by Nancy Radke
“Do you know the letters and their sounds?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Do the letters wave at you? Like the letter “Y” ?” If they did, she would start checking for dyslexia.
“No” He tapped his fingers impatiently on the table. “Are you going to teach me, or just ask questions?”
She pointed her finger at him, using it to emphasize her words. “You hired me. In this, I’m the expert, so you need to do as I say.”
Again that flare of defiance flashed through his eyes, to be blocked almost instantly. He nodded, at first slowly, then rapidly, his head jerking; as if once having made the decision, he wished to affirm it to himself as well as her.
As she gazed into his eyes, glowing with the intense desire to learn, Ellen caught her mind racing ahead. Jared intrigued her. A crash course would increase their time together. She was already looking forward to it.
Sympathy—she dared not call it pity—sliced its way through her heart like a sword through a candle, leaving it seemingly intact, yet changed. If only she could show him the future: three to five years from now, when the words flowed easily for him. If only she could promise results.
Instead she said, “Why don’t you just tell me what happened? That’s easier than playing twenty questions.” When people gave their version of events, they often gave away more information about themselves than they realized. Everyone saw things differently.
“I’ll try. But if you’re going to give me orders, call me Jared. I’ll listen better. I might not look it, but I’m not that much older than you. I’m thirty-one.”
He stared at his hands, focusing on the interwoven fingers as if they held the key to his problems. They were strong, competent hands; the hands of a hard worker... a builder. Ellen found herself also looking at them, feeling the strength of character expressed therein.
Hands were very expressive, revealing personalities. Some fluttered, some pounded. Jared used his to emphasize his thoughts— demanding, decisive, bold. His long, tapering fingers were more than capable of lifting heavy objects... or of loving a woman.
No ring. Only six years older than herself. She clasped the knowledge close, savoring it, then grew attentive as he stood and stalked to the other end of the room. He stopped, his back to her.
It was a moment before he spoke. “If you have to know, I made it though first grade... that wasn’t too rough, but by the second things got harder, and by third grade... by third I quit trying.” A deep scorn entered his voice. He fell silent, not offering any more.
“And you graduated from college? That’s amazing.”
She would have said “impossible,” before meeting him. But perhaps he stayed in math classes. “How did you do in math?”
He turned and walked back towards her, raking his hands through his hair. “Terrible.”
“I see.” Actually, she didn’t. “Were the story problems harder than a column of figures?”
“Both impossible. As long as I could do it in my head, or on a calculator, I was okay.”
“And if someone read the story problems to you?”
“No troubles then, but I couldn’t read, so what was the use? I just couldn’t get it. Too dumb.” He whirled around and lurched away from her again, as if to escape the horror of his admission.
Dumb. Ellen had heard that word so many times. Why did anyone who could not read automatically label himself dumb? “What is your present job?”
“I’m head of Seward Boats. We manufacture and repair yachts.”
“You do? That’s impressive.”
“I guess.” He returned to stand in front of her, shoulders hunched, as if he had just admitted to being both a bank robber and a serial killer.
“Anyone who is head of a company is certainly not dumb.”
“You don’t understand. It was my father’s company. When he retired, he turned it over to my older brother, who is now the major stockholder.”
“Then how did you...?”
“My brother recently had a heart attack and had to retire, too. I became manager.”
“That doesn’t matter. You kept it going—”
“Not really. I just took charge a month ago. As soon as I mess up, my whole family will know.”
“They don’t know?”
“No one does. If my brother finds out he’ll try to run the business again. The strain could kill him. He’s only been out of the hospital two weeks.”
“Wouldn’t he sell it?”
“Never. Our grandfather started it, in Seward, Alaska. Been in the family three generations now.”
“What does your brother, uh...?” She motioned with her hand in question.
“Richard.”
“What does Richard plan to do?”
“Stay away from the boat yard like the doctor ordered.”
“I see,” Ellen said, seeing more than what he said. If Richard discovered the truth, he would come back until he could put in a new manager. Jared would be out of a job, as well as embarrassed and disgraced. An outcast, losing his only link to what made life worth living.
A man defined himself by his job. If Jared lost his, he might turn suicidal.
Dealing with him was going to take all the energy—emotional and physical—she possessed. If ever someone needed help, it was this proud man—fighting insurmountable odds.
“How much reading does your job require?” she asked.
“Lots, but it’s mainly decision making. Before this, I was head of sales. I really helped the company grow. But all that will be forgotten when people learn I can’t read.”
“I’m amazed no one’s found out.”
He yanked back his chair with rough, nervous energy, making Ellen wince as he dropped into it. “We’re getting nowhere,” he exploded. “Start teaching me... now!”
“On the contrary. I still need to know what happened in first grade to a smart little boy named Jared Steel.”
“I told you. I quit!”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes, I—”
“You were still trying in first grade. I want to know what kept you from reading. Was there a death in the family?”
“No.” His voice raised in despair, born of endless frustration. “Nothing like that.”
