Summer Snow (26 page)

“Seed that falls on the path or in rocky places will never grow,” Grandma continued. “It can't. But we're never told that the seeds fallen among the thorns
die
; they are just
choked
.” She held up a dandelion thistle in her grimy hands. “If God is the gardener, what do you think He does?” She dropped the thistle and reached across the row to grasp my wrist. She squeezed. “I think that sometimes He weeds. He gives us room to grow.”

I remembered a year when the field across from our farm had been sown with soybeans. Someone had been renting the land from a recent widow, and he lived a few hours away. He rarely checked on his investment, making long-distance decisions and hiring the work out locally. When the time came to weed the field, he didn't bother to set up a crew to walk his beans and pull the weeds. I heard that when the renter finally came to survey his crop, it was so overrun and filthy with thorns that he counted the harvest a complete loss. I wondered at what point does God consider one of His seeds a complete loss?

But I wasn't in the mood to be philosophical or theological. So I left. “I need something to get this out,” I said, motioning at the small tree. Maneuvering around my belly, I hoisted myself up so I could get the garden hoe from the shed. Grandma let me go.

As I walked away, my feet swished through the long grass and seemed to whisper with each step:
grace, grace, grace, grace
. I glanced at the apple trees, the bodies entwined beneath it, and wondered what it would feel like to curl up beside them, to nap beneath a canopy of grace so sweet and tart it stung.

“I'm not good enough,” I whispered. “I don't have it in me.”

And somewhere, deep in my heart, there was an echo:
But I have it in Me
.

Summer Snow

O
N
M
ONDAY MORNING,
my car didn't start. It clicked. No matter how many times I turned the key, no matter how earnestly I hoped, the only sound I could coax from the engine was a shallow, definitive click, click, click. It felt like I was being reprimanded.

You too?
I thought, twisting the ignition one last time.
What did I ever do to you?

And then I couldn't help but smile when I thought of driving with Thomas years ago, back when my crummy little car had been newly acquired, though far from new.

“You drive it like you stole it,” Thomas teased.

It was true. I wasn't a bad driver, but I certainly wasn't easy on my car. In some ways it was miraculous that I had driven it for over three years without a hitch. Too bad it couldn't have chosen a more appropriate time to break down. As I wiggled out of the driver's seat, I felt one fresh, small burden fall upon my already overladen shoulders. It was almost possible to hear my back creak beneath the weight. I repressed a defeated sigh.

“Starter,” Grandma guessed with some certainty in her voice when I marched heavily back into the house. “Your grandpa loved anything and everything that ran on an engine, and I remember a few of the terms he used to throw around.”

“Could it be the battery?” Janice offered, taking a stab in the dark.

Grandma tipped her head in assent. “Could be. Or the alternator, maybe.”

“Gas!” Simon contributed happily. “Diesel?”

“I don't care what's wrong with it,” I cut in with a wan smile. I held out my wristwatch with the smooth face bulging forward. “I care about getting to work. I'm going to be late.”

“Oh, of course.” Janice downed the last gulp of her coffee and grimaced as if the dregs had settled into a bitter sludge. “I'll take you.” She pushed back from the table and tugged gently on Simon's ear. “Come on; let's quick brush our teeth. We'll be two minutes, tops.”

The last comment was directed at me, and I saluted in response, sinking into the chair that she had just vacated. “Will it be expensive to fix?” I asked Grandma.

“I don't know,” she admitted. “But there are some men at church who do this sort of thing to help people. I'll see what I can find out.”

Charity.

Thinking of the ever-dwindling number in my bank account, I swallowed my pride and said, “All right.”

Simon chattered all the way into town, and I was grateful that I didn't have to do anything more than murmur the occasional “Mm-hmm.” I was trying to do the math in my head: Did the money I had set aside in savings offset the cost of fixing my car? Would I still have enough to cover the doctors' bills that would pile up by August?

