Sierra galloped down the stairs and called out to her dad in the backyard. “I’m going to mail a letter, Dad.”
“Hang on, Sierra,” he called back from his workshop. It was an old playhouse he had turned into a shop. Inside it were all his power tools, but the outside looked as if Hansel and Gretel might stop by at any moment. Dad opened the Dutch door, wiping his hand on a towel. He reached in his pocket and pulled out some money. “Can you swing by Mama Bear’s and pick up a box of cinnamon rolls? I told Granna Mae I’d bring her breakfast tomorrow morning.”
“You don’t know how much I’d love to do that for you, Dad.” Sierra said. “And I don’t need any money.”
“I thought you were broke. Zilch.”
“Mom told me to take some out of the desk when she was gone. I’ve been using it for lunch money and gas money. I have enough left for a box of cinnamon rolls.”
Dad grinned and said, “I guess I’ll have to find another hiding place for my loot.”
“Come on, Dad,” Gavin called from the tree house.
“Do you want to take my car?” Dad asked.
“No, I need the exercise. I’ll be right back.” Sierra took off with long strides, clutching the letter in her hand the four blocks to the mailbox. It was a good thing the box wasn’t further away or the sweat on her palms might have soaked through the envelope. With a yank of the handle, she shoved the letter into the dark abyss.
Instantly she regretted it. Sierra stood there, glancing around to see if anyone was watching her. She wondered if she could retrieve the letter. It soon became obvious that she couldn’t. What was done was done.
She realized she needed the consolation of a cinnamon roll from Mama Bear’s. She covered the next three or so blocks at near-jogging pace. The moment she entered the shop, she felt relieved, as if she had run a race against her hurt and anger and had beat them.
The store was empty except for three people who were huddling over fragrant coffee in the middle of some sort of meeting at one of the side tables. The scent of cinnamon wasn’t as strong as it had been on Saturday morning, but it was still there, permeating the room.
“Are you still open?” Sierra asked the round woman in the white ruffly apron who was wiping down the counter.
“Another five minutes,” the rosy-cheeked woman said, glancing at the clock that broadcast the time as “5:55.” It was a wooden clock in the shape of a brown bear. Its big round tummy was the clock’s face.
“Good! I’m glad I made it,” Sierra said. “I need a box of rolls.”
The woman reached over to the rack behind her and grabbed a box. “Can I get you anything else?”
Whenever a waitress would ask that question, Sierra’s brother Cody would answer, “Yeah, a couple of tickets to Maui. To go, please.” Sierra smiled and answered, “A ticket to San Diego.”
The woman looked a little confused for just a moment, but then she smiled. “Getting a little tired of the rain, are you? Anxious to see some sunshine?”
Sierra nodded. “Actually, I’m hoping to visit some friends down there during Easter vacation. All I need is the money to buy my airplane ticket. But first I need a job to earn the money to buy the ticket.” Sierra realized she was pouring out her heart to a stranger and quickly said, “But for today, all I need is a box of your world-famous cinnamon rolls. I’ve been craving them for days.”
The woman took the money Sierra held out to her and rang up the purchase on the cash register. “You’re not going to eat this whole box by yourself, are you?”
“I’ll try not to.” Sierra smiled as the white-aproned Mama Bear tucked the box into a large, white paper bag. “I need to save at least one of these for my Granna Mae, who’s waiting for it in the hospital.”
“You don’t mean Mae Jensen, do you?”
“Yes, she’s my grandmother.”
“Well, I’ll be! And which one are you?”
“Sierra.”
“And your parents are …”
“Howard and Sharon.”
“No!” the sweet woman said, clasping her hands around her middle like an opera singer. “My brother went to school with Howard. I used to have such a crush on him! Tell him you saw Amelia. Amelia Kraus now, but I was Amelia Jackson. And tell him to come in sometime.”
“I know he’s been here before,” Sierra said.
