"No 'what-ifs,'" Brenna interrupted, the constriction around her chest easing as she realized Nancy feared her own inadequacies. Brenna understood that. "We can do this. If I can, you certainly can."
She was almost relieved to find that Nancy felt as uncertain as she did. Brenna hadn't imagined this from Nancy's point of view. She knew Nancy would do her best, which was all either one of them could ask for. Brenna would do her best, and that too, was all they could ask for.
"We'll give it our best shot," she added. "If this doesn't work I won't blame you."
"It will work," Nancy responded. "I've seen it work."
"You teach me to read, and I'll coach your running. Okay?"
"Okay." Nancy smiled and sat down in a chair at the table. She opened a folder and pulled out several sheets of paper. "When Brian tested you on Saturday, all he did was determine the level you read at. Our next step is to make sure you have all the basics you need."
Brenna sat down. "What kind of basics?"
"That you know all the letters and their sounds. As we go along, we'll figure out how much you already know. Some of this stuff we may have to spend some time on and some of it we may be able to zip through."
"Okay," Brenna agreed. "What else?"
Nancy met Brenna's gaze. "Everything we use, we'll gear toward things that interest you. So, I have a bunch of questions to ask you." She read from the top sheet of paper. "Have you read the newspaper in the last six months?"
Brenna shook her head.
"Have you looked through any books in the last six months?"
Again, she shook her head.
"What about the ones you check out with Teddy?" Nancy prompted.
"Oh. That's right. And we have a lot of big coffee table books with wonderful pictures that I like."
"Good," Nancy said, taking notes. "What about magazines?"
"I like National Geographic. And Jane gets one of those magazines with recipes in it every month."
Nancy grinned. "You can gain weight just by looking at those pictures, you know."
Brenna smiled back. "Impossible. I heard paper was fat-free."
Nancy laughed, then asked, "Do you read business letters?"
Brenna shook her head.
"Advertising?"
"No."
"Job applications."
Brenna smiled. "As little as possible."
"I don't like them, either," Nancy said. She set aside that sheet of paper. "Okay. The next thing we're going to do is a language experience story—a story about you. Just a paragraph of three or four sentences to start. So, tell me about your day."
"Well, I took care of Teddy, as usual." Brenna paused when she saw Nancy writing. "You're going to write down everything I say?"
Nancy looked up and smiled. "Not everything. We just need a few sentences. Tell me what you and Teddy did."
"We went to the park. Teddy fed the ducks in the lake. He has a new kite, and we flew it. And he likes to swing." Brenna fell silent as she watched Nancy print the words with a black felt tip pen.
She glanced at Brenna. "Tell me if I got this right. 'We went to the park today. Teddy fed the ducks in the lake. We flew his new kite,'" she read, her fingers sliding along each one of the words. "Is this correct?"
Brenna looked at the sheet. "I don't know about correct, but it is basically what I said."
"Do you know any of the words?" Nancy asked.
Brenna studied the sheet for a moment. "Teddy. To. The. Lake. Park. A."
Under Nancy's encouragement, Brenna's confidence increased. All the fear that had plagued her since deciding to do this vanished. Nancy made it seem all so logical. She showed Brenna the name Ted in the word Teddy, then moved on to fed and bed and wed. Nancy always came back to words and phrases Brenna already knew. They spent the next two hours working through the language-experience story, pulling words from it, using those words to develop other word patterns.
The stack of cards grew as Nancy added new words. They arranged the cards into phrases, and the phrases became short sentences.
The whole thing seemed like a game to Brenna, and she was astounded to discover so much time had passed. Except for a kink in her back that came from sitting so long, she felt energized.
"There's homework," Nancy said.
Brenna stood up and stretched. "That has an ominous ring to it. Do you give out demerits when it's not done?"
Nancy laughed. "Now, there's a thought, but since you're going to coach my running, paybacks could be hell."
"That's right. So, Miss Jenkins," Brenna teased. "What's my homework?"
"I'd like you to read the front page of the newspaper a couple times this week. Circle all the words you know."
"I can do that. It will be a very short list."
"Don't be so sure." Nancy put her papers in a folder and handed Brenna the stack of cards. "These are yours. That way, you have something to practice with."
"Thanks." Brenna put the cards in her tote bag.
"I gather you haven't told your family what we're doing," Nancy said.
"Teddy has already figured it out. If he knows, well…"
"Your brother knows," Nancy said.
Brenna nodded, feeling an odd pang in her chest. She glanced at Nancy. "We'll do this again next Monday?"
"Yes." Nancy fiddled with the strap of her bag an instant, then asked, "Does Cole know about this?"
Brenna shook her head, and her smile faded as she thought about the inevitability of Cole's finding out she was illiterate. On the other hand, if she learned a dozen new words every day, there would soon come a time when she could read. Maybe she would get lucky and be able to avoid telling him anything.
"He'll be okay about this," Nancy said.
"I wish I believed that."
"Then you'll just have to choose your moment and tell him when you think he's most receptive."
"I know."
"Brenna?" Nancy hesitated, staring past Brenna at the wall a moment before meeting her eyes. "Learning to read is an up-and-down process, you know. Don't be too disappointed if it doesn't go as well next time as it did tonight."
