“Yeah, but did you hear the rest of their comments?” Sierra asked. “They would say, ‘That Tawni is much better looking than that younger daughter.’ That’s what I’ve had to live with. The shadow of the beautiful Tawni was a long one I couldn’t get out from under.”
Tawni sounded surprised. “Sierra! You of all people should know that we’re not supposed to compare ourselves with others.”
“Isn’t that what you’re doing?”
Tawni paused. “I guess maybe I am. This is what Jeremy has been telling me for a long time. That’s what he meant by me solidifying my identity. Mentally, I know my self-image is supposed to be based in Christ, and I should be seeking to find out who God made me to be. But I guess I don’t understand that yet in my heart.”
Sierra nodded. She understood. It was wonderful having her sister open up to her like this. Neither of them spoke for a moment. Sierra took another bite of her dinner.
“Are you and Jeremy getting pretty serious about each other?” Sierra asked.
“Sometimes I think so. Other times I’m not so sure. He’s never brought up the subject of marriage, if that’s what you’re asking. He’s committed to finishing school, and he’s committed to our friendship. We haven’t opened up any other doors of possibilities. By the way, how are things going with Paul? You said a few weeks ago that he wrote you. Has he written again?”
“No. I wrote him twice and then decided to wait to hear from him before I contacted him again. It’s hard to tell with guys, isn’t it? You think they give you a green light, and then it turns yellow. You don’t know if you should chance it and run through or hold back and assume that it will suddenly turn red on you.”
Tawni gave a lighthearted laugh that came from a well of deep understanding. “You have it figured out, Sierra. That’s exactly how it is with guys.”
Sierra stared out the kitchen window. “I mean, I opened up my heart and told him things that I don’t tell just anybody.” She hadn’t expected the tears that suddenly welled up in the corners of her eyes.
“And now you feel vulnerable,” Tawni said. “You handed him your heart, and you’re afraid he’s going to tromp all over it.”
Sierra sniffed. Her answer was a hoarse “Yes.”
“It’ll be okay,” Tawni said quickly. “Even if he never writes you back, it’s okay. Don’t close up, Sierra. Don’t lose that free-spirited exuberance of yours for any reason. Be yourself. Even if being yourself means you say or do things you regret. All relationships are a process. You’ll learn as you go. We all do.”
Sierra reached for a napkin from the basket at the end of the counter and wiped her eyes. “I wish I understood relationships better and that I had them figured out ahead of time.” Sierra was thinking of Amy as well as of Paul. “If I knew what the other person was thinking or what that person was going through ahead of time, I’d know how to think and act and respond.”
“Sorry,” Tawni said. “It doesn’t work like that. Sometimes all we can do is take the little bit of info we have and go with it. It makes you trust God absolutely.”
“I guess that applies to Paul and me as much as it applies to your writing or calling your birth mom, doesn’t it?”
There was silence on the other end of the line.
“You’re right,” Tawni said.
“All your friends and family are giving you the feeling it’s a big green light to go ahead and call her, but then you find out it might suddenly turn red and you’ll be breaking all the rules if you try to run it.”
“Yes,” Tawni answered quietly. “That’s exactly what it is. I guess I have to take my own advice and go with the little bit of info I have. I have to trust God absolutely in this.”
“So, how do you know if you did the right thing?” Sierra asked.
“I guess only time will tell.”
six
SIERRA SPRINTED into her literature class just as the bell rang. Mrs. Chambers gave her a friendly, scolding look. As Sierra sat down and took her notebook from her backpack, her heart was pounding. She was late because she had been talking to Amy in the hallway.
When Sierra had spotted Amy at her locker right before class, she had taken Tawni’s advice and gone with what appeared to be a green light.
Sierra walked up to her friend and simply said, “Hi. Can we talk after school?”
Startled, Amy said, “Okay.”
Sierra suggested they meet at her locker after school and that was that. She was trying to trust God absolutely, as Tawni had said.
“I’m handing out an assignment that is due on Friday,” Mrs. Chambers said, passing papers down each row. “This is a list of American authors and the titles of some of their works. I want you to read and evaluate one of the works listed. If you would like extra credit, you may do two evaluations. The questions for you to answer are on the second piece of paper.”
Sierra skimmed the list and recognized the names of only about half of the authors.
“Do not save this until ten o’clock on Thursday night,” Mrs. Chambers said, perching on the edge of her desk. “You will need to go to the library and check out these books to read the sections listed. I have a few of the books in my library at the back of the room. You may check them out, but only until Friday.”
Mrs. Chambers gave them a few minutes at the end of class in case they wanted to check out one of her books. Sierra took advantage of the opportunity and reached for a book of poems by Emily Dickinson. Vicki stood beside her and took a book by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
“Sierra,” Vicki said, “I was wondering if you wanted to do something together sometime.”
Sierra gave her a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”
Vicki’s smooth cheeks began to flush. “I don’t know. Go shopping or something.”
Sierra tried to hide her surprise. “Sure. We could do that.”
“How about today after school?”
“I already have plans for today.”
“Tomorrow maybe?”