“I don’t usually work at the counter. My husband and I own this shop. But it’s been so busy lately that I’ve had to put the apron back on. And your grandmother? Is she okay?”
“She had her gallbladder out. She’s doing fine.”
“Goodness gracious! You be sure and tell Howard hello for us and get him in here sometime.”
“I will,” Sierra said, tucking the bag in the crook of her arm. “Thanks again! It was very nice meeting you.”
“You too, Sierra,” Mrs. Kraus said, following her to the door, where she turned over the “open” sign. “ ‘Bye now.”
Sierra stepped out into the chilly street, where the smell of wet sidewalks and car exhaust instantly assaulted her. They were a rude contrast to the warm cinnamon and coffee smells of Mama Bear’s. She took about four steps when she was overpowered by the obvious. Turning around, she walked two steps before the door of Mama Bear’s opened again, and Mrs. Kraus popped out her head. Both of them spoke at the same time, and then they both laughed.
“You first,” Sierra said.
“It just occurred to me, you said you were looking for a job, and—”
“I had the same thought,” Sierra said.
“Well, then, come back in, my dear,” she said, opening the door wide. “I believe Providence has designed this moment.”
eleven
“I’M HOME!” Sierra called out, as the front door slammed behind her.
“We’re in here,” Mom called out from the dining room.
Sierra shelved the cinnamon rolls in the pantry and found her family seated around the antique dining room table eating Mom’s favorite “speedy dinner”—baked potatoes with steamed broccoli and cheese.
“Guess what?” Sierra said breathlessly.
Everyone looked at her expectantly.
“You ran into an Elvis impersonator from Mars who eats human brains,” Dillon said.
“Yeah,” Gavin added, “and he tried to suck your brain, but he starved.”
“Boys,” Dad said firmly. “What’s the news, Sierra?”
Not even her brothers’ dumb jokes could dampen her enthusiasm. “I got a job! At Mama Bear’s. I start Thursday. My hours are four to six on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and eight to four on Saturdays. It’s perfect! And Mrs. Kraus knows you, Dad. Her name was Amelia Jackson before she got married, and she said you should come in sometime. And she gave us an extra box of cinnamon rolls free. But the best part is, she already said I could have the time off during Easter vacation!” Sierra paused just long enough to catch her breath. “And she’s a Christian. Can you believe that? Did you know they don’t open their shop on Sundays? Is that incredible or what?”
“It’s incredible,” Mom agreed.
“Mrs. Kraus called it ‘Providence.’ Something about God leading in ways we can’t see or understand.” Sierra speared a potato from the serving bowl and poked it open with her fork, allowing the steam to escape.
“Our God is an awesome God,” Dad said. It was his favorite saying, and he often sang a chorus with the same words. “I guess I better start to check on those airline tickets.”
“Where’s she going?” Dillon asked.
“Please don’t talk with your mouth full, Dillon. Sierra wants to go down to Southern California during Easter to visit her friends,” Mom explained.
“So it’s okay with you, Mom?” Sierra found it impossible to suppress her excitement.
“With the conditions as Dad explained them, sure.”
Tawni, who hadn’t said anything yet, dropped her fork onto her plate and said, “Does anyone else have a problem with her getting to fly off to England
and California while the rest of us stay home?”
“We went camping,” Gavin said.
“Yeah, and you went skiing,” Dillon said. “And Sierra was the only one home that time.”
Tawni rolled her eyes. “That ski trip was a disaster!”
“You can come to San Diego with me if you want,” Sierra blurted out.
“Oh, right! And what would I do there? Hang out with you and your little friends?”
“They’re not ‘little friends,’ ” Sierra said. “I’m the youngest of all of them. Katie and Christy are your age; Tracy, Doug, and Todd are all in their twenties.”
Tawni gave Sierra a strange look as if this was new information to her. “And what are they doing inviting you down there?”
“They’re my friends. They treat me as an equal.” Sierra exuberance began to dwindle as she defended herself to her sister. She did see herself on the same level with Katie, Christy, and the others. With Tawni, she always felt inferior.
