7. Chapter 7
Chapter 7
Sharon
What the heck just happened?
I tried calling after him, but it all happened so fast.
"Where did he go?" Noah asks, just as confused as I am.
"I think he went to the bathroom," I say, putting a bowl of warm oatmeal in front of him. "Do you want some milk?"
"Yes, please."
After giving Noah a cup of milk, I wait for Jon to return. Five minutes pass, then ten.
"Noah, I'm going to check on your brother. Stay here, okay?"
Before I have a chance to step away, the Linders walk in the door.
"Mommy, Daddy!" exclaims Noah.
"Hi, Sweetheart," says Mrs. Linder, "Hmm, oatmeal, my favorite."
"Has Jon stopped by yet?" asks Mr. Linder, taking a bowl from the cupboard.
"He's in the bathroom," announces Noah.
"He's been in there for quite a while," I say. "I think something upset him."
Mrs. Linder approaches Mr. Linder and whispers something in his ear. I can make out two words: panic attack.
"Stay here with Noah," says Mr. Linder before walking away.
"Finish your breakfast, Sweetie," says Mrs. Linder. Shay can take you upstairs after you're done with your breakfast, and you can practice writing your numbers and the alphabet.
"I want to go swimming," says Noah.
"Maybe you can go in the pool later," says Mrs. Linder.
"I already know how to write my name."
"How about if we practice writing your last name today?"
"Linder," he says.
"Yes, exactly. You can practice writing it and then work on adding numbers together."
When I glance at Mrs. Linder, she has a worried expression on her face but still manages to mouth a quiet "thank you."
I nod and smile.
When Noah drinks the last of his milk, I pick up his bowl and cup and take them to the sink.
"You can leave them, Shay. I'll wash them."
"Okay," I say. "Are you ready to go upstairs, Sweetie?"
"I guess," he says, climbing off his chair.
"Come on, it'll be fun."
"I doubt it," he says, making Mrs. Linder and me laugh despite the tension in the room.
***
While Noah works on tracing words in his workbook, I straighten out the bookshelf, pick up his toys, and organize them in the toybox.
I keep replaying this morning's events repeatedly in my mind, trying to figure out what happened. Did I say something wrong? Jon went white as a ghost. I think it happened when Noah said he wanted to go swimming—the pool, water, the accident .
"Can I go swimming today?" asks Noah.
"Maybe after lunch," I say. "As long as it's okay with your parents."
"Okay," he says, going back to his workbook.
"Hi, you two," says Mrs. Linder, cracking open the door to the playroom. "What are you two working on?"
"I learned how to write my last name, Mommy."
"That's pretty impressive," she says. "Shay, Jon would like to have a word with you."
"Let's go!" says Noah, jumping to his feet.
"No, Sweetheart," says Mrs. Linder, "We'll go downstairs in a little while. I want to color one of those dinosaurs in your coloring book. We can put it up on the refrigerator."
"You can color this one!" Noah says, holding up a page with an image of a brontosaurus on it.
"Go ahead, Shay," she says. "He's in the office."
"Come in," Jon says as soon as I knock on the door.
"Hi, your mom said you wanted to speak with me."
"Sharon, I'm so sorry," he says, approaching me as soon as I step in. His handsome face looks tired and worried.
"What happened?" I ask.
"I've been dealing with nightmares, claustrophobia, and panic attacks since the accident."
"I should be the one apologizing. I've been so focused on my own loss that I didn't stop to consider what you must've gone through. I'm sorry."
"I shouldn't have stormed off the way I did. I want to explain."
"You don't owe me anything, Jon."
When he takes my hands in his, I feel my heart skip a beat.
"Sharon, I—."
"It's the water, isn't it? You had a panic attack because Noah mentioned swimming."
The look in his eyes is all the confirmation I need.
"I'm sorry," I say, realizing it could happen again.
"Don't worry," he says, letting go of my hands. "It doesn't happen all the time. I don't know what triggers it or when it'll happen."
"Is there anything I can do?"
"No, but just know it's not you, and I am getting better."
