How Sweet It Is - Alice J. Wisler [60]
When I look up from the sink I see that his eyes hold pain—like two dark corridors that I will never be able to enter or bring any sunshine to. She must have been his moon and stars. Jonas said she was kind. The dead always seem larger than life; we forget their shortcomings, we honor their greatness.
“I had no idea it was you Jonas was talking about… at first.” Zack places the bowl in the cupboard with dozens just like it. He’s draped the towel over one shoulder, which makes me think of how my dad does the same thing when he dries dishes.
“What did he say about me?” How much does Zack know about me, my past?
Zack avoids my question; he’s deep in thought. At last he says, “It was the cupcake Band-Aid. He came over for dinner with that Band-Aid on his forehead. You gave Charlotte a Band-Aid that looked just like that when she cut her finger. And then I knew all that he was telling me about this nice woman named Deirdre was really you.”
I guess I have no secrets anymore. I bet Jonas has told his brother everything about me. I suppose the whole town will know all about me by morning. Marble Gray will be gossiping about me to the cashier at Ingle’s.
After a pause, Zack says, “He was proud of that donut the two of you decorated.”
“Oh, he did all the work.”
“Did he tell you what I said when he brought it to me that night?”
“Yeah.” I start to recite what I remember Jonas telling me his brother had said. “My brother liked the donut. He said that the woman who helped you is…”
When I hesitate, Zack completes my sentence. “The woman who taught you how to frost a donut has got to be one of society’s finest.”
I can feel heat rising from my face, like it does when I open an oven door to take out a nicely-browned cake. Society’s finest?
Zack softly says, “I know about your accident. Jonas said that—”
“That I have awful scars?” I realize that everything I’ve told Jonas over these last months has probably been shared with his brother over coffee with lots of sugar.
“No.” Zack looks uncomfortable. “He didn’t say anything about any scars.”
The next thing I know I am showing my arms to Zack. I even lift my shirt a little so that he can see the deep scar on my abdomen. Bet you’ve never had anyone show you her scars before, I think as I look up at him. That will shock up your life a bit. I bet you’ll never speak to me with eyes shining and a smile again. I sigh. I don’t care. And I’m not even sure why I don’t care.
“Actually,” Zack says calmly, in his typical manner, “Jonas said you are a Vivaldi fan.”
“He did?” So, nothing about my accident, nothing about my scars? “Well, I am.” I feel foolish now for showing the Tigris and Euphrates to Zack. And especially for lifting my shirt and exposing the wound along my stomach. In church!
“I guess I should go,” he says.
Yeah, right, go. Don’t mind me. I’m just a little weird. A darkness has spread over me and I can’t find my way out. I suppose that, in Zack’s book, I am no longer one of society’s finest. I resume my coffeepot washing. Why was I suddenly so eager to show him the scars that I otherwise keep hidden even from my own eyes? I lift a soapy hand to my forehead to check for a fever.
“Deena?”
I give a slight nod.
“The kids like you.”
I am too tired to argue.
“They just have a little bit of difficulty with new people sometimes…” His voice meanders away like a winding mountain road. However, his next sentence is firm. “Your scars aren’t going to make them like you any less.”
Where is he going with this?
“In fact, most of them have their own set of scars. Physically or figuratively speaking.”
I nod again. I hope he won’t give me a speech about these poor children. Because the way I see it, maybe if they shaped up, their lives wouldn’t be so hard.
I silently berate myself for even thinking that.
You better let somebody love you, before it’s too late. I add more Palmolive to the sink water, hoping that the force of squirting the liquid from the bottle will push aside the words to one of Jonas’s favorite songs.
“Everyone here is damaged.” Zack’s words hit me sharply