Only You, Sierra: Book 1 in the Sierra Jensen Series (eBook)

by Robin Jones Gunn

  “After your soup do you want to explore a couple of thrift stores?” Mom asked. “Granna Mae just went upstairs for a nap so I think this would be a good time.”

  “Sure!” Sierra was always up for exploring, especially a secondhand clothing store. “Let’s just go now. I can eat something when we come back.”

  “Okay. Wes, I know I can count on you to take the cobbler out on time, right? I’ll grab my purse. If you have any money, you might want to bring it.”

  Sierra took the stairs two at a time and breathlessly opened her bedroom door.

  “Where are you going?” Tawni asked. She was sitting at the desk, doing her fingernails.

  “To some thrift stores. Mom is going with me. Do you want to come?” Sierra knew it was pointless to ask Tawni such a question. She only wore clothes from the finest department stores. Her idea of a bargain was a sale in a Spiegel catalog.

  Tawni answered politely for once. “No thanks. Have fun!”

  Sierra grabbed her cash and dashed down the stairs. Mom was waiting for her, wearing a full-length coat, gloves, and her favorite paisley scarf. Sierra considered changing into a warmer jacket but didn’t. She reasoned it would be warmer in the car once the heater got going.

  It wasn’t. They drove the van, and its heater took forever to produce any warmth. It was barely puffing out a few breaths of heat when they arrived at the first thrift store. Now Sierra was really chilled.

  The shop was full of great items, but it was cold inside the building. Sierra felt her enthusiasm for shopping begin to drain away. But, stubborn as she was, she didn’t bend away from her goal. She stuck it out through three stores and found more than she expected.

  The best stuff they had was in the last shop, called A Wrinkle in Time. She remembered this was the store that girl had mentioned the first day of school. And that girl, whatever her name was, had been right. The store had a fantastic collection of low-priced, unique clothes that were Sierra’s style. She wished she had a bundle of money so she could buy everything she liked.

  In the end, Sierra came home with a black velvet hat, a cream-colored crocheted vest, two men’s flannel shirts, and a long skirt from Bangladesh that had two tiny bells on the drawstring at the waist. She thought she would show the girl at school the hat she had found, but then she remembered she wasn’t going back to Royal on Monday, if she got her way. Sierra carried her treasures up to her room and laid them out on her bed.

  “Let’s see what you bought,” Tawni said from her curled-up position on the padded window seat. She was reading a fat paperback novel and had on her silly glasses that made Sierra want to laugh. Tawni was the sort of person who would die if anyone important to her ever knew she wore glasses to read.

  Sierra popped the hat on first and tilted it to the side.

  “That’s actually cute,” Tawni said. “And those are in style now. You bought it at a thrift store?”

  “It was a recycled clothing place. It could be new. I don’t know.”

  “Don’t you want to spray it with Lysol or something before you put it on your head?” Tawni looked slightly disgusted.

  Sierra ignored her and held up the rest of her finds. When she showed off the skirt, she said, “This is one of those you wash by hand and then dry by wringing it out to keep the crinkles in it. No ironing necessary. My kind of skirt, don’t you think?”

  “It smells funny,” Tawni said. “Make sure you wash all that stuff before you wear it. It could be full of fleas or lice or worse.”

  “Don’t worry,” Sierra said. “I’ll wash it all right now. I always do, don’t I?”

  “I guess. By the way, I wanted to say thanks for cleaning up the room yesterday. I appreciate it.”

  “I thought you might.” Sierra took off the hat, pulled her hair back, and fastened it in a ponytail. “You must hate having to live with me,” Sierra said. “No two people in the world are more opposite than you and I.”

  Tawni shrugged and went back to reading her book.

  “May I ask you something?”

  “Hmm?” Tawni didn’t look up.

  “What are you going to do when you find your birth mother?”

  Tawni looked up slowly and peered at Sierra from over the top of her glasses. It seemed as if she were trying to decide how much of an answer she could trust her little sister with. “I don’t know. Talk to her. Find out a few things, such as my medical history, who my father is, and why she gave me up for adoption.”

  “You’re not going to move in with her or anything, are you?”

