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Her frustration calls to me. I want to fix it. Make everything better. I step into her office, and lay my hand on her shoulder. She startles, and presses her hand to her chest, then drops her forehead on my arm with a heavy exhale.
"You scared me! How long have you been standing there.?" She smiles up at me, but the corner of her eyes are tight. She's not happy. Not happy to see me, or not happy that I heard her reading?
"A while. I was listening to you read."
Her head falls forward, and her shoulders curve in. I drop into a crouch next to her, and spin her chair to face me. Her hands come to rest in her lap, and I cup them, rubbing her cold fingers. "What are you reading?"
"A report on our staff benefits."
"I thought Eli or Kate help with those."
Her mouth tightens, and she clenches her hands beneath mine. "I should be able to do it. It's my job."
"No. Your job is to take care of the people in this building. Not read reports."
She chews on her lip, and I gently pull it from between her teeth. "Sometimes taking care of them means reading the reports, Jonas. I can't keep passing it off to my staff. They have so much to catch up on after the holidays."
The stubborn tilt of her chin and the sheen of tears in her eyes make me regret bringing it up. I want her happy always, but sometimes, to get to the happy, we need to have the hard conversations.
"Can you show me this file on your computer?"
She frowns at me but tugs her hands from mine and spins. A few clicks of her mouse, and it's on the screen. I stand and lean over her, taking the mouse and sneaking a big sniff of her hair. Then I make a few adjustments, and reprint the report. It spits out on the printer next to her desk. I grab it, and rest my ass on the edge of my desk, then hand it to her.
"Give this a try. See if it helps."
She frowns up at me and slowly takes the papers from my hand. She puts them on the desk next to my hip, and slowly, deliberately reads the words. She picks up speed as she goes, occasionally going back to fix something she stumbles over. After a few lines, she looks up at me, a wobbly smile on her face.
"It's easier. It doesn't feel like the words are jumping around as much. What did you do?"
I nod and run my knuckles over her cheek, wishing I’d known her in high school. Things would have been so much better for her if I had. "I increased the line spacing and changed the font."
She presses the papers to her chest. “It's a miracle. What's the font called? I should use it for all my stuff."
"Dyslexia. The font's called Dyslexia." She smiles and picks up her pen, probably to write down the name, when it hits her.
"Dyslexia." She says the words slowly, almost as though she's measuring them. Weighing them. She looks up at me, eyes wide. “Do I have dyslexia?"
"I think you do. You'd probably need to get assessed for a formal diagnosis."
"You...suspected?"
"Not at first. But a few times this week, I wondered."
"The recipes," she says quietly.
"The recipes." She loves baking, and I love being in the kitchen with her. I love eating anything she makes. But reading the recipes are a struggle for her. I naturally took over the job of reading them and in most cases, quadrupling them. My damned brothers smell more than chocolate through the walls.
"I've heard of dyslexia. I wondered through the years if maybe..." she trails off, and leans back in her chair. "How did you know about the font? And the line spacing thing?"
"I did some research. That font has been specially designed to help people with Dyslexia focus." I tap a line of text with my finger. "See, the letters are weighted at the bottom. Have you ever used the read-aloud function?"
She stares up at me, mouth slightly open, and I get distracted, and rub my thumb over her lip. She's so soft. Everywhere. Her breath catches, then her eyes shift to the glass wall, and she gives a subtle shake of her head. "Read aloud?" she prompts.
I groan, and move from my spot next to her, and show her how to get the program to read her files to her. She plays with it a little then sits back, idly tapping her desk. "I didn't know these things existed. I just thought I would always have to struggle."
"I don't want you to struggle, Janey. Not ever. If I can help, I will."
A single tear falls down her cheek, but she wipes it away before I can. "Thank you," she whispers, voice shaky. She takes my hand, and holds it tight between hers. "Thank you." I nod, because her simple touch has completely stolen my voice. So I just stare at her, dumbly, and focus on the tingles running up my arm.
