Fraying at the Edge (36 page)

“It's okay, right?”

“Sure. Cameron loves watching stuff with you. Skylar would've loved it even more. She's the real movie buff of the family.”

“How is she?”

“Your mom talked to, uh, your Amish mom for a minute a few days ago. She said Skylar was doing really well. Much like you, she's adjusted. Brandi and Nicholas are planning a visit in two weeks, the week before you return home.”

It seemed strange to think of Skylar and her swapping places again, as if this had all been a social experiment of some kind. Ariana glanced into the other room, seeing the Christmas tree adorned with shiny bulbs, tinsel, and multicolored lights.

Cameron threw something at her, grabbing her attention. A pretzel fell from Ariana's chest to the floor.

Cameron nodded upstairs. “The movie awaits.”

When Ariana left home, she'd had no idea she might actually miss this kind of life by the time she returned. She nodded at Cameron, but Ariana couldn't make the muscles in her face form a smile.

She had grown to like this crazy, mixed-up family where only she and Brandi carried the same DNA, but Gabe and Cameron had worked their way into her heart. She liked Nicholas's family too. His wife was quiet and his stepsons were loud, but they were family.

Ariana would never have another holiday like this—Christmas music, festive lights, and sparkly decorations everywhere. But all would become very quiet later tonight as they went to a candlelight service and honored the birth of Christ.

Was she sad at the thought of leaving? Did some part of her want to stay?

A
bram rolled the boring magazine into the shape of a cylinder and tapped it on his leg. The doctor's office smelled of illness and air freshener. Jackson had dropped off Cilla, Emma, and Abram about ninety minutes ago and said he'd be back around five. Would Cilla be done in thirty minutes? They had been in the room with the doctor for nearly an hour.

This was the day they'd been waiting for. After the initial visit and weeks of tests, the doctor was sitting down with Cilla and her mom to give them her diagnosis as well as a prognosis. Abram's nerves were taut. Could Cilla be helped? Could the severity and frequency of her bouts of illness be lessened? He tossed the magazine onto a table and looked out the window. There hadn't been a fresh snow in a couple of weeks, so what was there was dirty and half-melted, and today was unusually warm for the first week in January.

A door opened from the doctor's pod into the waiting room, and finally Cilla walked out with Emma behind her. Cilla's beautiful smile said she was pleased, but her eyes held a hint of sadness. A dagger of fear shot through him. But Emma was beaming. Had the doctor given mixed news?

Abram rose. “You ready?”

Cilla nodded. He wanted to know far more than that, but there were too many people around them. He held out their coats and put on his own. Without a word they walked through two sets of sliding glass doors and continued down the sidewalk until they were well away from the building entrance.

“How did it go?” Abram asked.

The three of them formed a small group, and Cilla smiled. “It went very well. There's no way to thank you, Abram.”

If it had gone so well, why did she seem rattled?

Emma grabbed Abram and hugged him. “The doctor gave Cilla a prognosis of living into her fifties, which is twice as long as any other doctor has given her.”

Abram scooped up Cilla and hugged her. “That's fantastic!”

“It is.” Cilla held on to him. “It truly is.”

Abram released her, ready to hear some specifics, but Cilla only smiled. Was that hesitancy in her eyes?

“It was the best doctor's appointment ever.” Emma put her arm around her daughter's shoulders. “She pinpointed some of the reasons Cilla has struggled over the years, and she's made changes in Cilla's protocols that should make her bouts milder and less frequent. Apparently our other doctor was using older medications and protocols, but she should've been seeing a specialist all along. That's so apparent now.” Emma grabbed him again. “Denki,” she whispered.

Over Emma's shoulder he studied Cilla. She was smiling and nodding yes with every thank-you her mother spoke, but something was wrong.

Emma held him for a few moments, and he allowed it. They had received excellent news, worthy of a long hug from a very concerned Mamm who'd thought for years she would lose her daughter in her midtwenties. When Emma released him, he scanned the sidewalks. Benches were here and there, mostly for the sick or elderly to sit on while their caregivers drove up to the building to get them. Abram pointed to one that was just a few feet from where they stood.

“Emma, Jackson will be here in twenty minutes or so. Could Cilla and I have this time to talk—alone?”

Emma clutched his shoulder. “You may have whatever you want.” She grinned, showing her overwhelming joy. Before she walked off, she kissed Cilla on the cheek. “Focus on the gift you have been given.”