“I work tomorrow,” Sierra said.
“Oh. Well, another time,” Vicki said. “Let me know when you have some time.”
“Okay,” Sierra said. She looped her backpack over her shoulder and gave Vicki a suspicious look. I didn’t think she liked me. Is she trying to get to somebody through me? Who could it be? Randy?
Sierra put away her suspicions about Vicki and spent the rest of the afternoon concentrating on what she was going to say to Amy after school. She had it all planned out and felt only a little nervous as she stood by her locker, waiting for Amy to show up.
Randy came by and said, “I gave my notice at the restaurant. Did I tell you already?”
“No. Did you give them two weeks’ notice or what?”
“I offered two weeks, but he said I could be off at the end of this week if I worked the lunch shift on Saturday.”
“What about your yard business?”
Randy shrugged. “I’ll get somebody to help me.”
Sierra noticed that his hair was back in a ponytail and tucked under his collar as if he were trying to hide it.
“What happened with the warning you got about your hair?” Sierra asked.
“Nothing.”
“What are you going to do? Get it cut?”
“I don’t know. Everyone was saying at lunch today that it’s a dumb rule. They think I should petition to get the rule changed to say that if your hair is clean and neat, it doesn’t matter what length it is.”
“So you get to be the one to challenge the fifty-year history of Royal Academy?”
Randy shrugged again. “I’m not exactly the rebel sort.”
“Does everyone think you are because you’re growing out your hair?”
“I grew it out for the band,” Randy said. “I think it gives us more of a connection with the kind of people who go to The Beet. What do you think?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t been to The Beet. And I haven’t noticed the other guys’ hair in th
e band. Are you sure you want to go to the wall on this one?”
Randy readjusted his backpack. “I don’t know.”
“Are you going to talk to your parents about it?” Sierra asked.
“I probably should.”
Randy looked past Sierra and gave a chin-up greeting to someone behind her. “Hey, Amy. How’s it going?”
“Hi, Randy,” Amy said. Her dark eyes centered on Sierra.
“Hi,” Sierra said.
“Well,” Randy said, apparently reading the situation, “I’d better get going.”
“That’s okay,” Amy said. “Don’t leave on account of me. I just wanted to tell you, Sierra, that I forgot I have someplace I need to go this afternoon.”
Sierra felt her heart sink. “How about later tonight?”
“I work tonight,” Amy said. “And then I have a ton of homework.”
“When would be a good time?” Sierra asked. “I really want to talk to you.”
Amy smoothed back her dark, wavy hair. “I don’t know.” She smiled at Randy, not making eye contact with Sierra. “I need to get going. I’ll see you guys.” She hurriedly turned.
Sierra watched Amy practically run down the hall and out the double doors that led to the parking lot. A heavy cloud of apprehension and frustration came over Sierra. Randy must have seen it.
“Hey,” he said, leaning over to make eye contact with her, “you tried. Don’t beat yourself up like this. Give it a little more time.”
“A little more time, huh?” Sierra said. “Why is it that everything in life seems to require a little more time? I’m tired of waiting! Why can’t relationships move along smoothly without all this … this … What is this?”
“Life.” Randy looked serious. “This is life. It’s nothing like the brochure, is it?”
“I don’t like it,” Sierra said, giving him a pout. “Why won’t she just talk to me?”
Randy shrugged.
“It’s so frustrating.”
“I imagine it must be,” Randy said.
Sierra sighed and readjusted the backpack slung over her shoulder.
“Come on,” Randy said, tugging on Sierra’s sleeve. “I’ll buy you a taco and a milk. That’ll cheer you right up.”
Sierra pulled away. “Will you stop with the taco and milk?”
“You’re the only person I know who orders milk with a taco.”
“So?”
Randy led the way out of the school building. “I’m buying,” he said.
“Who’s driving?” Sierra asked when they hit the parking lot.
“Me. My truck is over there.”
They were on their way to Lotsa Tacos, which was only two blocks away, when Randy asked, “Did Mrs. Chambers give your class the same assignment we got?”
“Probably. We’re supposed to read and evaluate one of the works of an American writer. Did you get one of the books from the back of the room?”
“No,” Randy said. “Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think she would mind if we did our evaluations on the same author?” Randy asked.
“I don’t know why not. I was planning to do mine tonight. I’ll give you the book tomorrow. Make sure you turn the book back in on Friday because it’s checked out in my name,” Sierra said.
They decided to go inside Lotsa Tacos rather than drive through. Sierra brought her backpack with her and pulled out the Emily Dickinson book while Randy ordered their food. She skimmed the preface and flipped through the book, happy to see that all the poems were fairly short.
Randy returned with six tacos, a large soft drink, and a carton of milk.
“Didn’t you have lunch?” Sierra asked.
“Yes. Why?”
“Never mind.”
Randy sat down and motioned to the book. “Is that the book for lit class?”
“Yes.” Sierra held it up for him to see. “Emily Dickinson. It’s a collection of her poems.”
“Poems?” Randy echoed. “I thought we were supposed to read short stories or something.”
