Plain Again (3 page)

Growing up Amish had taught her a great deal about life and faith and family. Even though she loved her husband and wanted nothing more than to be beside him as he traveled the world and entertained his fans, she was secretly glad to be home with her parents, even for just a short while. Oh, she missed Alejandro . . . his teasing, his laughter, his attentiveness. But breathing in the strong scent of the barn made her realize that, indeed, there was no place like home.

As she walked down the hallway toward the dairy aisle, she could hear the scraping of a shovel against the concrete: the hired man was mucking the dairy. She made her way toward the noise, careful to step over loose manure. Her old black sneakers felt comfortable on her feet, but she realized that she was too aware of how clunky and unattractive they were. Pride and vanity, she thought and quickly chastised herself. Yet she was torn. Her new life with Alejandro conflicted so sharply with her old lifestyle on the farm. How had she changed so much in such a short period of time?

“Harvey?” she called out when she approached the tall man in order to avoid startling him. “How are you making out, then?”

Leaning against the shovel, he looked at her. “Just fine,” he replied. “Been working farms for years. Nothing different here.”

His tone was dry, his expression emotionless. The weathered look on his face told the story of years of laboring in the sun, tilling the soil and battling the elements. Amanda had seen that look before, among many of the Amish in her community. It dawned on her how much older the Amish, and in this case the Mennonite, farmers looked, both men and women. Unlike in Alejandro’s world where the youthful appearance of the face meant more than anything else, the Amish focused more on living well off the land rather than looking well in the world.

“You live nearby,
ja
?”

He nodded his head. “Just north of Ephrata,” he said.

“Well, that’s not too far, I reckon!” she replied. “How did my husband find you, if I may ask?”

“Not certain of that,” Harvey admitted. He paused and glanced around at the barn. “Lots of work to do, Mrs. Diaz,” he said. The use of her last name startled her. Most Amish and Mennonites did not call one another by their surnames. That was definitely an Englische method of addressing others. There was something different about this Harvey. He was a Mennonite farmer, so she wondered why he had called her by her last name.

“It’s just Amanda,” she said. “I’ll make certain to have some coffee for you, then.” With a slight smile, she turned and walked out of the dairy, pulling her black shawl tighter as she exited the barn and braved the cold to return to the house.

Inside, she looked around. Everything felt and looked smaller to her. And darker, too, she realized, giving it some thought. It no longer felt like home, yet everything about it spoke of her upbringing: the sofa in the kitchen where she had crocheted many a blanket, the kitchen counter where her
mamm
had taught her how to make bread and cheese, the table where they had enjoyed many a dinner and supper with her sister and younger brother. It had been a lively, happy kitchen until her brother had died. Then, the house had been shrouded in a cloak of sorrow and darkness. Until, she realized, Alejandro had arrived.

With a sigh, she fought the longing in her heart. She couldn’t deny how much she missed Alejandro: his soft words, his attentiveness, his teasing, his love. Yet she knew that it was a big relief to both of her parents that she was there, helping to take care of the farm while her
mamm
took care of her
daed
. Just the other day, she had received a letter from Anna, a short note expressing her gratitude for Amanda’s returning to the farm while she prepared for her wedding in just another week. She had promised that she would return home with her new husband as soon as they were married.

Married, Amanda thought. She would feel such relief when her sister was finally married to her beau, Jonas Wheeler. If the newly married couple traveled back to Pennsylvania, it would present the perfect opportunity for Amanda to rejoin Alejandro, at least until Anna and Jonas would return to Ohio.

And then what? That was the question that she kept asking herself.

Over and over again, she had made a mental list of options for her parents. Moving them to Pinecraft in Florida, a wonderful community of Amish, where the weather was nice all year long; this was definitely one suggestion she wanted to offer her parents. The other was selling the farm and moving them to a smaller, more contemporary house on the outskirts of the church district. Many older Amish couples did that when they had no children to take over the farm. And young Amish couples were always in need of farms, so there would be no shortage of offers on their property.

Of course, there was always that last option, that spark of hope buried deep within her heart that, perhaps, she might be able to stay on the farm, stay with Alejandro. He had been so happy on the farm during the summer, and he knew how to manage the dairy. It wouldn’t take much for him to be able to handle the farm chores, especially if he could afford hired help. Yet she knew that she couldn’t ask him that. His leaving the Englische world had never been part of their arrangement. It would be most unfair to extend such a request. He had a life, a career—one that he loved—at least while she was by his side. No, she realized, her staying on the farm was not an option, after all.