"Would you like to go for a walk?" I ask. "It's a nice day."
The slight breeze outside is warm, and the blue sky is filled with puffy white clouds. We walk along the property line opposite the pool, letting the short picket fence guide us to an unknown destination.
"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask.
"I don't know how much I can say without talking about that day."
I nod, fully grasping what that means.
Jon stops walking and turns to face me. The sun is shining on his face, and I can see how pretty his eyes are. They're dark gray with a rich golden center; his lashes are long and full.
"I can't talk about what happened to me without talking about what happened to Jimmy."
"I understand," I say, "but I'm not ready to hear it."
He nods, and we start walking again. When we see a pond in the distance, I glance at Jon to check his reaction.
"I'm okay," he says. "I walked by it the other day and had no reaction. Like I told you, I can't control it.
"How about if we head back to the house?"
"Okay," he says. "We can have some lunch, and later, you can take Noah swimming."
Back at the house, Mrs. Linder is making chicken salad sandwiches, and Mr. Linder is stirring a big pitcher of iced tea. Noah is sitting at the table eating some baby carrots and celery sticks with peanut butter.
"Hey Noah," Jon says, "do you want to go swimming this afternoon?"
"Yes!" exclaims Noah.
After lunch, Mr. Linder volunteers to take Noah swimming if Jon and I agree to do the dishes.
"I don't think it's warm enough to go swimming," Mrs. Linder says. "I'll go out there with you and sunbathe by the pool and read a book."
***
"Do you like peach cobbler?" I ask Jon as we wash the last of the dinner dishes.
"Yeah," he says, "but Mom hasn't made it in years."
"If we have some canned peaches, we can make some."
"Right now?" he asks.
"Do you think we have some in the pantry?"
"I know we do because I bought a few cans when I went grocery shopping. I like to heat them up and top them with ice cream."
"It's a straightforward recipe my grandma taught me."
I walk into the pantry and look through the dozens of cans lining the shelves. I look up and see that the peaches are on the top shelf, so I grab the folded step stool from the corner and unfold it, snapping the locks into place. I go up the steps one by one and reach up to grab some cans from the top. When I try to step off, I lose my footing and go tumbling down. I let out a tiny yelp right before two strong arms reach out and catch me before I hit the floor.
"Oh my gosh, thank you!"
"Are you okay?" Jon asks, carefully lowering me to the floor. He's close enough for me to see all the golden specks in his eyes and smell the clean scent of his cologne. His hand is on the small of my back, and I can feel its warmth through the fabric of my blouse. The only thing standing between us is the three cans of peaches I'm still holding in my hands. When my pulse picks up speed, I realize this closeness does not feel brotherly at all.
"I'm okay," I say, "I'm just clumsy by nature."
"Clumsy and beautiful," he says, smiling broadly. I can't help but smile back.
"Let me help you with those," he says, taking the cans from my hands. "Is there anything else in here you'll need to make your grandma's peach cobbler?"
"I'll need flour," I say, looking around because I'm finding it extremely distracting to keep eye contact with him.
I grab the flour in a large glass jar before walking past Jon, who's taking up more than three-quarters of the space in this small room. I thought he said he had claustrophobia. I guess this pantry and I are not triggers for him.
"Can I help you make the cobbler?" he asks, following me into the kitchen.
"So, you bake," I say.
"I bake, I grill, I cook, and I'm a quick learner."
He's leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest, just like his dad does when he's in here. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
"What are you thinking about?" he asks.
"How much your mannerisms remind me of your dad. You look so much like him."
"You mean tall, charming, and handsome?"
"You forgot, humble," I say, laughing out loud.
"Are we going to make dessert?" he asks.
"How about if I give you the ingredients and measurements from memory, and you put it together?"
"Oh, this is going to be fun," he says, rubbing his hands together. God, he really does have a great smile.
Twenty minutes later, he slides the cobbler into the oven and shuts the door. The look of satisfaction on his face is priceless. Is he staring again, or am I the one staring at him?
"You have a bit of flour on your face," he says.
