Sierra Jensen Collection, Vol 3 Sierra Jensen Collection, Vol 3

by Robin Jones Gunn

  Tara smiled. “Thanks.”

  Jen offered a reluctant smile. “It’s tough to be mad at a guy who’s trying so hard to be nice.” She reached over and rubbed his fuzzy scalp. “We’ll see you later, Peach Head.”

  The girls turned to go and Sierra called out after them, “ ’Bye. See you at the game.” Then turning back to Randy she raised an eyebrow and said, “Peach Head?”

  Randy shrugged. “I’ve heard worse today.”

  “Do you think anyone got the point? Didn’t most people agree with you?”

  “Yeah, most people agreed.”

  “So you think it’s possible for our school to have some kind of unity?”

  “I don’t know,” Randy said. “I hope so.”

  They walked together toward the parking lot, and Randy asked, “Is Vicki going to be at your house or meet us at the restaurant or what?”

  “She’s coming to my house. Remember? We’ll see you there around five-thirty.”

  “Five-thirty,” Randy repeated. “See you.”

  Sierra drove home thinking about how easy it had been to talk to Tara and Jen once Randy had broken the ice. And she never would have guessed that she and Vicki would have become such good friends. It made Sierra realize that if she started to take the initiative to make friends, this could be her best school year yet. And how fitting it would be, as Randy had said, to make their senior year one of unity in which the students worked together as a team. Maybe not everyone would want to make the effort, but Sierra knew she could. And she should. There was no reason she couldn’t go out of her way to try to promote unity at school.

  When she pulled into the driveway at home, her father was sitting on the swing on the front porch with Granna Mae beside him. It was a cool, pleasant October afternoon. A thin gray layer of clouds covered the sky, and a thick patchwork comforter covered Granna Mae’s lap. Gavin and Dillon sat on an old rug on the porch playing a board game. Brutus, their big dog who thought he was part of the family, was tethered to the front pillar by a long rope. When he saw Sierra, he bounded toward her, barking and slobbering excitedly.

  “Calm down, Brutus,” Sierra said, slipping her hands behind his ears and roughing up his fur. “It’s only me.”

  She held him by the collar and escorted him up the steps to the gathering on the porch. “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Not much,” Mr. Jensen said.

  “Where’s Mom?”

  “She took the afternoon off,” Gavin said. “We get pizza for dinner.”

  “She’s doing some shopping,” Mr. Jensen said, adding to Gavin’s interpretation of the agreement Sierra had heard her parents make. One afternoon a week her dad would come home at noon so her mom could do whatever she wanted or needed to and not have to worry about Granna Mae. It meant her dad had to bring work home or work Saturday morning, but he had said that wouldn’t be a problem.

  “I’m supposed to remind you to check the oil in my car this weekend,” Sierra said.

  “That’s right. Thanks for reminding me.”

  “And I’m going out to dinner with Vicki and Randy, and then we’re going to the football game. I don’t think I’ll be home until after ten-thirty. Is that okay?”

  “Call if you’re going to be any later,” her dad said. “Your curfew is eleven.”

  “I know,” Sierra said. She reached over and squeezed Granna Mae’s hand. It felt warm. “How was your day, Granna Mae?”

  She smiled at Sierra as if she didn’t know who Sierra was or what she had just said. It tugged at Sierra’s heart, but she forced herself to smile back at her grandmother. “I love you,” she said and kissed the top of Granna Mae’s soft, wrinkled hand.

  “I love you, too,” Granna Mae responded.

  “I’m going to go change for tonight. I sure hope it doesn’t rain.” Sierra said.

  “It’s not supposed to,” Mr. Jensen said. “The weather report was cloudy, but no rain until Sunday.”

  Sierra stepped over Gavin’s outstretched legs and opened the front door. As soon as she went inside, the phone rang. She took off her backpack and picked up the remote phone in the kitchen. It was Tawni. The two of them chatted away like friends for ten minutes. Sierra told her about Randy’s bold move, and Tawni told Sierra about her western-wear photo shoot.

  “If I ever hear another country-western song, I think I’ll scream. They played that music all day.”