Amanda took a deep breath and buried her face in her hands, fighting the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. If only Aaron had not died, she thought, but then realized that, had her brother lived, she never would have gone to Ohio last summer, and subsequently, she never would have met Alejandro. The thin thread of life that had spun itself from that one single event had changed everything, making her realize the interconnected nature of each moment in every individual’s time spent living in this world.

That was the moment when the tears fell.

Chapter Two

Getting ready to go onstage, Princesa.

It’s not the same without you.

I imagine you are sleeping already.

Sueñas con los ángeles, mi amor.

V.

No sooner did he step offstage at the Fillmore Detroit than the security detail surrounded him and led him through the back of the arena and down a dark corridor. People passed him, some hurrying without so much as a second glance, while others were walking about at a more leisurely pace. A few of them paused, with a raised hand, to congratulate Alejandro on yet one more outstanding performance.

Security was impatient for him to continue down the corridor, holding his one elbow as the guards led him through the people. Every second was needed to escort him away from the arena as quickly as possible. Indeed, at the end of the corridor, two black SUVs with tinted windows were parked, escorted by two police cars in front and one behind them.

Alejandro took the bottle of water that one of the staff members handed to him as he slipped into the first car. Moments later, Mike, his business manager, jumped into the seat next to him. Someone shut the door and hit the side of the window twice, indicating that the driver should leave.

The lights of the police escort began to flash, and the vehicles moved up the ramp toward the exit. Alejandro settled into his seat and took a long swig from the chilled bottle. It had been a good show, but he was already thinking ahead to the next location. One show down, he told himself. One day closer to Amanda.

As usual, there already was a crowd of people at the gated security booth at the top of the exit. No matter how quickly he would leave the arenas, there were always fans waiting, holding signs in the air and screaming for him. He never could understand how they knew where the location was for the arena’s secured exit, although he felt certain that the Internet provided a lot of information for the most persistent fans. They were willing to leave the concert early to stake their claim to a spot near the exit in hopes that they would see him. Most of the time, he would roll down his window and wave, rewarding their tireless loyalty. Tonight, however, he didn’t feel like it.

“Sold out again, Alex.”

Alejandro nodded as he lifted the water bottle to his lips. He couldn’t help but notice the pride in his manager’s voice as he shared the good news about the show. “How are the other cities looking?” he asked, but without much concern. He already knew the answer before his business manager responded.

“Good, good,” Mike replied as he flipped through several pieces of paper that he had pulled from his briefcase. “And of the South American countries . . . Brazil is your most popular by far. They’ve asked if you can add another date in São Paulo.”

Alejandro let his head fall back, resting against the headrest, and sighed. He waved his hand. “Sure, whatever,” he mumbled. “Might as well if we are already there, no?” Out of the corner of his eye, he looked at Mike. “But make certain that there are some open days,
sí
? I want to show Amanda the country.”

There was a moment of silence and more papers ruffling. The noise sounded loud in the quiet of the car. Outside the SUV, the lights of the highway glowed orange, and the farther the vehicle traveled, the more Alejandro felt himself unwind. Within a few hours, he would be in Chicago, where he was scheduled to perform a Friday night concert, and then, once again, he’d fly overnight to the next destination: St. Paul. By Sunday, he’d be back in Los Angeles where he had three days to work in the recording studio and meet with the executives of the record label.

It was relentless, this schedule. During the peak of the concert season, he would perform four to five nights a week, usually on a Tuesday night and then over the weekend. Depending on the location, he would perform Thursday through Sunday, often traveling at night to the next city. This upcoming break in Los Angeles would be a welcome respite.

“We scheduled you for the Teen Choice Music Awards event,” Mike mentioned. “Don’t forget about that.”

“When is it again?”

“Before Thanksgiving.”

That was another busy week. With concerts in New York, appearances on morning news shows, interviews with talk show hosts, and a ride on a Thanksgiving Day float where he was to perform his new hit song, “Love Over Fame,” the week would be downright exhausting.

