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A lopsided smile as he traces my cheek with a thumb. “Do you know Cleopatra was an Egyptian queen?”
I nod. “Yeah. My mom used to tell me that she was the most beautiful woman of her time.”
“People are crazy, aren’t they?”
I clutch his dark t-shirt at his waist. “Why?”
“They don’t know what they’re talking about. One look at you and they would’ve snatched away her crown and laid it down at your feet.”
The shudder that goes through me is the biggest one yet.
He called me beautiful.
Beautiful.
I blink up at him. “You’re being nice to me.”
He smiles slightly and acknowledges my statement with a grunt.
I place a kiss on his jaw.
“So, is this it?”
He tips his chin toward the books scattered on the island and I nod. “Yeah. Art sometimes leaves his storybooks here but I borrowed all of them from Doris. So we have a lot of reading material.”
His nod is short, barely there.
I can feel his reluctance. How much he doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to read. He doesn’t want to do this.
I bet it has to do with his dad and his bullying.
The man who should’ve nurtured Zach is the one who’s made him wary of something so basic as reading.
How fucked up is that?
“Take a seat,” I whisper to him.
He does, albeit rigidly.
I sit on the chair beside his and slide the books close. “So, uh, I thought we should start with Art’s favorite story. And I want you to read it so we can see how far along you are.”
I can hear him grinding his teeth, but he doesn’t say a word.
Opening the book, I push it over to his side. For a few seconds, he doesn’t make any move to reach for it. And my eyes fill up with tears as I watch him sitting here, looking all angry and lost.
I’ve watched him grow up, see. I can very easily imagine him as a kid, doing the same thing in classes, in his room, with his tutors.
Maybe even in front of his dad.
Perhaps this was a bad idea. I don’t want to dredge up any bad memories for him. I just want him to feel good about himself.
I’m about to call this thing off when he grabs hold of the edge of the book like it’s an explosive object.
Then, he begins to read.
***
We’ve been working on his reading for an hour now.