I was cutting corners and being as careful as I could with the small amount of money that came in every month. Based on my income, Grandma had even tried to sign me up for some government program, but I flat-out refused. Supposedly I was eligible to receive a certain amount of healthy food every month: milk, cheese, grains, peanut butter. Peanut butter? Since when was that considered healthy? But though I had seen women in the grocery store eagerly hauling out their coupons and I knew there was no shame in it, I couldn't bring myself to add one more thing to the list of differences that made me stand out from everyone else I knew.

I had to make it work on my own.

“I'll pick you up tonight,” Janice offered cheerfully when we turned into the parking lot of Value Foods. “What time do you get off ?”

“Five,” I said. “But I'll see if I can catch a ride home with someone. You have to pick up Simon before that, don't you?”

“It's no bother. I can come back.”

“No. I'll work something out.” I hopped out of the car and reached in through the open back window to give Simon five. “Have a good day, buddy. See you tonight.”

“Let's play Yahtzee after supper,” Simon cajoled, catching my fingers when I tried to pull away. His eyes were each a sparkling chip of black onyx, and they glinted at me mischievously from behind his slipping glasses. I knew he wouldn't let me go until I agreed, so I nodded quickly and pretended to try to wrestle my way out of his grip. “Promise,” he demanded with a giggle as I flapped his arm.

“I promise.” I laughed, finally yanking my hand away.

Simon had a way of making me forget myself, but by the time their car had pulled out of view and I was surrounded by the overly cool air of the dim grocery store, worry was beginning to pluck at the corners of my mouth. Only yesterday I had stopped in the shade of the garden shed and wondered if the God of heaven and earth was talking to me. But in the reality of a day gone wrong, it was easy to imagine that the only voice I had heard mingling among the warmth of a perfect afternoon was the whisper of my own conscience, my own deep-down desire to make everything work out. I was on my own. Grandma might stand beside me, Simon might fill my days with laughter, but I was essentially alone—the car, the baby, the muddle of relationships, and even the ambiguous future were entirely mine to disentangle.

The roller coaster of it all was making me dizzy and sick.
I can. I can't. I'll try
.
It's too hard.
The constant teetering seesaw of emotions was nauseating, and as my footsteps echoed on the scratched linoleum of the grocery store, I decided once and for all to cut myself a little slack. No promises. No guarantees. Taking it one day at a time was more than enough drama for me. And a broken-down car first thing on a Monday morning was the only proof I needed to assure me that my resolution was timely and well made. Dealing with Janice and everything that entailed would simply have to wait. I had other things to worry about: Thomas and Francesca's wedding was mere weeks away and the baby was following not far behind. But before facing any of that, I had a car to fix. It was a manageable problem; even better, it gave me something specific to concentrate on.

My car so consumed my thoughts that when the clock read 5:05 and I finally slowed down enough to realize that the day had flown by, it struck me that I had not secured a way to get home. I collected my purse slowly and took a few minutes to freshen up in the bathroom to buy myself a little time to think.

It seemed hopeless. The one person I felt comfortable asking for a ride, Alicia, had already left, and though Graham had arrived at Value Foods after school, his shift wasn't over until close. I barely knew Monica and certainly wasn't confident about petitioning her for a lift, and besides, she had skipped cheerfully out of the back room moments before I entered it. I would have to chase her to catch her—if she was still in the parking lot. There was no one else; my options were exhausted. I was stranded.

For a moment I tossed around the idea of calling Janice or Grandma and asking them to come and pick me up, but I had been so insistent when Janice dropped me off only hours ago. I wasn't willing to recant my earlier assurances that it would be no problem whatsoever to find a ride home. Or maybe I wasn't willing to admit that I couldn't manage even this one small thing on my own.

I walked aimlessly to the front of the store, waving unenthusiastically at Clark when I passed him. He grunted back. I wondered how long five miles would feel to my pregnant feet.

The air was startlingly warm after a long day of working in an air-conditioned store, and goose bumps sprang up on my arms instantly. The breeze lifted my hair off my neck, and the sun spread like a blanket across my back. It felt wonderful. All at once I didn't care about the car. It didn't matter that I couldn't simply drive home. I found myself actually thankful to be more or less marooned in Mason. It was
Mason
after all, not New York, and if nothing else I could enjoy an hour to myself before breaking down and phoning home.
One day at a time
, I reiterated. Even,
one moment at a time
.

