Operation Bonnet

by Kimberly Stuart

  I shook my head. “Not exactly.”

  “How’s the hand?”

  I held it up for him to inspect. “Not bad. Purple skin is better than black.”

  He whistled. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. But MAN, was it worth it! To see that POSER’S face when you CLOCKED him good!” He slapped the counter as he laughed.

  I plopped down like a ragdoll on a chair by the register.

  Tank raised an eyebrow. “I’d say you were SICK, but you look well enough.”

  I sighed deeply and let my arms cushion my head’s fall on the countertop.

  “Well, now.” The legs of the chair he commandeered protested noisily when he dragged them to sit next to me. “I suppose you should talk. TALK, not cry. I don’t know if I can take crying.” He cleared his throat.

  I peeked through my forearms. He looked nervous.

  “I’m not going to cry. Probably.” My words were swallowed by the cave I’d built with my arms. I could feel my moist breath fogging up my face so I raised my head.

  Tank coughed once, loudly. “Just so you know, kiddo, I’m not GOOD at this sort of thing like your Nona. Just don’t want any high EXPECTATIONS for the old man in the GOLF SHIRT.”

  I smiled sadly. “I’ve made a mess, Tank. A big, honker mess.”

  “Honker? Well. That’s the first time I’ve heard you use THAT word.”

  “Voluminous. Colossal. Byzantine. Mammoth. That kind of mess.”

  “First, does it involve MONEY?”

  I screwed up my face.

  “Good. Anything illegal? You don’t have to answer that one, but I’d appreciate it if you did.”

  “No! Good gracious, Tank.”

  He held up one hand. “Last one: any UNPLANNED PREGNANCIES?”

  I let my mouth fall open.

  He nodded. “All RIGHT, then. How can I help?”

  “I can’t really tell you.” What if Amos came hunting around the course and Tank betrayed that I’d told? It was too risky to involve anyone else, much less a man who shouted his words. “I can only say that I’ve woven a tangled web.”

  Tank sat forward in his chair and clasped his meaty hands, as if he were in a locker room during halftime and waiting for the plan for a third-quarter blitz. “You weave. WEBS. Help me out here, girl. I’m not one for CRAFTS.”

  “It’s from a poem. ‘What a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive.’ I lied, Tank. And now some people are really hurting, and I can’t tell them the truth because it’s not really mine to tell.”

  “Well, that makes little or NO SENSE.” He sat back in his chair. “But I can work with it. I do better with a LACK of specifics. These hurting people, do you care about them?”

  I pictured Katie’s parents, hunched over in grief; Sarah Schrock, her arms pulled tight around her waist, sadness in her eyes. I felt my heart sink, picturing them going about their daily work without knowing if Katie was safe or even alive. Even grouchy Granny, her eyes sharp with concern, made me feel pangs of regret and compassion. “I do. I really do. I didn’t mean to, but I didn’t mean for most of this to happen the way it did.”

  “Again, GREEK to me. But I’ll say this: Until you tell the truth to these people, you’re going to be miserable, and it sounds like they will too. Now, it’s one thing if it’s a secret that’s not yours to SPILL. It’s another, though, if you’re keeping your own secret and hurting them while you do it.”

  I fiddled with a carton of gum sitting next to the register. My secret to tell … I had plenty to disclose to the Schrocks without even dipping into Amos and Katie’s current dilemma. I picked at the cellophane wrapper and thought of that big farmhouse, its open rooms, the inability for so much as a fleck of dirt to hide. A not-so-quiet nudge hit me in the gut: Time to sweep out the corners. Time, as Nona would say, for some truth telling.

  “You gonna BUY that, girl?” Tank jabbed toward the packet of gum, nearly unwrapped under my meddling fingers.

  I tried a fetching smile. “Do I get a discount?”

  “BAH.” He shoved back his chair and rose, cracking both kneecaps as he stood. “On the house.” He let out a satisfied, low whistle. “By the looks of your EYES, I’d say my work here is done—skeedoodle.” He raised one hand for a five. “Hit me.”