“Congratulations on the job,” Mom said, redirecting the conversation. “I’m sure it will be a fun place to work.”
“I couldn’t do it.” Tawni excused herself from the table and cleared her plate. “I’d gain twenty pounds a day just smelling those rolls. Too bad the flower shop didn’t work out. Much less fattening.”
Sierra had never been seriously concerned about her weight. She had her mom’s quick metabolism and had always been active enough to burn off excess sweets. Tawni was the relentless calorie counter in the family. She was adopted and more than once expressed her fear that her biological mother might be a blimp.
“Do we get to have cinnamon rolls for dessert?” Dillon asked. He was an eight-year-old version of their dad and had inherited his sweet tooth.
“Let’s wait till breakfast,” Mom said. “Is anyone planning to see Granna Mae tonight?”
“I can go over,” Dad said. “Do you boys want to go with me?”
“Whose turn is it to help with the dishes?” Mom asked.
“Sierra’s,” Gavin said.
“Naturally,” Sierra muttered, rising to clear the dishes. The first handful of plates clattered as they came to rest in the stainless steel sink.
“Take it easy in there,” Mom called out.
“I am,” Sierra said. She didn’t know why she hated doing the dishes so much. Rinsing them off and loading them into the dishwasher certainly wasn’t hard. Mom always worked alongside her, and they usually had good talks. But something happened inside Sierra every time she was told that it was her turn to do the dishes. It was like a mean button was pushed inside her. And if she opened the dishwasher and found it full of clean dishes that hadn’t been put away yet, the “mean-o-meter” automatically turned up about three notches. She knew it was dumb. Still, there it was. Tonight her fully operative mean-o-meter quickly rose as she opened the dishwasher and found it full of clean dishes.
The chore only took fifteen minutes or so, and as always, Mom thanked her for helping. Sierra mumbled, “You’re welcome,” and excused herself to do her homework.
When she reached her room, Tawni was already at the desk working on her homework from one of the courses she was taking at the community college. Without a word, Sierra cleared a spot on her bed and started to read her very boring government textbook.
The two sisters worked in silence for more than an hour before Tawni said, “Were you serious about my going to San Diego with you?”
Sierra hesitated. She had extended the invitation in a jovial moment. In truth, the last person she wanted to spend Easter with was Tawni. And never, in her right mind, would she have thought to let Tawni loose on her circle of sacred friends. One look at the perfect Tawni and Sierra would be an instant castoff. “Why do you ask?” Sierra asked cautiously.
Tawni turned to Sierra. Tears were in her eyes. “I just wanted to know if you really meant it.”
“Sure,” Sierra said, instantly motivated by the uncommon display of emotion. She knew Tawni was trying to make friends too. That need was about the only thing they shared right now.
Tawni didn’t respond. She turned back around and bent over her books.
“So?” Sierra prodded. “What are you saying? Do you want to come with me or what?”
“I’m not sure,” Tawni said in a low voice. “I’ll let you know.”
Sierra felt like throwing a pillow at her sister. It was bad enough that Sierra had made the crazy invitation. Tawni could at least say yes or no so Sierra would know whether or not her life was about to be ruined. This limbo game was not to Sierra’s liking. But it was typical of Tawni to keep others waiting on her.
Whenever Sierra felt this frustrated or angry, she knew the best thing, the only thing, that helped was to get her face into her Bible and leave it there until she had an answer. She reached for the leather-covered treasure on her night-stand and opened to where a crinkled candy bar wrapper marked her place. She began to read where she had left off a few days ago.
Sierra’s method of devotion was to read through a whole book at a time. Some days she would read only a few verses, but other days it would be several chapters. Whenever she missed a day, instead of feeling guilty, Sierra would just pick up where she had left off. She also kept a notebook in which she logged thoughts that came to her as she read.
The marker was in the twenty-sixth chapter of Isaiah. She had been reading in Isaiah for more than a week and admittedly skimmed some of the earlier chapters. The last few had been more interesting to her, and she had underlined some passages.
