Sierra Jensen Collection, Vol 2

by Robin Jones Gunn

  She was slipping into her third option when Tawni rolled over in bed and said, “What’s with all the wardrobe changes?”

  Since Sierra had time, she went over to Tawni’s bed and gingerly sat on the edge. Talking like this with her sister was a new experience, and she approached it cautiously. She had so much stored inside her, things she hadn’t said to Amy since the confrontation outside the cafeteria, things she couldn’t tell Randy.

  “I might see Paul today.”

  Tawni propped herself on her elbow and looked interested. “Oh?”

  With this hint of encouragement, Sierra decided to tell Tawni everything. “Did Mom say anything to you about what happened at the Highland House last Tuesday?”

  “No. You know Mom. She wouldn’t say anything unless you told her to tell me. With Mom, mum’s the word!” Tawni chuckled at her own little joke.

  Sierra thought it was kind of irritating that Tawni was so perky and happy lately, even first thing in the morning, which used to be her worst time of day.

  Sierra explained a little about Randy being on her ministry team. And then she plunged in and told Tawni about Paul’s coming into the room on Tuesday and saying what he did about prodigals and then leaving at the end of the day without talking to her again.

  Tawni looked interested as the story continued.

  “But now I might see him today, and I’m kind of nervous,” Sierra confessed. “Actually, I’m terrified. I’ve never gone through this before.”

  “First thing you do,” Tawni said, now fully awake, “is pray. Always pray.”

  Sierra almost laughed. “That’s what I’ve been doing for months. For months, I’ve been praying for Paul. Not that I would see him again. I’ve been praying that he would get really close to the Lord.”

  “You have?” Tawni’s expression took a hint of awe. “I’d say God is answering your prayers, because Paul is going to Scotland this summer to work at a mission their grandfather started.”

  “He is?” Sierra’s heart sank. “When is he leaving?”

  “I’m not sure. Pretty soon.” Tawni snapped her fingers. “You know what else I just figured out? The Highland House is connected with the one their grandfather started in Scotland. I remember that Jeremy asked me if I’d heard of it because his uncle runs the one here in Portland. I think Paul is staying at the Highland House since his school already got out, and he didn’t have the money to go home to San Diego and then fly to London.”

  Tawni’s words, “fly to London,” brought back all kinds of memories. Sierra wished she were going on another flight to London—the same flight as Paul.

  “You know what we should do,” Tawni said. “I’ll ask Mom if we can invite Paul and his uncle to come for dinner one night before I leave for San Diego and Paul leaves for Scotland.”

  Sierra liked the idea immediately.

  But before Sierra’s imagination could spin a web of dreams, Tawni said, “Try to remember, Sierra, if it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be. If it’s not, it’s not.”

  For Tawni, that was a deep thought, and Sierra knew she was right. Even so, the many connections between Sierra’s family and Paul’s were intriguing as well as encouraging.

  “Sierra,” Mom called through the closed door, tapping it lightly with her fingers before opening it, “I need to keep the car today, so I’ll drive you to school. Will you be ready in about ten minutes?”

  “Yikes!” Sierra glanced at the clock on Tawni’s dresser and sprang into action, pulling the rest of her outfit together. She settled on the basics: jeans, a white T-shirt with a cotton woven vest, and a braided leather and bead bracelet with matching bead earrings.

  Sierra made it to school on time but found it nearly impossible to concentrate on any of her classes. So many feelings were colliding inside of her: eagerness to see Paul again, the possibility of his coming for dinner, and if she saw him today, the variety of things she could say to him. She had practiced several conversations in her head the night before while she was trying to fall asleep. One of the conversations involved being honest with Paul and not joking around or teasing the way she usually did when she talked to guys. She told Paul how much she had prayed for him over the months. In her half-awake, half-asleep state, she imagined Paul had taken her hand in his and held it tightly.

  Sierra shook away the memory of her dream. She needed to catch the teacher’s final homework instructions. It was time to put her thoughts of Paul into the invisible treasure chest in her heart and lock them up until at least the afternoon.