“Poems are better than short stories. They’re images in a tiny box wrapped up real pretty.”
“Terrific,” Randy said, punching his straw on the table so the paper wrapper tore off. “I always wanted to do a report on pretty little images all in a row.”
“Hey,” Sierra said, quick to defend Emily’s poems, “don’t be like that. What about your music? When you write lyrics to a song, aren’t you sort of writing a poem?”
“Hmmph,” Randy said.
“Hmmph?”
“Yeah, hmmph. I don’t know if I want to agree with you or not.”
“Here, let me read you one. You might get some inspiration.”
“Inspiration, huh?”
“Yes, listen to this. ‘Out of the more than 1,700 poems Emily Dickinson wrote, less than a dozen were published during her lifetime. The first volume of her poetry was published four years after her death.’ ”
“When did she die?”
Sierra scanned the introduction. “I don’t know. It says she was born in 1830.” She felt a tinge of adventure, reading words that had been written more than a hundred years ago by a woman who had died never knowing she would be famous one day.
“Here, listen.” Sierra leaned across the table and read,
In lands I never saw, they say,
Immortal Alps look down,
Whose bonnets touch the firmament,
Whose sandals touch the town.
Meek at those everlasting feet
A myriad daisies play.
Which, sir, are you, and which am I,
Upon an August day?
“What is that supposed to mean?” Randy said, munching his taco.
Sierra felt her heart pick up its pace with a contented little jig. She knew what it meant to see those immortal Alps whose bonnets touch the firmament and sandals touch the town. She had picnicked last August in a field of daisies on those very slopes. Alex was the “sir” from her personal poetic picnic. And just like Emily, she had only soft questions about the roles she and Alex were to play.
Gazing out the window at the clear autumn sky, Sierra felt transported above the roar of the engines at the stoplight outside. She had opened her heart to Alex just a little last August, and it had proved to be an enriching, growing, and encouraging experience.
Suddenly, she felt okay about those two transparent letters she had written to Paul. Even if he never answered, she had grown from writing them. Maybe Paul was encouraged. That was what she wanted. Maybe in some relationships all the questions were never fully answered.
And maybe they didn’t need to be.
seven
“HELLO? SIERRA?” Randy said, waving a hand in front of her face, blocking her gaze of the endless sky and bringing her thoughts back to the noisy fast-food restaurant. “Where did you go?”
She smiled but kept her answer to herself. “Should I read you another one of Emily’s poems?”
“That depends. Will it send you on another trip?”
“I don’t know,” Sierra said. “Shall we live dangerously and find out?”
She turned to another page in the book and read,
The way I read a letter’s this:
’Tis first I lock the door,
And push it with my fingers next,
For transport it be sure.
And then I go the furthest off
To counteract a knock;
Then draw my little letter forth
And softly pick its lock.
There was more, but Randy interrupted her. This time he was the one looking out the window and apparently being transported to another world.
“Check it out!” Randy said. “That’s the new turbo diesel 780. The black one there. They just came out. That’s the first one I’ve seen.”
Sierra glanced over her shoulder at the stream of cars. She had no idea which vehicle he was referring to, and she didn’t much care. She was more intereste
d in reading about this woman who knew what it was like to wait for a letter and then go hide away to “pick its lock” to fully savor it all alone. The image brought another smile to Sierra’s lips.
“Are you going to eat that?” Randy nodded at her untouched taco.
“No, you can have it,” she said, returning to her book and reading the rest of the poem to herself.
After Randy inhaled the taco, Sierra read another poem to herself.
“You know what?” she said to Randy. “I’ve changed my mind. You can’t use this book. I think I’m going to have it for more than just tonight.”
“You actually understand what she’s trying to say?”
“No, not all of it. But parts of it apply to things that are interesting to me.”
Randy wadded up the paper wrappers and carried the tray to the trash can without making a comment. Sierra followed him, carrying her still nearly full carton of milk.
“I’ll get another book tomorrow,” Randy said. “You can keep Emma all to yourself.”
“Emily,” she corrected him.
“Whatever,” Randy said.
They climbed back into the truck and drove to the school parking lot.
Driving home, Sierra thought about the poems. She wondered if she could finish reading the whole book tonight and start on her report. It would be good to get a head start this semester. She was so captured by the three poems she had read that she wanted to slowly drink in the book before beginning her report.
Sierra parked in front of the house, and out of a habit she had developed recently, she opened the mailbox to fish out the stack of mail. Pulling open the screen door, she walked into the kitchen and plopped everything down on the counter.
“Hello!” Sierra called out. “I’m home.”
“I’m down here,” her mother called from the basement.
Sierra flipped through the mail, making a stack of bills and advertisements for her parents. There was a letter for Granna Mae and two other envelopes.
She suddenly stopped and held her breath. The two envelopes both bore her name and address, written in bold, black letters. The stamps in the top right corner showed a side portrait of the Queen of England. Each stamp had been canceled with a thick circle of ink and showed the date of September 12. The name in the top left-hand corner was the name she had repeated for months in her whispered prayers: Paul Mackenzie.
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