was. There was a photograph of him and the sister Superior. The dreams became stronger and the desire to know the man more intense." He fell silent as he studied his lap.

"But that, Jim, was a desire for a father."

"Well, yes it was, until I ran into this handsome hunk in the grocery store lot and knocked him on his butt. It was then that I wanted to get to know him in more intimate ways."

"But at that moment in time you didn't know who he was." I couldn't believe that we were talking about me in the third person as though I wasn't there.

He shyly smiled at me. "But that desire didn't go away when I did learn who you are."

I grinned at him. "No, learning your identity hasn't change my feelings either."

"So what do we do now?" he asked.

I held out my arms. He slid across the sofa into my welcoming embrace.