There was only one reason for Emma to say something like that. What didn't she want Cilla to think about? Abram gestured toward the bench, and they took a seat.

“What's the bad part your Mamm doesn't want you to think about, Cilla?”

She fidgeted with her fingers. “I'm so very grateful. Let's talk about that.” Her eyes filled with tears, and soon she was wiping them from her cheeks. “I'm sorry. It's all very emotional.”

“The bad part?”

She shook her head. “It's nothing, really.”

Abram watched cars pull into and out of parking spaces as he pondered what he'd learned thus far. “I've heard that when a young person learns they only have a few years to live, it's life altering in every way. Sitting here now, I realize the same is probably true if that young person believed she only had a few years and suddenly was told she had twenty-five more. It changes all your expectations, and maybe that is an adjustment.”

She nodded.

He put his arm around her. It felt so right. He wasn't bumfuzzled, awkward, or confused with her in his life. Being himself came easy, and before her, nothing came easy.

“What is it, Cilla?”

She wiped away tears. “I'm a horrible person not to be totally thrilled with today's news. Please forgive me, and let's talk about something else.”

“You're forgiven. Now talk to me, just two friends saying what's on their minds.”

She looked unsure. “You're more than a friend to me, and I know I shouldn't admit that. But I have to in order to say I don't want to put you in a position where you do or say anything out of pity or for any other wrong reason.”

He thought about her words. He supposed he should've known she liked him before now. Well, maybe he did know. “I won't let anything you say corner me. So just say it already. We'll both feel better.”

She drew a deep breath. “It seems as if all my life I've known I would do well to live to be twenty or a little older at the latest. At an early age I adjusted to the notion that I wouldn't fall in love or marry or have children. When you think you're going to die young, it's easier to accept those things. But now…”

“But a longer life means you'll have the time to do those things, right?”

“Not really. The doctor says a good regimen will lengthen my life expectancy by decades, but I'll undo all that improvement if I marry.”

“Marrying is bad for your health?”

“No, but having babies is.” She covered her face. “I shouldn't be talking to you about marriage.”

Abram clasped her wrists and gently lowered her hands. “Can we slow down just a tad? Your timetable for life was just extended, but you're mourning what you'll never have during that extra time? I guess you'll have to learn to live like the rest of us—with a long road of unknowns ahead of you.”

“You're right. I know you are. It's just I…I'd hoped we would have a chance, a real chance, where I wasn't sick. And if we fell madly in love, we could marry and have babies.”

Abram laughed. “You are as honest and open as the winter is long. You know that, Pricilla Yoder?”

“Pricilla! No one has called me that since before I went to school.”

“I had planned to ask you out when the time was right. If we fall madly in love, we'll figure it out then. Look at all that's happened because of a simple Internet search. New medicines and new protocols are always being developed. And maybe by the time you're thirty-five, some newer medicines and treatments will increase your life to sixty or seventy or more. Right?”

“That's true. Why didn't I think of that?”

“If we like dating and decide to marry, the only part of your hopes that we have to avoid is you having babies.”

“That's forbidden. The church would never agree to—”

“Cilla.” Abram put his forehead against hers. “You have to slow down all the what-ifs. Let's enjoy today for what it is and not put expectations on tomorrow or our relationship or the church leaders.
If
we decide we're right for each other, we'll know. And God will give us wisdom for the next step, just as He did to get us to this point with your amazing news.”

F
rom inside the café Skylar sprayed the vinegar solution on the window and wiped the glass with an old cloth diaper. Eerie silence filled the vacant place, and she feared this kind of emptiness would soon fill every part of her life. She'd spent almost three months growing accustomed to the bustle of the work load and the camaraderie with her stranger siblings. Both this place and her weird Amish family filled a gaping hole inside her. Somehow.

But it was time to go. They'd helped her, and she needed to give them their lives back. How hard would it be to live in her isolated world again?

Staying with the Brennemans had meant she was only alone in the bathroom, and time in that tiny space was limited. If she took longer than fifteen minutes, a sister would knock and enter anyway, or her brothers would pound until she yielded the room. Tempers flared at times, usually hers, but even if the human contact was an annoyance or an argument, she'd grown comfortable with the endless interaction.

But the Brennemans and their contradictory ways of loving-kindness and never-ending moral codes couldn't help her get through the next hour. Her parents, the people who'd raised her, were on their way. She had to face them on her own, and she had avoided it for as long as possible.

