How Sweet It Is - Alice J. Wisler [61]
“What is your main focus?” I ask, only because I am irritated. I was in a good mood right after the bake sale, but now he bothers me. I want to know what he is really made of. I want to pick at him to find out he isn’t all he appears to be. Yet, most of all, at this moment, I want to keep him here, talking to me.
“Love’s the main focus,” he says.
“Love?” Well, that’s about as vast and hard to come by as world peace. Love isn’t like a gift you can wrap up and place under the Christmas tree.
“Everybody needs love.”
Well, as the kids would say, duh.
“Even those who don’t know how to give it.”
Uh oh. Is he going to make a comment about my inability to show love to my fellow man? Because if he does I won’t be able to deny it. Gripping the edge of the sink, I wait.
“Like Darren.”
Darren does know how to show love, I think. He shows it to Zack. To the rest of us he just acts like we aren’t worthy. He’s selective and he’s chosen Zack. And Zack, of course, thinks he’s a terrific kid. His client. Social worker and patient. What a team. The two of them, leaving the rest of us out of their behavioral management plan. Softly I say, “Yeah.”
“Darren was burned as a child.” Zack’s voice is very soft and emotional.
“Burned? What do you mean?”
Zack’s solemn expression lets me know that this is not going to be an easy story. “When he was little, his mom got mad whenever he cried. Darren cried a lot. When he did, his mom would burn the bottoms of his feet on the kitchen stove.”
I feel my lunch rising to my throat. “They didn’t let her get away with it, did they?”
“She’s been in and out of jail. There was a restraining order against her, and now she is supposed to call before she expects to see Darren.”
My head swirls and I take little breaths.
“Darren has a hard time with authority. He’ll come around, though. He will.”
I may not last until he does.
“You have to give these kids a bunch of chances.”
I don’t like his tone because it makes me feel like I am the one with the problem. And, the truth is, I have so many. I’m just glad that Zack hasn’t read my journal.
He heads to the fridge, opens the door, and pours some cold water from a plastic container into a glass. “Would you like some water?”
Why does he have to be so… nice? I wish he’d just go. Leave me alone in the kitchen to wash the dishes. To ponder on how good a friend his brother is to me. To wonder why Jonas is so easy to be with, while Zack only brings out the insecurities I hold inside. “No, thanks.”
He stands closer to me. My heart begins to feel like bread dough being kneaded with tiny warm caresses. I watch as he takes another sip. His eyelashes flicker. “Sometimes the very people who want to be loved the most don’t know how to ask for love.”
“And why is that?” I concentrate on scrubbing the lid of the pot. I don’t dare look him in the eyes.
“They’ve been hurt.” He places the empty glass on the counter.
His know-it-all tone makes me wish he’d just leave me alone. He’s crossed the line, and the thing is, I’m certain that was his intention. Go, I want to shout. Go! My eyes fill with hot tears and that scares me.
Zack starts to dry a spoon. I had no idea there was a spoon in need of drying.
I feel my nose start to drip into the steamy sink of hot water. I sniff, once, twice. With a soapy finger, I wipe my nose.
“Are you—?”
Quickly, I toss out, “I’m fine.”
I can feel his eyes on me, boring into my soul. I thought I was ironclad and am not quite sure how he managed to find a gap.
The room feels warm. Maybe the air-conditioner, along with my humility and compassion, has stopped working.
Zack dries the same spoon over and over. “Deena?”
“What?”
“There is nothing wrong with admitting you’re hurt.”
“I am fine,” I repeat, emphasizing each word.
He’s silent for a moment, then he moves and I think he’s going to leave the kitchen. But he only opens a drawer and places the spoon inside. He starts to dry a knife.
To play the devil’s advocate I say,