  “Of course not! What a ridiculous question. She obviously didn’t want me eighteen years ago. Why would she want me now?”

  “Maybe she did want you but couldn’t keep you,” Sierra suggested. “I think if I were you, I’d do the same thing. I’d try to find my biological mother. I just don’t know what I’d do with the relationship after I reestablished it.”

  “I don’t either.”

  “What do you think she’s like?”

  “I have no idea. Hopefully I’ll find out soon. I’ve got to save up some money first. My new car wiped me out financially. You’re lucky you don’t have to worry about all that stuff, Sierra. You just wait. These next two years are the cruise years.”

  “I know,” Sierra said. “But I’ll bet being older isn’t as bad as you make it sound.”

  “Just wait until you see what kind of responsibility comes with being an adult. Right now you have it easy. You don’t have to pay for your own car or car insurance, you don’t have to worry about getting a job, and you don’t have to start thinking about whether or not to rent your own apartment. Enjoy it while you can, little girl. It goes fast.”

  fifteen

  EARLY SUNDAY EVENING Sierra brought up the topic of school again with her dad. He was paying bills at the big rolltop desk in the library and had on his favorite CD of classical Bach. She hadn’t planned on talking to him yet, but Tawni had brought up the cordless phone into their bedroom and asked Sierra if she would mind letting her have some privacy for about an hour.

  Sierra had been sitting on the bedroom floor, shuffling through a box of her possessions that hadn’t been unpacked yet. She was making two piles, one of things to keep and one of others to throw away.

  She left her mess and ambled down the hall to Granna Mae’s room. The only TV in the house was in her grandma’s room since the family was waiting for Dad to finish the entertainment center before they bought a new one for the downstairs den. Dillon and Gavin were sitting on Granna Mae’s bed watching a cartoon special, and Granna Mae was dozing off, stretched out on the love seat in the rounded window alcove.

  This was the most charming room in the house. A fire danced in the hearth to the right of the alcove.

  Grabbing a quilt from the end of the bed, Sierra slipped over to the love seat and covered up Granna Mae. As she gently tucked the blanket around her grandmother, a little smile crept up Granna Mae’s face.

  “The Lord thy God,” Granna Mae muttered without opening her eyes, “in the midst of thee is mighty. He will rest in His love.”

  Sierra planted a tiny kiss on Granna Mae’s forehead and finished off the verse, whispering, “He will joy over thee with singing.”

  Then, heading out the door, she told her brothers, “You guys should wake up Granna Mae when your show is off so she can get in her own bed.”

  “She said she didn’t mind if we sat on it,” Gavin said.

  “I know. She doesn’t mind a bit. I’m sure she’s glad for the company. It’s just not good for her to sleep all night on the couch curled up like that.”

  “We’ll wake her,” Dillon promised.

  Sierra left them and wandered downstairs. That’s how she ended up in the library with her dad. She plopped down in the overstuffed chair by the French doors that led to the back deck. This chair was fast becoming her favorite spot in the house. Usually no one was in the library. It smelled old and musty from all the books that were stacked on the floor-to
-ceiling shelves. To the left of the chair was a broad-hearthed fireplace with a thick mantel. On the mantel was an antique clock that ticktocked steadily in the silent room. It sounded every hour with a dainty chime that reminded Sierra of an ice cream truck.

  “How are you doing, honey?” Dad asked without looking up from his paperwork.

  “Okay. I wanted to talk to you some more when you want to take a break. You don’t have to stop what you’re doing.”

  Dad put down his pen, turned down the CD player, and turned to face her. Leaning back in the swivel captain’s chair, Dad said, “This is a good time. The bills can wait. What do you want to talk about?”

  “School.”

  He titled his head to the side and folded his arms across his chest. If Sierra were reading his body language correctly, he was indicating to her that he was a rock in his decision.

  “I feel strongly about not going back to Royal. If I go one more week, it will only prolong the inevitable and make it harder for me to make the switch.”

  “And what will make the switch harder?” Dad asked.