Something thudded against the back door, and the lock jiggled. The door popped open, startling her. Jackson came in with a large box in both hands. January winds swept in too, and he had on a heavy coat, hat, and boots. The ground had two feet of snow.

He spotted her. “Hey.” He sounded a bit leery and maybe confused. “A shipment came in, and I…I thought the place was empty.”

“Not a problem. Just leave it.”

“Okay. But there's more than this one.”

She nodded, and he took the box to the loft. She continued with the windows. Staying busy was cathartic. In this bizarre world, being useful was admired and appreciated, much like getting good grades or having an outstanding performance was in her normal world. She'd come to enjoy all sorts of work—from whatever was needed at the café to feeding livestock, milking cows, and occasional gardening. But the horses were still her favorite. She'd had no idea people did anything to a vegetable garden in October, but apparently some produce, like kale, red cabbage, beets, and Brussels sprouts, was harvested. Looking back, she realized that the first time she pulled items from the garden and they used them to make a meal, the connection between the earth and the kitchen table had an addictive feel to it, much like spending time with the horses. When the last of the produce had been gathered for the fall, she thought that work was done, but evidently November was the season to spread organic matter, turn the soil with a hoe, wait a few weeks, and repeat with a different organic matter. Seemed a bit crazy, but she liked working the garden. Well, at least looking back on it, she liked it. At the time she'd been annoyed by it because, for her, drugs murdered all pleasure other than using. She still hadn't heard from Cody, and she was grateful he'd abandoned her.

Jackson bounded down the steps. He was very agile for his size and build. “I'll grab the last two boxes and be gone.”

He barely glanced at her. She nodded anyway. The strain between them was still tangible, but it had seemed different lately. His body language and the way he watched her when he didn't think she noticed made her think that he no longer wanted to avoid her even though he continued to do so. Not that it mattered. She reminded him of his mother. Besides, it'd been ten weeks since she'd last seen Cody, and she'd survived just fine without a guy in her life. Actually, she liked it—liked that she was managing her emotions rather than the other way around, liked that she was beginning to feel somewhat whole without a guy stroking her ego and promising her she ruled her world. No one ruled their own world. Some thought they did, but she knew better.

She poured cream into a container and set it on the counter along with the sugar.

Piecing together her thoughts, understanding the essence of who she was came easier these days. Living Amish was murder on a social life and all things technological, but it was good for the soul—the intense quiet, the nonstop physical work, the ocean of love. She'd been clean since November 10. Nine weeks without worldly noise, peer pressure, or parental discord had equaled time without any drugs, legal or otherwise. It was funny that the things she'd hated most about the Amish lifestyle were the things that gave her the strength to stay clean. For better or worse, the Amish were one ironclad connected group. She often felt as if she were a puppy in a large litter. It was difficult to breathe as her littermates piled on top of her, but it was also a warm, safe feeling. Rather than fighting to be free, she had relaxed under the mound, able to breathe better there than anywhere else in this crazy world. But she would never, ever become Amish. They believed in a God who didn't exist, but that belief yielded a lot of love and contentment.

As Jackson walked back toward the stairs, she saw something fall from the bottom of the box, and she gasped for fear it was breaking open.

“What?” Jackson stopped, looking at the floor around him.

She walked over to him. “Oh, nothing. Sorry.” She picked up several packing peanuts. “I thought the box was breaking.” She held them out. “It was just these.”

“You okay?” Jackson remained in place. If he really wanted much of an answer, he would set the box on a table for a few minutes.

“I'm swinging from preoccupied to jittery.”

“I sorta picked up on that. Why?”

“My parents, the non-Amish ones, are coming here today.”

“That explains your overreaction to a falling packing peanut.”

She and Jackson sounded like really bad actors reading for parts—monotone and awkward.

Quiet stress wasn't her only issue. Anger and hurt churned inside her much like they used to do every day, and now the emotions made more sense to her. It came naturally to her to feel that her best efforts in the arts and school were never good enough, that she was a disappointment to her parents. But she didn't want to blame them.

Jackson seemed to be waiting for her to assure him he could go. Maybe teasing would help. “I'm not intense. Just really, really alert.”

“Yeah, real stress is when you suddenly sit up in bed screaming, only to realize you hadn't fallen asleep yet, right?” His eyes held understanding as he stepped around her. “Life,” he said sarcastically as he headed for the stairs.

