Page 28 of Losing Faith

“Of course I do, silly. Stickers don’t make school easier.” She sounds a bit sad and I squeeze her chunky cheeks as we walk into the house.

“Good thing practice makes perfect.”

Her smile is back as she tells me about the short rhyming sentence she read in class, and when she shows it to me, I explain to her what she spelled wrong, and for practice, I read it back to her and she writes it again, this time, everything spelled right.

We work for the next two hours and Jackson walks past a few times, nearly every half hour. He doesn’t say anything, he just walks over, ruffles Isabelle’s hair or kisses her head, as if he’s making sure she’s still here.

I’m in the kitchen pouring Isabelle a cup of juice when he walks overagainand sticks his head into the living room. I watch him walk over and gently touch Isabelle’s arm. She doesn’t even glance at him as she traces her vowels and he walks back out, his eyes locking on mine.

“Do you have separation anxiety or am I not trusted to be alone with your kid?”

A guilty smile tugging on his pretty face. “Sorry.” He watches me like I should be offended and he feels horrible for whatever’s in his head.

“What is it?” I let out a soft laugh, but his eyes dart to the ground.

“It’s nothing.” He musters up a smile as his eyes meet mine.

I feel my brows furrow as I watch him. “Well now I feel like you reallydon’ttrust me with her, which isn’t the worst thing, you barely know me, but if it’s something else, just say it.” I cross my arms over my chest and as I study him, I begin to question if maybe he does know about my addiction.

His shoulders slouch before he forces a smile. “I have OCD, it’s an OCD thing and it’s dumb, ignore me.” He brushes me off and I nod in understanding.

“It’s not dumb. Don’t do that.” My arms fall to my side and his eyes dart back up to mine. “Trust me, I’m far more screwed than you and your OCD. I also had a roommate who had OCD, so to some extent, I get it. You don’t have to brush it off. I’m aware it’s more than just being a neat freak and it’snotdumb,” I reassure him.

His eyes scan my face carefully before he stands a bit straighter. “Thank you.” His words come out more like a question, but I nod in response as he continues. “I told myself I would only check on her every hour, but it’s clearly not going well.” He forces a smile before his eyes scan the kitchen.

“Is it because you don’t know me that well or…” My voice trails off as I try to understand.

He’s quick to shake his head no. “It’s not you,” he reassures me. “I’m stressed with work. I have this client that’s driving me up a wall. The stress makes the intrusive thoughts worse, and I worry about her a bit more.”

“So you like checking on her.” I nod in understanding, but falter when he shakes his head.

“It’s nothing.” He tries to brush me off again.

“Jackson, I’m inyourhouse and watchingyourkid.” A smile grows on my face at how much he’s beating himself up about telling me whatever it is. I don’t know what a filter is when it comes to personal stuff, so him holding back is very foreign to me.

I try again more gently. “I don’t want you to feel awkward in your own home. If you need me to do something a certain way to put you at ease, let me know,” I suggest, remembering my roommate who needed me to do her compulsive rituals with her.

His shoulders sag before he explains. “I don’t need you to do anything. When I get an intrusive thought that she’s going to get hurt while I’m working, I need to tap her, and I feel bad coming in and bothering you both.” He quickly shakes his head. “I know she’s physically okay, but my brain convinces me she’s going to choke or drown in the pool the second I turn my back, so I just need to undo those thoughts by touching her.”

My eyes dart down to his hand as he taps on the island four times.

I grab the juice for Isabelle. “Don’t feel bad.”

His brows furrow.

“About constantly checking on her. You’re not interrupting us or bothering me so don’t feel bad and don’t apologize.” I nod firmly, knowing the guilt comes with the disorder.

Slipping past him, I meet Isabelle on the couch again. I rest the cup of juice next to her and she thanks me. When I notice she’s done tracing the vowels, I set a new paper in front of her.

“I don’t like this one.” She moves it aside and grabs a different sheet as she takes a sip of her drink.

“Thanks for letting me know.” I grab it again, knowing she’s only saying that because she struggles with these. “We’re still going to try,” I tell her and she looks surprised by my words, but I gesture to the paper.

“I’m saying thereallyhonest truth.” She puts a hand up in defense as she tilts her head to the side. “I don’t really care about the main idea of this story. It looks boring.” She shrugs and I bite back a laugh.

“I appreciate your honesty.” I gesture to the paper. “I think you’re just saying that because you have a hard time focusing on the main idea and that’s okay. There’s a lot of details in the story, but practice makes perfect and once you get better, I think you’re going to really like figuring out the main idea.”

She lets out a sigh as she looks up to the ceiling.

---