  Randy met Sierra at her locker at lunch and told her that he and Tre were going to eat outside since the weather was so nice. Randy said he could use her help in preparing the story for the afternoon. Since Sierra had done all the work last time, Randy and Vicki were supposed to do the story this time.

  Sierra joined Randy and Tre, feeling a little bit as if she were hiding from Amy. Her mind was so full of Paul that Sierra didn’t trust herself not to say anything to Amy.

  “Where’s Vicki?” Sierra asked.

  “She has other plans, I guess,” Randy said, pulling out his guitar and tuning it up. He didn’t seem bothered by the lack of assistance. “She said she would meet us there this afternoon.”

  As Randy strummed his guitar, he softly sang the three songs he planned to teach the kids. Tre seemed to watch Randy’s every move on the guitar. “Do you want to try it?” Randy said, offering the guitar to him.

  Randy’s gesture touched Sierra. She pretty much ignored Tre, but Randy treated him like a friend, even turning over his guitar to him. Sierra knew how highly Randy valued his guitar. He had brought it to Sierra’s house one time and had played a song he wrote, but he didn’t let Gavin or Dillon play it.

  Tre shyly reached for the instrument and began to strum. To Sierra’s and Randy’s amazement, he started to sing old American pop tunes, accompanying himself on the guitar without flaw.

  “When did you learn to play like that?” Randy asked. “You’re very good!”

  “My brother plays guitar,” Tre said. “He taught me.”

  Sierra was certain it was the first time she had heard Tre speak a complete sentence. It made her wonder if perhaps he understood everything they had been saying all along, but he was actually too shy to enter the conversation.

  It helped to see that side of Tre, because when she rode with him and Randy to the Highland House that afternoon, Sierra felt much more comfortable with Tre and more prepared to go at this project the second time as a team—even if Vicki hadn’t been there to practice with them.

  Randy pulled up in front of the gated yard and parked. A dozen noisy kids spotted them climbing out of Randy’s truck and ran to the gate to welcome them. Sierra smiled and greeted the kids as they all spoke at once. Some wanted to play baseball. Others begged for a round of soccer. Two little girls came running up and reminded Sierra that she had promised to do art with them.

  “First, we’ll all go inside and have our meeting time,” Sierra said. She looked over their heads, scanning the porch for any sight of Paul. “We have something really great planned for you today.”

  “I know what that is,” one boy said to Randy. “You have a guitar.”

  “That’s right,” Randy said. “You want to come in and hear me play it?”

  “Are you any good?” a kid asked.

  “Not as good as Tre here.”

  All the kids turned their attention to Tre as they climbed the stairs to the front porch.

  “Come on in, you guys.” Sierra put her hand on the doorknob. “Wait until you see our surprise.”

  As she opened the door, Sierra stopped cold. Paul and Vicki stood there, only inches apart. Her face was tilted up toward his, and Paul was staring into her eyes, his right hand poised to stroke her cheek.

  THE TROOPS EXPLODED into the room, but neither Paul nor Vicki moved. The kids started to call out snickering comments.

  “He’s going to kiss her!”

  “Ooo! Puppy love!
”

  As Sierra and the others watched, Vicki blinked a few times, and Paul’s finger gently dabbed underneath her right eye.

  “There,” he said, holding up his index finger in front of Vicki. “Got it.”

  “Thanks!” Vicki said. “This new lens won’t stay in. It slides to the corner, and I can’t get it.”

  Paul didn’t seem to listen to her. He had turned to look at the group, and the first person his gaze rested on was Sierra.

  “Hi,” she said above the rumble of the kids. Her two sidekicks were each tugging on an arm, urging her into the meeting room, where the director was leading the rest of the children.

  “Hi,” Paul said back. He wore a light blue denim work shirt with the sleeves rolled up. A braided leather bracelet circled his left wrist, and a carpenter’s tool belt was wrapped around his middle. From it hung a hammer and tape measure.

  “Vicki,” Randy said, stepping in front of Sierra, nearly whacking her with the end of his guitar case. “You want to help us with the songs?”