Brenna smiled and gave her friend a hug. "I understand what you're saying." She drew back. "And thanks for your help. I'm beginning to believe I can do it."
* * *
"You've sure been happy the last week," Michael commented, a couple of days after her tutoring session. Brenna and he were putting the finishing touches on dinner in anticipation of Jane's arrival home.
"Yeah," she said, trying to sound offhand.
"The reasons for you being so happy," Michael teased, "wouldn't have anything to do with a certain tall, reasonably good-looking guy that has been hanging around here."
"Mmm," Brenna responded. She couldn't deny that Cole played a part in her good spirits. A big part.
"Don't think I've ever seen you this serious about a guy."
"I'm not serious," she automatically denied.
"He is," Michael stated.
Brenna's hands stilled over the green salad she was making. Without meeting her brother's glance, she shook her head.
"C'mon, Brenna. He's asked you to go home with him."
"Don't go reading anything into this," she said.
"In other words, butt out."
"Smart man." She finished arranging sliced cucumbers on top of the salad. "I knew you'd catch on."
Michael checked on the casserole in the oven, turned it off, and casually added, "Teddy says you've been studying."
Leave it to Teddy to let the cat out of the bag, Brenna thought. She shouldn't have been surprised. Within days of moving in with Michael and Jane, Brenna had discovered you had few secrets around a four-year-old.
"Does this have anything to do with the long conversations you've been having with Nancy the last few days?"
"What is this?" Brenna cast him a you-sure-are-a-pain, big-brother look. "Twenty questions?"
He smiled. "You tell me, sis."
She set the
salad on the table. "Just how much has my young nephew told you?"
Michael had the grace to blush. "You mean after I put the thumb-screws to him?" He folded his arms across his chest and faced Brenna. "He told me you have a big stack of words on cards and that you wished you had more. And he's your helper."
"That he is, even if he can't keep a secret."
Michael grinned. "A failing of being four-almost-five. I wish…" When his voice trailed off, Brenna glanced at her brother. He was studying the pattern on the tiled floor, looking uncharacteristically uncertain.
"Wish what?"
He raised his head. "I knew, even before Teddy told me, that something had changed. I was just waiting until you wanted to tell me. Hoping you'd want to tell me."
"What's to tell? I'm learning to read. No guarantees of success." Deliberately she turned her back on him, fully aware the one thing they had never talked about was now in the open. And she could swear she had heard a thread of hurt in Michael's voice. Not pity, but hurt. Of all his possible reactions, she hadn't anticipated that one. Why would her imperfections make her brother hurt?
She had suspected for a long time that her brother knew of her illiteracy. Of all the people in the world, she knew he'd still love her, but beyond that she hadn't known what to expect. After all, he was a research scientist at a major university hospital, a man who had graduated at the top of his class both in high school and college. A brilliant man who had always, always, made it clear none of that had any importance in their relationship.
Slowly she turned around to face him.
He grinned, and her defensiveness dissolved. She grabbed him by the shoulders, returning his smile with a huge one of her own, a buoyant feeling expanding in her chest. "Oh, Michael. You wouldn't believe it! It's not like being in first grade like the last time I tried. And it's not with some old retired teacher talking down to me like I was stupid. It's…" Her voice trailed away as she searched for the right words.
"Easy?" Michael supplied.
Brenna shook her head. "No. It's not. But this time I think—I know—I can do it."
"I know you can, Brenna." His voice was solemn, a contrast to his smile, which faded.
"But?"
"Does Cole know you can't read?"
Brenna shook her head. "I've wanted to tell him. Oh, Michael, I have. And every time I think I'm close to being able to say the words, something happens."
"I don't want you to get hurt."
If things ended with Cole, not being hurt would be impossible. She knew that. "I keep thinking that maybe—"
"If you ignore the problem, it will go away?"
"Something like that."
"Not a good plan, Brennie," Michael said.
"I know. Cole thinks Nancy and I have been going to the movies."
"I won't lie for you, sis," Michael warned. A smile softened his features. "But I won't give you away either."
Jane arrived home, and the evening routine began, one that Brenna was still adjusting to. Working nights, she had missed the shared companionship over dinner, the relating of the day's activities. Jane expected Teddy to learn something new every day, and she asked him about it every night, a gentle prodding that made her son eagerly share.
As Brenna listened over dinner to his chatter, she wondered if things would have been different if the Colonel had been more encouraging, less demanding. He, too, had expected his children to learn something new each day. She had never measured up. Her inadequacies were pointed out and examined, and her strengths fell too short for praise.
With new clarity, she realized her reluctance to tell anyone—including her brother … and Cole—she couldn't read was rooted as much in her need to protect herself as it was in her shame. A habit that isolated her.
After dinner, she took the front page of the paper to her room, circling the words she knew per Nancy's instructions. Surveying one column of the page, she shook her head in disgust. They were pitifully few.
Taking out the stack of cards Nancy had given her, she reviewed each one, then arranged them into sentences. Teddy fed the ducks. Teddy led the ducks. Her attention went back to the paper, and her heart sank. She had so much to learn, and the vast expanses of words on the page she had not circled proved just how much.
