by Amy Clipston
I couldn’t help but snort. “Really? You don’t love the attention?”
Shaking her head, she gave me a dark look. “Believe it or not, I don’t want it all the time.”
“And thanks for trying to bring the conversation to me,” I said. “I appreciate it.”
She nodded. “I hate how my mom and Grandma are so focused on me. They act like you don’t exist sometimes.”
“You noticed that?”
She snorted this time. “How could I not notice?” She looked serious again. “I saw you coming out of the garage. You miss him.”
I sighed. “Is it that obvious?”
“I think he misses you too. He’s hardly spoken to his friends. Everyone’s noticed the change in him since you guys stopped talking.”
My heart thumped.
“I don’t know what happened, and you don’t have to tell me, but I think you two need to talk.”
“I’ve tried.” My voice quavered and I cleared my throat. “He doesn’t open up to me.”
She pushed a lock of golden hair behind her ear. “Don’t give up on him.” She paused. “I think you two make a great couple, and you should try again.”
I stared at her, shocked by her words.
“Hey, is that your mom’s Bible?” she asked.
I grabbed it from my nightstand and held it up.
“Wow. I can’t imagine how it must feel to have that.” She paused for a second. “Emily, don’t take this the wrong way, but I figured out awhile back that I can’t take things on alone. I have to give my burdens to God. Don’t try to do it all alone, okay?” She stood and started for the door. Before she opened it, she looked back at me. “Happy Birthday, cuz.”
I smiled. “Thanks.”
“Good night,” she said, and made her way out of the room. After she closed the door, I pulled out my journal and began to write:
Thanksgiving & My Birthday
Dear Mom,
To say that I miss you today would be an understatement. You always made my birthday the most special day of the year for me. But today was far from special.
I thought going into Zander’s garage and working on his car alone would help, but the comfort it brought me was fleeting. I did manage to send up a short prayer tonight, however, and it felt good. I wasn’t able to tell God everything in my heart, but it was a start. Maybe I’ll figure this out, but it won’t be easy without your help.
I wish you were here to tell me that everything is going to be all right. Truthfully, I’m not sure if it ever will be.
I wish I knew how to make things right with Zander. Whitney and Chelsea both told me that I should talk to him because they think he cares for me. He texted me to wish me a happy birthday, which shows he thought of me, but how do I know he cares if he won’t talk to me? Okay, he speaks to me occasionally, but he only says “hello” and shares meaningless pleasantries. We don’t really talk anymore, not about things that matter.
I feel like I’m an empty shell of the person I was before you died, Mom, stuck on some road I can’t seem to find my way off of. I don’t know how I’ll ever feel whole again. If you can see this, Mom, would you somehow send me a sign? Can you tell me how to feel like myself again? Can you help me get Zander back?
More importantly, can you tell me how to reconnect with you and with God?
Can you show me how to pray?
With a lump in my throat, I closed my journal and curled up in bed. As I closed my eyes, I wondered if Zander had been partially right — I was completely miserable.
chapter eighteen
The heavy bass of alternative rock music thumped and vibrated off the walls as I walked with Chelsea into the Castleton Community Activity Room. The large banquet room was decorated with pink and white balloons emblazoned with “Happy 17th, Whitney” on each table, pink and white streamers, four long tables covered in food, and bowls of pink and white M&M’S also exclaiming “Happy Birthday, Whitney.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Chelsea said, glancing around the decorated room. “This is for a birthday party? Are you sure it’s not a graduation party or a wedding?”
“I hope I’m living in Europe or at least on the other side of the country when she gets married,” I commented.
“I don’t blame you,” Chelsea said.
“This is so over the top,” I said. “I got an ice cream cake on my birthday. Why does she need all this?”
“My guess would be this is as much for your aunt’s social standing as Whitney’s.” Chelsea nodded toward Darlene, who stood laughing with a group of ladies as well dressed as she was.
“At least we could dress casually for this party. I don’t know if I could take this in a frilly dress and heels,” I responded.
“Maybe they’re saving the full cotillion for her eighteenth birthday,” Chelsea said with a laugh.
We moved to the drink table and helped ourselves to cups of pink punch. I sipped the overly sweet drink and scanned the crowd of faces. I recognized some of the kids from school. The adults were mostly strangers, except for a few familiar faces from church. “I don’t see Chad. I guess they’re not still friends after the breakup, huh?”
“I heard they had a big fight last week in the hallway after school,” Chelsea said. “Apparently she saw him kissing Monica Barnes.”
“Yikes,” I said, grimacing. “So he didn’t need less of a distraction from his school work. He just didn’t want Whitney’s distraction.” I wondered why Whitney hadn’t shared that with me. Maybe she was too embarrassed, which I understood since I’d been too embarrassed to share the details of my argument with Zander. I felt bad that I hadn’t been there for her, though.