  Vicki held out the wayward contact on her finger. Sierra noticed Vicki now had one aqua-blue eye while the other eye showed her true color, a subtle gray. “I’ll be right in as soon as I fix my contact.”

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Randy called after her as she exited down the hallway. He turned to Sierra and said, “We’d better get in there.”

  Sierra’s helpful parasites gladly fell in line behind Randy, leading Sierra away from Paul. Angie, the smaller one with long, stringy bangs, grabbed Sierra’s right arm. Meruka, the more aggressive one with missing front teeth, locked on to Sierra’s left arm. They pulled Sierra, arms first, into the meeting room. Just as the doors were about to close behind her, Sierra turned and looked back at Paul, who stood his ground in the entryway with his arms folded across his chest. He wore an amused expression.

  “Will you be around?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “Good,” was all she could think to say as her arms received another hasty yank, and the meeting room gobbled her up.

  Randy was telling the kids they needed to sit and listen. Most of them settled down. Sierra sat cross-legged on the floor between her adoring friends and did her best to hush the other kids as Randy extracted his guitar from the case and began to tune up. Sierra noticed Vicki slipping in the back door and standing in the corner with Tre.

  Where’s Paul? Sierra thought. Is he going to come in, too?

  Randy plunged right into the first song, a common Sunday school number, familiar to most American kids. However, Sierra was the only one in the room who started to sing along on the chorus. Apparently, these kids had never heard this song before.

  Randy sang a couple more songs, which he tried to teach to the kids. They seemed to pay more attention to Randy than they had to Sierra on Tuesday.

  Instead of a Bible story, Randy told the kids how he had become a Christian. Briefly, he related his story, quoting several verses. He told them how he had grown up going to church and believing he would go to heaven when he died. Then one day when he was eight, the drawstring to his bathing trunks got caught in a pool filter, and Randy nearly drowned trying to get free. At that moment, he wanted to make sure he was going to heaven, so he asked Christ to forgive his sins and come into his life.

  “Did an angel come rescue you?” one of the fascinated kids asked.

  “No,” Randy said, his crooked smile peeking out. “I wiggled out of my trunks and swam to the surface in my birthday suit.”

  The kids burst out laughing, and it was nearly impossible to get them to focus back on Randy’s serious conclusion.

  “You need to make sure you’ve turned your life over to God,” he said, raising his voice. “God wants you to come to Him. Remember the story of the prodigal son?”

  Sierra wondered if any of them were listening at all. “Shhh! Pay attention now.” How can they understand? she thought as she tried to quiet them down. Prodigal is not a word they use every day. Why didn’t I pick a different story? These kids aren’t old enough to understand a prodigal losing everything and ending up in a pigpen.

  “Okay,” Randy said in a last-ditch effort to corral the kids back in, “I’m going to pray now. Will all of you please close your eyes? That’s right. Close out everything that’s going on around you, and let’s talk to God.”

  He prayed earnestly, and as if he had all the time in the world, not bothered by the rowdiness of the kids. Sierra prayed silently along with him, her head bowed, eyes closed.

  “Before you leave,” Randy said loudly as his prayer ended and kids scrambled for the doors, “we want you to know that God loves you. He wants you to come to Him and be adopted into His family as His very own kids.’

  The doors burst open and out they flew.

  “Time to do art,” Meruka said, turning to Sierra with a grin that exposed the gap where her front teeth had been.

  “You promised,” Angie reminded her.

  “Okay,” Sierra said, rising to her feet and slipping an arm around each of them. “Let’s first tell Randy what a great job he did. Great job, Randy!”

  “Great job, Randy,” the girls echoed.

  He looked exhausted. “Do you think any of them were listening?”

  “I was listening,” Meruka said.

  “Me, too,” said Angie, swatting her long bangs out of her eyes.

  “Good,” Randy responded, smiling at them. He took his guitar from his case. “Here,” he said, holding it out to Tre. “Why don’t you go out onto the porch and wow them?”

  Tre’s face lit up as he gratefully accepted Randy’s offer.

