Page 42 of Jane Deyre
My charge struggles to tie her new sneakers. “Can we go check on them?”
“Yes... but first you’re going to learn how to tie your shoes.”
“Grace couldn’t tie them for me.”
“That’s because Grace’s fingers are too arthritic.”
“What doesarfiticmean?”
“Ar-thri-tic. It means she has pain in her joints. It’s hard for her to wiggle her fingers.” I wiggle mine to show her what I mean. She catches sight of my bandaged finger.
“Did you get an owie, Jane?”
“Yes.” For a brief second, the image of her father fills my head. My heartbeat speeds up.Be still, my heart, I tell myself.
“Does it hurt?”
“A little,” I lie. It’s still throbbing and having a bum finger is not going to make it easy to teach her how to tie her shoes.
None of my foster parents took the time to teach me how to tie my shoes. They didn’t give a shit if I tripped over untied shoelaces and bloodied my knees. Thank goodness for my teacher, Mrs. Temple, at Lowood Elementary. She was my fairy godmother. She took pity on me. Cared about me. Encouraged me. Took me under her wing because I worked so hard and was always the brightest kid in the class. “You’re going to go places, Jane,” she often told me. “Let your hopes, not your hurts, inspire your future.” I still remember how she showed me how to make a vision board. Helping me with my very first one—a sheet of white oak tag, filled with pasted-on pictures of princesses, castles, handsome princes, and lots of stars. To this day, my vision board has lots of stars glued on it. Additionally the school drama coach, she inspired my love for books and saw my acting potential. Always giving me a big part in the school play to the chagrin of the popular, rich kids. And she was the one who taught me how to tie my shoes. I can still see her kind face in my head. Hear her soft, patient voice. Even for me, life had its gleams of sunshine. One day I’m going to track her down and thank her for all she did for me.
This is how she taught me: to make loops with each of the laces and then knot them together. Loop one through the other and pull them tight. I demonstrate the methodology to Adele. With her tiny hands, it takes her several frustrating tries, but she finally succeeds. We high-five. With the little I’ve observed in the past twenty-four hours, she’s a fast learner. And determined. A girl after my own heart.
“Can we go outside now and check on the snails?” she asks.
“Did you eat breakfast?”
“Oui!Grace gave me a bowl of Frosted Flakes with strawberries. I wanted her to make a Pop Tart, but she shook her head.”
“That’s because the power is out from the storm and she couldn’t use the toaster,” I say, relieved Grace took care of her. Alice wouldn’t have lifted a bony finger if the child’s life depended on it.
I hop off the bed.
“Okay, then, let’s go.”
“Yay!”
Armed with her father’s mammoth umbrella, we brave the storm together and head outdoors to the veranda. I feel a little like Mary Poppins. Adele holds my free hand. The rain still coming down in buckets, we examine the leafy potted plant.
“Jane, I don’t see them.” Adele sounds on the verge of tears.
“I bet they’re hiding. Snails like to do that during the day. Why don’t you look under the leaves?”
Crouching down while I hold the umbrella over her, the anxious little girl turns over each leaf, one by one. Some look like they’ve been chewed on. But no snails. I’m beginning to lose hope myself. Maybe they crawled away. Fingers crossed they haven’t because I’m going to have one very unhappy little girl on my hands all day.
Then, suddenly...
“Look, Jane! There they are!”
Relief floods me. Sure enough, the snails are under a leaf, side by side, inside their shells. Adele gently taps one of the shells. The snail pops its head out and its tentacles go up one at a time. The other one follows suit.
“They’re awake.” My charge’s eyes stay on them as they move a teeny bit. “They’re so cute!”
“What should we name them?”
Adele studies the snails. It’s not exactly like they’re brimming with personality.
One of the snails outpaces the other. Which is to say it moves a millimeter more.