  I slapped five and then jumped up to hug him. When I pulled back, he looked surprised, pleased. “Thanks, Tank,” I said and stood on my toes to kiss him on the cheek. “You did great.”

  “That RIGHT?” I wouldn’t say he blushed, but he would have if he hadn’t already been sweaty.

  “And don’t tell her,” I lowered my voice, “but you gave Nona some stiff competition.”

  He hooted and slapped the counter. I nearly skipped to my car, the sweet taste of freedom already on my lips.

  26

  Nothing but the Truth

  “And so,” I said to the air conditioning vent in my car, “I hope you understand how sorry I am and that you can forgive me. Your people, if I may be so bold, can understand better than most what it’s like to want something that no one else understands.” Too chummy, I thought, flicking the vent with my finger. I’d parked around the bend from the entrance to the Schrock farm and was putting the final touches on my apology speech. The more I practiced, the more nervous I became. I hitched up my stockings and turned off the car. Pulling my hair into a loose bun, I stuffed on my bonnet and got out to face the music. Or a cappella singing, as the Amish weren’t fond of instrumentation.

  I muttered to my feet as they booted a rock in fits and starts down the driveway. “It was never my intention to hurt anyone, but I know now I should have been honest.” So deep inside the finer points of groveling was I that I didn’t look up to see the parked cars until I was nearly to the front porch. One battered looking Saab sat behind an impeccably cared-for Jag, sapphire blue, spotless, and bearing an uncanny resemblance to my father’s. My stomach dropped. I paused by the car and stared up at the screen door. No sound was coming from within so I tiptoed up the stairs. When I peeked into the kitchen, Granny’s face appeared, eyeball to eyeball with my own.

  I screamed.

  She frowned but then moved away without opening the door.

  Sarah came from behind and pushed on the door without meeting my eyes.

  Clive and Annette sat at the kitchen table, looking coiffed, tanned, wealthy, and miserable. I was sure Annette would have tossed around a few bangles and beads to the women in the room if they had accepted them. And given them haircuts. She always said a woman needed to know when to let go of long hair. She caught my eye, and I thought she was about to cry.

  The other car, I realized, belonged to Professor Moss. She approached me quickly and nodded. “Hello, Nellie. We’ve been waiting for you to arrive. Were you always late for your appointments with the Schrocks?” Her chin was quivering, but it didn’t strike me as a scared quiver. More of a wish-I-could-poke-your-non-PhD-eyes-out quiver.

  “No,” I said in a small voice.

  Granny Mary said something under her breath in Pennsylvania Dutch, and I did not feel the need to ask her to clarify.

  “You’re probably wondering how we all came to be here.” Professor Moss mopped her upper lip with a tissue. In the depth of summer, the woman was still the picture of Nordic paleness. I could see purple veins crisscrossing her cheeks. She continued. “When you wouldn’t return my calls, I decided to pay a visit to your home. Your mother and father had no idea what to make of your unanswered voice mail and of the rumor I’d heard about your involvement in the Amish community this summer. But then, as luck would have it, your grandmother came downstairs.”

  Oh, how Nona would disagree with that statement. No such thing as luck, she’d say, except in blackjack and bra size.

  “What a help she was! She told us all about w
hat had been happening with the Schrocks, who was who, which one is the best cook, what you’d been learning, and how you’d been spying—spying!—on this poor family without their knowledge in order to gather personal information that was none of your business.” By this time, Professor Moss was shaking enough that she had to lean against the wall. Sarah came to offer her a chair and a glass of water.

  I took the opportunity to begin my speech. I hadn’t planned on giving it to such a large and bizarre audience, but there it was. My Pop met my gaze from his position at the table. He nodded slightly. I exhaled.

  “It was never my intention to hurt anyone here, but now I can see I should have been honest. Or at least partially honest. Maybe not at the beginning with Professor Moss, since I needed her to get to you, but at least with, for instance, Katie. Or Sarah.” I had never been one for public speaking. During the Romeo and Juliet unit in ninth grade, I’d ended up telling a story about my cat that died from eating all the World’s Finest Chocolate candy bars I was supposed to sell for a band fund-raiser. I really should have made an outline on index cards.