Michael tapped on the door, then pushed it open, the cordless phone in his hand. "The Colonel," he said, handing her the phone.
Their father called once a week, precisely at eight, and because Brenna had worked nights, she had been able to avoid those calls. She had preferred it that way.
Brenna stared at it a full second before putting the receiver to her ear. Somehow her father always seemed to catch her at her most uncertain, and tonight was no exception.
"Hello," she said, deliberately omitting the "sir" she knew he expected.
"What's this about your losing your job?" he asked without preamble.
"The bar closed," she said. "It's nice to hear your voice, too, Dad." He hadn't liked her working there, but she knew better than to hope he'd view her job loss as anything positive.
"Don't get sarcastic, young lady," he said. "Do you have another job lined up?"
"Not yet," she said, hating the inevitable, predictable turn in the conversation. "I'm going to be gone a few days—"
"Your number-one priority is making sure you're not a burden to Michael. That you're pulling your own weight."
"I understand that," she murmured with far more civility than she felt.
"If you don't have a job, I don't see how," he said. "Michael understands the need for commitment—"
"The striving for excellence, the goal of perfection." Brenna interrupted, irritated with the comparison he always made.
"That's right." The Colonel paused, as he always did, for effect, to punctuate the importance of what he said next. "You're capable of pursuing excellence, but I'd settle for a little commitment."
Brenna rubbed her temple, rearranging the cards on the bed into a new pattern. Brenna sin. She frowned and reached for a new card. Brenna fled. Not liking that thought any better than the first, she stacked the cards on top of one another.
"Exactly what is it you expect this time?" she asked. Not that she'd be able to live up to it, but forewarned was forearmed.
"The same as always," he answered, his voice crisp. "But I'll spell it out for you. One. Get a job, Brenna. And this time, be conscientious so you can keep it more than two or three months."
"It wasn't my fault the bar closed," she interrupted.
"Two," he said, ignoring her. "Stop taking advantage of your brother. Do you understand me?"
The do-you-understand-me was his signal he was finished. Thank God. Resorting to the dull obedience that had usually avoided a beating, she repeated, "I understand. Get a job. Pull my own weight."
"Very good."
"You're still coming to Denver?" she asked, hoping he'd say he wasn't.
"I am. I'll be there right after the Independence Day weekend."
"Maybe you should come sooner. Spend the Fourth here," she suggested, fully aware she would be in Nebraska with Cole. Some place where her father wasn't.
The suggestion seemed to catch him by surprise because there was a long pause on the other end of the line. "I'll give it some thought," he said at last. "Goodnight, Brenna."
"Bye," she murmured to the dead telephone line, and hearing a very different conversation in her head.
Hi, Dad, it's so good to hear from you. You wouldn't believe the awful week I've had.
Michael says you lost your job. What can I do to help?
And cows could fly. Her father hadn't offered to help her once, and she couldn't imagine him doing so. She hated that she wanted him to offer. Even more, she hated the realization that she might not turn down his help. After all these years, she still felt as though she could cut herself anytime on the double-edged sword of wanting his approval and wanting to run as far away from him as she could get.
Absently, she rearranged the ca
rds again. Brenna is a fake. She didn't like that thought at all. However true, she intended to change. Brenna make luck. A better thought.
* * *
Chapter 15
« ^ »
"So this is your Brenna." Grandmom's blue eyes were the same shade as Cole's, shot with gold that reflected the bright summer sun, and clear as a young girl's. She released Cole from her welcoming hug and opened her arms to Brenna. "I know I'm going to love you."
Whatever platitude Brenna tried to utter was lost in her awareness of the moment. She took the last step onto the porch of the white frame house and put her arms around Cole's grandmother. Feeling as though she had come home, Brenna swallowed back the lump that rose in her throat.
Grandmom was similar in stature to Nonna, and the indefinable scent of a woman who lived close to the land was the same, too. The crisp aroma of clothes dried in warm sunshine and the faint traces of lotion on her skin assailed Brenna with vivid memories. For a moment, Brenna imagined it was her own grandmother she was hugging. If Grandmom felt her tremble, she was kind enough to ignore it.
"Come in and help me fix each of us a lemonade," she said to Cole. She released Brenna from her embrace and opened the screen door going into the house. "Did you drive straight through from Denver?"
"Left bright and early just so we could enjoy afternoon lemonade with you, Grandmom," Cole said.
"Humph," Grandmom responded. "Tell that to someone who'll believe it." The smile on her face took the sting completely away from her words. She glanced at Brenna and added, "What he really thinks is that he's going to get a piece of apple pie."
"I'd believe that," Brenna said, with a grin. "I've seen how he is about pie."
Following them through the house to the kitchen, she was again overwhelmed with memories. Physically, nothing about the house resembled the one on the farm in Pennsylvania. Yet, she was reminded. Crocheted covers on the arms and backs of chairs, a north-facing window sill full of blooming African violets, and the cheerful tick-tock of a cuckoo clock could have come from Nonna's house.
Cole opened an ancient refrigerator and took an ice-cube tray out of the freezer compartment.
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