  Sierra laughed. “I told you they would.”

  She had been sitting at the kitchen counter but decided to take the phone into the study and turn on the computer to see if an e-mail from Paul might be waiting for her.

  “All I can say is, the money is very good, and I’m thankful for the work.”

  “Did you hear back from Lina yet?” Sierra asked.

  Tawni went quiet for a moment and then said, “No. And I think it’s okay. Not that I’ve given up hope, but I think the important thing was that I got to say what I wanted to, which was thank you. If I were truly selfless, I wouldn’t require a reply. But I’m not. Maybe someday she’ll respond.”

  “I’m sure it must have been a shock to her,” Sierra said, turning on the computer. “Give it some time. Maybe she needs a few weeks or something to think all this through.”

  “I know,” Tawni said. “I’ve thought of that. Believe me, I’ve thought of every possible angle. I don’t have a problem waiting.”

  “Did you want to talk to Dad? Mom’s not here.”

  “No, just tell them hi. I was doing my weekly check-in with the family.”

  “Do you miss us?” Sierra asked, grinning, knowing how her blunt questions always drove her sister crazy.

  Tawni laughed. It was a cover-up kind of laugh. Then she said, “All right. Yes, I miss you guys. There. Now you know. Are you shocked?”

  “No,” Sierra said. “We miss you, too. I miss you.”

  A clumsy void of words followed their mutual confessions.

  Tawni was the first to speak. “Well, I better hang up before I spend all my photo shoot money on this call.”

  “Say hi to Jeremy for me.”

  “I will. He’s coming over tonight, and we’re going out to dinner. I’m treating him to steak, now that I’m a rich woman.”

  “Sounds fun,” Sierra said. “Talk to you later. ’Bye.”

  Tawni hung up, and Sierra scanned the computer screen, which showed all the retrieved e-mails. There were only two. Both for her dad from work. Nothing from Paul.

  Sierra closed down the system and was about to leave the room when she decided to spend a few minutes in her favorite chair. It seemed a welcoming spot in which to feel sorry for herself. She noticed a picture on the seat of the chair. Looking closer, she realized it was a postcard. The picture was of a grand castle on a hill at sunrise. The sky behind the gray stone building was aqua blue with streaks of pink and mauve.

  Sierra wondered who would send her dad such a postcard. Turning it over, she saw her name written in bold, black letters.

  Sierra,

  Here’s a pix of our famous Edinburgh Castle. I hope you can come to Scotland and see it one day. I’ll write more this weekend but wanted to send this off to say thanks for the letter. It made me smile. Also, I don’t think I’d like us to start e-mailing each other. There’s something strong and enduring about old-fashioned letter writing. I like waiting for your letters.

  Time is our friend, Sierra. Let’s enjoy the leisurely pace.

  Paul

  Sierra smiled as she turned the postcard over and studied the romantic shot of the castle. Then she read the card again. It was a good one. Not mushy. Not aloof. Just right. He had been thinking of her. He said he would write more later. And he said time was their friend. She liked that. Paul was right. E-mail did bring with it an urgency and immediacy. Why rush?

  She closed her eyes and held the postcard to her nose and lips as if she could draw in the fragrance of Paul’s Scotland through the picture. She knew it was silly.

  Sierra o
pened her eyes and looked around. How did the card end up in the chair? She could guess. Her dad, who knew her heart, must have been the one to pick up the mail this afternoon. He must have known that she would come here, to her favorite chair, and would find the postcard like a hidden treasure. The thought made her smile.

  She rose and headed upstairs to put on warmer clothes and to tuck her postcard under her pillow. That was the only way to properly dream upon a castle. And that’s where Edinburgh Castle belonged. In the “there” and “later.”

  Vicki would be here in a few minutes, and tonight Sierra would enjoy a fun evening with her friends of the “here” and “now.” And the best part was, good ol’ “Peach Head” Randy was buying.

  one

  “SOMEBODY ANSWER THE DOORBELL,” Sierra’s mom called from the kitchen.