  Professor Moss pursed her lips.

  “Let me try that again.” I spoke quickly. “First and most important, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I made this mess and that I betrayed the trust each of you offered me.” My heart was beating wildly, and I clenched my hands at my sides in an effort to keep from running. “It’s true that I came here on false pretenses, but that’s not how things ended up. I was hired to gather information on the part of a friend.”

  “Amos Shetler! This boy is not a friend! He is outside the church!” Granny stopped short when Sarah put a hand on her arm.

  “I know. But he loves Katie, and he just wanted to know what was happening with her.” I moved a step toward Granny and held out my hands. “Grandmother Mary, I know you understand what it means to love people so much it hurts. Your mean face and harsh words are nothing compared to the way you love Sarah and Elizabeth and your son and your grandchildren. I’ve seen it hour after hour. You’re a really bad faker.”

  Granny swallowed hard and looked at the ceiling.

  “And Professor Moss, I’m very, very sorry to have used your work for my gain. I was trying to be good at my job, but it was unfair of me to keep you from doing yours. If it’s any consolation, I fully understand now why you are so protective of this family and why you want to spend as much time as possible with them.”

  “That consoles me not in the least,” she growled. Turning her face away, I could still see the anger in her profile. “The least you could have done was share,” she added, her voice a shade smaller.

  Not many would ask to share the Amish fun, but I should have known Moss would. I’d stolen her hard-earned research, and now I felt like an academically degenerate heel.

  I turned to my parents and sighed. “Mother, Pop, I’m just sorry you were dragged in. Not very luminary-like behavior.” My words caught in my throat and big, salty tears threatened to make their way down my cheeks. I saw my mother blur in my line of sight as she stood up from her chair and walked to my side. I buried my face in her shoulder, and she rubbed my back.

  “I wanted to show you I could do it,” I said into her armpit.

  “You can do anything you want, and that’s the truth.” She said the words quietly, but the conviction behind them made me catch my breath. She tried to smooth my hair under the bonnet, and I could feel her rummaging in her pocket for lip gloss, but at that moment, she could have injected me with Botox, I was so grateful to have her hugging me, showing all those who doubted that I had a mother’s love, at least.

  After a moment, Granny Mary cleared her throat. I moved out of Annette’s embrace to face the woman and the scowl.

  “You are no longer welcome in our home, Nellie Monroe.” She turned and walked out of the kitchen.

  I felt like I’d been kick-boxed right in the gut. I heard Elizabeth, bless her, sniffling over by the window. My mother put a hand on my shoulder while tears paved impatient thoroughfares down my cheeks. Sarah moved to me and took my hand in hers. She led me, my mother, and my father to the door, her steps careful and her grip warm in my hand. When we reached the screen, she squeezed my hand once before opening the door for us.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I was wrong. Sarah, I’m—”

  Sarah shook her head. “I see your sorrow, Nellie.” She held the door open. “Godspeed.”

  To the contrary, my feet could not have been more anchored to the earth as they made a path to the car.

  I’d always admired the Roman tradition of reclining while eating. That night, as I lay on my back on Nona’s hardwood floor with a plate of Havarti and Triscuits on my chest, my admiration deepened—because it was much more difficult than it looked, let me tell you. I propped my head on a sofa pillow, which helped. But I remained within easy striking distance of a Havarti slice sliding onto my tear-puffed eyelids, a minimal act of justice considering my transgression.

  “Maybe I should take up macramé,” I said through a cracker. “Nona, you always said I was artistic.”

  Nona smiled at me and patted my head, just as she’d done for the last hour. “You’re a sweet girl, you know that?”

  “Thanks,” I said, “but that’s not entirely accurate.” A crumble of cheese landed on my chin. “Okay, maybe not macramé. How about sewing? I made a fleece pillow in eighth grade. Smoked that final exam, I’ll have you know.”

  Nona patted my head. “I love spring, don’t you?”

  I nodded and handed her a cracker, which she took and studied for a moment before stacking it on the coffee table with the others.

