How Sweet It Is - Alice J. Wisler [45]
“No,” I say to the ring, now clear and bright. “I won’t throw you out. I’ll pawn you off.” I make a note to ask Jonas where the local pawn shop is.
When I return to the upstairs bathroom, he’s looking in the mirror. “Chocolate cupcakes,” he notes. “Pretty for a Band-Aid.”
I ask if he’d like some coffee.
“Do you have sugar?”
“I do.”
“You have sugar? Okay.”
He washes his hands, puts the drain back together, and comes down to the kitchen, where I’m pouring coffee in the Indian mug for him.
We sit at the table. He takes his coffee with six teaspoons of sugar.
“My brother was to be married, but she died. She died.”
This is the first time Jonas has ever mentioned a family member to me. I suppose I just thought he lived alone and had no other commitments, that he just appeared one day in Bryson City the same way he just appeared on my doorstep. “What happened?”
“Sick. She was sick.” A shadow looms across his face. “My brother prayed.”
“I’m sure he did.”
“She died.” Jonas lifts his eyes to meet mine. “We don’t know why there was no miracle.”
“That is so sad, Jonas.”
He nods, looks down at his hands. Silence follows, as though he’s honoring this woman’s memory.
Through the window I watch a blue jay perch on one of the deck railings. I wonder what it would be like to be free from the tangled emotions of life.
Jonas raises his head. “She was real nice, real nice. Like you.”
“Thank you, Jonas.”
He takes a gulp of coffee. “Who gave you the ring?”
Some guy, I forget his name. He would take my hand and kiss each fingertip as we sat together on the sofa watching videos in my apartment. We took Sunday drives with stops for coffee, talk of which house we’d buy—I liked brick two-stories and he preferred the ranch homes—and the promise of a future together. Once his loan was approved, he was planning to open a business in DeKalb County, selling home furnishings. Oh, I wish I could forget it all—Lucas, Ella, the accident, the 179 stitches. But each time I get over one hurdle, another one blocks my ability to keep running this race called life.
“The ring is pretty,” Jonas says.
I used to think so, too.
Dare I tell Jonas about my past? My fingers crunch into fists as though their tightness will keep me from speaking. Yesterday, when Regena Lorraine came over to bring a bushel of Granny Smith apples, she made a comment about my past and how sorry she was about what I’d gone through. I offered her nothing more than a nod and a slight smile. I know she wanted to know more, wanted me to tell all. I’m not sure what my parents told her when they went up to Pennsylvania for Grandpa’s funeral. I don’t know if they said much. My mother believes in keeping your problems to yourself. When Andrea got engaged to Mark, she told only me at first. “Do you think Mom will be okay with this?”
“Are you kidding? She thinks Mark is the best around.”
“She does?”
I laughed. “No. She doesn’t think any man is worthy of you or me.”
“Yeah, that’s what I remember about Mom.” My sister sighed. “Can you tell her, then?”
I shook my head. “Oh, no. I’m not doing your dirty work for you.” I liked Mark and knew he was interested in overseas missions, a perfect candidate for Andrea because since she was six and I was four, she had made me listen to her desires to explore the world.
Andrea and I both sat on the sofa in my apartment and looked sad. We realized most girls would be elated when they got engaged, excited to tell their parents. While our dad would be happy for us, Mom scrutinized everything.
But it is Jonas sitting before me. Jonas with his wrench. And he wants to know who I was engaged to. I’ll keep it brief. I’ll just say Lucas was in love with someone else. “My fiancé was in love with someone else. He wasn’t the committing kind.”
I expect Jonas to nod, finish his coffee, stand,