Donut Days (13 page)

Bear reached into the sidecar and pulled out his
Just Say No
sack. He slung it around his shoulder as we headed toward the nearby picnic tables, with the others just behind us.

“I noticed you were reading
Personal Finance for Dummies
,” I said, remembering his curious choice in books as we walked. “Is it good?”

Bear patted his bag. “Very good.”

There had been a slew of money management courses at Living Word Redeemer, and I racked my brain trying to remember what I’d heard about them.

“Are you, uh, learning how to . . . save?”

Bear smiled. “The only saving I’ve been doing lately is of souls. But, yes, I’m trying to learn how to save money.”

I opened my mouth to ask another question, but Bear cut me off. “I think this spot’s nice for lunch, don’t you?”

“Uh, yeah,” I said, surprised at his out-of-character abruptness. Still, he
had
picked a nice spot. The picnic table was on a ridge overlooking a valley and the Minnetonka River. We had a sweeping view of miles of trees, and the air smelled like pine and moss and fresh earth. I breathed in deeply a few times.

“Trying to inhale that KFC aroma, right?” asked Jake, walking up to us.

I smiled. “Something like that.”

“Did you like your ride?”

I nodded. “Definitely. You?”

Jake grinned. “I think I’m saving up for a Harley starting today.”

I set the KFC bags on the tables just as the rest of the group joined us.

“Let’s take a ten-minute breather, then reconvene for lunch,” Bear said. “Sound okay?”

“Sure thing,” said Anita, who lit a cigarette. “I’m goin’ for a walk.”

“May I accompany you?” asked Bear, and Anita smiled.

“You bet,” she said.

Anita and Bear headed off a moment later, leaving Jake and me with Tex, Rex, and Wichita.

“I’ll stay here at the picnic table and watch over the food,” said Tex, the one with the eagle tattoo on his arm. Rex was the one with the broomstache.

Wichita nodded. “I’ll thtay too,” he said.

“No, go,” I said. “Ladyslipper Park is beautiful, but Jake and I can see it anytime.”

Tex rubbed his bald head and looked toward the general direction of the woods. His nose stood out on his otherwise lean face.

“When I was a kid, I had a coon dog named Louisa,” he said suddenly. “It was a boy dog, but I named him Louisa because that was my first-grade teacher’s name.”

“Here we go again,” said Rex, who pulled at the ends of his huge mustache.

“Thettle in,” said Wichita. “These storieth take a while.”

I looked at Jake quizzically, but he just gave me a minuscule shrug.

“One day I followed Louisa into the woods by our house,” Tex continued, oblivious. “I think Louisa was trailing the scent of a rabbit. I tore off after him and before I knew it, I was miles into the woods, dead lost. I grew up on the Oklahoma-Texas border along the Red River and, let me tell you, there are some big woods out there. When my daddy found me four days later, he was so mad and relieved, he kicked a hickory tree and broke his toe.”

“Oh,” I said.

“I don’t like the woods,” Tex said pointedly, looking right at me. “Or nature. So you kids, you go walk around. I’m gonna stay here and watch the food.”

“Oh,”
I said, finally getting it.

“You and Jake go on,” agreed Rex. “The rest of us are all right.”

Jake nudged me with his elbow. “You wanna walk along the ridge?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said. Moments later, Jake and I were headed down a packed dirt trail that ran along the side of the nearby valley, watching the Minnetonka River sparkle below us. Being this close to Jake—not to mention being alone with him—was causing the back of my throat to tingle in a weird way I’d never felt before. I took a deep breath to calm myself. It didn’t work.
What was going on?

We walked in silence for a ways until we stopped at an overlook. Jake stepped a little closer to me as we admired the valley for a few moments. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the curve of his shoulder, the smooth valleys in his toned arms. I remembered how, when he was younger, he used those same arms to push little old ladies in their wheelchairs to the front of the sanctuary before service. My eyes stung unexpectedly at the memory of it.

I should say something
, I thought.
I should tell him I remember him pushing those wheelchairs
. Before I could open my mouth, Jake reached out and threaded his fingers through mine. It was enough to shut me up almost permanently.