  Sierra paused at the top of the stairs with an envelope in her hand. She had just arrived home from school and had found the eagerly awaited letter from Paul. Wanting to hide in her bedroom and soak up every word, she had taken the stairs two at a time. But she found her room invaded by Uncle Matthew; his wife, Abby; and their three young boys. The Jensen household was expecting a record-setting thirty-one family members for Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow.

  “Howard, can you answer the door?” Mrs. Jensen called to her husband, since no one had responded to her first plea.

  Sierra wedged her slim frame into the corner alcove at the top of the stairs, out of view from the entryway, and carefully opened the envelope postmarked “Edinburgh.” She unfolded the onionskin paper. Paul had written with bold, black letters at the top of the letter:

  When it rains it seems the world

  Takes on a somber hue

  My soul is hushed

  I lift my pen

  And write a song for You.

  Sierra drew in a quick breath and read Paul’s poem one more time. Closing her eyes, lost in a dream, she tilted her head back and hit the wall a little too hard. The glass globe on the wall’s antique light fixture tilted off its perch and tumbled to the floor before Sierra realized what had happened. It hit the rug with a dull thump and split in two. Sierra carefully picked up the pieces and tried to fit them back into the light fixture’s base. But the pieces wouldn’t stay in place.

  Downstairs the voices of Aunt Emma, Uncle Jack, and their twin daughters, Amanda and Kayla, filled the entryway. Howard Jensen’s booming “Hello! Come in, come in!” welcomed them.

  Above the rush of excited voices, Sierra’s mom called from the kitchen, “Sierra, I need a hand in here.”

  “Coming.” Sierra quickly folded the letter into the envelope and tucked it in the front pouch pocket of her sweatshirt. I’ll be back, she silently vowed to the letter, giving it a pat. Just as soon as I can.

  Then, taking the broken globe with her, Sierra hurried downstairs to greet her relatives. She handed her dad the two pieces of glass. “Upstairs, first light on the right. Sorry. I bumped the wall.”

  “Put it over there on the entry table.” Worry lines creased Howard Jensen’s forehead. “I’ll see to it after I get the door back on the china cabinet.”

  Sierra followed the caravan of company into the kitchen. Sierra’s mother, in the thick of her pumpkin pie preparations, greeted them, promising hugs as soon as she placed the pies in the oven.

  “Sierra, open the oven door for me, will you?” her mom asked. She was trying to sound nice even though Sierra knew she was frazzled.

  “You were supposed to wait and let us help you with that, Sharon.” Emma stepped over and brushed a kiss across Sierra’s mom’s cheek. “Thanks for doing all this and putting up with the craziness. It means a lot to have so many family members together again.”

  “We’re glad everyone could make it,” Sharon Jensen said graciously. “It’ll be fun.”

  Sierra suppressed a grin at the word “fun.” She knew this kind of pressure was not her mom’s idea of a great time.

  “Where’s Granna Mae?” Emma asked about Sierra’s grandmother.

  “Upstairs, I think.” Sierra’s mom carefully balanced a pumpkin pie in each hand as Sierra held open the wobbly oven door. She knew if she let go of the door that it would tilt to the side. Her dad had worked on it last week, but it was crooked again and needed to be held steady.

  Sierra was about to close the mouth of the ancient dragon oven when her mom said, “Wait. Two more pies.”

  “Sierra,” her dad called over his shoulder, “I’m going to set up Jack and Emma here in the study. Could you run upstairs and let Granna Mae know they’re here?”

  The last thing Sierra wanted was to start running errands for everyone. She had a letter waiting for her. A wonderful, romantic letter warming her pocket.

  “Wait a second,” her mom said. “Before you run upstairs, Sierra, could you check on the boys for me? I think they’re still in the backyard, but I haven’t heard or seen them for the past half-hour. And don’t let Brutus in the house.”

  Sierra sighed and reluctantly headed for the back door. A swirl of huge, amber-colored leaves had collected in front of the doorway. They were sent flying down the stairs and back into the yard when she opened the screen door.

  “Dillon! Gavin!” Sierra called. “Where are you guys?”