"I do? How did that happen?" I ask, wiping my face with the back of my hand.
"I don't know, but you didn't get it. It's right there."
"Where?" I ask, wiping my cheek again.
"No, right here," he says, wiping his cheek.
"Did I get it?"
"No. Here, let me."
He uses his thumb to wipe my cheek while his eyes linger on mine.
"You're beautiful," he says.
"Thank you."
"I can see why Jimmy fell in love with you."
***
"Knock, knock," I say through the closed screen door. "Anybody home?"
"Hi, Miss Sharon," Loren says, opening the door. "I just got home from church."
"Yeah, the Linders did, too."
"Jon introduced me to his parents this morning. I asked about you."
"I haven't been to church since Jimmy's funeral."
"I'm sorry," she says, reaching for my hand. "Come in and have some lemonade with me."
I sit at the table while she pours cold lemonade into two tall glasses.
"Mr. Linder and Jon are building Noah's swing set today, so I figured I'd come by to say hello."
"I went to the bank yesterday morning," Loren says, handing me the lemonade. "Patrick asked about you."
"Who?"
"Patrick, the loan officer at the bank."
"I'm sorry," I say. "That was almost a week ago. I can't believe he remembers me."
"You made quite an impression on him. He asked if Jon was your boyfriend."
"Jon? Really?"
"Yes, and when I told him he wasn't, he asked if you were dating anyone."
"Wow," I say, "and what did you tell him?"
"I told him you don't date."
"Thank you," I say, breathing a sigh of relief.
"No, no," she says, "that didn't dissuade him. He said he can wait until you do."
"Ugh, that's great."
"Don't worry, he's a good kid. A total gentleman."
"I'm sure he is, but isn't he a bit older than me?"
"Well, that depends on what you consider older. He's twenty-eight and thinks you're mature for your age."
"We only spoke for five minutes," I say, "How would he know? Besides, mature, I'm not. It's all just an act. When my dad passed away, my mother checked out of my life, and I had to figure a lot of things out on my own. Inside, I have all the insecurities and angst of a normal teenager."
"What happened to your daddy, Honey?"
"I had just gotten my driver's license and didn't feel comfortable driving by myself. After youth group one night, Dad picked me up from church, and I told him I could drive us home. I don't remember any of it."
"How could an accident cause so much divide between a mother and daughter?"
"I wish I knew. It was the straw that broke the camel's back. Mom and I have never had a good relationship, but Dad was the glue that kept us connected. With him gone, there was nothing left."
"I shouldn't have asked," she says. "Now I've made you sad."
"I'm okay," I say, "Anyway, about Patrick. I'm not interested in dating anyone."
"You will be when you find the right one."
"The right one died. He had my heart, and I don't think I'll ever be able to give it to someone else."
"Tell me about Jimmy," she says, and this time I refuse to get sad.
"Oh, Miss Loren, he was wonderful. He was my best friend, my everything."
"Did you know his family?"
"Yes, and they welcomed me into their family the minute I met them. Jimmy was the oldest of two boys. His little brother is eight. They were close despite the age difference. His parents own a roofing company. He was six feet tall and thin. He worked hard to put on weight and muscle during his junior and senior years in high school, preparing for boot camp. He was handsome. His blue eyes were his father's, but the rest of his good looks came from his mom. He had dark curly hair and perfect olive skin. I was always jealous of how easily he tanned while I'd burn spending just five minutes in the sun. He gave the best hugs, and he made me feel safe. He was smart and funny. He could run a mile in six minutes and never apologized for leaving me in the dust."
"He sounds wonderful."
"He was, Miss Loren. He was wonderful and perfect. Now, can you understand why I can never love again? Not like that. He was the one. How many times does one find the one ? I would only be setting myself up for disappointment."
"Never close your heart to love," she says.
"I lost the love of my life."
"If you found love once, you can find it again."
When I shoot her a skeptical glance, she reaches for my hand and gently squeezes it.
"Hello!" Jon's deep voice coming from the back door is so familiar now that I can't help but smile.