Jake O’Connor was holding my hand.

His hand was a little sweaty, to be honest, making my brain flash back again—this time to the memory of when Jake’s quiz bowl team won the state championship. The team was honored in the gymnasium just before a pep rally, and Jake was nervous and perspiring. I recalled that on his khaki pants I’d spotted dark prints, like he’d wiped his moist hands there repeatedly. Maybe getting hot didn’t change the fact that Jake was still a sweating nerd on the inside.

I could feel him looking at me. Eventually I would have to turn my head away from the valley and meet his eyes. Had to. But what then? I felt the same panic clutching my chest when Jake first told me he loved me. I knew suddenly why I’d hung up on him. I knew that being this close to something so real and wonderful and powerful scared the crap out of me.

Was this why I’d never spoken in tongues? When it came down to it, did I just want to stay in my safe little cerebral cocoon and write fact-based articles, when the alternative meant jumping off an emotional cliff?

“Em,” said Jake, and that was it. I had to look.

I did. And his brown eyes were all earnest and I felt sparklers lighting somewhere in my feet and spreading throughout my body.

“Next weekend, you want to come to the U? I could show you around. Give you a first-class tour.”

I bit my lip and shook my head no. “I—I can’t. Classes start in a few days and I’ve got pre-calc and AP history—”

“Em,” he said, cutting me off. “No more excuses.” I didn’t know if he was talking about going to the U or about us. He squeezed my hand and our damp palms pressed harder against each other. He moved closer and our torsos were practically touching. I could feel heat from him and wondered if he was always that warm. Like if I put my hands on him in the winter after being outside, would they thaw on his skin?

I love you, I love you, I love you
. . . I willed myself to say it a hundred times, but the words wouldn’t come.

Gently, Jake pushed a stray piece of hair away from my face. He was so tender when he did it, like I was something fragile and he didn’t want to shatter me. Nobody ever treated me that way. Ever.

Jake bent down to whisper in my ear. “I still lo—” he started, but just then my cell phone buzzed. I jerked, startled, and the side of my head hit Jake’s jaw. I heard a click as his teeth snapped together sharply.

“I’m sorry,” I said as he made a small groaning noise. “It’s my mom’s ring. I have to take this.”

I snapped open the phone and all hell broke loose.

E
mma, we need you home from the donut camp. Immediately.”

“Mom? What’s going on? Where are you?”

“We’re at home. Your dad just got a call and this is it. The board is voting tonight about the issue.”

She didn’t say what issue. She still wasn’t talking about it.

“Mom, are you okay? How are you holding up? And have you heard anything about which way the board is leaning?”

I heard my mom exhale an exasperated breath. “There are still some undecided board members, so they ’re going to hold court until they figure it out. No one will leave the church until a decision is made tonight. So you have to come home and watch Lizzie so we can go to this meeting. When can you get here?”

Not
would I get there
or
can you please get here
, but
when can you get here
. So, suddenly I was just a babysitter?

“Mom, I . . .” How could I tell her I wanted her to need
me
for once, not my work ethic? Plus, what would happen to my scholarship if I left? Not that I could use that as an argument or anything since, as far as my mom was concerned, I
had
a college fund. To her, there was no reason I needed to be camping out next to a Crispy Dream store on the off chance I could get a scholarship from the
Paul Bunyan Press
.

I thought then about Jana and Heidi in the GaSmart line, and Carleton College and KRLX radio and coed dorms, and knew—I just knew—I needed to stay.

I needed a story. I needed the campout. I couldn’t leave now.

“I can’t get there for a few more hours at least. Can’t you just call Mrs. Stein?”

My mom was quiet for a second. “Mrs. Stein left this morning,” she said. “She went down to Florida for a few weeks to visit her sister. I need you here, Emma. There’s no one else we can call and this is important.”

And my college of choice wasn’t? “Mom,” I pleaded, “this campout is important too.”

I could hear a faint click-click in the background and wondered if my mom was pacing around our battered kitchen floor in her heels. “In case I haven’t made myself clear, this situation is nonnegotiable. We need you home.”