  The truth was she didn’t feel nearly as convinced of her decision as she had on Friday. She had found herself thinking about some of the students this weekend, and she wondered about their lives. Like Randy. What was his dad doing in Nepal when he bought that coat? And those girls in the locker room. Surely they must think she was a jerk for the way she acted on Friday. She was beginning to wish she could apologize to them. Sierra hated unresolved relationships.

  Another reason she became mellowed about going to Royal was Brutus. She found that she and Brutus had a lot in common. In Pineville, Brutus was the most popular dog in the neighborhood. In Portland, he was nobody. Then Wes took him around the neighborhood and helped him break the ice, so to speak, with all the other dogs on the block. Sierra had thought during their walk that she had withdrawn and felt sorry for herself, just as Brutus had. She had convinced herself the solution was to withdraw more and hide in a huge school. Now she wondered if maybe she needed to “make the rounds” and get acquainted at Royal. It would be a lot harder now, since she had proved to those two girls that she was stuck-up by yelling at them that she wasn’t stuck-up.

  “I don’t know,” she finally said to her dad. “I’m mixed up about the whole thing. I don’t know what I want.”

  Dad unfolded his arms and leaned forward. “Do you know what, honey? None of us really gave a thought to how hard this transition would be for you. You went from a life-changing experience in Europe to an instant new home and new school all within a few days. You’ve held up remarkably well.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Sierra said.

  “Wes got me thinking about it when he mentioned that stress list yesterday. You’ve had double, no triple the changes. The rest of us had a three-week head start on you. Somehow we expected you to fall right in line with where we were in this transition. I can understand why it seems confusing. And that’s why I believe we should stick with our original choice, which you made almost two months ago. I think you should give Royal another try.”

  Sierra let out a sigh. She knew her dad was right. But she found it hard to concede. “Okay,” she said at last.

  Then it hit Sierra that she had homework. When she was sure she wasn’t going back, she had mentally written off the assignment.

  “Thanks for talking to me about it,” Sierra said.

  “Any time,” Dad replied, twirling the chair back to the desk.

  “Good night.” She hurried back upstairs. Tawni was still on the phone and made a face when Sierra entered.

  Sierra snatched her backpack and headed for the kitchen, hoping she could remember what chapters she was supposed to read. She was fortunate to snag the last piece of Mom’s apple cobbler. Then, pouring herself a glass of milk and warming the cobbler in the microwave, Sierra planted herself on a kitchen stool and spread her books across the counter. That’s when she remembered she needed book covers for all of them as well.

  It was a lot easier when I thought I wasn’t going back. I can’t believe I changed my mind so easily. Maybe Dad is right. Maybe I’ve been under more stress than I realized, and that’s what made me act stuck-up to those girls.

  Sierra decided the first thing she would do tomorrow at school would be to find those girls and apologize. But, when Sierra woke up the next morning, her throat was so swollen she could barely swallow.

  “I’m not faking it,” she told her mom after dragging herself downstairs and turning on the teakettle. “My head is pounding, my ears are stopped up, and it hurts to swallow.”

  “You’re past the age where I decided whether or not you can make it to school. You decide for yourself.”

  “I can’t go. I feel awful.”

  “Probably jet lag,” Dillon said, as if he knew all about it.

  “It’s not jet lag, Dillon. You don’t get jet lag a week and a half after you’ve been somewhere. I’m coming down with the flu or a cold or something.” The teakettle began to whistle, and Sierra poured herself a cup of lemon herbal tea and dipped in a spoonful of honey. Then, carrying it upstairs with shaky hands, she went back to bed.

  Tawni was already gone. She had a seven o’clock class on Monday at the community college.

  With the room to herself, Sierra closed the door and headed for her snug bed. On the floor sat her unfinished project from the evening before—packing box, paper, and two piles of her things. Tawni would be ticked off, but she would have to walk around it for another day. All Sierra could do was crawl back into bed.

  Something happens to a person’s imagination when she’s sick. For Sierra, the morning turned into a strange limbo between fast-paced, no-time-to-think-it-through reality and wild, worst-case-scenario dreams. One of her bizarre episodes included Paul. Jalene was standing next to him at the library, kissing him the way she had at the airport. Paul turned into a robot and followed her up and down the aisles, carrying her books. Jalene kept piling on the books until Paul couldn’t carry any more.