  “Come on,” the impatient artists said. “Let’s go!”

  “Okay, okay. We’re on our way.” Sierra steered them toward the doors. As soon as they were in the hallway, she looked for Paul. “Girls?” she asked softly. “Do you know that nice guy who was in the hall here earlier?”

  “You mean Paul?” Meruka asked.

  “Yes. Have you seen him around?”

  “Why? Are you in love with him?”

  A tiny voice deep inside the treasure chest of Sierra’s heart chirped out Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes! Sierra felt her cheeks turning flame red, and ignoring the incarcerated voice, she laughed lightly and said, “No, of course not.”

  SIERRA SPENT the next half hour directing her group of eager artists, which had grown to eleven kids. She thought of several ideas for easy art projects: bead stringing, clay figurines, puppets, masks, even colored macaroni necklaces. The ideas grew, and she wondered if the Highland House offered a summer program for these kids if they would want a volunteer art instructor. She also wondered if Paul would be gone the entire summer.

  A sudden distinct odor wafted into the room. Sierra turned toward the door, and there stood Monte, a hopeful glimmer in his brown eyes. “Do you remember me?”

  “Yes, I do. How are you, Monte?”

  He looked pleased that she remembered his name. “Can I do a picture?”

  “Sure. Why don’t you join these guys?” Sierra directed him to a side table where two boys sat, trying to fold paper airplanes the way Sierra had shown them. “Do you want to make a paper airplane, Monte? Or do you want to color?”

  The other two kids at the table started to argue over the few pieces of paper allotted to them, saying there wasn’t enough for Monte. Sierra could hear two of the girls at the other table saying, “Don’t let him sit next to you. He kicks.”

  “I know. And he stinks, too.”

  “Get out of here, Monte!” one of the kids said.

  Sierra found herself holding her breath again, wishing for all the world this small room had a fan she could turn on. The stench was overwhelming. Monte stood between the two tables, looking to Sierra for an answer.

  “Ah, actually, Monte, did you want to go outside and play soccer with the other kids?”

  He shook his head. “I want to make a frog.”

  “A frog,” Sierra repeated. “Let’s see. You wa
nt to make a frog.” She quickly scanned the room. The door and both the windows were already open. It was as ventilated as it was going to get. “Why don’t we move out to the porch?” she suggested. “It’s such a gorgeous evening. We can take all our things with us. Everyone grab something and let’s go.”

  The kids were reluctant to follow her instructions. Some of them abandoned their art projects altogether. By the time they had regrouped on the porch, only seven artists and Monte remained.

  But for Sierra, the decision to move was a good one. The calm evening breeze skipped across the wide, open porch carrying the faint scent of honeysuckle mixed with bus fumes from the busy street beyond the yard. A long line was already forming at the kitchen next door. Sierra remembered hearing that they fed an average of 150 people a night. They also offered space to 85 people a night, with men sleeping in the annex and the women and children in the two upstairs floors of the Highland House.

  It amazed Sierra how so many people seemed to appear out of nowhere to line up each night. Where did they come from? How did they end up there? Each of them had a story.

  “Monte,” she said, spreading out her armful of art supplies, “how old are you?”

  “He’s five,” a girl answered. “I’m older than him.”

  “Where did you live before you came here?” Sierra asked.

  “I don’t know,” he said, dropping down next to her and scrounging for a green crayon.

  “Has the Highland House been able to find a job for your mom?”

  “I don’t know where my mom is,” Monte said. “She left when I was a baby. My uncle takes care of me.”

  Sierra found she could neither hold her breath nor steel her heart against this kid any longer. “Come on, Monte. Let’s see if we can make you a frog.”

  The cold reality of it all hit Sierra like a sledgehammer. These kids were real, and they didn’t choose to be in this condition. Their problems weren’t going to go away overnight. She realized the situation called for more than a quick four hours of trying to entertain some children to meet a class requirement. Sierra felt as if something inside her connected with the kids, and she was right where God wanted her to be, doing exactly what He had created her to do—make a frog with Monte.