Despite their agreement to avoid each other, they inadvertently dropped their guard on occasion, and what flowed between them was usually honest, painfully so at times. But there was also quick banter and unexpected humor before they retreated to their respective corners. But not today. She was too out of sorts, and he'd been caught off guard by her being here. The interesting thing about Jackson and Skylar is they didn't need a lot of words to understand each other. That was sort of nice, and it kept her from falling into her natural state of neediness. She didn't want to be that person anymore.

“Sarcasm. Just one of the many services we offer at Brennemans' Perks,” she responded, raising her voice as he went up the steps.

“Exactly,” he said over his shoulder. “I'll be gone in less than a minute.”

“You're fine. It feels weird being here alone anyway.”

“I bet.” He disappeared into the loft.

If the Brennemans were even slightly more average Americans, just churchgoing Americans, like Methodists or something, she would consider staying closer to them, maybe ask to rent the loft or find a nearby place to rent. If God was love and nothing more—not part of a bunch of archaic writings—maybe He or She did exist in a universe far, far away. At least that would explain the very real sense of love her Amish parents and siblings had inside them and gave to her. It was tangible, and she supposed it had to come from somewhere.

Headlights reflected in the window as a car pulled into a parking space in front of the café. The lights went off, and she saw her dad behind the wheel and her mom in the passenger's seat. She rubbed her forehead, wishing she believed in prayer.

Jackson came down the steps. “You can do it.”

“Sure. I can do
something,
say
something.
The question is, can I make myself say the right things in the right way?”

She wanted to be kind and let them off the hook. There was no need for them to be her parents in any shape or form. After a lifetime of feeling insecure, she knew that her insecurities were to a large extent just her nature. Based on conversations she'd had with Abram, he dealt with the same kind of self-doubt she did. So that wasn't her mom's or dad's fault. It was just life, she guessed. But when Mom and Dad learned she wasn't theirs, they took back the gifts they'd given her. Removed her from college and withdrew all promises of paying for her education. If that wasn't enough, they took her car, her phone, and her allowance.

Then they dumped her here as fast as they could.

No, that wasn't actually true. They had Quill pick her up and chauffeur her as needed while they drove here to get Ariana. And those were just the highlights of her proof that they'd been more than ready to dump her and take Ariana. Her mom used to love her dearly, and their relationship had flourished. But it had been taxed the last couple of years. And when the news came that Skylar wasn't actually theirs, it was a death blow.

Dad and Mom got out of the car, and fragments of memories assaulted her—some as warm as sunshine in spring and some as harsh as winter winds. They stepped onto the curb and headed for the door of the café.

Jackson moved in front of her, blocking her view of them. “If you're worried about protecting them, don't be. Thinking that way could make you cave in to what they want. Every word should have only one goal—protecting yourself—so that when they leave, you've done nothing that will undo your progress. Be kind if you can, but do it for the right reasons—your peace and contentment.” He held up his index finger. “One goal, Skylar: self-preservation. You've come too far to let anyone unravel you.”

Jackson sounded like a trainer talking to a prizefighter in a boxing ring. And she realized he was pulling for her.

A tap on the glass startled her. Her mom and dad were just outside the door, waiting on her, but she couldn't get her feet to move.

Jackson gestured with his thumb. “You need me to open it?”

She drew a breath, trying to shake the feeling of being immobile. “I thought you just said I could do this.”

“Sometimes we need a nudge.”

She pushed his shoulder. “That's me nudging you to get out.”

He stared into her eyes. “Call me if you want.”

“Thanks.” She didn't know much, but she knew she didn't need a man to rescue her. Not anymore. Somehow in this land stripped of all normalcy, she'd reinvented herself to a small degree.

As Jackson went out the back door, Skylar opened the front one. Mom rushed forward and hugged her. Skylar wanted both to engulf her and to step away. A moment later she returned the hug. Missing her mom had been a constant.

“I love you so much,” Mom whispered.

Skylar wanted to return the words, but love for either of them seemed buried under her anger and pain. When she backed away, Mom was smiling. Skylar couldn't return the smile. That would be like an affirmation that everything between them was okay. And it wasn't.

“We've missed you so very much.” She cupped Skylar's cheek in her hand.

“Did you?” Then why hadn't she heard from them?

“Yes.” Mom fisted her hands tight, making them tremble. “Love you with all my might.”

Skylar remembered them making that gesture and saying those words all the time when she was little. Often several times a day.

Dad looked uncomfortable, but he moved forward and hugged her. Skylar's arms hung limp at her side. When he released her, she gestured to a table. As they took a seat, she went behind the counter and poured two mugs of coffee.