Plain Jayne (26 page)

“How long are you in town for?” Mom asked when she returned with tea and coffee.

I took the teacup she offered. “I have work on Monday, but I was hoping to stay until then.”

“Do you have your bags with you? I can set you up upstairs.”

“I, um, checked in down at the Sea Gypsy.”

She froze, her gaze darting from me to Shane.

“In separate rooms.” No use torturing her.

Mom tried a nonchalant shrug. “I didn't ask.”

But she was thinking.

“It's up to you, but I have plenty of space for the both of you. If you'd like to stay here—it's entirely up to you.”

I looked to Shane. He nodded. “That'd be really nice.”

She beamed. “Excellent. Have you seen Beth yet?”

“No,” I said, my face turning red. “I don't think I have her current number.”

“She switched phone services. Why don't I give her a call? Do you have dinner plans?”

We said no, and I watched as my mother all but skipped to the phone to call Beth.

“What were you so worried about?” Shane set his coffee cup down. “Everything seems cool. Your mom even makes good coffee.”

I smiled, thinking it was a comment Levi would have made. I forced myself back to the present. Standing, I walked around the living room and looked at the pictures sprinkled around the room.

Beth and me as little girls, dressed for Easter Sunday. Beth looking like a princess, me looking like a princess who would rather be the scullery maid. There was Beth's graduation photo, followed shortly by the wedding pictures, she and Gary smiling and looking so very young.

There were other photos I appeared in—my first day of kindergarten, that sort of thing. But after my graduation, there were no more photos.

I knew why. I had made it a point to not be available for photo ops.

There were other pictures I hadn't seen. Beth holding a newborn in her arms, a smiling Gary sitting on the edge of the hospital bed.

I knew I'd visited briefly weeks before the baby was born and sent a card shortly after. But there were moments I'd missed, moments I'd never get back. I always thought I was fine with that. Now…I wasn't so sure.

My mom came back to the room. “I just got off the phone with Beth. She and Gary are free tonight, so they'll be over soon. They'll bring little Emilee with them. I can't believe how fast she's growing up!”

“How old is she now?”

“Turning five next winter.”

I think I might have sent her a birthday present. Once. I certainly wasn't in line for any “Auntie of the Year” awards.

“They'll be a little while, coming in from Neotsu,” my mom continued. “If you like, you could check out of the motel and get settled in here.”

A part of me hesitated. If things blew up over dinner, I wouldn't have anywhere to go.

However, it also meant that I would have to stay and sort out my problems.

Which was technically the reason for the trip.

“That sounds nice,” I said.

“I'll go start dinner.” She frowned. “You're not vegetarian, are you? Either of you?”

Shane emphatically shook his head.

“Excellent. When you get back, will you want your old room, Jayne?”

I shrugged. “Fine with me.”

“And Shane, there's a bed in the sewing room.”

“Sewing room?” I didn't know Mom sewed.

“Beth's old room.” She sighed. “It'll be so nice to have everyone here. I just wish…”

Her voice trailed off, but I knew what she meant. She wished my father were there.

I didn't know if I could agree with her or not.

The receptionist gave us an odd look when we checked out. I imagine it looked a bit shady that we'd only checked in a little while ago, but we were in separate rooms, for Pete's sake. “My mom invited us to stay with her,” I explained, trying to make the woman's expression go away.

“That's nice,” she said, but the expression only slightly softened.

Back at my mom's house, she led us upstairs to the rooms, even though I'd grown up there. Maybe she thought I'd been gone so long I'd forgotten.

My room looked very little like I remembered. Granted, it had been eight years. My striped bedspread had left with me for university life. In its place was a floral-print quilt that coordinated with the soft green color of the walls. It was very soothing, very pretty. Made me think of my room at the Burkholders.

Speaking of the walls, they looked different than I remembered. Probably because ACDC no longer scowled down on anyone who walked in.

I went to check on Shane once I had put my bags down.

Beth's room really had been converted to a sewing room. Tubs of fabric lined a wall. Plastic sets of pull-out drawers held thread, scissors, and measuring tapes. A table against the wall held a massive sewing machine. Next to the machine sat a stack of…

“Quilt squares!” I rushed over to pick them up. They looked so nice, so organized, their edges trimmed just so.

Shane came up behind me. “Explain to me what you'll do with them? Seeing as how you don't quilt…”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Cut more squares so they'll be with friends.”

“You just have stacks of quilt squares?”

“Aren't they nice?”

“Do you collect three-by-five cards too?”

“Shane—”

“Do you stack them as well? Or I guess you don't need to. They come out of the shrink-wrap that way.”

“You're impossible.”

“You like me that way.”

I leaned over to give him a quick kiss. “Define like.”

Shane deepened the kiss but pulled away when the doorbell rang. “That's probably your sister.
She
rang the doorbell.”

I rolled my eyes and stepped away. “Seriously, the doorbell used to be very taboo in this house.”

But it had changed. Obviously. I just wanted to know what other things—aside from our bedrooms—had changed as well.

S
hane and I headed downstairs, following the sound of people—chatter, the rustle of coats, Velcro, and zippers.

As we came into the entryway, I could see Beth, Gary, and Emilee. My little niece looked a lot larger than I'd imagined. I hadn't seen her at the memorial. Beth had elected to get a sitter rather than put a four-year-old through that.

