More Than This: Contemporary Christian Romance Novel (23 page)

“Will you do something for me?” Liz asked as they sat later finishing up supper, which was just dinner-heated-back-up.

“Sure. Anything.” Jake had enjoyed every moment of their afternoon together even if it wasn’t doing more than sitting on her couch with one of them sleeping.

She reached around her chair and pulled out a notebook and a pencil. Sliding it across to him, she let out a breath. “Draw me something.”

Panic attacked him as his eyes went wide. “Like what?”

“I don’t care. Just something. A flower, a building, anything. Whatever you want.”

Jake looked at the notebook and mechanical pencil lying there taunting him. Was she completely crazy? He ran his hands down his jeans. “I’m not…”

However, her face was soft, hopeful, safe. “It doesn’t have to be good. I’m just curious. Please.”

With a long sigh and knowing he was going to regret this, he picked up the pencil and shook his head. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

A moment more to beat all of the screaming protests in his head back down and Jake traced the outline of the plate with the turkey that sat in front of him. He purposely let go of the rest of the world, noticing the lines and the arcs of the dinnerware. Carefully he let the drawing encapsulate the stemware glass beyond— her glass. Somehow it captured the spirit of the holiday and the end of a beautiful time of being together much like the scraps of turkey lying there did.

When he was done, Jake looked at it, knowing his artwork could use a lot of work. He shrugged. “Something like that.” Wishing the embarrassment would leave him alone, he slid it across to her.

She took it, wide-eyed, and sat back in the chair hard. Her face fell into incomprehension as she continued to stare at it.

Worry slithered over him. “Is it that bad?”

Her gaze came up to his as if she was seeing him for the very first time and not at all sure she liked what she saw. “Bad? This is incredible.” She sat forward, meal forgotten. “How did you learn to do this?”

“Draw?”

“Yeah. This is…  It’s… amazing.”

Jake shrugged. “It’s just freehand, nothing to write home about.”

At that she almost came out of her chair. “Are you kidding me? Look at the lines on the plate. It’s like they’re for real.”

“Well, they’re right there.” He didn’t see what she was seeing that was so great. “I just drew what was there.”

“Yeah, but… You… It’s like it’s real and you just… did it. You didn’t think about it. You didn’t plan it out and do six sketches. You just…”

Jake laughed and shrugged. “It’s some leftover turkey and a glass. Big deal.”

But Liz knew it was far, far more than that. She was beginning to sense something about Jake, something that maybe some small piece of her had always suspected but had never really understood. She vowed to read more in the dyslexia book once he was gone. For now, she needed to drop the subject before she made her guest uncomfortable. With all of her willpower, she laid the notebook on the table. “Do you mind if I keep it?”

He shrugged, ducking his head so she couldn’t see his eyes. “Suit yourself.”

Carefully she closed the notebook. “Thanks.”

Again he shrugged. “You want some pie now?”

“Sure.”

Ten seconds after Jake closed the door following the last good night kiss, Liz bolted from the door and raced to the couch. Yes, it was after eleven-thirty, and yes, he would be back some time just after seven, but this was important.

Her heart hammered in her chest as she pulled up the second book— Dyslexia:  Creativity & Intelligence Uncovered. Willing herself to calm down enough to read and comprehend, she angled the little lamp closer. The answers were here. She was sure of it.

All the way home, Jake felt the smiles bubbling up from the center of him, and he couldn’t stop them. By some power other than himself he had landed in this strange and wonderful land of being loved and wanted. He didn’t remember ever being here before, and he couldn’t help but wonder if it was all some grand illusion that he would eventually wake up from. However, even that thought was all right because if this was a dream, it was worth every chance of it coming to an end.

He remembered how her head felt on his chest, how she breathed, the little sounds she made as she slept. He could get used to those sounds— very used to them. As he crossed the street to his apartment building which loomed high above the street, he asked himself a logical albeit startling question:  What would it take to make tonight permanent?

His heart skipped at the thought. What he would give right now to simply walk back to her apartment and live there the rest of his life. However, there were little things like the real reality of his life that told him asking her for forever was selfish. Did she really want to be with a guy who drove a forklift and made barely over minimum wage? An uneducated dreamer who believed more in his stories than in reality?

Trying to push down the hurt those questions brought up, he unlocked his apartment and disappeared from the outside world into its confines. He needed to tell her, to be honest with her, and then he would know if this was real or just some elaborate dream.

Tomorrow
, he told himself as he went to the bed and pulled off his boots.
Tomorrow I will find a way to tell her, and then she will be able to go on with her life without me.
He lay down and put his hand behind his head. He wanted to cry, but he wouldn’t let himself. No. Just the blessing of this one moment with her was more than he could ever have hoped for. How could he possibly be sad about that?

