thirty-four.

R honda spends time at The Center every afternoon. Although she's assigned to Bubba, I note that Bubba is not her main concern. honda spends time at The Center every afternoon. Although she's assigned to Bubba, I note that Bubba is not her main concern.

Believe me, I am not in the business of stealing anyone from anybody. I have had that happen to me and don't wish that pain on anyone. Besides, I'm allergic to men who break hearts, and I'm getting the feeling that that sums up every man.

I look at Jonas. He is checking the drain under my kitchen sink. I recall the time he retrieved the engagement ring for me. "Jonas? Have you ever broken anyone's heart?"

He slithers his head from the drain and sits up to look at me. I wonder what he'll say. He might ask for an explanation of what I mean. He adjusts his crimson bandana. "Oh, I carry superglue."

I doubt he heard me correctly and get ready to repeat the question. Before I can, he says, "Superglue will fix anything. Superglue is durable." His words sound like a commercial.

My smile breaks into a laugh. Jonas joins me. We laugh at what he just said, and then we laugh from hearing ourselves laugh.

I am relieved that he is feeling better. Everyone was concerned about his head injury from the fall off the church roof. Zack went to see him every day while he was in the hospital. They discharged Jonas with the warning to stay away from roofs. Zack told him to stick to pipes and drains, things that require only cupcake Band-Aids, not MRIs. Jonas said he'd miss the hospital, especially the kind nurses and the strawberry gelatin with whipped cream served at lunch.

Jonas eyes my camping gear, spread all over the living room floor. Although the trip is not for three days, I am slowly gathering the items I'll need. That sure beats last minute running around. Jonas stands in front of the assortment of piles and asks, "Do you have a sleeping bag?"

"I do." I bought it three years ago after I realized I needed something to replace the pink threadbare one of my childhood- Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. The last time I used it I was at my apartment, preparing to leave Atlanta and venture to this unknown land. I breathe in and wonder what Yolanda is up to today. I could go for a succulent fried banana.

Jonas observes a large brown bag filled with groceries.

"Marshmallows?"

"I went shopping for the trip and got eight bags. I hope those are enough."

"Eight bags should be good." He tugs at his bandana. The Sharpie he sometimes keeps secured in the folds of the material falls onto the floor. "Eight bags is too much!" he cries as he bends down to retrieve his pen.

I laugh. "Well, at least we won't run out."

He continues to toss out the questions. "Flashlight? Pillow? Earplugs?"

"Do you want to join us, Jonas?"

He grins as he sticks his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "No, no. Need a soft bed to sleep on. Doctor's orders. Rest and relaxation."

"Rest and relaxation, huh?"

"Yes." He eyes me. "Is that funny?"

"No, I am sure it's what you need." I hope to get some upon returning from this camping trip. I doubt I'll be able to get comfortable enough in a tent with others to get anything remotely close to sleep. Perhaps earplugs would be helpful.

" 'Take it eeee asy,' " Jonas starts to sing. " 'Don't let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy.' " When he finishes he breaks out with, " 'You better let somebody love you before it's too late.' " asy,' " Jonas starts to sing. " 'Don't let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy.' " When he finishes he breaks out with, " 'You better let somebody love you before it's too late.' "

Only a few notes are off-key. He wants me to join him, but I shake my head. I don't even sing in church. But I can appreciate how others have voices that stay on pitch.

Jonas belts out a few more lines, and I clap for him. He bows, bumps into the chair, and shakes his head. "I drop my pen. I trip. I am one clumsy dude."

And charming and endearing.

"Deirdre, what do you think of my brother?"

"Everyone thinks Zack is great," I say, an automatic reflex.

" 'You better let somebody love you.' "

I feel discomfort settling around me. I know where this is headed.

Jonas wastes no time in expressing his feelings. "You and my brother need to get married."

"Whoa, Jonas! I don't think we are ready for that." Zack hugged Rhonda in the kitchen. I don't tell this to Jonas though.

I don't want to burst his bubble. He loves his brother, and he sees something good in me.

"Well, you can go out on a date first, I guess." Then he sings another line from one of his favorite Eagles songs. " 'We may lose and we may win.' "

I am not ready to lose again. With certainty in my voice, I say, "If he asks."

"You can ask."

No, no, Jonas. I don't chase guys. I protect my heart.

"You can invite him here for some soup."

"Dinner here?" I think the fall off the church roof has done something to Jonas's brain.

He notes my surprised reaction and says, "Or just the oil soup."

"I don't know..."

"He likes cake. Make cake for dessert."

"What kind?"

"The soft one."

Soft one? He must mean the velvet butter. "Velvet?"

"Make sure the soup is hot. You can taste the flavors. Taste all the flavors." He gives me a wink. "Even the oil you thought the soup doesn't have."

I've never been one to try to find the way to a man's heart by satisfying his stomach. Even though I am a chef, it seems too juvenile for me.

"And make sure you have music," says Jonas.

"The Eagles?"

Jonas grins. "You got the picture."

I know I shouldn't but I say, "Jonas, I think your brother is interested in someone else."

His reply is quick. "Rhonda? No, no." He waves his hands in front of him as if to remove any such notion. "They went out to talk things over. Zack is like that. Zack cares about everyone."

I know. Everybody knows that.