Tonight she read slowly and stopped at verse 3. “You will keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on You, because he trusts in You.”
Sierra turned her back to her sister and read the verse again. She wondered how much she trusted God and how much she depended on herself to make things happen in her life. She read on. The next phrase that stopped her was in verse 9: “With my soul I have desired You in the night.”
I don’t know if I desire You like that, God. I want to. I want to trust You every day for everything. I also want to… she read the phrase again…I want my soul to desire You, Father God. I want You in my whole life. Not just in my crazy days. I want You in my restless nights. I want You in my dreams.
Instead of feeling stronger and peaceful and more spiritual, Sierra felt bummed out. Not so much about Tawni. Tawni was her ongoing unsettled relationship. What Sierra felt yucky about tonight was the letter she had sent to Paul. Her words had been an impulsive reaction that showed her sassy side and would surely sever any potential relationship that might have been developed with Paul. And it was too late to do anything about it.
twelve
SIERRA REACHED into the bag and pulled out another Sun Chip. French onion. Her favorite. In the other hand she held a copy of the school newspaper. She was scanning the back page, reading the classifieds and contemplating the notice in the lower right-hand corner. “All personals and ads must be submitted by Friday at noon. Please bring them to the journalism office along with exact payment at two cents a word.”
Filtering out the lunchroom noise around her, Sierra pulled out the piece of paper and fiddled with a few words. She had thought Katie’s idea of advertising for a friend was silly at the time, but today, as she sat alone again at the indoor lunch table, the idea seemed to have some merit.
“Wanted,” she scribbled. “Someone to each lunch with.” She crossed it out and tried again. “Looking for a pal? I’ve been looking for you.” She skipped down a few lines and tried, “New girl in school seeking a way to break into one of your extremely tight cliques. Please advise.”
“That’s easy,” a male voice behind her said. Sierra snatched up her scratch paper and spun around to give whoever it was a dirty look.
“Whoa!” he said. “My advice is to lighten up.” It was Randy, the first student she had met at Royal Academy. He had shown her around the first day and more than once had tried to start up conversations with her. Sierra had usually answered w
ith one-syllable responses, shrugged her shoulders, and pulled away. Even though she had made a few tries here and there to talk to people in her classes, more often she had drawn back and kept to herself.
Sierra suddenly realized how she must look to the other students. It was as if her mean-o-meter, which clicked on every time she had to do the dishes, had also become fully activated at school. She had not made much effort to break into any of the circles of friends.
Randy sat down next to Sierra even though he hadn’t been invited. He gave his head a shake and a tilt, flipping back his straight blond hair. “You know what, Sierra Jensen? It’s time we had a talk.”
“Oh, really?” she said, her tone teasing.
“Really,” Randy said. “It’s time for you to get a life.”
She felt a twinge of anger surfacing.
Randy must have read it on her face because he leaned closer and broke into his crooked grin. Sierra noticed the stubble of a faint beard shading his jawline. “May I start over?” Randy asked.
Sierra nodded.
“Will you be my friend?” His eyes reflected his sincerity.
“Why? You already have plenty of friends.”
“See?” Randy slapped his hand on the table for emphasis. “That is the problem! Why won’t you let anyone in? Why are you so guarded all the time?”
“I don’t know,” Sierra said honestly. She felt unwanted tears building up in her eyes and quickly blinked and swallowed so they wouldn’t break free.
Randy kept looking at her; his open expression didn’t change. The bell rang right over their heads, and the lunchroom began to clear out, but Randy didn’t move. He sat there, looking at Sierra, waiting. She glanced away, feeling uncomfortable. Part of her wanted to open up to him and tell him that she didn’t feel accepted here, that she felt like an outsider. But deep down she knew that 90 percent of that was her fault. Maybe even more. She had withdrawn big-time.
Sierra Jensen Collection, Vol 1 Page 18