Beth looked up. I smiled. Her chilly expression caused me to stop where I was. Shane nearly ran over me.

“Hi, Beth,” I said, hoping that maybe her expression was an anomaly.

The corners of her mouth moved a fraction of an inch up. “Hi, Jayne.”

“This is my boyfriend, Shane,” I said, attempting to distract everyone. “Shane, this is Beth, my sister, and her husband, Gary.” I flashed my most winning smile. “And Emilee is my niece.”

Shane shook everyone's hand, charming as usual.

“Shane and Jayne?” Beth asked. “Do you date because you rhyme?”

I heard Gary chide his wife under his breath, but Shane jumped in before I could form a non-incendiary reply.

“More like, we date, therefore we are. I've always tried to be existential about my romantic relationships,” he said, and because he's witty and charming, everyone but Beth laughed, even if they didn't understand.

Existentialistic humor not being for everyone.

“Dinner's going to be a little while,” Mom said, taking coats to the hallway closet near the utility room. “Settle in and get comfortable.”

“Do you need any help in the kitchen?” I asked. Sitting around in this crowd wasn't my idea of relaxing.

Mom stopped still. Beth stopped still. It's possible the earth froze in its orbit for a moment, at least until my mother caught her breath.

“I'd love help.” My mom glanced at my brace. “Are you sure your wrist feels well enough?”

Beth snorted. I refused to look at her. “It's nearly healed.”

“I thought I'd put a pie together. Would you like to help with that?”

I could feel Beth's gaze shifting from me to Mom.

“I love pie.”

“She can eat it, but she can't bake it,” Beth mumbled, and I heard Gary mumble something back.

Shane squeezed my hand. I left for the kitchen.

“Do you have an apron I could borrow?” I asked, thinking for the first time that I might want an apron of my own. Not that I'd necessarily travel with it, but I kept going places and wanting one. At some point, I'd probably want one at home too.

My mom produced a flowered apron that triggered childhood memories of cookie frosting and postdinner dishes. I slipped it over my head and tied it behind my back

Something strange happened in that instant. Before the apron, a part of me felt out of place, like the object on Sesame Street that Big Bird would decide didn't belong. But after the apron—I felt more settled. More centered, as though I were back at the Burkholder farmhouse, with a garden in the back and a loose pig and children underfoot and everything in a state of rightness.

I measured out the flour the way Martha had taught me. I placed the measuring cup inside a slightly larger bowl, spooned the ingredient into the cup, then leveled off the top, all with my good arm.

I could feel my mom watching as I worked, but I didn't care. I was in my happy place. When Mom offered to help with the rolling, though, I didn't turn her down. Within minutes, the lower dough layer was in place in the bottom of the pie pan.

“What kind of pie are we making,” I asked, fingering the edge of the crust.

“How does cherry sound?”

“I didn't know cherries were available,” I said, thinking about how much more they would cost at the coast.

Mom raised a finger to her lips. “Don't tell Beth.” She opened a cupboard and retrieved three cans of prepared cherry filling.

I stifled a laugh. I'd never known my mom to bake anything
not
from scratch. Even brownies never came from a box.

“I drain them, so there's less of the cherry syrup in the pie.”

“Very clever.” Feeling like a coconspirator, I helped open the cans and dumped their contents into the sieve in the sink. We gave the sieve a tiny shake, then emptied the ripe, sugar-coated cherries into the pie pan. I watched as my mom made a lattice top out of the remaining dough, cutting strips and laying them out just so.

When she finished, I went around and crimped the edges so that they waved in a perfect circle.

I let Mom put it in the oven.

She brushed the excess flour from her hands. “Do you bake often these days?”

“Not until recently.”

“Oh?”

I ducked my head and smoothed my apron. “I, um, went to stay with an Amish family for a while.”

“Really? What was that like?”

What was it like? How could I begin? “Hard to describe,” I started, realizing I wasn't making any mental headway. “It's a society that makes so little sense to me. But there's something really beautiful about it.”

“Will you go back to visit again?”

“I hope so.”

And before I knew it, I was telling her about Martha and Sara, Gideon and the boys, about Leah and little Elizabeth. I told her about Ida, Naomi Zook, and her twins Mary Ellen and Becky, little Doyle and Baby Ruby.

Woven throughout their stories was the ever-present Levi, whose face had followed me ever since I left the farm.

I told her more than I had told anyone, even Gemma. I didn't know why, either. I had never been one of those girls who had been able to confide in her mother. When I was a teen, I thought she'd criticize me for what I said.

“Tell me more about this Levi,” Mom said when I was through. She stood at the stove, stirring a sauce. “He sounds like an interesting fellow.”

I listened for a quick moment for Shane and the others in the living room. Shane was saying something, Gary was laughing.

“Levi…is a puzzle. He left the Amish to use his mind, and then he left his corporate job to be back near them. He could befriend anyone.”

“Like Shane?”

Shane would befriend, yes, but name-call later. “Yes. And no. They're different.”

“How long have you and Shane been seeing each other?”

“Six months.”

“Is he serious?”

“Yes.”

“Are you?”

The chatter in the living room died down. I shrugged, rather than incriminate myself audibly.

“The sauce is done, and I think the roast is too. The pie will bake through dinner. Shall we call everyone in?”