  The only response was the bellowing “Woof!” of Brutus, their lovable “lug of a fur ball,” as Sierra’s older brother Wesley called the dog. Sierra was glad Wes was coming home from college for Thanksgiving. This was his senior year, and even though Corvallis was only two hours away, Wes had hardly been home all fall. Of Sierra’s four brothers, she was closest to Wesley. Something inside her suspected he had a girlfriend. He had told their dad that he might bring a guest home with him, but Mr. Jensen hadn’t thought to ask if the guest was male or female.

  Wes had volunteered to pick up Tawni, Sierra’s only sister, at the airport on his way home. The two of them and the possible mysterious guest were expected to arrive after nine that night.

  “Sorry, Brutus,” Sierra said, stuffing her chilled hands into the pouch pocket of her sweatshirt. The letter warmed her fingers when she touched it. “You can’t come in for the next few days, buddy. Get used to that doghouse.”

  The chain on his collar kept Brutus from venturing beyond the lawn’s edge. He barked loudly, as if complaining about his confinement.

  “I know. It’s rough on all of us, Brutus. You should see where I have to sleep. Tawni and I get the floor in Granna Mae’s room, along with Nicole, Aunt Frieda, and Molly. It’s a tight squeeze. And Dad says Aunt Frieda snores.”

  Brutus responded with what Sierra supposed was a sympathetic bark. A shiver ran through her. She could feel the chilling raindrops hit her long blond hair. Oregon’s moisture made her hair curlier than it was naturally, which frustrated her. Only the weight of her hair kept her from being a total fuzz head.

  Most of her friends had long, sleek hair, but they were continually telling Sierra they loved her wild, free-flowing curls, which matched her personality. Sierra would trade hair with any of them.

  She pulled the hood of her oversized sweatshirt over her head. “You’d better stay out of the wet, Brutus. Where are Gavin and Dillon; do you know?”

  Then she noticed that the light was on in her dad’s workshop. The small structure was originally a playhouse complete with shutters and gingerbread trim along the roof. But Howard Jensen had turned it into a haven for his power tools and workbench.

  A person approaching the dollhouse would expect to find little girls in big hats playing tea party at a small, lace-covered table, but instead the doors opened to a pint-sized hardware store with pegboard walls and fluorescent overhead lighting.

  Sierra pushed Brutus away with her leg before he could jump up on her as she sprinted through the rain.

  She approached the workshop and called out, “Dillon, Gavin, are you guys in here?”

  Opening the door, she found her two elementary-school-age brothers busily moving equipment around in the tight quarters
. A stack of blankets was on the workbench.

  “What are you guys doing? Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

  “We’re going to sleep out here.”

  “Says who?” Sierra asked, her hand automatically snapping to her hip as she took on her motherly voice.

  “We don’t want to sleep in Mom and Dad’s room with those other boys.”

  “You mean Jared, Bob, and Marshall? They’re your cousins. What’s wrong with them? You guys are all about the same age. You’ll have a good time.”

  Dillon and Gavin looked at each other skeptically.

  Sierra realized the five young boy cousins hadn’t been around each other since they were babies. They didn’t have a relationship even though they were related. Sierra knew what that was like. She had felt the same way toward Nicole and Molly five years ago, when they had been together for Christmas. The three preteen cousins had a rocky beginning with a misunderstanding over who would sleep in which bed, but they had ended up friends before the holiday was over. And that time they all had beds to sleep in, not an allotted corner of floor space like this year. Sierra understood how her brothers could feel outnumbered by three boys they didn’t know and yet were expected to treat nicely.

  “Why don’t you guys wait until after you’ve spent some time with them? You might like them. Besides, it’s going to get cold out here.”

  “We don’t care. We brought all the blankets.”

  “Yeah, and I’m sure Mom’s not going to be crazy about that. She’ll need blankets for all the people sleeping in the house. Come on. Let’s go in. Mom and Dad are counting on us to be hospitable.”

  “What’s that mean?” Gavin asked.

  “It means you be nice. Come on. And bring the blankets with you.”

  Sierra opened the door and motioned for the boys to dash through the rain back into the house. They took their time, lugging the blankets and looking like refugees leaving their homeland.

  “Come on,” Sierra said, jogging ahead of them to get out of the persistent rain. “You’re getting the blankets wet.”