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

by Robin Jones Gunn

  “I’ve enjoyed our little walk,” Granna Mae said. “Let’s do it again tomorrow.”

  “Okay,” Sierra said. She held Granna Mae’s elbow all the way up to her room, where the wearied woman sat down in her recliner.

  “Thank you, dear. That was lovely.”

  Sierra gave Granna Mae a kiss on the cheek and then hurried to her own bedroom. She was cold, too, so she changed into her favorite pair of jeans and an old fisherman’s knit sweater that used to be Wesley’s. Her toes were icy. Pulling on a pair of socks, she shoved her feet into her cowboy boots. Then, because she remembered her dad’s old saying about covering your head if you want to warm up fast, she reached for her new black hat with its rolled brim and popped it on her head. Her crazy blond curls poured out from under the hat like party streamers.

  Oh well, Sierra thought, catching a glimpse of herself in her mirror. What I look like won’t matter to the people at the one-hour photo shop.

  She hurried downstairs. Brutus’s persistent barking stopped her.

  “Okay, you big lug. I’m coming.” Sierra went out the back door to check on him. Just as Granna Mae had suggested, he had neither water nor food.

  “You poor baby,” Sierra said, turning on the garden hose and pulling it closer so he could lap up the water as she rinsed out his water dish and filled it. “Can you wait an hour for your dinner? I’ll be back then. If Gavin hasn’t fed you yet, I promise I will.”

  Brutus stuck out his long, moist tongue and panted appreciatively.

  “See you later, buddy.” Sierra returned the water hose to the side of the yard and headed for the back steps. She smiled to herself, thinking how fun it was going to be to send her picture to Paul and wondering what his letter would say when he wrote to thank her for it.

  She was on the second step when she heard her mother call her name. Sierra looked up, rosy-cheeked and smiling.

  Click. Mrs. Jensen stood on the landing with the camera.

  “I already have the pictures, Mom. There shouldn’t be any film left.”

  Just then the camera began to automatically rewind.

  “I guess there was one more,” her mom said.

  “I’m taking the film to the one-hour place. Is there anything you want me to pick up on the way home?”

  “No, but thanks for asking. Are these pictures for a school project or something? Why the rush?”

  “It’s for Paul. I just found out his birthday is December 10, and I have to mail the photo off to him by tomorrow if it’s going to arrive on time.”

  “I see,” Mrs. Jensen said. She looked a little confused. Or was it concerned?

  Sierra felt the need to explain. “He sent me a picture of himself for my birthday, remember? And now he’s asked if I’d send him a picture of me for his birthday.”

  “I see,” Mrs. Jensen said again.

  But when Sierra looked more closely at her mother, she was afraid her mother didn’t see at all. If her mom understood what it was like to have a blossoming relationship with the most amazing guy on the planet, then she would understand why this was all so important to Sierra. But her mom didn’t seem to understand.

  “I’ll be home in a little over an hour,” Sierra said, grabbing the camera and her backpack. “Love you. See you later. Bye-bye!” She flew out the front door and hopped into her car.

  Only one clerk was working at the photo lab when Sierra dropped off her film, but he guaranteed her it would be ready in an hour. Deciding to use the time to find a card, a frame, and maybe the ingredients for the tea party for Paul’s Christmas present, she hurried out of the shop. She could send the tea party for his birthday, instead, if she could find everything right away.

  Her shopping spree took more than an hour, but she managed to buy everything she was after. The only bad part was that it cost more than she had figured, and she only had enough money left for the pictures. The quarter of a tank of gas in her car would have to last until the next paycheck.

  “There you are. I have a question about one of your pictures,” the photo clerk said when Sierra entered the shop.

  “Yes?” She began to fan through the stack of pictures. One of them showed the tree in full length and only the very top of Sierra’s head. The next one was of her arm and her torso. Another was just her face, but it was fuzzy. Sierra groaned.

  I bet he’s going to ask how anyone could fail so miserably with an entire roll of film. Why did I ask Granna Mae to do this, especially when I wasn’t sure she was thinking clearly? He’s probably astounded I would admit to owning them.

