by Amy Clipston
Frank steered down Rock Lane to Sand Bend Road, and then negotiated the turn onto Little Island Road, heading toward Back Bay Crescent.
“Who lives out here?” he asked.
“I think it’s a friend of Vicki’s boyfriend,” Lindsay said. “I’ve never been out here.”
“Do you know if the parents will be home tonight?” he asked.
Lindsay shrugged. “I honestly don’t know for sure.”
Frank paused and she noticed that he looked concerned.
She directed him to a large, four-story beach house sitting on the bay. Cars, SUVs, and pick-up trucks were parked in the driveway and then lined up down the block. Frank stopped the Suburban parallel to the row of vehicles in the street, and rock music blared from inside the house.
“The Johnsons live here. Trisha and I know Derrick and Brenda and their son seems like a good kid,” he said. “They’re a nice couple. I’m sure that they’re aware of the party.”
“Okay.” Lindsay turned to Frank and forced a smile despite the uneasy feeling creeping into her gut. “Thank you for the ride.”
“Do you have your cell phone?” he asked.
She tapped her purse. “Yes, I do.”
“Call me when you’re ready to come home,” he said. “You can stay as late as you want. I’ll be up working on some reports tonight.”
“Thank you,” she said, grabbing the door handle. “Make sure Aunt Trisha doesn’t overdo it.”
He chuckled. “I doubt she’ll listen to me. She’s so happy to be up and walking that she may repaint the bedroom tonight.”
Lindsay laughed as she climbed from the truck. Her smile faded as she approached the house. The music was even louder than she’d experienced at Vicki’s pool party. She rapped on the door and waited for a response.
After knocking again, she pushed the door open and stepped into the foyer, finding scantily clad young people dancing in the middle of the den while others stood around talking, laughing, and drinking from bottles of beer. Another couple sat in the corner kissing and groping each other. The sight caused her to doubt Derrick and Brenda Johnson were aware of the party.
Feeling queasy, Lindsay turned to go. A strong hand grabbed her arm and spun her around.
“Lindsay,” Heather said. “You made it!”
“Hi,” Lindsay said, pushing a stray hair that had escaped her braid back from her shoulder. “I was looking for Vicki.”
“She’s out there.” Heather jerked her thumb toward the back door leading to a large deck. “Come join us.”
Lindsay glanced back at the front door, wishing she could leave, but she didn’t want to disappoint Vicki. “Sure.”
She reluctantly followed Heather to the back door, wincing at the booming rock music and dodging couples that were slow dancing and kissing. She couldn’t help but think that Uncle Daniel would be appalled if he knew she was here with these wild young people.
She approached the door and felt a hand run down her back and stop at her rear. Gasping, she turned and found a young man grinning at her.
“You’re cute in a parochial schoolgirl sort of way,” he said, slurring the words.
“Don’t touch me!” Lindsay shouted, swatting his hand away.
The boy laughed and moved away.
With her hands shaking, Lindsay stepped through the doorway to the large deck overlooking Back Bay. A crowd of young people stood in small groups talking, laughing, and drinking. Bottles of beer and wine coolers peppered the railing of the deck, and Lindsay’s stomach twisted. She was certain that not all of the partygoers were twenty-one, and she didn’t want to be a part of this. She needed to leave, especially after being groped by a drunk.
Vicki emerged from the crowd, her arms outstretched. “Lindsay!” She pulled Lindsay into a tight squeeze. “It’s good to see you. I’m so glad you made it. Tonight is our last hurrah. I’m leaving for college on Monday.”
“It’s good to see you too.” Lindsay attempted to force a smile, but it felt like a grimace.
Marci and Robin, the girls from the last party, joined the group and nodded hello to Lindsay before sipping wine coolers.
Brandon appeared behind Vicki and hooked his arm around her shoulder. “How are you, Lindsay? Can I get you something to drink?” He held up his beer. “How about a cold one?”
Lindsay hesitated. She suddenly remembered an excuse her mother once told her she would give at parties with her father’s business associates. “Alcohol gives me bad headaches. What else do you have?”
