For Sure and Certain

by Anya Monroe

  Abel didn’t believe that, but that’s what made it worse. If he only believed it, he could leave without regret. Instead the selfish desires of his heart kept him here, at odds with his family, at odds with himself.

  The next afternoon, the study group stood on the corner of a busy intersection on their way to Lily’s.

  “I just can’t believe I only got a B-minus on that pop quiz. This summer was supposed to be fun, this blows,” Lacey said. “I don’t even care about college credit at this point.”

  “I know. I’m so sick of school. It’s always been easy, and this summer has totally burned me out.”

  “Abel and I studied last night and it did nothing to help me,” Lily said, sighing. “Keeping up with all the work, plus these bullshit pop quizzes. I’m over it.”

  “We all are,” Lacey said with Jenna nodding in agreement. “I just didn’t realize it would be so hard, Abel’s the only one keeping up.”

  Not wanting to talk about his success when everyone else seemed to be struggling, he changed the subject. “Why don’t we get something to eat?” Abel suggested. “I’m starved and not really in the mood to go study again, none of us are.”

  He didn’t mention the other thing that he didn’t want to do, the thing that he was starting to dread. The promised trip home tomorrow to see Marigold and his family. He’d finally fallen into a routine and didn’t want to mess it up, or lose focus. Going away for a few days wouldn’t keep his head in the game. Going back would make him feel worse for leaving in the first place.

  They walked a few blocks to a popular pizza place Lily knew, since she was the only native city resident in the group. They ordered slices and the four of them squeezed into a booth they found.

  “No talk of school, okay?” Lacey said. “I’m thankful to be here and all, but man. It’s like hardcore.”

  “It’s so hardcore,” Jenna whined. “I mean. I knew it would be hard, but like, it’s so hard. Just wanted a chance to get away from home for a few months that my parent would agree to.”

  “They’re pretty strict?” Lily asked.

  “Yeah. I mean, don’t get me wrong, they put up with my shit and all, but I mainly came because I wanted to go to the big Comic-Con convention in D.C. at the end of August. My parents would never have let me come if they knew my motives.”

  Lacey and Lily laughed. Abel tried to follow, but he wasn’t sure what they were referring too.

  “You came to an eight-week, uber-competitive summer school so you could go to a convention where you dress up like a super hero?”

  “Well, yeah, and also villains.”

  That got a laugh out of everyone once again, and Abel began to realize what Comic-Con actually was.

  Jenna continued, “What else was I going to do? I live in the middle of nowhere Indiana and I want to go to an Ivy League.”

  Lily nodded in agreement. “I’ve been dying to come here. For ages. It was a no brainer. My dad practically paid for the Business wing of the school. I just wish I liked it more.”

  “So why did you come, Lacey?” asked Abel.

  “I want to be the next Industry Superhero, obviously.” Lacey flexed his arm attempting to prove his strength, but the table just laughed. “Really, I came because I want to go to Jamestown, so bad. Or really, any top tier school, I just want to have a shot at the Ivys and this seems like a great way to get an edge. Everything is so competitive, but wouldn’t it be awesome if we won the recommendation and we came here next year, together.”

  Jenna and Lily nodded in agreement.

  “What about you, Abel?” Jenna asked, dousing her pepperoni with red pepper flakes. “Why are you here?”

  Abel took another sip of the coke, deciding how honest to be.

  “I wanted a chance to figure out what I wanted.” He looked at Lily, remembering their conversation from the night before, feeling as conflicted as ever.

  “Have you?” Lacey asked. “Figured it out?”

  “I know I want to do well. I want to win the recommendation. I want to set myself up so that whatever I choose at the end of this, I won’t have any regrets.”

  “YOLO, huh?” Lily asked. “That doesn’t sound very Amish.”

  “What do you know about Amish?”

  “What Wikipedia told me,” she admitted. “What? Don’t look at me like that, Abel. Obviously we’ve all googled your people.” She looked around the table for support. Lacey and Jenna didn’t disagree.

  “So you’ve all been trying to figure me out? Why didn’t you just ask?”