Many dyslexics are fantastically talented in areas that require understanding and the ability to intrinsically know how things are put together. Examples abound:  master mechanics who put engines and even whole cars together, architects who design elaborate buildings, painters, dancers, even writers— all have a strong right-brained, creative bent. This reliance on the right brain, which is the natural creative center of the mind, is the hidden treasure that even they do not realize they possess.

Liz sat back, thinking and rethinking through everything, every moment since they had met. It all fit too perfectly for it to add up to anything else. She sat forward, her arms resting on the open book. “He’s dyslexic.” But she shook her head at that. “Jake is dyslexic.”
Dyslexic.
It suddenly sounded so… unwhole, so abnormal, and Jake was neither of those. He was special, intelligent, fascinating. The problem was, she realized as she continued to think it through, that he had absorbed all of the bad karma of dyslexia without realizing there was anything good about him or it at all.

Once again she sat back, thinking through it all again and again, and suddenly she saw something she had missed. The understanding made her laugh out loud as her gaze went upward. “You planned this, didn’t You? You sent him to me.” She breathed that in. “Or did You send me to him?”

Did it matter? Either way, she felt God’s hand on the relationship. This felt like far more than boy-meets-girl and they fall in love. Her heart jumped at that word and then settled into it peacefully. Yes, she loved him, and this insight into the depths of him only made her love him all the more. He was incredibly strong to have survived with this disability for so long.

There were so many questions she wanted to ask him:  Did the schools know? Was he given any modifications? What form did his dyslexia take? How was he able to write whole novels if he couldn’t even read? How much could he read? Was he functional at all? Was spelling a problem? How about math? Writing?

Then she realized how incredibly hard it might be to ask any one of those questions, much less all of them. He was a man who had suffered a great deal. That much was screamingly obvious. She remembered him sitting over in the corner of the coffee shop— huddled was a better word for it, hunched over his little laptop as if, if he could disappear altogether, he would. Only now did she see the dimness of the light in his eyes and grasp that it was dull for a reason. Her heart ached at the insight. All she wanted to do at that moment was put her arms around him and give him a hug and tell him it could be so much better. He didn’t have to struggle.

She looked over at the clock. It was after midnight, and she had an early morning coming up. As she packed her things away and went to get ready for bed, she began a soft prayer that hardly had words attached to it.
God, I don’t even know where to begin with Jake, but I believe You do. Please show me, and Lord, if I’m only meant to help him and not to love him forever, please give me the grace to let go when this is over.

When the knock sounded on her door the next morning, Liz realized the alarm had never gone off. Yanking herself from the warm bed, she tramped out, not even bothering with a brush or a robe. Her nightclothes— loose fitting navy pants and a white T-shirt— would have to be okay. She didn’t have time for anything wonderful. “I’m coming.”

At the door, she quickly unbolted and unlocked it. In one swing her breath swept from her. He stood there, leaning against the doorpost a handful of wildflowers clutched in his hand. His gaze was down and slowly lifted to hers. His smile could have been no more hesitant.

However, it was instantly overtaken by concern. His gaze studied her as alarm overtook even the concern. “I’m sorry.” He straightened like a shot. “Didn’t you say seven?”

Liz laughed softly and pushed the fall of hair from her face. “Yeah, but I should’ve told my alarm clock.” She stepped back to let him enter, which he did. He smelled like pine needles and aftershave. Memories from the day before seeped into her consciousness, and she snuggled into their warmth.

“I’m sorry to wake you,” he said barely getting all the way into her apartment. “We don’t have to go right now. I mean, we don’t have to go at all.”

Shutting the door, Liz turned to him. “Did you come all the way over here to tell me we’re not going?”

His gaze slipped back to the flowers. “Well, no. It’s just that…”

She grinned. “So let me get this straight. I’m the one who messed up, and you’re the one apologizing? I like this set-up.”

He looked up at her with surprise at first, but it was quickly followed by amusement which danced in his eyes.

“Tell you what,” she continued. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable, and I’ll go try to look presentable.”

The look on his face said he was about to say something, and Liz couldn’t help but feel she might not be able to stay sane after he did. So quickly, she ducked and went back to her room. What she found there when she turned on the light scared even her. Puffy eyes, hair like a rat’s nest. How he hadn’t run screaming from the premises with one look, she had no idea. When she tried to send the brush through her hair, she realized this was going to take more than a comb-through. A full shower complete with six pounds of shampoo might not even fix it.

Grabbing her stuff, she padded down the hallway. The sound of pans in the kitchen lifted her heart. He was here now. It was going to be a glorious day.

