by Sherri Sand
Sierra opened the fridge, then shut it again. She stared at the list precisely centered on the freezer door. “What’s this?”
Her mom glanced over. “Oh, I came up with those last night. I thought if we had some guidelines, everyone would know what to expect. Less friction in the coop.” Her mom said it with a smile as she slipped on oven mitts.
Phone calls limited to ten minutes.
Dirty dishes loaded promptly in dishwasher. Dishwasher emptied when clean.
Dirty clothes placed in hamper in bathroom, not on bedroom floor.
No school friends over unless prearranged.
No running in house.
No throwing balls in house.
Bedtime for children: 8:00 weeknights, 8:30 weekends.
Oh, my word. It was like she was ten all over again. Sierra gripped the fridge handle and carefully pulled it open. She would not say anything. It was her mother’s house after all. Just a temporary situation. Very temporary.
But she didn’t have a job yet. Lord, please give me a job. There she went, throwing up a prayer in a moment of duress. Why did she still do that when she knew He wouldn’t answer? Sierra poured the milk in the glasses and shoved the container back in the fridge.
“Oh, I just thought of another one,” her mother said before going over to the list and writing something else on the sheet. Sierra felt her blood pressure build. She had to get out of there.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes, Mom.”
“But, honey, dinner’s ready.”
Sierra sped past her toward the hall. “Go ahead and start without me.” She grabbed her cell phone, pressed the familiar numbers, and headed for the backyard.
Her mom called after her. “It’s dark out there, honey.”
Sierra kept walking. “I’m fine.”
“Hel-lo.” Elise’s singsong greeting rushed over her like a spring rainfall.
“She’s driving me crazy.”
“Oh, hon. Unload it all.”
Sierra paced the back fence, the kitchen window broadcasting a square of light onto the middle of the grass. “Where do I begin?” Sierra stopped. “She hijacked Chance.”
“What?”
Sierra nodded and started pacing again. “Yep. She’s paying some Ross guy to board him, and she already had his feed delivered.”
“She didn’t!”
“She did!”
“Married or single?”
Sierra stopped. “What? I’m having a crisis and you want to know if the guy is available?”
“Is he?”
“I don’t know.” She nibbled her fingernail. “He didn’t have a ring on.”
“Hmm … crisis, but you noticed the lack of a ring. Is he good looking?”
“Does it matter so much?”
“Only as icing. Not a requirement.”
Sierra felt a small grin form. “Drop-dead gorgeous.”
“No!”
Sierra switched the phone to her other ear. “Can we get back to my mother, please?”
“Moving along. Are you going to keep the horse?”
“No. Yes! I don’t know.”
“Keep him. Trust me on this. You’ll thank me some day.”
“I’m a hypocrite.”
“You’re only just realizing that? What did you do this time?”
Sierra allowed a grin. “It’s not funny. I prayed.”
“Hold on, I feel the earth moving.”
“Elise!”
“Did you mean it?”
“Kinda. But it was pure desperation thrown out to the cosmos.”
“God made the cosmos.”
“I know, I guess.”
Elise knew when to let silence do the talking.
Sierra leaned back against the fence and watched her family through the kitchen window. They were probably tracking her by the light of her phone.
“She has a list.”
“Your mom? Of what?”
Sierra drawled the words. “Rules to live by.”
“You’ve got to name it.”
“What?”
“The list. Like, Abbey’s List of Torment.”
Sierra chuckled. “Yeah or Abbey’s Alcatraz.” She sighed. “She means well.”
“Of course, she does. She loves you.”
Sierra looked up at the zillions of pinpoints in the sky. The Milky Way gleamed like a magical road to a far-off somewhere—it spoke of freedom. She breathed in deeply and exhaled the words. “I’ll call it The Motivator.”
“There you go!”
“You’re a jewel, Elise.”
“Rhinestone?”
“Rare sapphire.”
“Ohh! You keep calling!”