  “We would like to buy one of your pictures,” the clerk said.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No. We occasionally buy some of the really good shots and put them up in the window to advertise.”

  “The really good shots?” Sierra repeated.

  “This one,” he said, pulling out a photo from the bottom of the stack.

  It was the one her mom had taken. Sierra had to agree. Everything was just right. The background was a smear of gold and orange from the trees; Sierra was smiling expectantly, and her cheeks were blushed, which made her eyes sparkle. The picture was from her chest up, and the dark felt hat with the rolled brim contrasted with the fire-colored leaves behind her. But the best part was her hair. The blond curls fell in a gleeful cascade, lit by the late-afternoon sun and giving off a golden shine that overshadowed the autumn leaves.

  “Do you have any more like this?” the clerk asked.

  “Nope. That was just the last frame, and it was sort of taken by accident.”

  “It’s a very good photo. May we buy it?”

  “You can buy a copy, but I need this original, and I’ll need the negative.”

  “Good deal,” he said. “If you’ll sign a release form, the company will mail you the check.”

  “Great. Thanks!”

  Sierra felt kind of special as she told her news at the dinner table that night. She didn’t show anyone the other pictures because she didn’t want Granna Mae to know what a goofball job she had done.

  “Did you find out how much they’re going to pay you?” Mrs. Jensen asked.

  “Only twenty dollars. Do you want me to split it with you since you were the photographer?”

  “No, of course not. You probably need it for Christmas gifts.”

  Later that night, in her room, Sierra realized how true her mom’s words were. She had depleted all her funds on the needlepoint kit, the film, the frame, and everything else for Paul. Now her money for gifts for her family was all gone. Sierra realized as she wrapped the picture that she didn’t even have enough money to pay for the postage to mail the birthday box.

  She didn’t let that worry her, though. At least she had pulled together exactly what she wanted to give Paul. The card alone had cost three dollars, but it was a gorgeous illustration of a guy and a girl walking hand-in-hand through a meadow of wildflowers. Inside it said, “Thinking of you on your birthday and sending more wishes than your arms can hold.” She liked that it was tender and a little bit mushy.

  The tea-party items were what had depleted her account. She had bought a lot of little goodies, especially candies and treats she didn’t remember being able to buy in England or Ireland when she was there almost a year ago. Paul was probably ready for some good ol’ American candy by now. She also bought a small cake that came wrapped for school lunches and a package of birthday candles. She included a can of mixed nuts; a party-favor bag of horn blowers, noisemakers, and birthday hats; and a plastic pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey game. Sierra also bought a black ceramic mug to go with a little bag of gourmet coffee. The coffee fit inside the mug, and she wrapped it with bubble packaging before putting it in the birthday-party care package.

  Several hours later, Sierra had prepared everything just the way she wanted it. She had debated a long time before she wrapped the framed picture and laid it carefully in the box. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the photo her mom had taken. It looked exactly like
Sierra. That was the problem. The girl in the green dress would have made much more of an impression. But she was out of money and had no time to find someone to take another roll of pictures.

  Sierra lined up all the poor shots Granna Mae had taken of her. She decided if she cut them up—an arm out of this one, a leg here, her head from this one, she could form a puzzle of herself. It made her wonder if Granna Mae viewed the world in that fragmented way some days. Sierra decided it might make an interesting art project to try to fit all the picture pieces together. Not tonight, though. The wrapping had taken a long time, and she still had homework to do.

  At ten minutes after midnight, when Sierra finished the letter that went with the surprise box, she was exhausted. Taping up the box and writing Paul’s address on the front seemed to take a lot of effort. No way could she do any homework tonight. She would have to finish it tomorrow before class somehow.

  The “somehow” didn’t happen. The day zoomed by, and Sierra had to take a zero for one of her English assignments. She was mad. Now she would have to do extra-credit work so her grade wouldn’t suffer. And the last thing she needed in her already busy schedule was more homework.

