Donut Days (21 page)

I exhaled at the revelation that Nat and I had each other all wrong.
Everyone
had us all wrong, in fact. “I think,” I said, gathering up my thoughts, “that maybe this is something we should have talked about a long time before now.”

Nat nodded slowly. “Yeah. I suppose you’re right. I mean, I don’t think I would have freaked out if you’d told me you were worried about how much time I’d be spending with Carson. You could have talked to me about it.”

“I know,” I admitted. “I still don’t think he’s right for you, but I guess it’s not really my deal. I guess that’s what my dad meant this morning when he talked about all of us needing the freedom to make our own decisions.”

Nat nodded. “At the end of the day, this is
my
thing, not yours. If we’re going to be friends, then you have to start giving me space to figure stuff out for myself. You know?”

I nodded. I did know. Or at least I was
trying
to know. My dad had said the richest friendships were the ones where you chose to be friends with someone even though you maybe didn’t see eye to eye about everything, and I wanted that kind of friendship with Nat. I just didn’t realize how hard it could be to put it all into practice.

But I was willing to try. “Yeah, you’re right.” I cleared my throat, then added, “I get what you’re saying and I swear I’ll try to be better about it. For what it’s worth, I want us to be friends, even if we don’t always agree.”

Nat stretched out one of her long arms and ran it across the top of the grass. “Really?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Really.”

“Are you pissed? About what I did to you last night?”

“Yeah. But I’ll get over it.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m sorry too. For all of it. And in case you care, I’m not sure I actually think women shouldn’t preach.”

“Really?” I asked. “What changed your mind?”

Nat smiled. “Well, I think I’d have
double standards
if I sat here and said you needed to give me freedom to choose my own path with Carson, then said your mom couldn’t have the freedom to choose her own way. I mean, I was never totally convinced women
shouldn’t
preach, but I think I just got extreme about it that day on Lizzie’s swing set to make my point. It probably makes me sound kind of dumb that it took me this long to admit all this, but . . . well, there it is.”

My throat felt like it had been pinched in a vise. “I don’t think you’re dumb at all,” I said thickly.

Nat and I were both quiet for a second until Nat said, “You know, for what it’s worth, Molly told me she didn’t give a crap about whether your mom was allowed to preach either. I’m not sure she ever even believed her dad’s prophecy was true.”

“Well, whatever Molly thought about it, her dad’s prophecy
was
phony,” I said angrily. “It was a sham to knock my mom out of the way so Mr. O’Connor could use church money to clean up a mess he’d made with Mollico.”

Nat nodded. “Yeah. My parents told me all about that on the way to church this morning. Mrs. Reinhard called them and explained the whole thing.”

“Huh,” I said, thinking how my dad was right. Word was spreading fast about what a phony and a crook Mr. O’Connor was. Maybe telling people this sale was “God’s will” would convince the board but not a whole lot of other people.

“But regardless of whether she knew the truth about her dad,” continued Nat, “I think Molly was just mean to you this whole time because she was jealous of us. Like maybe she saw the prophecy and all the conflict as a way to get you out of the picture so she wouldn’t always be odd man out. You know?”

I nodded. I’d wondered about that myself.

“Though she really
was
pissed about you and her brother,” Nat added. “She told me she didn’t think you were good enough, or rich enough, for him.”

I shrugged. “Well, she’s going to have to get used to it.”

Nat flicked a piece of dirt at me. “Yeah?”

I felt myself grinning. “Yeah.”

“So, there’s hope for you and Molly after all. You two could be sisters someday.”

“Oh, please. Whatever.”

Nat laughed like her old self. “Come on, you
have
to tell me what happened. You have to tell me what’s up with you and Jake!”

And you know what? I did.

A
ll the Harleys were fired up, and the noise was nearly deafening. We’d hugged and said good-bye. This was it. The Angelfire Witnesses were leaving.

It was tough to know I might never see them again, and it left me feeling a little lonely, a little empty. But Nat was beside me again and Jake was right there as well, his strong arm around me. And my parents and Lizzie were there too, and for once that gave me a safe feeling.

Anita, Rex, Tex, and Wichita were going to ride with Bear to the rehabilitation center to get him checked in, then they were going to make their way back to New Orleans. Bear would join up with them when his time there was done.

“Bear!” I yelled above the din. I ducked underneath Jake’s arm and trotted over to his motorcycle. I pressed a wadded-up piece of paper into his hand. “Here!”

“What’s this?” he hollered.

“My address! Write to me!”

He nodded and tucked the paper into his leather jacket.

“Send me the article at the center when it’s done!” he yelled. I nodded and he saluted me, and I saluted back. He smiled and waved to everyone there—Nat, Jake, my parents, Lizzie—and we all waved back.

With one final roar, the Angelfire Witnesses rumbled out of the parking lot and away from the donut camp. We watched them until their black leather was no longer visible on the horizon.

It felt somehow like the quiet after a storm when they were gone. Like so much had happened and so many things had gotten shaken up while they were here, but in the end, even though the sky clears, there’s a part of you that sort of misses the excitement of it all.

 

 

 

Jake squeezed my hand as we walked down the crowded Dinkytown street. It was a gray, damp November day, but I didn’t mind the weather. I was warm in my winter coat, and being next to Jake on the coolest part of the U’s campus gave me a thrill that heated my whole body.

Jake turned and smiled at me as kids in backpacks jostled past, as bikes whizzed by, and as cars honked on the busy streets. His nose was a little red from the November cold, “You want to get a coffee?” he asked. “Take a load off?”