He looked unconvinced. “Don’t you want to live a little?”
“Yeah,” Robin chimed in. “You don’t have to be such a prude.”
Marci snickered and they shared a private exchange of smiles.
Lindsay felt angry tears fill her eyes. “I’m not a prude,” she said, her voice shaking with her growing embarrassment.
“That isn’t nice,” Vicki snapped, glaring at Marci and Robin. “She doesn’t have to drink if she doesn’t want to.”
“Of course not,” Marci said with a smirk. “Nerds don’t drink.”
“I’m not a nerd,” Lindsay said. “It’s my choice not to drink.”
“Why don’t you just go back to your Amish friends?” Marci asked, her words slurred.
“Yeah,” Robin added, swaying slightly. “Then you can be a prude and nerd with your own kind.”
Lindsay blanched at the sting of their hateful words but then suddenly felt a surge of confidence bubble from within her. “If not wanting to drink and/or wear skimpy clothes means I am a prude, then yes, I am!”
Marci’s and Robin’s mouths both gaped with surprise.
“You may call me a nerd, but I don’t agree,” Lindsay continued, her voice strong and unshaken as she spoke. “My values may not be your values, but I stand up for what I believe in. I’m true to myself and my Christian faith. You may think that you’re cool because you drink alcohol and make fun of people like me, but I won’t stand here and let you amuse yourself by bashing what I believe in.” She turned to Vicki, who gave her a sympathetic expression. “I’m going to head home. Thank you for inviting me, but it’s obvious I don’t belong here.”
Still feeling confident, Lindsay turned and headed for the door.
“Wait!” Vicki called. “Hang on a minute.”
Lindsay rushed into the house and pushed through the crowd in the den on her way to the front door. She wrenched open the door and marched down the stairs.
“Wait!” Vicki called out again, yelling over the blare of the music. “Don’t go! I want you to stay.”
Lindsay reached the street and then stopped and faced Vicki, who stood on the stairs. “I don’t feel welcome here. I’m going to head home now.”
“Don’t go,” Vicki said, making her way down the stairs. “You’re my friend. I wanted my friends to spend some time with me before I leave.”
“It’s obvious that this isn’t the right place for me,” Lindsay said, gesturing toward the house. “Your friends are so fixated on how I dress and the fact that I won’t drink that they can’t have a pleasant conversation with me. I’m tired of being judged by people who can’t respect who I am.”
“I’m sorry they treat you like that,” Vicki said, touching Lindsay’s arm. “You’re my friend no matter how you dress or what you drink. You don’t have to be like them. They’re nasty and mean.”
Lindsay shook her head. “I appreciate that, but I really don’t belong here. In one way, your friends are right. I should go back to my Amish community. That’s where I want to be.”
“But you don’t have to leave this second. I want to spend time with you before I leave on Monday.” Vicki frowned. “Please don’t listen to them. I want you to stay. You can drink Coke and hang out with me and Brandon.”
Lindsay’s cell phone began to ring in her purse. She pulled it out and found Andrea’s cell phone number on the display. She glanced up at Vicki. “I need to take this call.”
“Will you com
e back in when you finish?” Vicki asked, looking hopeful.
Lindsay sighed. “Maybe.”
“Okay.” Vicki walked backward toward the front stairs. “I’m sorry that they were nasty to you.”
Lindsay nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”
“I’ll see ya.” Vicki jogged up the front steps, opened the front door, and disappeared into the house.
Lindsay pushed the send button and held the phone up to her ear. “Hello?”
“Lindsay?” Andrea asked, her voice sounding thick. “It’s Andrea.”
“Hi,” Lindsay said, walking slowly down the street. “What’s wrong?”
“I have bad news,” Andrea said. “My aunt works at the nursing home and she just called me.”
“Oh?” Lindsay’s heart thumped in her chest. “What happened?”
“Mrs. Fisher passed away earlier,” Andrea said. “She had pneumonia.”
