How Sweet It Is - Alice J. Wisler [89]
As Zack hangs a lantern on a pole so that we can eat with light, I am starting to feel like I am surrounded by family.
If this were a musical, here’s where I would break into song. But I still can’t carry a tune.
————
Zack and the kids take the heavy pot to a water faucet by the path to wash it. I enter my tent to put on my jacket. It is then that my mind turns to the kimono-clad woman in the drawing at Ernest’s cabin. As many times as I have wondered what exactly she is covering with her ornate fan, now I think I know. The woman has lifted her fan to conceal a tear. She is not the crying type and doesn’t want to blow her cover. But sometimes the heart overpowers the eyes, and tears somehow manage to escape. The dampness a tear produces is like the dew layering the earth of the mountain—moist and needed for cleansing, growth, and above all else, survival.
“Are you all right?” The familiar voice comes from behind me.
I know I’m supposed to say, “Of course, I’m fine.” Mother has told me over and over that no one wants to hear your woes; it’s best to smile, and the world smiles with you. Conceal; use that fan. Show no one who you really are, because then they might think less of you, assuming they ever thought highly of you at all.
Zack notes the tear that has made its way down my cheek. I see his eyes observing it like it’s a rare gem—or a piece of trash. As he draws closer, he surprises me by moving a finger gently over its trail. “You aren’t okay, are you?”
The desire to take his hand in mine overwhelms me. Stepping back, I simply admit, “The mountains don’t give you room to hide, do they?”
He tilts his head and looks into my eyes. “We don’t hide here in these parts, Miss Livingston. Every one of us is exposed.”
“Are there professionally documented charts on all of us?”
“In your case, all I have is memory.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“I can recall what Ernest told me about you.”
My grandfather told Zack about me? “What did he tell you?”
Zack’s smile lights his face. “He said you were stubborn.” He pauses. I sure hope my grandfather had more to say about me than just that. Zack lets his smile widen. “He also told me that you’re a great cook, and the cakes you decorate are works of art. Right after your accident, he told me his granddaughter needed to come to North Carolina.”
“After my accident? You knew about it before I told you?”
“Like I said, we have no secrets here.” My desire to reach up and touch one of his dimples catches me off guard.
After a pause, I say, “I guess not. Between Jonas and Ernest, you’ve probably heard more about me than you want to.”
Zack laughs. It’s a gentle laugh that seems to clear the air around us. “Actually, it only made me want to learn more.”
I hear the others calling to and teasing each other and know that this time with just Zack is coming to an end very soon. “Ernest was a smart man,” I say, because it seems like that is certainly worth noting.
Zack agrees. “He knew his granddaughter needed us.”
The wind breathes over the campsite as Zack adds, “And that we needed her.”
In a wild dash, Bubba comes running from behind a tree, jumps onto Zack’s back, and claims with a loud cry, “Gotcha this time!”
Zack playfully wrestles the boy to the ground as Robert, Darren, Charlotte, and Rainy crowd around them to observe. When Zack tickles Bubba, the whole group laughs along with him.
“Are you all right, Miss Livingston?” Charlotte asks in her soft tone, barely audible over the noise. She stands near my elbow.
I realize I am the only one not laughing.
Zipping up my jacket, I nod, paste on a smile, and then purposely step back a few feet. I would like to borrow Rainy’s sunglasses right now because I need to cover the look on my face.
This curly-haired, basketball-playing social worker has dodged past all the barriers I so carefully set up and taken up residence in my heart.
Maybe I am not allergic to men, after all.
thirty-nine
Iawait my dinner guests. I have to be ready. Once the guests arrive,