Sierra laughed. A quick glance toward the house had revealed Trevor, his face pressed against the bright kitchen window, little hands cupping his eyes. “I’d better go. The kids are hunting me.”
The next evening, Sierra lifted the still-warm enchilada pan from the midst of the dirty plates waiting to be cleared from the table. She set it on the counter. “Where’s the plastic wrap?”
Her mom pointed to the drawer next to the stove.
She pulled off a square and molded it to the pan, then opened the fridge and stuck the leftovers in. “I’m going to check on the kids.”
Her mom waved her off with a tight smile. “I’ll clean up.”
They still hadn’t talked about her mom’s handling of the horse, and it had reduced their conversation to short, tense exchanges.
Sierra found the kids already waiting on the front steps. She sat down behind Emory, gave her a hug, and kissed the top of her damp strawberry-scented hair. “I love you, Em.”
Her daughter shifted to grin up at her. “Me too.”
Trevor left his backpack in the grass where he’d been collecting vibrant maple leaves and ran back with a handful to show her. “These are for you.”
She pulled him close, careful to not crush his treasures. “Thank you! They’re beautiful!”
Braden kicked a rock off the cement walkway with a scowl. “When’s Dad going to be here?”
“Pretty soon.” She read through his frustration to the fear that his dad wouldn’t show.
Finally, fifteen minutes later, the Lexus pulled into the driveway and parked close to the steps. With a huge grin Michael rolled down the window. “Hi, guys. Did you miss me?”
Emory beamed and ran over to give him a hug through the window. “Yes!”
Trevor ran up behind her. “Hi, Daddy! Grandma let me help make cookies. ”
He looked tanned and relaxed and reached out to rub the top of Trevor’s head. “Hi, punkin.”
Maple leaves crunched under Sierra’s feet as she retrieved Trevor’s backpack from the yard. Sierra had a weird sense that time had warped for a moment. Several years ago this was the scene that used to play nightly in their driveway. Michael pulling up tired, but contented, and smiling while they all piled out of the house to greet him with hugs and kisses. Braden and Emory had been around Trevor’s age.
She handed Michael the backpack. “I see you made it back.”
He avoided her eyes and focused on their daughter. “Yep. Hey, Em, you’re getting too old for that. Leave it here.”
Emory froze, backpack in one hand, favorite blanket in the other. “I sleep with it, Dad.”
“I said you’re getting too old for it. Now go put it in the house.” He looked at Sierra. “I don’t know why you haven’t made her throw it away.”
“Because she needs it, Michael. It gives her security.”
He glanced away, a hint of irritation in the curl of his lip.
“I went by the office and asked Luanne to reissue your last child support check,” Sierra said. “She needed your authorization but couldn’t reach you.”
Frustration darkened his features, and she got a glimpse of how an angry Braden would look as an adult. “I told you I would take care of it.” He lowered his voice with a quick glance in his rearview mirror at the boys in the back
seat. “I don’t want to discuss this in front of the kids.”
Emory climbed in and Sierra squatted down next to the car, one hand on the door and spoke in a whisper, “You aren’t returning my calls, Michael. I want to work this out amicably, but if I don’t get paid I’ll have to involve the district attorney. I don’t want to, but you aren’t giving me a choice.”
He gave a short laugh. “Great. Just great, Sierra. Thanks.”
“It’s up to you, Michael. Not me.” She dropped her hand and stood, taking a step back. The car raced backward to the end of the driveway, then stopped, tiny motes of dust floated around the still tires. The car surged back up next to her.
Michael leaned out the window, the words blasting, “Did you buy a horse?”
She shook her head, rooted to the gravel, every muscle wanting to retreat. “No, I did not buy a horse,” she said simply.
Relief drained the anger. He whipped his head toward the back seat, the car easing slowly backward again. His voice floated out the window. “Braden, you better—”
Sierra rushed up to his open window. “But I have one.”
The car stopped, and Michael leaned his arm on top of the steering wheel. “What do you mean, you have one?”