Lindsay gasped. “No,” she whispered as tears streamed down her hot cheeks. “Oh no.”
“I’m so sorry,” Andrea said. “I thought you’d want to know.”
Lindsay couldn’t stop the sobs from racking her body. She took a deep breath. “I have to go,” she said before disconnecting the call.
Standing in the street, she wiped her tears while she stared back toward the house where the party continued on, the music blaring, and the loud voices carrying out over the water. She couldn’t go back in there and face those people who judged her without knowing her.
She looked up toward the sky and thought of sweet Mrs. Fisher, her friend who depended on her to bridge the language barrier between her and her caregivers. She wondered if her precious letter had made it into the hands of her daughter, Mary, and if Mary had considered responding. Perhaps Mary was so moved that she had planned to come visit her mother and mend the broken fences between them.
But now those fences would never be mended. Mrs. Fisher was gone and so was Lindsay’s purpose for volunteering at the nursing home. The joy Lindsay had found in Virginia Beach had died along with Mrs. Fisher.
With fresh tears pouring from her eyes, Lindsay started down the street, heading back to Trisha’s house. Her mind returned to thoughts of the party. Robin and Marci had made it clear—Lindsay should go back to Pennsylvania, and she knew they were right. Trisha was back on her feet, and Mrs. Fisher was gone. She had nothing holding her here.
Crossing to Sandfiddler Road, Lindsay gazed out over to the waves crashing on the beach. She inhaled the salty air and thought of Katie’s letter asking if she’d walked on the sand. She pulled off her sneakers and stepped onto the beach, enjoying the feel of the warm grains of sand seeping through her toes. She continued her journey toward Trisha’s while walking along the water and inhaling the air. She found the loud cadence of the waves so much more refreshing than the obnoxious rock music she’d had to endure.
By the time she reached Trisha’s house, she’d made up her mind —it was time for her to go home to her true joy, her life in Lancaster County.
She wiped the remainder of her tears from her cheeks as she climbed the stairs to the main level of Trisha’s house. She found Frank and Trisha watching a movie in the den, sitting next to each other on the sofa. They both gave Lindsay a confused expression.
“What are you doing home so early?” Trisha’s expression transformed from confusion to worry. “Have you been crying?”
Lindsay nodded as a lump swelled in her throat. “I left the party.”
“Why?” Trisha asked. “What happened?”
“I didn’t belong there.” She let her sneakers drop to the floor.
“Did you walk home?” Frank asked.
“Yes. I wanted to walk to clear my head.” Lindsay started toward her room.
“Lindsay, what happened?” Trisha called after her.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Lindsay said as fresh tears trickled from her eyes.
“Wait a minute,” Trisha called, hobbling toward her room. “Let’s discuss this.”
“Not now,” Lindsay said, closing her door. “Please, I need some time alone.”
“Wait a minute.” Trisha pushed the door open. “I want to know what happened. You never should’ve left that party without calling us. That’s why we got you the cell phone—to keep you safe.”
“I’m fine, okay?” Lindsay said, sitting on the bed and wiping her tears. “Just leave me alone.”
“No, I won’t leave you alone,” Trisha said, wagging a finger with emphasis. “I want to know what happened to you. It’s my responsibility to take care of you while you’re here, and I have a right to know what happened.”
Lindsay felt her anger bubble up inside of herself again. “The party was awful,” she began, almost spitting out the words. “They were all drinking and there were couples making out in front of everyone. Some drunk boy tried to grab my rear end, and I smacked his hand away.”
Tricia gasped. “Oh no!”
“I was so appalled and uncomfortable,” Lindsay continued. “When I refused to drink, two of Vicki’s friends called me a nerd and a prude and told me to go back to my Amish family.”
Trisha grimaced and stepped toward her. “I’m so sorry.”
“I gave them a piece of my mind and told them that I stand up for what I believe in, and I don’t consider myself a prude or a nerd. After I defended myself, I went outside because I knew I didn’t belong there,” Lindsay continued. “Vicki followed me and tried to get me to stay, but I just wanted to leave.”