Chelsea’s eyes were trained on something across the room. Following her stare, I spotted Zander talking with a group of jock-looking types. His eyes met mine and a tentative smile turned up the corners of his mouth.
“Have you talked to him?” Chelsea asked.
I gripped my cup. “Sorta. He said hi to me yesterday and asked how my birthday was. It was awkward at best.”
“But it was something,” Chelsea said.
“Yeah.” I frowned. It may have been something, but it certainly wasn’t enough. The pain of losing his friendship was nearly unbearable some days and it kept me awake every night.
Chelsea tapped my arm. “I’ve got to go to the little girl’s room. I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.” I stood by the punch table and scanned the crowd, continuing to search for familiar faces.
The music stopped abruptly and Chuck tapped on a microphone by the DJ. “Good evening.” Chuck’s voice boomed over the speakers. “Thank you all for coming to our very special party tonight. We’re thankful that you’ve taken time out of your busy schedule to celebrate our little girl’s day.”
I refrained from rolling my eyes. Despite what Whitney told me, this is completely insane.
He motioned to Whitney, who sidled up to him with her mother and Logan in tow. “Tonight we celebrate Whitney’s journey into another stage of her life,” he continued. “She’s a young woman who very soon will be graduating and leaving for college. We’re so proud of all she’s accomplished, making honor roll again this semester.”
Everyone clapped and I reluctantly joined in without much enthusiasm.
“To celebrate this, Whitney,” he said, looking at her, “your mother and I have a very special gift for you.”
Darlene presented Whitney with a small box. Whitney opened it and squealed, holding up a key on a gold keychain.
“It’s a key to a brand-new Jeep Compass,” Chuck said. “It’s parked outside.” He pointed toward the exit doors.
I shook my head, trying not to get sick.
“Oh my gosh!” Whitney yelled into the microphone. “Thank you so much, Daddy!” She hugged her dad.
Darlene stepped over to the microphone and her eyes searched the crowd. “Where’s Emily?” she asked.
“Oh no,” I groaned.
Darl
ene located me by the punch table and pointed. “My niece, Emily, is standing over there. Dear, we’re going to let you have Whitney’s old Honda. I know you’d love to fix it up. That would be fun for you.”
Everyone laughed, and I considered hiding under the punch table. Zander caught my eye and shot me a sympathetic look.
Can this get any more humiliating? I covered my face with both hands as my cheeks burned. When I uncovered my eyes, I found a group of kids from school smirking at me and whispering, and I bolted for the nearest exit.
“Thank you everyone for coming,” Whitney said into the microphone, her voice rushed. “Please enjoy some food.”
I hurried out the door, marching out into the rain.
“Emily!” Whitney called. “Emily! Wait!”
With no destination in mind, I ignored her calls and kept going, stalking through the neighborhood, cutting through yards, and loping past Whitney’s and Zander’s houses.
I couldn’t stop the anger and humiliation from swirling through me. Darlene had embarrassed me in front of nearly our whole school and church. But that was only the tip of the iceberg.
The cold December rain soaked through my sweatshirt and caused my curls to fall past my shoulders. I reached up to push my hair back and a lock of hair was stuck, twisted around my mother’s chain.
My eyes fell on the cross, twinkling in the streetlights, and I sighed. Where was God when I needed him most? Why didn’t I feel him in my life through this whole mess? It wasn’t as if I hadn’t been trying. I tried to pray over and over again, and I’d even had a small breakthrough in Zander’s garage last week. I’d been reading my mother’s Bible just about every night, but I still didn’t feel God in my life. What was I doing wrong?
I needed someone to talk to. Someone objective who would listen without judgment and give advice without censoring himself or herself. I suddenly remembered the business card that Jenna had given me the day I’d met her. I yanked it from my wallet and dialed her number on my cell phone.
“Hello?” she asked.
“Hi, Jenna,” I said. “This is Emily Curtis.” “Emily!” Jenna said. “How are you?”
“Well,” I began, my voice trembling. “I was wondering if we could chat. You once told me that we could talk anytime.”
“Of course,” she said. “Would you like to meet somewhere?”
“That would be great,” I said, dodging a puddle on the sidewalk.
“I’m actually driving by the Cameronville Coffee House,” she said. “Would that work for you?”
“Yes,” I said. “I can be there in a few minutes.” “Great,” she said. “See you soon.”
I reached the entrance to the neighborhood and crossed to a strip mall. As I approached the Cameronville Coffee House, I spotted Jenna walking in the parking lot.
“Emily!” she called, approaching me. “You’re soaked! I would’ve picked you up.”
“It’s okay,” I said, falling in step with her. “I was just trying to clear my head. Thanks for meeting me.”
“I’m happy you called.” Taking my arm, she led me into the coffee shop. “Let’s get you out of the rain.”
The warm aroma of coffee filled my senses.
“What would you like?” she asked, standing in line in front of the counter.