“I inherited him.”
He shook his head and stared out the front windshield. “I can’t believe you’d let them have a horse. How can you even afford it? You’re living with your mother!”
“That’s not my doing, now is it?” Sierra said. “Besides, that horse is the best thing in their world right now.” And in that moment, seeing their three anxious faces in the backseat, she knew it was.
Chapter 8
Sierra walked back into the house with thoughtful steps. Dishes clinked, then a cupboard closed in the kitchen. The pain of childbirth was nothing like the ripping of her soul at seeing her kids anxious and hurt, pulled between two parents. Chance would be the oasis in their lives. If she could let him.
A chair scooted in the kitchen, then another. The table would be pristine once again. White doily in the middle anchored by two yellow candles and a white ceramic sugar bowl.
She’d always lived beneath her mom’s need for orderliness, yet there was something comforting about it. Sierra stopped at the living room bookcase filled with knickknacks and pictures that backed up against the outside wall of the kitchen. She paused in front of one small photo. Familiar, yet often unnoticed in the years of living. A picture of her dad a few months before he died.
What made her mom’s faith so strong? God hadn’t protected them, hadn’t kept her dad from dying when she was young. Her mom thought Sierra’s faith issues hinged on a lack of belief. But they didn’t. The belief was there. It was her trust that had big chunks missing. Gaping holes from her dad’s death, the death of her marriage, Molly’s accident. And those were just the personal ones. When she looked beyond her small world, she saw famine, tsunamis, murder, rape…. The list was endless, and so was her lack of trust.
Sierra passed through the living room with its blue floral couch and comfortable recliners situated neatly around an oak coffee table, amid a scattering of wicker baskets. In the kitchen, yellow gloves to her elbows, her mom scrubbed the stainless-steel sink free of potentially dangerous bacteria. Dishes too large for the dishwasher rested on the drying rack next to the sink. Her mom’s back was stiff and her profile set as she scrubbed away.
Sierra reached for the towel hanging from the stove handle and picked up a wet skillet. “Michael’s angry about the horse.”
The scouring pad kept its brisk pace at the bottom of the sink. “I heard.”
Sierra noted the kitchen window was cracked open.
“Are you keeping Chance, then?” her mother asked as she slid the dry skillet into its drawer below the oven.
“Mom, it’s not about keeping the horse. It’s what you did. To me.”
Her mom puffed the weary exhale of someone who’d been misunderstood. “I knew you’d blame me.”
“I’m not blaming you, it’s just that—”
Her mom twisted slightly, forearms resting on the edge of the sink, gloves dripping gray suds from the wire scouring pad. “You don’t see what’s best for the kids. If you’d only open your eyes, see their joy with that horse.”
“I know, Mom. I saw.”
“Do you realize how this divorce has torn them apart? How seeing you and Michael at odds creates such anxiety in them?”
Guilt coated her with each picture of her failure. “Yes, Mom. I do know.”
With a shake of her head, her mom turned back to the sink. “I just don’t understand how you can even consider selling him.” In a neutral voice she asked, “What does Elise say?”
Sierra wiped every trace of water off the vegetable steamer. Whenever there was a point of contention, it was like her mom slowly, inch by inch, pulled the rug out from under her life until Sierra stumbled and doubted. Elise’s agreement would give her mom one more reason to keep pulling.
Sierra set the steamer in the cupboard. “She said to keep him.”
Her mom made a tsking sound. “Well that certainly surprises me. For once she shows good sense.”
“I’m not selling the horse.”
Her mom gave a satisfied nod and rinsed the sink. “I think that’s for the best.”
Sierra slipped the dishtowel back over the oven door handle to dry and spoke the words to herself. “And if it’s not, I’ll be crying at my children’s funerals.”
Saturday evening, Sierra and her mom sat alone at the kitchen table and ate broiled halibut steaks and creamed peas in near silence. It was odd how much the presence of the kids defined her relationship with her mom.
