How Sweet It Is - Alice J. Wisler [90]
As I’m stirring the soup, watching it thicken, I hear a truck door slam and footsteps outside the cabin. Then, sure enough, in comes Jonas, a green bandana secured to his head. He’s carrying a wrench. Zack follows. He’s dressed in khakis and a blue cotton shirt.
“What’s cooking?” asks Jonas. “I’m hungry as a bear.”
I smile at the brothers and tell Jonas, “You know what it is. Take a breath.”
He smiles his widest smile. “Oil soup.” Then he nods, as though he approves and is grateful that I have listened to him when he suggested I make this soup and invite Zack over for dinner. When I included him in the invite, he shook his head. I told him that he’d brought Zack and me together; without Jonas we would never have learned so much about each other. At that, Jonas said, “I guess I could come along. You never know.”
“Know what?”
“A pipe might need repair.”
I don’t believe I have had two guests I care more about. Well, maybe Jeannie and Sally. They visited last weekend and we took in the local tourist attractions, including a drive over the Parkway to Gatlinburg on Saturday afternoon. Sally said my driving had improved; I suppose she was right since my fingers were flexible once we arrived in the buzzing Tennessee town. No knuckles of concrete.
Jonas pops his Eagles CD into the player. Zack protests because he’s not sure that his older brother should be acting so familiar in someone else’s home.
“Jonas, don’t you need to ask Deena?” he prods. He does this with the kids at The Center, too.
“No,” says Jonas as the first line to “One of These Nights” starts to play. “She knows me.” Then he announces he’s going to check the pipes.
“But, Jonas.” I am the one protesting this time. I enter the living room. “This is Saturday night. You don’t work on Saturday.”
“Don’t work on Sunday, the Lord’s Day. I have worked Saturday before. No sick day.” He smiles, his teeth glistening like the first day I met him. It feels as if I have known him for years.
He swings his wrench and hums to “One of These Nights.”
Then he winks at me. With his wrench swinging, he heads toward the downstairs bathroom.
Zack faces me.
Suddenly, I feel very awkward. Why are things so easy around Jonas and so difficult around Zack?
“Do you need me to help you in the kitchen?” he asks.
“Are you able to make a fire in the fireplace?”
He gathers some logs from the pile outside on the porch and starts a fire.
I stir the soup and see that the loaf of herb bread is almost done. I open the fridge, smile at the new lone lemon I bought the other day, and take out a bowl of salad. I add spinach leaves to the romaine lettuce and dried cranberries. Then I toss it all with almond slivers and my homemade poppy-seed dressing.
Preoccupied, I am startled when I notice Zack has been standing by the kitchen door, watching me.
I smile and place the salad bowl in the fridge again. “Seems we’re always ending up in some kitchen.”
“I’ve enjoyed our kitchen talks.”
Well, they’ve certainly made me think—and be on my toes.
“Deena?” His voice is soft, hesitant.
“Yeah?” I move from the counter.
“Jonas thinks we should—”
“Get together one of these nights?” I surprise myself by my boldness.
“Yeah.”
“Well, I don’t know, Zack.”
“Why?”
“Seems you’ve hugged lots of people in the kitchen.”
“Like?” His face is puzzled.
I give him a knowing look.
The lines on his face ease as he says, “I mean, besides Rhonda. Lots of people?”
“Charlotte. Darren. Lisa. You even managed to give Bobby a hug, one that at least covered half of him.” “You’re jealous?”
He looks down and then slowly lifts his face to mine.
I swallow. Why is he standing so close to me when we are having this conversation? My knees feel weak, but I will not back down. I have to say how I feel. I mean, this is what he wants, right? I find my words. “I am. Just a