“No, you don’t understand,” I pleaded. “This is—”

My mom cut me off. “No, I
do
understand. You’re the one who isn’t comprehending the situation here, Emma. The only thing I want to hear from you right now is what time we can expect you home.”

Part of me knew it was selfish to want to stay at the camp given everything my parents were going through, but
come on
. The church had covered my life like a musty blanket since I was born. I was tired of being suffocated by all its problems. I was sick of it.

“I’ll get there when I get there,” I said, and hung up.

I swallowed a few times after I’d smacked the phone shut, trying not to cry. I felt unsure of what to do next, like any direction I went in would be the wrong one. I was reminded suddenly of those people in the Middle Ages who had ropes tied to each of their limbs and were ripped apart in four different directions.

“You okay?” asked Jake, rubbing his jaw.

I shook my head no.

“What’s going on?”

“The board’s meeting,” I said. “My mom wants me to leave the camp, to babysit Lizzie so they can go, but I can’t. I need to stay and do my story, but—I just—I don’t—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” said Jake, pulling me into his arms. This time I didn’t resist. I melted into him, and the strength and warmth of his body against mine felt immediately calming. I took two deep breaths and pulled away far enough to look at him.

“I don’t know what to do,” I said.

“It’s cool,” said Jake. “I’ll go. I’ll babysit Lizzie.”

I pulled a little farther away. “You will?”

“Sure,” he said. “I’ve known Lizzie since she was born. It’ll be fine.”

I didn’t know if
fine
was exactly the word for it.
Out of options
might be more appropriate, especially for my parents, who needed a sitter ASAP but might sooner ask Lizzie to just hang out alone in Wal-Mart for a few hours than turn her over to an O’Connor. Sending Jake was tricky.

“You know my parents might strangle you on the spot, right?” I asked.

Jake smiled. “They won’t. They need somebody and you’re not going. So it’s cool.”

My throat felt padded with gauze. “Thank you,” I said thickly, through the layers.

“No problem. Now come on. We’ve gotta ask Bear to get us back to camp.”

“You’re riding sidecar,” I said.

Jake winked at me. “We’ll see about that.”

After Jake peeled out of the Crispy Dream parking lot in his Jetta, it was just Bear and me. The other bikers had stayed at Ladyslipper Park to enjoy their lunch and the weather.

“You can go back,” I said to Bear. “To Ladyslipper Park, I mean. You don’t have to stay here with me. You’ve done more than enough already.”

Bear put one of his enormous arms around my shoulders and gave me a quick squeeze. I thought I heard my bones creak.

“Thank you, but no,” he said. “I’d rather be here with you.”

I’m not going to be very good company
, I thought as we stood looking at the space where Jake’s Jetta had been. Self-pity started cresting over me in waves until Bear said, “Did you know I have a daughter?”

My eyebrows shot up. “No.”

“Her name’s Emma too,” Bear said.

Emma—it means “universal, all-embracing.” I think my parents named me that because when I came along, they had big dreams of being missionaries in far-off parts of the world. But it was not to be. “Everything is harder with children,” my mom had said once. I’m sure they never suspected that even the church board would frown on their plan, saying they’d rather send a different couple (without kids) since my parents were needed in Minnesota.

My mom still had an old map of the world tacked up in the basement with pins stuck in all the continents she wanted to visit: the red ones, the brightest ones, were pushed deep into South America, Africa, and Australia. These were the places I imagined she’d wanted to visit the most.

I swallowed. “How old is your Emma?” I asked.

“Eleven months. I’m attempting to knit her a blanket.”

So
there
was the reason for knitting. I looked at the gray in Bear’s facial scruff and asked, “Is she your first?”

Bear nodded. “I’ve never been a father before. But if Larry King could do it at his age, I deduced I could do it in my late forties.”

And with that, I’d finally decided on my
Paul Bunyan Press
story. It was right in front of me, standing six-foot-six and weighing three hundred pounds.

“You want to go sit in those chairs at your camp and just hang out for a while?” I asked.