How Sweet It Is - Alice J. Wisler [66]
“So you’re admitting the kids can aggravate you?”
“You knew that,” he tells me with a slight smile. “I told you they could one of the first times we talked.”
That’s true; I recall that conversation now. That was the afternoon I was ready to never set foot in The Center again.
A murky voice whispers, “You two?”
Zack and I both turn to see that Jonas has opened his eyes.
Zack’s smile fills the whole room. “Hi.”
“Hey, Buddy.” Jonas manages a lopsided grin.
“Hi, Jonas,” I say, and touch one of his fingers.
He eyes his brother and then me. “You two need to get together one of these nights.” His speech is slurred, but his smile is abundant.
Zack ignores the suggestion, clearly relieved to see that Jonas is alert. He adjusts the stool so that he is closer to his brother’s face. Gently, Zack says, “You doing okay?”
“Yes. Are you doing okay?”
Zack smiles again. “I’m fine. I’m worried about you.”
“I’ve been sleeping, Buddy. Real comfortable.”
“Really?”
“Don’t worry about me, Buddy. I’m not working today.”
“I can see that. Next time you don’t feel like working, take a sick day.”
“A sick day?” Jonas pauses, considers the advice. “I’ll take a sick day.”
“Don’t go jumping off roofs,” Zack warns, his voice laced with warmth.
“I’ll just choose a day that is sick.”
“That’s right.”
After a moment, he asks, “Which one?”
“What?”
“Monday is a sick day? Tuesday is a sick day?”
“No, Jonas.”
Jonas continues as Zack rolls his eyes and smiles at me. “Wednesday is a sick day? Thursday is a sick day? Friday is a sick day? Saturday is a sick day?”
We wait and then Zack says, “How about Sunday?”
“Sunday is the Lord’s day. Not a sick day.”
“That’s right.”
“Read,” Jonas tells his brother.
I wonder what he means. Zack opens the drawer of the bedside table and pulls out a navy blue Bible with the Gideons logo stamped on the cover. I watch as Zack flips through the pages, going from Old Testament to New. He stops turning pages and then in a clear voice reads, “ ‘Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you.’ ” When he finishes, Jonas closes his eyes and I recognize that this passage is the one Jonas tells me to live by, the one he claims he fills his mind with.
We are wrapped in a beautiful silence except for the noise in the hallways, doctors being paged and carts rolling. This is life, I think. The beauty of a meal, a word, a moment—and then reality kicks in and you realize you’ve still got to deal with dirty dishes or heartache or fear. Maybe reality is those brief moments, and the larger blocks of time are just insignificant inconveniences.
Zack returns the Bible to the drawer.
“You’re gentle with the kids,” I say softly. “But with Jonas you’re something else.”
He looks at me. “What am I?”
Genuine, terrific, a hero, someone to swoon over. You better let somebody love you, before it’s too late. “You’re the best you.”
“The best me?” He starts to laugh and I hold up my hand.
“People who laugh at compliments are insecure, remember?”
“Yeah, I remember.” He tucks the sheet around his brother, then shifts his gaze to me.
“So?”
“Say thank you,” Jonas instructs him, his eyes still shut. “You’re supposed to say thank you to Deirdre.”
We listen to a voice paging a doctor over the PA.
Zack whispers, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I think Jonas is smiling, too. I touch his shoulder. “Jonas?”
He is smiling, but his snoring lets me know that it is his dreams that are making him smile.
————
Suddenly, I am aware