When the SUV pulled into the airport, Alejandro let security guide him through the practically empty building. He went through the routine security check, then hurried down the corridor toward the airport gate. Two flight attendants smiled as he approached them, one brazenly asking for a photo. With a tired smile, Alejandro obliged before he was down a narrow set of stairs, through a doorway, and across the tarmac toward the private jet, a Gulfstream G650, that was waiting for him and his small entourage.

The pilot greeted him as he boarded the plane. Alejandro managed to spare another smile and shook the pilot’s hand before hurrying to the closest seat. The leather seat shifted under his weight as he sank down, sighing heavily as he did.

A thin blonde approached him, a drink already in her hand, which she set down on the table before him. He smiled his appreciation and reached for it as Mike slid into the seat across from him, “I’ll have one, too,” said the manager, barely looking at the woman. “We need to go over the recording schedule for LA, Alex,” he said as he dug into his briefcase.

Three more men entered the plane: two were security guards and the other was Carlos, Alejandro’s personal aide. As Carlos walked past Alejandro, he slid a bag under the table by his feet. Exhaling, Alejandro reached down and, after digging into the bag, pulled out his laptop. He set it on the table and flipped the top open. “Jason booked the studio,
sí
?”

“First thing on Monday,” Mike replied. There was a brief delay as the men were settled before two more people joined them on the plane. Alejandro looked up and nodded his head at the newcomers, a man and a woman, who nodded back but continued to tap away at their phones.

“What’s the plan for tomorrow, Mike?” Alejandro asked as the door to the plane was shut and the engines began to rev up as part of the preflight check. The plane shuddered, just a bit, and the lights blinked off for a split second.

“Let’s see,” Mike mumbled, glancing through another stack of papers. “Chicago’s schedule . . . Morning radio at seven thirty, a magazine reporter at eleven, another at two o’clock, and sound check at five.”

He groaned. It was going to be another long day, preceded by a sleepless night. “What time do we land, anyway? One? Two?”

“And you’re scheduled for a radio interview on Saturday in the morning when we get into St. Paul,” Mike added, ignoring Alejandro’s question about their arrival time in Chicago.

“On a Saturday?”

“Hey! They’re doing us a favor, Alex,” Mike retorted, an edge to his voice. “Recording it for their Monday show. Be grateful.”

Rolling his eyes, Alejandro ignored his manager, despite thinking how easy it was for Mike to remind him to be grateful. After all, Mike wasn’t the one who pulled eighteen-hour days of nonstop performances, whether for interviewers or crowds. It was a ruthless schedule, one that he had come to thrive on in the past, but now, without Amanda by his side, he felt something hollow growing inside him.

He reached inside his pocket for his cell phone. With a single swipe of his finger, he checked to see if there were any messages from her. None. It was after midnight. The flight wouldn’t land until after one in the morning. By the time they were settled in the hotel, he imagined it would be close to two. He’d have no more than four hours of sleep, at best, followed by a full day with very little downtime.

He caught sight of Carlos and stretched so that he could see him. “You sent those flowers to Amanda,
sí
?”

Carlos gave him a thumbs-up. “
Sí
, Viper! Confirmed; they arrived at three.”

He wondered why she hadn’t texted him, to let him know that she had received them. He quickly sent her a message, knowing that, by the time she read it, he’d be on his way to the radio station in the morning, his eyes tired from the lack of sleep and a cup of hot coffee in his hand to perk him up.

“Alejandro,” Mike said, in a concerted effort at remaining patient. “Can we talk business here? I won’t get to see you tomorrow.”

“¡Ay, mi madre!”
He turned back in his seat and scowled at his manager. “What is it with you, Mike?” His blue eyes burned with anger and the muscles in his cheek tensed. “What exactly do we have to talk about? We talk every day, all day! I just wanted to check that my wife received the flowers!
¡
Dios
mío
!
”

Holding up his hands as if in self-defense, Mike returned the harsh look. “Easy there, Alex! Just trying to keep you focused.”

“Keep yourself focused,” he snapped back, returning his attention to his laptop.

A silence fell over the sitting area of the plane; the other people busied themselves with their smartphones or perused through magazines. They kept their eyes down and avoided Alejandro at all costs. He didn’t need to look over his shoulder to know what they were doing. They had worked with him long enough to know that, when pushed near the edge, Alejandro fought back. And when he fought back, he fought back hard with the usual result that heads rolled.