  Lacey spoke up, “We didn’t want to be rude. Like ask you what the deal with straw hats was about. Or like, the clothes.”

  “And accent,” Jenna piped in.

  “Ja, I see. You all think I’m a freak, is that it?” Abel felt the heat rise in his face. He hated the idea that they were talking about him behind his back.

  “No, we don’t think you’re a freak. I mean, I dress as a video game character,” Jenna said pointedly. “What we do wonder about is your intensity, your drive. You weren’t very social at first, and you seemed, like, really hardcore. But after learning about your upbringing, I get it a little more.”

  Abel still took offense. “I’m social. I just asked if you guys wanted to get pizza.”

  “True,” Lacey said. “But the times before that, you always seem uncomfortable when we hang out, and so focused on school. We wanted to have a better perspective on you, like Jenna said. And we didn’t talk about you, I swear, until after we found out about the whole thing with Lily’s sister.”

  “What about Marigold?”

  Lacey coughed in his fist and shot Jenna a look of desperation that read, please say something.

  “That whole situation worried us,” Jenna said. “We’re protective of you and, we don’t want to see you get hurt, because we’re your friends.”

  “And speaking as her sister, I don’t think Marigold’s the right sort of girl for you. We read about dating in your community, which isn’t even dating. It’s courting. And Marigold is so not Amish. She went through this whole thing with alcohol, and she’s hooked up with lots of guys.”

  “Don’t talk about her like that,” Abel said, stopping Lily. Even if things between Marigold and him were unclear, he felt a sense of protectiveness toward her. “I’m going to see her this weekend, and I can decide for myself.”

  The table went quiet, everyone darting their eyes, not wanting to be the one to say what was clearly on their minds.

  “What?” Abel finally said, breaking the silence.

  “It just seems like school’s really important to you, Abel,” Jenna began. “And you’re really, really bright. I’d die to be as smart as you, and not just with books, but your business sense. You’re a natural.”

  “But?”

  “Listen, Abel,” Lily continued, meeting his gaze full on. “You getting involved with her is too messy. And going to see her this weekend just complicates things more. It blurs the lines. You want to be here, at Jamestown. Why are you fighting your fate?”

  “You could stay here,” Lacey offered. “Go to a party at the dorms, give Jamestown a real chance. You said you don’t want regrets, but running back to what you know, isn’t that going to do just that?”

  Abel slowly nodded his head. He didn’t like them talking about Marigold that way, but another part of him knew it was true. She was a distraction. He didn’t want to go home. In fact he knew he’d been waiting for this sort of offer from his new friends. He wanted a chance to make things work here. Maybe this was his shot.

  “Sure, I’ll come. But under one condition, Lacey.”

  “Anything.”

  “You have to teach me beer pong.”

  Marigold

  Mr. Miller came in for lunch with his jaw tight, his eyes hard. Sitting at the table he began eating the baked macaroni without a word.

  “Is everything alright?” Mrs. Miller asked, pouring him a cup of coffee from the aluminum pot resting on the stove.
>
  “It rightly isn’t,” he said gruffly, not adding more.

  Marigold and Bekah exchanged nervous glances; Mr. Miller rarely came in for lunch in a bad mood. The mid-day break was something he looked forward to, the work in the barn seemed to aggravate his back and by the end of the day he usually wanted to recline in the living room. But lunchtime always seemed to be a more easy-going time of day.

  “Does anyone know what time Abel will be arriving today?” Bekah asked. “I was wondering if we should expect him for dinner or not.”

  At that Mr. Miller set down his fork and shook his head.

  “He won’t be coming this weekend.”

  Marigold opened her mouth to say something, but stopped short, too surprised to formulate a response.

  “What do you mean?” Ruthie asked. Her head tilted to the side in question. “Abel said he was coming back this weekend. He told me. He promised.”

  “Ahh, Ruthie, it’s okay.” Bekah consoled her younger sister. “Things change, right? Surely something came up for our brother that was important.”