" 'Desperado,' " sings Jonas as he heads outside to check some pipes underneath the cabin, " 'why don't you come to your senses? You've been out ridin' fences for so long now.' "

A few minutes pass, and then he swings open the front door. "Deirdre?"

"Yes?"

"Your name is Deena."

I smile. "That's right."

"My brother told me."

He leaves and then opens the door again to add, "I guess I'm just not too smart."

"Oh, not true," I want to say, but he has already bounded out the door once more. Yes, you are smart, Jonas. You are smarter than over half of the people I know and your perspective on life is healthier than 99.9 percent of the population.

thirty-five.

I'm late to work. Blame it on my aunt, who called to tell me about "seventy-seven things that make a woman beautiful"-some tips written by three massage therapists and an owner of a used car lot. I didn't get the connection between the four compilers of the list, or even how they came up with the tips, but nevertheless I listened as Regena Lorraine read every single one over the phone. When she got to number sixty-three, I looked at the clock and, cradling my cell phone on my shoulder, managed to get my shoes tied.

When I enter The Center's kitchen, I hear whispering. The squeak of chairs against the floor is loud. Then there is a rush to sit down, followed by an eerie silence. If the sink were still a dripping one, it would be making the only sound. Jonas repaired the leaky faucet sometime in July, long before I knew he was the church plumber and way before I knew he was Zack's older brother.

The children pass looks to each other. Charlotte tries to hide a smile.

I ignore whatever it is that has gone on before my arrival and begin to take ingredients from my brown bag. "Today we are making chicken," I say. The chicken breast fillets are at the bottom of my bag in a round plastic bowl.

No one says a word. Bubba sits on the edge of his chair. Bobby looks like he will explode with excitement.

The silence is killing me. "Do you remember what kind of chicken we decided on?"

Do they hear me? I try to encourage a response by adding, "We talked about it yesterday, and what did we say we would make today?"

They are all attentive; my gut tells me something is wrong. Was there a fight? Did Darren's mom come barging into the kitchen demanding to see her boy? I search their faces. Darren even lifts his head from his notebook so that I can peer into his dark eyes. Could they be upset that I'm late? "I'm sorry," I tell the group. "I know I was late to class. I know we stress how important it is to be on time."

That must not be it; they continue to eye each other, mouths shut tightly.

I suppose I should just continue on, and be grateful that they are so quiet. I pull Ziploc bags of basil and oregano and a pint container of sour cream from the bag. I produce the recipe for this chicken dish and, holding the card, ask for a volunteer to come forward to read the ingredients and directions to the class.

There is noise at the kitchen door. Shuffling of feet. Then the door springs open and the kids all boom, "Surprise!" In walk Miriam and Zack. Miriam holds an aluminum plate, and as she comes closer, I see that it contains a pie. Lit candles are inserted in the top crust. She starts to sing and the group joins her. "Happy Birthday to you..."

Darren even sings; Regena Lorraine is right-his voice is good. It rings out over the other off-key voices.

How did they know?

"It's peach pie, Miss Livingston!" shouts Lisa as Miriam presents the pie to me to blow out the candles.

"Your favorite," says Bubba.

"Looks delicious." Bobby stands next to me, eyeing the pie. His tummy is exposed; he pats it. "Oh, don't worry. We didn't make it. We could never make anything good without you helping us, Miss Livingston."

I have never seen such a large peach pie. I wonder who baked it. Chef B would be delighted.

"Make a wish, a good one," says Lisa.

Zack smiles; I blow out the candles.

The kids cheer, and then we all have a slice of peach pie. I can tell that everyone is on his or her best behavior, and this makes me feel honored. Bobby even uses a napkin to wipe his hands.

Zack tells me that Jonas suggested we get the pie from Southern Treats. "Jonas picked it up this morning on his way to a job in Dillsboro."

I am about to ask how Jonas knew that it was my birthday. We never discussed birthdays, just age. But before I can form the question, Rainy hands me a glass of iced tea with a slice of lemon on the rim of the glass.

When I finish my piece of pie, Joy says, "Did you like it? I hate peach pie."

"Well," I quickly say, as Miriam arches her back, ready to reprimand the girl, "when it's your birthday, we will be sure not to have peach pie."

Miriam relaxes, pleased with my reply.

"That," says Zack, as he places his empty paper plate in the trash, "was excellent."

This time I smile. He likes my kind of pie; surely this is all the indication we need to know we're meant to be.

"How old are you?" Lisa looks into my face, no trace of embarrassment about asking a woman her age.

"Is today really your birthday?" Flakes of pie crust cover Dougy's lips.

"Yes, today is my birthday. I'm twenty-eight."

"Zack is thirty-two," says Dougy. His smile leaves his face as he notes Miriam's strict glare. Correcting himself, he says, "I mean Mr. Anderson is thirty-two."

This is the first time I've heard any child call Zack by his last name.

From the edge of the room, Charlotte moves toward me, her hands behind her back. When she reaches me, she displays a colorfully wrapped gift. Her smile is dazzling, and she says with clear intonation, "This is from all of us."

The children are eager for me to open the present. I tear off the paper and hold a box made of cherrywood, with a little latch. Inside the box are small pads of paper, a pen, and a receipt book. I take each item and look it over, smiling the whole time.