“The fish is tasty. I hadn’t tried this recipe before.” Her mom cut a sliver off the remaining steak and lifted it to her plate. She took a bite and looked up. “Are you going to church tomorrow?”
“I hadn’t planned on it.” Almost involuntarily her gaze lifted to the pink list still taped to the fridge. Would her mom add church attendance to the bottom of The Motivator?
Her mom chewed slowly, then swallowed. “When were you planning to get back into fellowship?”
“I’m not really sure.” Sierra dropped her eyes to the roll she was buttering, noting the line of dirt under her fingernails from helping her mom mulch the flower beds that afternoon.
The crow’s-feet appeared. “The kids need spiritual training, honey. Sunday school is vital at their age.”
Her mom was tugging at the rug again. How had spiritual training helped her and her brother, Win? She was divorced, and Win was a rootless wanderer with his own trust issues.
A frown darkened her mom’s face. “It’s not like they’re getting it over there.”
And what about your unforgiveness toward Michael? she wanted to ask. Had her mom missed that lesson in spiritual training? But Sierra kept her eyes on her plate. They’d had too many conversations regarding her ex-husband. One more wouldn’t help.
“I’m sure you’re right, Mom.”
“I’m surprised Elise doesn’t ask you to go with her. I know she’s quite religious.”
The way her mom spoke of religion contrasted so starkly with what Sierra saw in Elise. Warmth without expectations. Joy. Respect for others to choose their path without judgment or censure. An easy acceptance of the differences between her and Sierra.
“She doesn’t push.” The thought floated out and Sierra cringed. She needed a lock over her mouth.
Her mom carefully set her fork down. “Because I care, now I’m pushy.” She aligned her knife next to the fork and gave Sierra a small smile. “I’ll back off, honey. I certainly don’t want to get in your way.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Her mom picked up her plate and carried it to the sink. “Sometimes we say exactly what we mean.”
Sierra put her elbow on the table and rubbed her forehead. And maybe she had said what she meant.
The covers rustled as Sierra rolled over a
nd reached for her phone the next morning, speed-dialed the number, and settled back against her pillow.
A sleepy voice answered. “Hello?”
“Elise?”
Her friend yawned. “What time is it?”
“I don’t know. I wanted to catch you before you left for church.”
“Hon, I at least wait until the sun is up.”
“Funny. I think it’s just before eight.”
“Has He answered yet?”
“Who?”
“God.”
“Oh, that. It wasn’t really a prayer prayer.”
“Hon, He understands groans that words cannot express.”
Sierra smiled. Holy spirit Elise, in action. “Well, no one’s come knocking on the door offering me a job.”
Elise yawned again. “Not yet.”
“I need a favor.”
“And that would be?”
“Will you go with me to check on the horse after church today?”
Energy suffused her voice. “I’d love to! What are we checking?”
Sierra laughed. “I don’t know. But Aunty Elise, who thought it’d be so great for me to keep the horse, can check whatever it is that needs to be checked.”
“I didn’t say nuthin’ about helping. Moral support is my sole calling.”
“Well, you can ‘moral support’ your way through checking that horse.”
At twelve thirty, an ooga horn from the driveway announced that Elise had arrived.
Sierra grabbed her purse and locked the front door. Her mom was at an after-church women’s committee luncheon. She started down the front steps and laughed. Elise sat in the driver’s seat, top down on the Mazda, wrapped in a fur jacket with a rich maroon scarf covering her hair.
Elise peered over her black sunglasses. “What?”
“It’s October!”
“Hon, when the sun’s shining, you gotta live a little.”
Sierra climbed in. “Is the heater on?”
Elise started the car. “Full blast.” A few minutes later, they crept slowly up the gravel drive lined with oak trees. “Now wasn’t that lovely of God to stable your horse so close to home?” Elise saw God’s hand in everything. Sierra chose to love her in spite of the quirk.
“Um, that would be my mother who arranged that.”
