A Tragic Kind of Wonderful(26)

After an hour of bustling I can’t think of anything else to tidy up. I help Ms. Arguello ball up skeins of yarn and listen to her talk about her grandson’s new job. When I run out of ways to put off singing with Mr. Terrance Knight, I step outside to charge up first. I sit on the steps, out of sight of reception, and massage my cheeks. So much smiling …

“Hey.”

I look up, startled. David’s standing over me.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Um, yeah. Just felt like, you know …”

“Like sitting out in the cold, looking at the gray sky?”

“Yep. I didn’t know you were here.”

“We were back in her room. Do you want to be alone?”

“No, it’s fine.”

“If you really came out to be by yourself, you don’t have to pretend you didn’t.”

I’m squinting up at him—it’s overcast but still bright out.

“Did you?” he asks.

I blink. “Did I what?”

“Come out here to get away from everyone?”

“Maybe just certain people.”

David sits on the step below me. “Mr. Knight told me you were hiding from him.”

I tense up.

“I said it probably wasn’t him specifically, but he said no, he’s been on God’s green earth for eighty-three years and knows a thing or two about people—”

“I have to go—”

“Wait, that’s not all.” David climbs up to the step next to me. “He also said he just knows it means you’re sad. He said, ‘I encourage her to sing to lift her spirits. Where the voice goes, the heart follows.’”

David tries to say it in Mr. Terrance Knight’s buttery voice.

I smile. “What else did he say?”

“Just that he wishes you didn’t think you needed to hide when you’re feeling low.”

“Hmph. It’s my job to bring everyone up, not down.”

“Is that the only reason you’re here? Because it’s your job?”

“No.”

“I get the impression in there that if you smiled less, nobody would wish you’d stop coming around.”

“You’re awfully new here to know so much.”

“Getting to know people quickly is a perk of avoiding small talk.” He pauses. “So is this random sadness, or is something bothering you?”

I’m not used to being asked that by people I barely know. It feels like the sun coming out.

“Maybe a bit of both.”

“Is it personal, or …?”

“It’s … Some friends of mine are having a hard time.”

He leans back against the steps. “Bake them cookies.”

I smirk. “I don’t think that’ll help.”

“Oatmeal raisin.”

“Yuck! Raisins in cookies are broken promises. Worse, it’s betrayal.”

“They’ll appreciate the thought. And if they don’t like how they taste, I’ll eat them.”

“Okay, so you don’t eat bacon, you do eat gross cookies, and you give me advice to help my friends that really helps you.”

“I thought everybody could win. They’d be happy you baked them something, you’d feel good about making them happy, and I’d get cookies.”

“Nice try.”

We’re staring at each other. I like it. It’s casual, and comfortable. But it’s also true I’m not used to anyone staring back this long without talking. I wonder if he’s aware of it, too.

A whole minute goes by. A breeze picks up. I loll my head onto my shoulder and he smiles a little. I finally say, “Okay, this can’t last forever. One of us is going to have to look away first. We’re not going to grow old out here together.”

“I didn’t know it was a contest.” David looks up at the bright spot where the sun is hiding. “You win.”

I roll my eyes. “You giving up doesn’t make me a winner. And no, it wasn’t a contest.”

He looks back at me. “There’s no way I’m going to cheer you up, is there?”

I quickly stand, pushing my hand down on his shoulder to help me up.

“I’m going back inside,” I say. “You might want to stay out here a few minutes.”

“I think they all know we’re out here together.”

“It’s not that. I feel like singing.”

*

Later, I’m with Dr. Jordan in the Sun Room, just the two of us. It’s dusk, so it’s even gloomier outside, but less so in my head now. He said, “Let’s be ironic and play Double Solitaire,” and we’ve been dueling for an hour.

“What do you think of David?” he asks.

I glance at him. “Very subtle.”

“I know what he thinks of you.”

“Because he came outside with me today?”

“Did he? I didn’t know. Tell me all the deets.”

I laugh. “No one says deets anymore. Besides, I thought you didn’t like gossip.”

“I don’t like admitting I like it. Anyway, it isn’t gossip if it’s about you. I do admit to a certain fondness for you.”