Page 35 of The Broken Heart Playlist
After a weighted pause, he says, “You’re worried about Lisset and how she’ll do in the program.”
I decide to be honest. “Yes.”
He drags a hand down his beard. He’s silent for a moment, as though he’s debating how to answer, and then he starts talking.
“Some of the children who read with Uno struggle with low self-esteem or they’re shy and quiet. Some of them have learning disabilities or they’re older students who are learning English as a second language. And then there are the children who have other issues and we don’t always know the cause of them.”
Lisset. A knot starts to form in my throat. I take a quick swallow of my wine to stop it from choking me.
“But whatever their background or struggles,” Gideon continues, “they all need someone who believes in them and Uno gives them that. He doesn’t judge, he doesn’t laugh at them or criticize them. He simply accepts them for who they are.”
I lean back against the thick cushions and let Gideon’s voice pour over me like smooth, rich maple syrup.
“Yesterday, a little boy said he wasn’t afraid to make mistakes anymore,” he says. “I have two boxes full of handmade cards from kids thanking Uno for helping them.”
He tells me how he’s trained the greyhound with subtle hand signals. If a child gets a word wrong, for example, he gives a signal and Uno knows to cock his head to one side to appearconfused. He then asks the child to please repeat or explain the word so Uno can understand.
And I get it. The children aren’t under the impression the adults are correcting them. Instead, they’re helping the dog to understand. The child moves from passive reader to active teacher. It’s simple, but ingenious.
I thought a slick presentation with statistics and facts would alleviate my worries, but Gideon has won me over with personal testimonies.
“Thank you,” I say.
“Do you feel better about Lisset being part of the program?”
“A little better.”
He leans forward to set his beer down, only I’m not prepared, and the sudden movement startles me. Muscle memory, or some other kind of memory kicks in, and I flinch.
Gideon notices. Of course, he notices. The man appears unfathomably skilled at decoding nuances in nearly everything I do and say.
Our eyes meet. Several silent, tense seconds tick by while something unspoken passes between us.
“Hey,” he says gently.
I close my eyes. In that one flinch, I’ve revealed far too much.
“Kate.”
“Don’t.”
“But—”
“Please.”
He sighs.
And I hear everything I’m begging him not to say in that soft, resigned sigh.
The apprehension brewing in my chest begins to build. Getting to my feet, I swallow before speaking. “Thank you for the wine and for the company. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I flee his porch and head home.
All this time, I thought I was done running. I was deeply mistaken.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
My plan was to arrive at Aaron and Tess’s house before Gideon, but Lisset, who clearly stayed up way too late at her sleepover last night, had a meltdown half an hour before we were due to leave. She was grumpy and teary the whole of today and refused to take an afternoon nap. When she discovered I hadn’t washed the pink sweater she wanted to wear tonight, there ensued tears and drama of epic proportions. I’m already frazzled and her behavior is like a rubber band snapping against my stretched nerves.