  “I’m really not into anything athletic. Or the outdoors. Too many bugs and things that could nibble on toes. Ooh!” I turned my head toward Nona, which meant I was nose-level with her jeans. “I could move to Burbank and be a game-show contestant! I would scorch Wheel of Fortune. And if I could get on the high school version of Jeopardy!, I’d make bank.” I took a deep breath and heard it catch like a machine gun, still shaky after all the crying I’d done since leaving the Schrock house. When I’d get control, I’d hear Granny Mary’s sentencing reverberate in my head and get all riled up again. Nona was unsure of why I kept at it, but she wouldn’t leave my side, patting my head and talking about springtime. Close enough, I thought, and stuck to her like glue.

  A decisive knock sounded on the door. Strange, I thought as I scrambled to a seated position. No one in my family sounded that sure of themselves unless they were entertaining. I walked to the door and opened it to Matt DuPage, the one and only. A wave of nervousness flipped over in my stomach.

  “Matt.”

  “Nellie.” His eyes were kind but a little sparky. It was the spark that made me bite my lip. “Can I come in?”

  I moved aside for him to enter. He crossed the room to Nona and deposited a kiss on her forehead. “Hi, Nona. It’s me, Matt.”

  She looked up at him and smiled. “Oh, of course. You’re the gem around here.”

  I did not take offense, but I did shake my head. Somewhere in there, she still knew him and how great he was.

  He turned to me and nodded toward the two chairs by the window. “Can we talk?”

  I followed, worrying my bottom lip about what he might say and what I might say back. It was one thing to confess one’s failings in a professional arena. All right, so it wasn’t really very professional, what with the weeping and the costume and the presence of my parents. Nevertheless, I had opened the honesty floodgates already that day, and I was concerned they weren’t closed and airtight enough to be sitting in comfortable chairs across from the repressed love of my life.

  “It’s good to see you.” Matt’s grin made my heart race.

  “Good to see …” I mumbled in return. Not the strong start I’d hoped for, but I was thinking less was more in terms of words spoken.


  He punched me on the thigh. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I love you!” The words just flew out of my mouth and landed right, square between us. I stood. “Sorry. I need to go.” Could this get more awkward? I thought. Perhaps I should sit on his lap and start singing “Time After Time” by Cyndi Lauper! That’d kick it up a notch! Or maybe I should shimmy! To a drumbeat played by Nona! Much less horrifying than simply blurting out a confession of love to an unsuspecting friend. Argh!

  I started for the door, not really thinking of where I could go to escape other than not in the attic with Matt. He ran around me and blocked the door with his body. I could have taken him, but I was all out of fire for the day.

  His eyes were shining. “Did you just tell me you loved me?”

  I sighed. “Probably not. You probably heard something wrong. Like the wind.”

  “The wind.” He appeared to be considering this. “The wind spoke in your voice and told me you loved me.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  “Dang.” He frowned.

  I narrowed my eyelids and wondered if he could see my heart leaping out of my chest. “Clarify ‘dang.’ Is that a regretful ‘dang’ or a ‘Dang, she’s one messed-up girl to hear the wind speaking English’?”

  One side of his lip curled into a smile. “Equal parts regret and you’re messed up.”

  I watched him, my breathing so shallow, I saw little prickly stars start to fall around us.

  He moved one step closer to me, which put him within kissing distance, a measure I’d become suddenly very keen on noticing. One kissing distance minus one kissing distance would equal his very perfect and pink lips on mine. A veritable meteor shower began, and I forced myself to breath more deeply.

  “Nellie,” he said, shaking his head slightly, “I started loving you the day we both fell out of the oak tree in my backyard and we limped with arms around each other’s shoulders to get ice from the kitchen. I loved you when you wrestled Pete Ollinger behind the school and ended up losing so miserably, you made me count your fifty push-ups every afternoon until the rematch. I loved you when you went to homecoming with that idiot Scott Jaarsma and he left you at the dance with nothing but an ugly flower on your dress. I loved you when we spent the last night before college roasting marshmallows over the fire pit in your backyard and making each other cry, we laughed so hard. Nellie.” He planted himself in front of me, completely erasing the kissing distance. Kissing distance zero! “You are so unbelievably weird.”