  Sierra had borrowed ten dollars from her mom that morning so she could mail the gift. She drove to the post office right after school and then went to Mama Bear’s Bakery to see if she could pick up some extra hours to earn more holiday money. Mrs. Kraus checked the schedule and offered Sierra two additional mornings during Christmas week, which Sierra agreed to take. It wouldn’t help her current financial crisis, but if she had to borrow money, she needed to earn more to pay it back.

  When she arrived at home, she immediately checked the mail. Nothing from Paul. She tried not to let it bother her. Still, a gloomy mist settled on her as she thought of how hard she had worked on his gift box the night before, even at the expense of taking a zero in English.

  Sierra knew it would be difficult for her to finish her homework again tonight because she was so far behind on the needlepoint for Paul that she needed to put in several hours on it. Tomorrow she worked; Friday was the big night at The Beet; Saturday she worked again; Sunday was church; and Sunday night she volunteered at the Highland House. That didn’t leave much time for putting tiny little stitches in a row.

  Sierra hurried up to her room and went right to work on the needlepoint. Her thoughts were of Paul, and nothing but Paul.

  As she carefully stitched the top flame on the mountain, she thought, All I can say is, he had better appreciate everything I’m doing for him!

  fourteen

  “OVER HERE!” Amy called to Sierra and Vicki. Amy waved her arm and indicated they should join her at the corner table in The Beet. Waves of loud music and louder voices crashed over Sierra and Vicki as they threaded their way through the crowd.

  “This place is packed!” Vicki exclaimed, as she pulled off her jacket and hung it over the back of the chair next to Amy. “I’ve never seen it so full.”

  “Yeah, well, guess who the main group is tonight?” Amy had to shout over the piped-in music. “The L’s.”

  “You’re kidding!” Vicki shouted back. “Here? At our little place?”

  Sierra had heard The L’s before and really liked the energetic sound of their trumpets and saxophones combined with guitars.

  “So, The LB’s have to open for The L’s?” Vicki asked.

  “Yes,” Amy said. “Only our guys aren’t The LB’s anymore. They thought it sounded too wannabe, performing just before The L’s and everything.”

  “What are they calling themselves?” Sierra asked. The loud music was beginning to hurt her ears.

  Amy shrugged. “I think they’re trying to decide right now.”

  Sierra settled into the straight-backed chair and moved closer to Amy. The table wobbled. Each of the chairs was a different style and painted a different color. Sierra liked the bold, crazy decor. A long, green canoe with a big hole in the bottom was suspended from the ceiling with a light hanging from the opening. A moose head hung over the stage area. The moose wore an oxygen mask on its long snout and a red flower over its right ear.

  The admission into The Beet was three dollars and a can of food, which was donated to the Salvation Army downtown. Sierra had a total of thirty-seven cents to her name and had to borrow the three dollars from Vicki to get in. Now a waitress dressed in green corduroy overalls stood by their table asking if they wanted to order something to drink. Sierra had to settle for water.

  She pulled her needlepoint from her backpack, thinking she could add a few stitches while they waited for Randy’s group to open the night’s performance.

  “What’s that?” Amy asked.

  “A gift I’m trying to finish for Christmas.”

  “Here?” Amy looked at Vicki and back at Sierra. “Hello, Sierra, this is not a quilting club. This is a nightclub. You’re supposed to talk, laugh, and have fun. Not sit and knit.”

  Sufficiently chided, Sierra returned the needlepoint to her backpack. “How can we talk? It’s so loud.”

  “This isn’t loud,” Amy said. “Wait until the bands come out.”

  Sierra suddenly felt like an old lady. Since when did noise like this bother her? And why had she thought it would be a good idea to bring along a stitchery project? If she wasn’t going to enter into the wacky atmosphere of this place, she might as well have stayed home.

  Vicki waved at some friends of hers, and Amy looked around. “You guys don’t see him, do you?”

  “Who? Nathan?” Sierra asked.

  “Of course Nathan. Tell me if you see him. I’ve been worrying about this all day. If he’s here, I’m warning you, it could get ugly.”

