How Sweet It Is - Alice J. Wisler [63]
Monday I avoided him as much as I could get away with. I didn’t want to make it obvious to the children; if they started to notice my lack of conversation with Zack, they’d be sure to question it. I simply didn’t engage in any talk with him except to say, “Hi” upon seeing him and to answer his question with a polite, “Yeah, my class went well today.” I smiled as often as I could; a good smile covers a multitude of insecurities. Mom taught me that.
At the end of my class yesterday, when I was listening to Bubba tell me about how he and Rhonda had a picnic on the Parkway, my eyes locked with Zack’s. Zack was helping Lisa put away some dishes and he looked over at me with a smile I can’t get out of my mind. Somehow I don’t think his action had anything to do with Lisa, or Bubba’s detailed account of the large size of the hamburgers he and Rhonda ate for lunch.
Jeannie always says that there are times when a smile seems like more than just a friendly expression. “You know, when he smiles and you feel like the sky just bursts with fireworks,” she told me.
I’m probably reading too much into this. But then, why do I try to avoid him as much as I can? Fear of what he is starting to mean to me? The lyrics to another one of Jonas’s favorite pipe-checking songs runs circles in my mind. There ain’t no way to hide your lyin’ eyes. Well, as long as I can keep Zack from knowing how he’s beginning to take root in my heart, I’ll be all right.
My cell phone plays Vivaldi into my thoughts.
“Hello?” says a woman’s voice.
“Yes, hello?” I don’t recognize this person.
“Is this Deena Livingston?”
“It is.”
“Then I want to order two cakes.”
I hear a dog barking with vigor in the background. I press the phone closer to my ear.
“I want the cakes for this Saturday.”
My heart is doing flips of joy. “Great, and what is your name and phone number?” I scan my desk for a pad and pen.
“My name is Mrs. Marble Angelica Gray.”
“Hello, Mrs. Gray,” I say. My first cake order and it is from the town’s cheapskate. I remember seeing her pick up several brochures at the bake sale. Maybe she thought they were coupons for dog food. “How is Sinatra?”
“Oh.” She giggles and I imagine her pink curlers bouncing. “You are good with names. He’s running around in the backyard now.”
The next thing I know I hear the panting of a beast right in my ear.
“Say hello, Sinatra,” croons the woman.
Sinatra merely yelps.
My ear will never be the same.
“So you want two cakes?” I ask over the yelps.
“Sinatra, go play,” she commands. With a clearing of her throat, she says, “Yes, I would like one chocolate and one white velvet.”
“What sizes?”
“Eight inches is fifteen dollars?” I suppose she is reading from my brochure.
“That’s right.” Will she actually pay me? I wonder. This woman is known as the one who will cheat you out of your underwear. Suddenly, my enthusiasm for getting my first cake order falls like a cake without baking powder.
“So two cakes is thirty dollars?”
“That’s right.”
After a moment of hesitation she asks, “Do I pay you when I get the cakes?”
Delivery! What’s the mountain air doing to me? I forgot about that. Am I going to cart my custom-made cakes all over the mountainside to people’s homes? Quickly, I make a decision. “These cakes will be ready for you to pick up on Saturday at nine in the morning.”
Silence on the other end.
“Hello?”
Impatiently, “Well, then, where do you live?”
I think of Jonas and the first time he gave directions to this cabin. Will those work or do I need actual street names? All these mountain bends called roads, do they have real names? I give her the best directions I can, adding that I am near Memorial Methodist Church.
“I’ll be there,”