How Sweet It Is - Alice J. Wisler [51]
No one says anything.
“Any takers?” I ask.
You could hear a toothpick drop; this silence is un-believable. “Darren, you could do that.” Zack’s voice swells with affirmation.
The kid actually looks up at Zack.
“Okay, I’ll make it,” he tells Zack, carefully averting his eyes from mine.
I am about to fall down onto the fellowship-hall floor.
————
Zack hot-glued a piece of blue plaid flannel to the bulletin board by the restrooms. The flannel was Joy’s idea and both Miriam and Zack agreed it was a fine one. On the bulletin board we will place the poster Rainy made announcing that The Center will hold a bake sale in two weeks. Darren’s poster, clearly made by a boy with superb talent, will be tacked to the bulletin board by the sanctuary.
Bubba and Rainy cleaned up the fellowship hall under Miriam’s supervision as the other children left the building with their parents and guardians. When Darren’s grandmother came to pick him up, she shook my hand and told me that Darren loved The Center and its programs. I wanted to say with sarcasm, “Oh yes, I can see that he loves being here every day.” But I didn’t.
Rainy’s foster dad came to get her just as Rhonda, Bubba’s social worker, drove up to take him out to dinner at Burger King. She is pretty, this Rhonda. I have seen her around The Center before. Her smile makes me think of a river sparkling under a summer sun. I know the kids think she’s cute.
“Is Zack still here?” she asked as Bubba fastened his seat belt.
I didn’t know if I was bothered by her asking or if it was more the look of longing in her wide eyes.
“He’s here.” Bubba supplied the answer. “But don’t go talking to him like you always do. I’m hungry!”
We all smiled, and Rhonda backed out of the parking lot. I felt something funny deep inside. It was pain, but not the usual kind. Rhonda spends a lot of time talking to Zack?
Now that all the kids are gone and The Center is quiet, I walk over to Zack. “How did you know?”
Questioningly, Zack looks up at me. “Know what?”
“That I was engaged.”
“Oh.” He studies the tip of the glue gun. I assume he’s trying to get out of answering the question. “Did I say that you were?”
“Yes! You talked about broken promises in your little pep talk and looked right at me.”
“Did I?”
I let out a sigh of disgust.
He looks at the board, avoiding my eyes. “I can tell.”
“You can tell?!” What on earth does that mean? How can you tell that a person has been engaged? Does the air around her smell of post-engagement perfume? I have to know. I edge closer to him, careful to avoid the glue gun. “How can you tell?” Don’t I still have my decorative fan covering half my face? Have I exposed too much of myself to this church crowd?
Zack focuses his gaze on me. “Your ring finger is tan except for where your ring used to be.”
We both look at my ring finger as I hold my left hand out against the edge of the bulletin board. There is no mark, no untanned area. “Right,” I say.
Who told him? Who knows I was engaged? The only people in Bryson City who know are Aunt Regena Lorraine, because she is family and she can’t help but know, and Jonas, because he rescued the ring from the drain. Neither would have a reason to talk to Zack about my engagement to Lucas. I give a big sigh and then do what I used to do in grade school, and still do when the occasion calls for it. I walk away.
“Listen, Deena.” His voice is sharp and stops me from taking another step.
“What?” I ask without turning around.
“Why is it such a terrible thing for people here to know about you?”
I spin to look at him. My head throbs with puzzlement. “What?”
“We aren’t exactly perfect here. We handle our own bad luck, and we’ve gotten good at handling that of others. You can talk to us, you know.”
Bad luck? I am jarred by the two words he has just used to describe my failed engagement. Bad luck? Bad luck means having to stop at three red lights in a row when you’re late for work. Bad luck is the Atlanta Braves losing