How Sweet It Is - Alice J. Wisler [37]
Miriam found a place for the mug on her crowded desk. “No amount of convincing will make her believe it isn’t. The social workers try.”
I felt a familiar pain welling inside my chest when I heard that. How many hours had I spent after the accident, while working on my jigsaw puzzles, trying to convince myself that Lucas leaving me was not my fault? I blamed myself for his behavior, until finally, one night I realized that those pieces didn’t fit. He had made his own choices.
Just before Miriam headed off to a fundraising meeting, she told me, “Charlotte is quiet, but don’t let that make you think she’s not taking everything in. She is a smart cookie.”
And now in the church kitchen on this Wednesday afternoon, Charlotte is raising her hand in response to my question—“ Who wants to volunteer to slice tomatoes for a chef salad?”
Pinch me. I have the urge to dance around the kitchen. I motion for her to get out of her seat and come to the cutting board.
Slowly, she makes her way toward me, her long hair pushed away from her face by a silver headband. I watch as she carefully takes a juicy red tomato from the cluster I purchased and holds it under the running faucet in the sink. Timidly, she places the tomato on the cutting board. I want to help her so I look for a knife, but she has found one and uses it to cut the fruit in half. “This child has been listening!” I want to shout. In spite of all her restroom visits, she’s been paying attention.
Rainy lifts her sunglasses from her eyes and echoes my thoughts. “Nice job, Charlotte.”
Then Zack enters the room and all form of order is lost. The kids jump up to greet him, their chairs sliding across the linoleum. As he approaches Charlotte, she stops cutting to give him a hug.
Lucky guy. Bubba pounces onto his back, but Zack tells him to behave since this is Miss Livingston’s class. I smile and excuse myself, saying I need to get the other ingredients from my Jeep for the salad. I doubt anyone even notices as I leave the kitchen. They have King Zack with them; what more could they need?
Once again, I wish I could be the popular teacher who breathes peace and harmony. Walking toward my Jeep, I think that I could recline in the front seat, take a little siesta, and they’d never miss me. Chef B would be proud of me because I wrote five pages in my journal last night, but that meant I didn’t get to sleep until almost one. Which is probably why I left the majority of the ingredients for the salad in my Jeep.
From the trunk of my car, I take out a bag filled with lettuce, radishes, and cucumbers. I anticipate the taste of the salad we are about to prepare. Earlier I placed a jar of my own balsamic vinaigrette dressing in the kitchen’s fridge. I made a batch of it a few nights ago as I listened to my Vivaldi CD. Maybe Zack can join us and we can all eat the salad in the fellowship hall and comment on how perfect the dressing is. It occurs to me, then, to wonder if kids like balsamic vinaigrette dressing.
When I get to the glass front door of The Center, I see Bubba race out of the kitchen and down the hallway toward me. He flings open the door and yells, “Hurry!”
“What is it?”
His face is streaked with perspiration. “Charlotte!” he cries.
“What?”
“She cut her finger with the knife!”
We both rush into the kitchen and sure enough, Zack is securing a wet paper towel around Charlotte’s index finger.
“Is her finger still attached?” asks Bubba, making attempts to catch his breath. He may be skinny, but apparently he is not used to running.
Charlotte’s face is flushed, and I can see that she’s trying hard not to cry. She clings to Zack and sinks her teeth into her lower lip like Sally does.
Joy is crying. Massive sobs puff from her lungs.
Bubba repeats, “Is her finger still attached?”
From my purse, I grab a Band-Aid—a wide sterile strip with chocolate cupcakes on it. I found these chocolate cupcake bandages at an outlet store in Atlanta last fall. I peel off the paper cover and wrap it around