With breakfast on the stove, Jake went into the dining room and set out the glass of flowers. It was all he could find. Then he noticed the thick book lying on the table. Interested but fearful, he stepped closer to it, reached down as if he might get caught at any second, and opened it to a page.

Somehow he had expected the book to give him some answers to questions he couldn’t even figure out how to ask, but it looked like the same frustrating jumble of words the others always had. He focused, trying to get the words to make sense, but annoyingly, they just didn’t. Why was this always so hard? Was it because of the dyslezia thing? Or was it just him?

Stupid
. The word came back to him, slicing through him like a dull knife. He was just stupid. That’s all there was to it. With a crack, he felt like he was back in Mrs. Pettry’s class in fourth grade. Everyone else had read the assignment. All of them. Only he hadn’t. When she called on him, he made some excuse about his dad being sick. It wasn’t true, of course, but he could think of nothing else.

That’s when he’d heard the whisper from someone behind him, “McCoy can’t read. He’s stupid, you know.”

What had she said about being in reading recovery the whole time? He remembered those torture sessions. Even that teacher had eventually given up on him. The pain from so many failed attempts to be normal stabbed into his gut as hot tears burned his eyes. He swiped at them, hating them and himself. Why couldn’t he just be normal? Why was this all so impossible for him?

He heard a door close behind him, and he quickly shut the book, swiped at his eyes, and fled into the kitchen. He was busy finishing up the eggs when she came in.

“Sorry about that,” she said, appearing at his elbow in slim-fitting jeans and an emerald blouse that hung on her just right. “What can I do to help?”

Kiss me and hold me
went through his mind as he gawked at her, but with immense effort, he shook out of that thought. “Uh, the bacon should be done in the microwave.”

“Got it.”

Breakfast was good. He really was a good cook. Liz sat, wishing she could start the conversation that had chased around her head all night long, but how does one go about asking such personal questions?

“So,” he said, stretching his legs under the table, “you said you’re going back to the Learning Center on Monday?”

“I’m planning on it.” The scoop of eggs took a long, eternity to make it to her mouth as she thought and rethought how to ask him the questions swirling in her mind.

“I think it’s really great,” he said before she had the chance to get anything out.

“What’s that?”

“That you’re wanting to help people like that. I can’t imagine not being able to read.” He took a bite of bacon although he never really looked at her. “That must be tough.”

Liz nearly choked on the eggs, and she had to take a drink of orange juice to get it down.
Way to go, Liz-bet. Boy, you had him pegged… wrong.
“Hm.” She cleared her throat and concentrated on her breakfast. “So you really want to go to Stanton Island today?”

He shrugged and half smiled at her. “It’s as good a day as any.”

As good a day as any turned out to be far better than any Jake had ever lived before it. They boarded the bus just outside her apartment which took them to the subway. The ride was nice, especially when she reached over and put her hand in his. Something about that washed peace into his soul. When they exited the tunnel and headed for the ferry, Jake wondered if there had ever been a more perfect Friday. Shoppers were out in full-force, but since they weren’t in a hurry, it was more a distraction than a nuisance.

“I can’t believe Christmas is coming up,” Liz said, and there was a wistful quality to her voice as their hands swung, connected between them. “Seems like just yesterday school started. I can’t believe how fast this semester has gone.”

Jake looked over at her not believing a lot of things himself. “So have you applied to any graduate schools yet?” The question threatened to rip his heart right out of his chest, but this was important to her, and he wanted to know so maybe he could guard his heart though even as he thought it, he almost laughed. His heart was long, long gone.

“I’m waiting for my test scores.” She shook her head, sending her tresses dancing in the wind under the little tan, knit beret. “That should be in a couple weeks.”

“So you got any schools in mind?”

“Well, when I started, I thought one of the Ivy Leagues would be cool. You know Princeton, Yale.” She shrugged. “But I think those were more of a dream than anything. Not that they aren’t good schools, but budget-wise and reality-wise, I don’t see them happening.”

For a moment he could breathe.

“Then I had thought about going out to California.”

With that thought, the air jammed into his lungs going nowhere.

“UCLA, Berkley. But I don’t know. That’s so far away, and I’ve really grown to love New York.” Her gaze slipped up to the buildings beyond as his slipped over to her. She was so beautiful, so kind. Nothing like he would have pictured someone who looked like her. Suddenly her gaze swung to his, capturing his soul with such force he nearly tripped over his own shoe. “What about you? Ever think about going back to school?”

Panic flooded through him so quickly, he couldn’t hide the horror in his eyes long enough to get them unglued from hers. “Oh. Uh. School?” He looked out to the buildings and the people, seeing nothing. “Uh, no. Not really.”