The two of us had been walking for a while now—I’d come up for the day to visit Jake at the U, and we’d been wandering around campus—and getting a cup of coffee sounded divine. “Yeah,” I said, smiling back. “Sounds perfect.”

Jake steered us to a small, cozy café where a handful of students were studying or talking. He opened the door to let me go in first, but then reached out and grabbed my arm before I could enter.

“What?” I asked.

Jake just leaned down and put his warm lips on mine. I tried to stay still while my insides pitched and rolled. It wasn’t our first kiss, but it didn’t matter: every time Jake got close to me, I thought my knees might buckle. When Jake pulled away, he touched his gloved hand to my cheek. “Thought you could use that. You looked cold.”

I nodded and, still feeling wobbly, walked inside.

A few minutes later, Jake and I were seated at one of the tables, our hands wrapped around our mugs. “So, do you like the U, or do you still have your heart set on Carleton?” Jake asked, his brown eyes not leaving my face.

“I think Carleton still,” I said. “After all, I applied for early admission there and that’s like a solemn promise that if I get in, I’ll go.”

“Well, they won’t sue you if you change your mind,” Jake said, taking off his winter hat.

“I guess not,” I said, looking out the window at the darkening sky and the glow of the city lights.

“They ’re supposed to let you know soon, right?” asked Jake. “I mean, you had your application in weeks ago.”

I tried to keep from pulling the envelope out of my knit bag and throwing it on the table. “Yes,” I said, swallowing. “And hey, if I don’t get in, I can always come to the U. That’s the upside. It’s closer and my parents like the idea of me coming here. I mean obviously they do, since they let me borrow their car to come see you.”

“It could be a sign,” said Jake, winking at me. “Parental approval and your boyfriend goes here. I’d hate for you to anger the gods.”

“Oh, I think it’s too late for that,” I said, grinning behind my coffee mug.

Finally feeling thawed in the warmth of the coffee shop, I pulled out my knit bag. “I have a couple things to show you,” I said to Jake. I reached inside, bypassing the white envelope with Carleton’s return address on it, and pulled out a postcard from Bear instead. I handed it across the table.

“I got it yesterday,” I said. The postcard was from Louisiana and showed an alligator sitting on the smashed-up hood of a car.

“No way!” said Jake, who turned it over and read the text that I’d already memorized. Bear had written in tiny capital letters, cramming them onto the postcard like pennies in a jar.

“That’s awesome,” Jake said, handing the postcard back to me. “I’m so happy things worked out for him. Do you think you guys will stay in touch?”

I turned the postcard over and over in my hands. My dad had asked the same thing yesterday when I’d shown the postcard to him, and I’d told him that I didn’t think meeting Bear was a coincidence. I thought maybe God had wanted our paths to cross and, if that was the case, then maybe God wanted us to stay in touch too. In the coffee shop, I said the same thing to Jake, who reached out and grabbed my hand. “I’m glad,” he said. “I think it would be cool to say you had a friend who looked like he ate kittens for breakfast.”

I laughed. “Maybe that’s his secret. Maybe that’s why he’s part kitten himself.”

We were quiet for a second while the coffee shop hummed, and then I reached into my bag again.

“Jake,” I said, “there’s something else I have to show you.”

Jake sat up straighter. “You look like you’re running a temperature, Emma. Are you okay?”

“No. I mean, yes, I’m good. I just have to show you this.” Still unsure if it was really real, I pulled the Carleton envelope out of my bag and set it on the table. Every time I read the return address—
Carleton College
—I felt like a wave rolling up onto the sand, leaving the safety of the ocean.

Carleton had received my application for admission next year, and they ’d made their decision about me. I just had to open the envelope to find out what it was.

“Oh, man,” said Jake. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Yep,” I said, staring at the envelope like it was a science specimen I had to operate on. I didn’t know where to begin.

“Are you going to open it?” Jake asked.

“I—I guess,” I said. “It’s just—you know. It’s kind of a big deal. I didn’t think I could do it unless you were with me.”

Jake’s face softened. “I’m here, and I support you no matter what. So does your family, and so does Nat for that matter.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just—Carleton’s really competitive.”

Jake nodded. “I get it, Em. But you’re super-smart and a great journalist to boot. So whatever Carleton says about you—whether you get in or not—we’re going to celebrate. Okay?”

I took a deep breath. Jake was right. Whatever the news was, I would be happy. Enough had happened to warrant that.

“Promise me we’ll celebrate over coffee and a donut,” I said. “That seems like the right thing to do.”

Jake nodded. “I promise.”

“All right then.”

I said a quick prayer, then ripped open the envelope.

Many, many people provided inspiration and encouragement as I worked on
Donut Days
. I am particularly indebted to Colleen Newvine Tebeau for being my head cheerleader while still providing insightful critiques, and Katie Vloet for her careful eye on the early, early drafts. J. Robert Lennon gets a rousing shout-out for his unforgettable class at the Bear River Writers’ Conference, which gave me a huge kick start, and for his e-mail a few years later with the words I’d always wanted to hear from a rock-star writer: “If it were up to me, I’d publish the hell out of this book.”

Ellen Baker gets her own paragraph because she’s just that fabulous. I wouldn’t be a writer without her careful, bookstore-savvy insights on all my work. After I’d left
Donut Days
in the recycle bin, she was the one who encouraged me to fish it out. Her friendship and support have meant everything.

Larry Kirshbaum at LJK Literary Management was kind to me when he didn’t have to be, for which I’m eternally grateful, as well as he hired the greatest agent of all time,
my
agent, Susanna Einstein. Susanna is a real-life Laura Roslin—strong, smart, and chock-full of integrity—and I’m so fortunate to have her on my side.