  Then, in her dazed imagination, Sierra arrived on the scene, driving her super mobile shaped like a huge Mars bar. She was steering it up and down the library rows, chasing Jalene.

  When Sierra forced her eyes open and scanned the bedroom for familiar things, she could feel the perspiration forming on her forehead. All she wanted was a nice hot bath. That triggered another round of crazy imaginations in which she was trying to bathe Brutus. But he ended up putting her in the tub, and with his great, furry paw, he was lathering her hair. Then Brutus was walking her to school and coaxing her to make friends with students who were behind chain-link fences, yipping at her.

  A cool hand on her forehead drew her back to reality. She opened her eyes.

  “How are you feeling, Lovey? I brought you something for your throat.” Granna Mae nudged Sierra to sit up and receive the glass of dark green liquid held out to her. One of her grandmother’s herbal concoctions, no doubt. Sierra knew it was harmless. Still, it could be nasty-tasting, and she wished she could somehow turn it down without hurting her grandmother’s feelings.

  Knowing it would be rude to plug her nose, Sierra did her best to hold her breath and chug the liquid down her swollen throat. The aftertaste made her shiver. “Is there any water in here?” She knew her tea was gone but wondered if she had brought up a glass of water and forgotten it.

  “I’ll get you one, Lovey.” Off Granna Mae padded to fetch a drink of water.

  Sierra waited and waited. The remedy began to taste fermented. Finally she couldn’t stand it any longer and forced herself to venture down the hall to the bathroom and get her own drink. Walking only made her head spin more. She barely made it back to her bed before her headache overpowered her.

  A few minutes later her mom walked in with a glass of orange juice and a thermometer.

  “Thanks,” Sierra said, eagerly sipping the orange juice. “Did Granna Mae tell you I asked for a cup of water?”

  “No. Was she up here
?”

  “About ten minutes ago.”

  “That’s odd. She’s been rather mixed up this morning. Did she know it was you?” Mom asked.

  Sierra thought hard. “I’m pretty sure she called me Lovey. She gave me a glass of some green stuff to drink.”

  “You didn’t drink it, did you?” Mom looked stunned.

  “Yes.” Suddenly Sierra realized she couldn’t assume anything with her grandmother anymore. For all she knew, Granna Mae fed her plant food or the soaking solution for her dentures. “Wasn’t too smart, was it? I thought it was one of her vitamin or herbal drinks.”

  “It very well may have been, but we can’t be sure about anything with her. Did you say she gave it to you about ten minutes ago?”

  “About that.”

  “Well, if it were poison you would know it by now.”

  “Great,” Sierra said, placing the orange juice on her nightstand. Then, because she wasn’t too sick to play a joke on her mom, Sierra suddenly bulged out her eyes and clutched her throat. With a gasp and a wheeze, she closed her eyes and flopped lifeless on her pillow.

  “Very funny,” Mom said. “I take it you’re feeling better.”

  “Actually, I kind of am.”

  “Must be the orange juice.”

  “Or Granna Mae’s green gunk. Can we at least try to find out what it was? I can’t believe I drank it. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.”

  “Here,” Mom said, leaving the thermometer. “I’ll check on Granna Mae. Take your temperature and let me know what it is.”

  It was only 99 degrees, a slight fever but not one that warranted a trip to the doctor. Sierra fell back asleep. This time it was deep, restorative, dreamless sleep.

  Tuesday she had a hard time deciding if she should attend school or not. Mom had left the choice up to her. Sierra missed the days of grade school when her mom would stick the thermometer in Sierra’s mouth and then look at her watch, waiting for it to reveal its secret. She would pull it out and read a secret message inside the glass tube that only moms could read. If it bent to Sierra’s favor, Mom would say, “Stay in bed today.” If not, Mom would say, “I think you can make it.” The thermometer was as much of a mystery to Sierra in her childhood as the groundhog’s seeing his shadow. In her mind, the thermometer made the decision about school or no school. Not Sierra. Not her mom.