  “You wouldn’t do anything stupid,” Vicki said confidently. She pulled her long, sleek hair back and wrapped it up in a scrunchie. “You have us here to support you. Is anyone else hot, or is it me?”

  “It’s hot in here,” Sierra agreed.

  She was about to suggest they go outside to cool off when the canned music stopped and a guy in a black stovepipe hat stepped onto the stage. “Dig that crazy beat!” His voice ricocheted off the walls and was answered by a chorus of regulars at The Beet, who gave their “code” response of “Time to move your feet!” Sierra had never seen anything like it. It was fun—silly, good clean fun.

  “Let’s hear it for the Three-Two-Ones!”

  “The Three-Two-Ones?” Sierra and Vicki echoed.

  “They must have decided to try numbers instead of letters,” Amy suggested, yelling over the roar of the applause.

  Randy and the band hustled onto the stage, and the drummer immediately pounded out a steady rhythm. Sierra could tell Randy was nervous. Both sides of his mouth were turned up in a forced smile. When Randy normally smiled, it was a crooked half-grin. Tonight he looked a little like a kid at a spelling bee, standing tall and stiff with his feet pointed straight out and the guitar slung over his shoulder. He wore his black baseball cap with a ponytail attached to the back. At that moment, the moose in the oxygen mask over the stage appeared more natural than poor Randy.

  The first song was one of Sierra’s favorites. She thought the group played it flawlessly. The audience responded with wild applause, and Sierra began to breathe a little easier. At least the Three-Two-Ones were off to a good start, and they had the crowd with them. It would be hard not to have an enthusiastic response from this crowd, since everyone crammed into The Beet seemed to have come to have a good time.

  Randy appeared to relax a bit on the second song and was smiling at Sierra with his usual crooked grin by the end of the third song. Unfortunately, that song was also their last—and right when they were starting to crank.

  “They were great!” Vicki said excitedly. “Didn’t Randy look adorable?”

  “He looked nervous,” Sierra stated.

  “At first, but then he loosened up.”

  After a short break, The L’s were to come on. The server returned with the drinks, and Sierra gladly swigged her water.
The crowded room was heating up. She wished she had worn a T-shirt instead of a sweater.

  “Hey, Megan!” Vicki yelled at a girl across the room, who waved back.

  Just then Amy grabbed Sierra’s arm and pressed tightly. “There’s Adam,” Amy said. “He’s Nathan’s best friend. Is Nathan here? Have you seen him?”

  Sierra looked over her shoulder. “No. He might not be here.”

  “If Adam’s here, Nathan probably is. I don’t want to see him.”

  “It’s so crowded,” Sierra said. “Even if he’s here, you might not run into each other. I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you.”

  “Well, you’re not me,” Amy snapped. “I’m going to leave. I’m not up to this.”

  “But The L’s!” Sierra said.

  Amy grabbed her purse and swung it over her shoulder. “I’ll see you guys on Monday.” She began to edge her way through the crowd.

  Sierra and Vicki looked at each other.

  “What is her deal?” Vicki said. “I don’t get it.”

  “I’m going to go with her,” Sierra heard herself say. She hadn’t planned to make such a statement, but there it was. “Can you find a ride home?”

  Vicki smiled. “Sure. I’ll ask Randy.”

  Sierra grabbed her backpack and flashed a smile at Vicki, knowing that needing a ride from Randy was the best thing Vicki could think of happening to her tonight.

  “I’ll see you later,” Sierra said.

  Pushing her way through the thick crowd, Sierra tried to see which way Amy had gone. The L’s stepped onto the stage, and a lively blast of trumpet and sax opened the act. “If you give a man a fish …,” the lead singer began. Sierra wished she were staying. She liked this song; the music of the L’s always had such a cheering effect on her. Instead, she was following her erratic friend, who had given no indication she wanted company.

  Sierra stepped out into the cold night and spotted Amy along the side of the building. She was standing face-to-face with Nathan. In the glow of the large, red neon Beet sign over the entrance, Sierra could see the expression on Nathan’s face. He did not look happy.