  “More important than his family?” Mrs. Miller asked, dishing up green beans. “Well, what was it? What did he say?”

  Mr. Miller heaved a deep sigh, clearly unhappy. “He called on the work phone in the barn, surprised I was to hear it ringing, to hear my boy’s voice. It was school, Abel said. A project that needed his attention.”

  “Really?” Marigold asked, dejected. “He said he would be here. He promised me too, Ruthie.” She’d been preparing herself to explain her history to him, the same way she’d explained it to Mr. and Mrs. Miller several days ago.

  Mrs. Miller patted Marigold’s hand. “It’s okay, dear. Maybe you could go into town with Bekah this afternoon, get yourself some new fabric for that dress you wanted to start. I’ll pay for a van to take you.”

  Marigold knew the real meaning of her words. Mrs. Miller was giving her an opportunity to call Abel. Her warm hands and considerate words softened the blow of Abel not coming this weekend.

  “He seems to have forgotten what’s important,” Mr. Miller said. “He seems to have forgotten us.” He pressed his hand to his chest, and shifted in the chair, uncomfortable.

  “You okay, dear?”

  “I’m fine, but things would be better if Abel would just come home. He’s needed here.” Mr. Miller arched his back, before letting out a deep breathe.

  The table was quiet after that. Everyone ate their food, focused on the fact that Abel wouldn’t arrive tonight. Marigold blinked more than necessary, surprised at the tears that sprung in her eyes. Abel was her one connection to home, and though she wasn’t homesick, he would have brought with him a familiarity she craved.

  He would have given her a chance to come clean.

  A few hours later, sitting outside the fabric shop on a metal bench, Marigold clutched her phone and pressed his name on the recent calls page. His number had been the last one she’d dialed. Avoiding the phone for a month had been easy. She’d settled into life here, and everything that the modern world afforded seemed excessive.

  When she’d sat with Mr. and Mrs. Miller a few nights ago, after the rest of the house had gone to bed, she came clean. She explained what she’d done, and somehow the confession freed her in an unexpected way. She’d held onto the past so tightly because she didn’t want to be judged for the person she’d been. The Millers accepted her as the girl sitting before them. They accepted her past and her apology.

  The phone picked up on the third ring.

  “Hello?” Abel’s clear voice came through the line.

  “Abel?”

  “Marigold?”

  “Yeah, it’s me,” she said, suddenly nervous. “Is this a good time?”

  “Uh, ja. I’ll just shut the door.” He cleared his voice and Marigold tried to imagine him sitting on the dorm room bed, his button up shirt rolled up at the cuffs, his hair in his face, as he flicked it away from his eyes. Handsome. Sexy. Not hers.

  She cut to the chase. “Your dad said you wouldn’t be coming this weekend.”

  “No,” he answered. “I’m not.”

  “A lot of school work then?”

  “A bit, I mean, that’s what I told my dad. In truth, Marigold, I’m not up for the guilt trip from them.”

  “Right.” She understood. She did. She knew all about parents putting unwarranted pressure on their offspring. She knew the heaviness that came with disappointing the ones you wanted to please. “You know, I’d been really looking forward to this weekend, I got your letter.”

  “You, out of everyone, should understand my perspective.”

  “I do. And your parents do, too. I told them about my past. So thank you for pushing me to do the right thing, it was only right to be honest with them, I only wish I’d been more honest with you.” Her voice was quiet, her heart still. She wanted this conversation to go better than the ones before, so she started again, taking a different approach. “Look, I know you said you didn’t want to talk on the phone, and I totally understand that. Honestly, I’m not one for the phone either. But, Abel, are things okay between us? Is there even an ‘us’? Because, it doesn’t really feel that way.”

  She heard him pull in a breath, heard him cluck his tongue. Heard him pause. She waited.

  “I don’t know, Marigold.”

  “That’s it?”

  “What else should I say? Can you quantify this thing between us? I don’t know you.”

  “Yes, you do.” She shook her head, not wanting to say anymore. She had no interest in proving herself to him.

  “Well, you left a lot up to interpretation.”

