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“I had tutors. They taught me. Or tried to.”
Okay. That’s good, right? I mean, I thought he never received any help, judging by his handwriting. “And?”
“I didn’t want to learn.”
“What? Why not?”
I’m so exasperated and confused right now. Why wouldn’t he want to learn?
“What is this? Twenty questions?”
Gah.
I’m so mad. Why does he have to make everything so difficult? I’m trying to show him that he can do it. That he can read and rise above whatever bullshit his dad has spewed on him and made him believe about himself.
But he has to put up a fight.
“Do you know Art has no parents?” I begin instead. “His parents died when he was two. In a car crash, like mine did. Maybe that’s why I feel so connected to him. Not to mention, he’s being bullied at school. My sweet guy has no friends except you and me. And his grandmother is getting on in age. On top of everything, he had an accident. Do you know how lonely he is? Do you? How can you not come through for him? How can you live with yourself, Zach? He’s the cutest little guy with blond hair and green eyes and he worships you. Are you going to let him down?”
“Are you done with your sob story?”
I glare at him.
Then, with a long-suffering sigh, he asks, “What time do you want me there?”
“What?”
“I’m not going to repeat myself.”
“Seven,” I blurt out on a relieved breath.
“And what about if someone sees me going into your cottage? What’ll happen to your little job?”
I bite my lip because holy shit, he’s right. People might talk if they see him going in and out of my cottage. I mean, once was okay. Art was with us but if he continues to visit me, people will talk. And rumors are how these things start.
“Didn’t think about that, did you?”
I shake my head guiltily.
Another sigh. “You’ve got a back door that leads out to the woods, yeah?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be there.”
That just makes me smile. That makes my whole body smile. Him taking care of me like that.
He goes to move away. “Now, get lost.”
“Wait. One more thing.”
“What?”
There’s tension in his frame. His shoulders appear tight and his stomach looks like a hard slab of rock. A rock with ridges and all.
I’ve upset him. I’ve made him agitated.
But I want to smooth out his rough edges now.
