How Sweet It Is - Alice J. Wisler [68]
“Miss her,” I offer.
When he sighs, his face holds a vulnerability I haven’t seen before.
We let the silence spread itself between us until I feel the need for conversation.
“So no one has come close to being as wonderful as her?” I regret the question the second it leaves my lips. What am I aiming for? Zack to suddenly sweep me in his arms and tell me that he loved her, but he now has found another love, and that love is, my goodness—me?
He says, “I have Jonas. Not everyone understands that he isn’t just my brother.”
“You raised him when your parents died.”
Zack lets out a low laugh. “Is that what he told you?”
“He said that even though he’s older than you are, you raised him.”
“He raised me. It might look like I have to do all the taking care of, but Jonas takes care of me.” Softly he adds, “If it weren’t for Jonas, I wouldn’t be grounded. He keeps me balanced.”
My eyes fill with tears, the sudden ones that come on unexpectedly. I try to blink them away. What is happening to me? Ever since I’ve been in Bryson City, I’ve given in to tears. Don’t my eyes remember that I don’t cry easily? I wipe away a tear that has made its way down my cheek and hope Zack doesn’t ask me if I’m crying. If he does, I may be tempted to be like Bubba and say, “Duh!”
He doesn’t ask, but his face holds a rich kindness in between the lines of worry that stretch across his temples. “Not everyone understands Jonas.”
I sniff again. “What is there not to understand? He’s priceless.”
Zack grins and, to show his satisfaction with my statement, gently touches my arm.
His action sends warm flutters throughout my body. Even my toes curl in my Reeboks. I could easily—oh, so easily—rest my head against his chest right now. As though in protest of my affectionate thoughts, I quickly cross my legs and sit up straight. Mom would be proud.
We listen to doctors being paged, which makes us aware of our institutional surroundings.
Zack stretches his legs, and then looking into his coffee cup says, “I was thinking that hospitals are difficult places.”
No piece of cake, that’s for sure.
“I’m sure it’s hard to be back in one after your accident.”
I am not expecting this from Zack. I don’t know why; he’s always been considerate, the model citizen for thinking of others and their feelings. “I’m okay.”
“You’re strong, Deena.”
Strong? Strength never has been one of my outstanding characteristics. When I was nine years old and had to have a tooth pulled, I moaned for three days, and those were the three days before the tooth came out. After surgery, I complained of a sore mouth for at least a week, allowing Mom to make me special foods to sip through a straw. Andrea, if I remember correctly, called me a little baby.
Zack smiles. How many colors are dancing in those eyes?
Glancing at the painting of the fruit, I ask, “Did you know that my grandfather kept a lemon in his refrigerator at all times?” I bring this up just to make conversation, to use this as a way to distract me from falling completely in love with this wonderful man seated across from me.
“Yeah, I knew that.”
“Really? He told you?”
“We had lots of conversations. Your grandfather and I went hiking together in the park. Jonas came with us a few times.”
“So?”
“What?”
“What’s the story behind the lemon in the fridge?”
Zack grins. “He didn’t tell you?”
“My aunt was going to, but she hasn’t yet.” I’m sure she will, at some wonderfully inappropriate time, like when she told me about finding Giovanni.
“Well.” Zack stuffs the empty paper containers of sugar into his coffee cup. “It signifies contentment.”
When Zack stops there, I cry, “That’s all? Regena Lorraine told me that. There’s supposed to be some story that goes with it.”
“There is.” He stands, walks toward a metal trash can by a row of chairs, and tosses in the items from his hand. He reaches for my empty coffee cup, takes it, and throws it away. When he sits again, he rests his elbows on the arms of the chair and gives me a long look. “You really don’t know the story?”
“No.” I never got to go on a hike