  “I didn’t. That was the past. This is who I am now.”

  “Amish?” He gave a sharp laugh and it pierced her heart. It hit too close to home.

  “No, I’m not pretending to be anything. I thought you knew that.”

  “I don’t know anything, not about you, not about me, not about much. That’s why I’m staying here this weekend, at Jamestown.”

  “It’s not about school work then?”

  “No,” he said honestly. “It’s about wanting to give myself a chance to find out who I am. Who I want to be. I’m going out with my study group to a party tonight.”

  “Lily too?” Wishing she hadn’t asked, she closed her eyes.

  “She’ll be there, she’ll meet us here, and we’ll all head over together.”

  She could picture it too easily. A hot night in D.C., a party at the dorm, SILO cups, and Jell-O shots. Lily with her academics and SAT scores and short plaid skirt and button up shirt with the buttons undone. Lily and Abel laughing over their professors inside jokes and doing keg stands and ducking into dimly lit hallways. She shook her head.

  None of that was Abel. She wasn’t being fair.

  “I hope you have a really good time, Abel. You deserve it, after working so hard at school.”

  The phone was quiet and for a moment Marigold wondered if they had been disconnected, if the reception dropped. But his voice returned.

  “Thank you, Marigold, for saying that.”

  “You’re welcome, Abel.” She smiled sadly, then added, “You’re voice sounds so … you sound….” She tried again, “I like the sound of your voice.”

  “I like the sound of yours too, Marigold. And thanks for calling. I wasn’t trying to avoid you, I just need—“

  Marigold cut him off. “Abel, it’s okay. Have fun and I’ll see you soon, in a few weeks, okay?”

  “Right.”

  “Okay, have a good time, tell Lily hello for me.”

  “Of course, and give my sisters hugs from me. I know Ruthie’s probably most upset.”

  “It’ll be okay, don’t worry.”

  “I won’t then.”

  She hung up, before the conversation got muddled again. It felt better to leave on a good note, a tender one. Hanging up while his voice still rang smooth and sweet in her head, as her heart turned soft.

  They could be hours apart, the
divide of a lifetime between them, but somehow, she still believed in the idea of them. Together, again.

  Chapter 12

  Abel

  Hanging up, a ball of emotion rose inside his throat. He wasn’t homesick, but a part of him, the part he didn’t completely understand, felt Marigold-sick and somehow, being with her was the only way he could feel better.

  Knowing that wasn’t an option, he got ready for the party. Looking in the bathroom mirror, he set his hat down and parted his hair on the side, then slicked it back the way Marigold suggested. He put on a fresh shirt, light blue with white suspenders, navy pants, brown boots. Jenna had told him he was an Amish-hipster, and he always shook his head shyly, not knowing what it meant, but looking in the mirror now he felt confident. Somehow his Amish clothes didn’t look entirely out of place. He looked like himself.

  Marigold had been so gentle on the phone. For some reason he expected backlash for his decision to stay, but she seemed to understand. She wasn’t pestering him into something he wasn’t, or they weren’t. She accepted him. It made him wish they were together tonight, not necessarily at his parents’ house, but here, in D.C., going on a date together.

  This whole summer would have been different if she was with him, and maybe it was best this way. Without the distraction of her blond hair and wide eyes and soft skin and pink-lipped smile, he was free to focus on Jamestown. Focus on his future.

  Jenna was lounging on Lacey’s bed in a sailor dress, like she lived here. Abel still hadn’t gotten used to the shock of a female in his bedroom.

  Soon, Lily knocked on their door, now the night could begin.

  “What’s the deal with Sailor moon? Isn’t that like sacrilegious to throw around your loyalty like that?” Lily asked, plopping down next to Jenna.

  “Whatever. I can be whatever I want, whenever I want. Ain’t nobody gonna hold me down!” She stood and did a short dance, proving her point.

  “Wow,” Lacey said. “Now it’s Jenna who’s gone all gangsta on us.”

  “You wish,” Jenna said, slapping Lacey on the butt. Abel looked away, embarrassed.