“An illness perhaps—”
“No. I just gave up! I couldn’t do it. Don’t you understand? I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do it!”
Ellen breathed in deeply to steady emotions which had flared in response to his. “There has to be a reason. Have you had your vision checked?”
“Oh, yes. Hearing, eyes—the works. There’s nothing physically wrong with me. I just can’t read!”
Disturbed, she reached for her testing cards. Perhaps it was best to start now and question him later. But one way or the other, she had to explore his past.
“We need to set up a regular work space,” she said. “Is there some place else we can use?”
“The study.”
“Okay. Let’s look at it.”
He led her farther down the hall to where the clock stood and turned into a cozy library filled floor to ceiling with books. They looked worn, as if read or handled many times. She resisted asking if he had gone to a used bookstore to fill his shelves. The multicolored backs and variety of shapes welcomed the book-lover in Ellen, while the small table with three straight-backed chairs fitted their needs perfectly.
The library was even darker than the dining room, for it had only one window, covered with a heavy curtain. The overhead light was dim, but the table lamp was probably bright enough for today.
She pulled back the curtain to let in the sunlight and discovered French Doors, leading to a balcony. “We’ll need to bring in another lamp tomorrow. It’s hard to read in a small pool of light. I can’t stay late tonight, but I can—”
“Why not?”
“I need to buy groceries. Plus, I’ve got to unpack all that stuff you saw in the car so I’ll have a place to sleep.”
“Tomorrow, then. Around four?”
“I’ll be here.”
They took a minute to arrange the table, the lamp and two of the chairs. Ellen put herself on his left, at right angles to him, explaining that she could follow him better.
Handing him the first sheet, she said, “Start with this. It’s for children, so you’ll have to overlook the content.”
The first sheet was at a grade one reading level, and he read it easily. Encouraged, she handed him the second. The sheets progressed in difficulty, so that the words and sentence structure at the bottom of each were at grade level. It took him longer to read the second sheet and towards the end he mixed the words up so all meaning was lost.
Disgustedly he shoved the paper aside and rubbed his eyes. “You see!” he snapped. “I can’t even get the simplest words right.”
He spoke the truth. He stumbled over “if” and “said”—words that had given him no trouble on the first sheet—yet still managed to read words like “something” and “beautiful.”
Scowling, he stared off into a dark corner of the room, seeming to find refuge there. Ellen gave him a few moments to compose himself, then asked him to read the last sentence once more, hoping to discover his problem.
“Why? You saw what happened.”
“I need a replay,” she insisted. “Please.”
But this time he read it through without stumbling. She grew even more puzzled. His reading followed no pattern she had ever encountered before. This job might be beyond her.
*3*
Jared reached for the third sheet, but Ellen stopped him. “Wait. Re-read the second sheet again. From the top.”
“Why?”
“Please.” She glanced around the cozy library, ordering herself to be patient. She could see she was going to have to use that word a lot. He wanted to learn, but had a lifelong habit of avoiding words on a page. Consequently, he would have to struggle with himself; knowing he should do as she asked, yet feeling the need to trick her.
He snatched up the second sheet and began. Ellen found herself watching his lips, fascinated. They were full, mobile, expressive, revealing his fierce determination, his intense drive to achieve. As he struggled, she silently urged each word to come forth, willing him to succeed.
This time he got no further than halfway down before stumbling. Frustrated, he shook the paper as if to make the words stand still.
“This one doesn’t make sense,” Jared complained, looking up from the paper and glaring at Ellen as if she were to blame.
She leaned forward to check out the words. “It makes sense to me,” she said. “I told you these were written for children—”
“It still doesn’t make sense. Just look at it.”
“The yellow duck swam across the large blue lake,” she read. “What’s wrong with that?”
“No duck is going to swim clear across a lake.”
“Well, it’s just a reading test.” What was bothering him?
“And look at this next one.”
“There’s nothing wrong—”
“Just look at it.” He pushed the paper towards her.
“When Jerry lost his toy sailboat, his father made him another.” She examined the next three lines. “They aren’t supposed to be read together.” She pushed the paper back.
“Okay. Fine.” He looked down at the sentences. “The yellow duck swam across the large blue lake. When Jerry lost his toy sailboat, his father bought him another.”
“Pretty good memorization,” Ellen congratulated him, suddenly realizing what he had done. In a move typical of non-readers, he had tricked her into reading it for him. It was a self-defense mechanism; probably deeply rooted by now. “Try the next line.”
He scowled down at it, his hands clenching the edge of the table. “Mother baked a... a... this doesn’t make sense either.”
“Maybe not,” she said with a laugh, “but I’m not going to read it for you. Not this time.”
He shifted his gaze to meet hers. It carried the full power of his intriguing personality. His brows arched as if to challenge her and his eyes... his eyes were as changeable as cloud patterns, racing across the lake. The impact hit her hard, throwing her off stride.