I remembered that the used-book store was open until six and that the bakery was only two doors down. People often joked that Mason had been founded around Lily Spencer's kitchen. Apparently she had been such a well-known baker that when she opened a shop and tried to call it Stone Ground, everyone ignored her chosen name and called the bakery Lily's instead. Two generations later, Lily's remained. Their specialty was sweet breads, and the thought of a thick slice of lemon-blueberry bread and a new book seemed like the smallest piece of heaven to me. I would treat myself to two indulgences, guilt over car expenses repressed, and find a bench in the park for an hour or so. I could call from the gas station when I was ready to go home. Though my plan would give Grandma ammunition for her dogged allegation that I needed a cell phone, I decided it would be well worth the short argument. I liked the thought of dropping off the radar for a while.

But my well-laid plans crumbled long before I even made it out of the Value Foods parking lot.

“Hi!” a voice called as I stepped onto the sidewalk at the entrance to the grocery store. I looked around for the source of the sound, wondering if the greeting had been directed at me. But pretty girls got shouted at in parking lots, not pregnant ones. I blushed and concentrated on the path in front of me, embarrassed that I had reacted until I heard someone tease, “Work is that way!”

I turned around to see Michael sitting in an ancient, rusted-out Volkswagen Bug. Shielding my eyes from the sun, I watched him as he pulled his car up beside me and let it idle. The engine sounded like it was full of gravel, and I raised an eyebrow quizzically. “My shift is just over,” I assured him. Then I added playfully, “Nice car. It looks about as reliable as mine.”

“Hey now, don't knock the Bug,” Michael said, feigning offense. “I've seen your car. Herbie here is one fine machine compared to that.”

“Apparently so,” I consented. I didn't mean to roll my eyes.

But Michael looked at me and then swiveled around in his seat to survey the parking lot. “Where is your car?”

“I gave it the day off.” I shrugged. “It was being rude—wouldn't start.”

Michael gave a low whistle. “That doesn't sound good. Did it go
rrrr-rrrr
?”

“Rrrr-rrrr?”
I mimicked with a laugh. “Nice sound effects. But no, actually, it sounded more like
click-click
.”

“Good thing you make the big bucks, Julia.
Click-click
is not cheap to fix.”

I sighed. “Go figure.”

The conversation lulled and Michael and I exchanged weak smiles before it hit him. “You're not walking home, are you? I thought you lived in the country.”

“I'm not and I do,” I said. But I didn't really know how to explain what I was doing, so I motioned rather lamely in the direction of Main Street and shrugged again.

“I can give you a ride somewhere, you know. Do you need a ride?” Michael's smile was candid and his eyes were amiable, intense even. He was wearing a T-shirt that said
Eagles Lacrosse
in faded lettering across the chest, and through the open window I could see that he had on baggy jean shorts and flip-flops. I had never seen Michael wear anything other than his Value Foods uniform. It was a bit like running into my teacher at the swimming pool in second grade and realizing that she did not actually live at school—she had a house, a husband, a life. Shocking.

“Uh …,” I wavered, trying to think of a polite way to say no.

But Michael reached over to the passenger door and swung it open. “Get in,” he said, nodding at the seat beside him. “You need a ride and I know it. I have one quick thing I need to do, and then I'll take you wherever you want to go.”

“How much gas do you have in the tank?” I muttered, surprising myself.

“Not nearly enough,” Michael replied with a good-natured grin.

I felt conspicuous and awkward, but I also felt committed, and I crossed in front of the car slowly. My apron caught on a sharp edge of the license plate, and my ears burned as it became obvious that I hadn't even bothered to take off the most hideous aspect of my ugly uniform. What was Michael doing offering me a ride? He might as well have picked up the fat lady from the circus sideshow I was so conspicuous in the tenting royal blue fabric. I bit my lip and caught Michael's eye through the windshield, making a sheepish face as if to show how stupid I was to not ditch the apron the second my shift was over.