Trisha gingerly lowered herself onto the bed next to Lindsay and put her arm around her neck. “I’m sorry that they did that to you, but you never should’ve walked home.”
“I felt like I had no choice,” Lindsay said, staring down at her lap while her tears flowed. “I had to walk and clear my head.”
“You should’ve called Frank. Do you know how dangerous it is to walk these narrow streets at night?” Trisha asked. “You could’ve been hit by a car.”
“I only walked a block to the beach and then walked the rest of the way on the sand,” Lindsay said.
“Still, it’s not safe to walk alone at night. You never know if you might run into someone who likes to prey on pretty young girls,” Trisha insisted.
Lindsay cleared her throat and looked Trisha. “Anyway, I haven’t even told you the worst of it.”
“What else?” Trisha pushed a stray lock of Lindsay’s hair back behind her shoulder.
“My friend Andrea from church called my cell phone,” Lindsay said. “She’s the one who also volunteers at the nursing home.”
“Oh?” Trisha asked.
“Mrs. Fisher died today,” Lindsay said, her voice breaking on the last word. She dissolved into uncontrollable sobs, and Trisha pulled her into her arms and rubbed her back while she cried.
“I’m so sorry, honey,” Trisha said. “But you were there for her in her last days. You helped her contact her daughter, which means she died knowing that she’d made things right with her. You were a blessing to her, Lindsay. You should be proud that you helped make her last days here happy.”
Lindsay held onto Trisha and closed her eyes, praying that Mrs. Fisher was out of pain and resting in peace with Jesus.
“Would you like a drink?” Trisha asked, standing. “I’ll get you some iced tea. I just brewed it.” She headed for the door.
“Thanks.” Lindsay snatched a tissue from the box by her bed and wiped her nose.
Trisha returned with a glass of iced tea. “Here you go. Would you like to come out to the family room and watch a movie with Frank and me?”
Lindsay shook her head. “No, thank you. I think I’m going to go to bed. I’m exhausted.”
Trisha squeezed her hand. “Feel free to come join us if you change your mind.”
“Thanks.” Lindsay watched Trisha leave and then changed into her bedclothes. She watched the dark waves out the window for a few minutes and considered writing to Matthew. However, she was too emotionally distraught to form the w
ords she wanted to express to him about her day. Instead, she curled up on her bed. Within a few minutes, she was asleep.
23
Late next morning, a knock sounded on Lindsay’s door. She looked up from her Bible. “Come in,” she said.
“Hi,” Frank said while standing in the doorway and holding an envelope. “How are you doing?”
“I’m okay.” Lindsay leaned back against the headboard. “I’ve been reading the Bible and thinking about Mrs. Fisher.”
He gave her a sympathetic expression. “I bet you are. I’m sorry you had a horrible time at the party and then you got the news about your friend.”
“Thank you,” she said, pushing back a lock of hair that fell into her face.
“Do you feel like going to the nursing home today?” he asked while leaning on the door frame.
“No,” she said, running her fingers over the cover for her Bible. “I think it would be better just to stay home instead of looking into her empty room, you know?”
“Yeah.” Frank nodded. “I can understand that.” He held up the letter. “The mailman came early today. This is for you.” He handed it to her.
“Thank you,” Lindsay said.
“I’ll give you some time alone, sweetie. Let me know if you need anything.” Frank disappeared through the door, gently closing it behind him.
Lindsay opened the envelope, finding a letter from Katie.
Dear Lindsay,
I have to tell you some important news that may upset you. I feel that it’s your right to know, even though I’ve been asked specifically not to tell you.
Aenti Rebecca is having complications with her pregnancy, and she could possibly lose the boppli. The doctor has put her on complete bed rest, and I’m going to get my parents’ permission to move in with her in order to help her with the kinner and make certain she stays in bed.
Aenti Rebecca doesn’t look well at all. She’s very tired and pale. It breaks my heart to see her this way. The kinner also don’t understand why their mamm can’t play with them or hold them.