Eyes were the mirror of the soul; his were beautiful.
What was it with this man? The very air around him vibrated. She felt charged with anticipation, looking forward to the excitement of discovery—her further discovery of him. He had opened the door of his life just a crack, and yanked her inside, to aid in his struggle. She would guide, but he remained the driver, refusing to relinquish control. Victory or disaster... they were bound together by the entwining cords of emotion and need.
Confused by her feelings, Ellen glanced away. The cords would grow stronger, more powerful, more difficult to undo, hour by hour, day by day. If they already had the power to scramble her mind and throw her emotions into turmoil, what would they be like a week from now?
Jared stared at her, waiting for her to speak. What had they been talking about? She looked at the sheet of paper in his hand.
Reading. They were talking about reading... because he had tricked her.... She pushed against the strong emotions, forcing her voice to sound confident and businesslike. “You admitted you get people to read for you. That’s fine when you’re out in public, but if you want to learn, you’re going to have to put forth the effort.”
He smiled, a secret smile, and Ellen fought down the ensuing leap of her heart. “I am.”
“You, not me,” she protested. “You have to do it for yourself. Learning is hard work and—”
“Not play?” His glance, keenly speculative with a hint of mischief, lingered on her, and her heartbeat accelerated like a motor with the throttle on full.
Flustered by her reaction, she hastily stomped down the excitement within her. This was becoming impossible—there was no way she could answer that and be able to teach him later, so she acted like she misunderstood.
“I have some reading games, but I didn’t bring them.” She made her voice prim and starched: the teacher’s barrier.
“I wasn’t talking about that.”
She knew he wasn’t; but they were alone in his house; would be alone during the upcoming sessions. She was deeply committed to this man already. It would be easy to add fuel to temptation.
Pushing himself back from the table, he said, “We’ll break for a while. How about coffee? Or tea? Or are you a water person?”
“I... uh... I think I’d better leave. It’s late. Why don’t you bring... uh, some papers or letters from your office tomorrow. They’d contain the words you need to learn first.”
“Done.”
“Then, goodbye. I’m gone.”
He walked her to the door. “See you tomorrow.”
Passing through, she stepped into the sunlight, amazed at how swiftly time had passed. As if reluctant to see her go, Jared followed her up the steps to her car, making her all too aware of him as he walked closely behind. The heightened sensitivity made her quicken her pace. They reached the top and she turned.
“Good-bye. See you at four.”
He nodded, opened her door for her, held it a moment after she entered, then shut it. He was frowning and she wondered what bothered him, but said “good-bye,” rather than ask. She drove away, tired, yet regretting having to leave. There was much about him that attracted her. Physically and mentally.
Strange how his problem made Jared more attractive... or was it his struggle that appealed to her? He approached reading as a mountain to climb. Grim and serious, he would probably resist all her efforts to make learning fun. He did not need motivation; he needed something to help him relax.
It was like teaching a smoldering volcano. She had students who smoldered because they resented reading, but Jared was different. Intense, driven, desperate... it burned out of his eyes—those expressive eyes—and his actions... the way he clenched his teeth while struggling with a word. There was no w
ay she could ease that. He was vulnerable to the first person who discovered he could not read above first grade level.
Tomorrow she would search her reference books and see if she could pinpoint his problem. Someone must have come across his particular reading pattern.
Although he might become her toughest challenge, she looked forward to being with him... teaching him, anticipating his joy when he learned the reading code. She felt like a fairy godmother with a magic wand that could unlock this man’s life and set him free.
Jared stood in the driveway for a long time after Ellen left. He felt exhausted, drained. He hated the pity in her eyes. He didn’t need pity, he needed help.
She held his future in her hands. She had integrity—otherwise she would have taken his highest offer, maybe even held out for more. Therefore, she would try to keep his secret. But could she?
She had pried into his past, but he had no knowledge of hers. Just how stable was she? As far as he was concerned, women were constant talkers... always wanting to share their secrets. She was so young, she could easily mention that she was tutoring a man who could not read... and then later give away his identity, perhaps by accident. It wouldn’t take much.
Consumed with worry, he stared up the road, willing her to return. Knowing that was futile, he wandered down around the house, out onto the dock. To the Sea Sprite.
His sailboat. His refuge. He always ended up here.
Jared stepped into the small sloop and stroked his hand across the smooth wood. The boat gently rocked beneath him as if in welcome and he felt his mind start to ease.
He had started something that could alter his life... and there was no way to stop it. He had to finish this, no matter what. He felt almost fatalistic in his acceptance—and if his mouth weren’t so dry, he might even tell himself he was in control.
Taking a deep breath, he dropped the centerboard, then released the lines tying the Sea Sprite to the dock. An off-shore breeze blew, gentle on his face as he checked his equipment, finding comfort in the familiar task. Next he unfurled the main sail, set the jib. He pushed the tiller slightly and the sails filled, carrying the sloop out onto the ruffled waters.