“How about a hot chocolate?” I asked.
“That sounds good. Are you hungry?”
“No, thanks.” I was certain my stomach couldn’t handle any food; it was still sour from Darlene’s big, thoughtless mouth.
“You go find us a seat,” she said, motioning toward the tables.
I weaved through the sea of tables occupied by couples, teenagers, and a few people sipping lattes while surfing the Internet on laptops.
I found a small table back in the corner and sat, staring out the window at the pouring rain. I couldn’t stop my brain from replaying the scene of Whitney’s gift, Darlene’s comments, and then Zander staring at me from across the room. I wished I could turn off the hurt and humiliation that was surging through me.
Jenna came to the table and handed me a warm cup. “You look like you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders,” she said, sinking into the seat across from me.
Feeling a lump swelling in my throat, I took a long drink.
Her expression was full of concern; her eyes were gentle. “Take your time,” she said softly.
I stared down at my mother’s cross, wondering where I’d gone wrong. “I feel so lost and alone,” I said, my eyes still focused on the necklace.
“Why do you feel that way?” she asked.
“Everything is so easy for other kids.”
“What’s easier for them than for you?”
I looked up at her. “Everything — making friends, talking to God.”
“I’ve seen you talk with plenty of kids in youth group and J2A.” She sipped her coffee. “I can tell by how they interact with you that they like you. What makes you think they’re not really your friends?”
I shrugged. “Sometimes I don’t know what to say. I feel awkward.”
“Why do you feel that way?”
I ran my fingers over my warm cup and inhaled the scent of the hot chocolate. “Most seventeen-year-old girls don’t like working on cars like I do. Some may know how to check their oil, but that’s about it.”
She gave a knowing smile. “Did you know that Mindy Levine loves to play chess and Cassie Porter likes to build model trains?”
I shook my head. “I didn’t know that.”
“You’re not the only teenage girl with an unusual hobby, but you won’t find those things out until you talk to people and get to know them.” She sipped more coffee.
I studied my cross, debating how much to share.
“What did you mean about having a hard time talking to God?” she asked.
“I think he’s forgotten me,” I whispered, tears filling my eyes. “When he took my mother, he abandoned me.”
Jenna took my hand in hers. “God would never forget or abandon you.”
“Then maybe I forgot how to talk to him, because I can’t form the words.” I wiped my eyes as the tears flowed. “I found my mother’s Bible, and she highlighted verses and left me a letter, telling me to pray. She was one of the strongest Christians I’ve ever known, and that Bible was so … helpful to her. I’ve tried so hard to follow her advice, and I’ve read that Bible until my eyes can’t focus, but I can’t form the words. Last week I finally was able to say something to him, but it wasn’t much at all. It’s like I’ve lost my voice when it comes to God, and I don’t know what to do about it. It’s so easy for others, like Zander and Whitney, but not me.”
“God is always with you, Emily.” She patted my hand. “In Isaiah forty-three, God tells us, ‘When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.’”
“But I don’t feel him,” I whispered. “I read the Bible and I wear my mother’s cross, but I don’t feel his presence in my life like I did before she died.”
“Maybe God’s been there all along,” she said. “You just haven’t realized it.”
I nodded, letting her words soak through me. Was she right? Had I missed God all together?
Jenna made small talk about school until we finished our drinks. Throughout our conversation, I ignored the chiming of my phone, which rang several times.
Jenna stood and pulled on her coat. “Would you like a ride home?”
“No, thank you,” I said, tossing our cups into the trash can. “I can run pretty fast.”
Jenna smiled and rubbed my arm. “I’m glad you called me, Emily. Give me a call in a few days and let me know how you’re doing.”
“Thank you,” I said as we headed for the door. “It was good talking to you.”
I headed back through the rain toward the neighborhood in an attempt to clear
my head. Trudging up the driveway, I spotted Whitney’s new orange Jeep Compass and I rolled my eyes. I wondered where my hand-me-down car had wound up. Whitney had told me last week that she was having issues with the Accord, and from the way she described it, the Honda belonged in a transmission shop. Even after the car was fixed, I couldn’t even imagine driving it to school and facing all of the people who’d heard Darlene’s little speech about passing it down to me.
I faced the Stewart’s driveway and was surprised to see that Zander’s Jeep wasn’t parked there. Glancing back toward Whitney’s house, I found the lights blazing in the kitchen. Although the rain had increased, I wasn’t ready to go into the house and face Darlene.
I craved some solace to calm my pounding heart.
Without much thought, I crossed to Zander’s garage, punched in the code, and entered through the bay door. After flipping on the light and closing the door, I walked to the front of the car. I craned my neck and glanced under the hood of the Dodge and found that the gas lines weren’t hooked up. I smiled. It was the perfect project for clearing my head.
Rolling up my sleeves, I set to hook the line from the gas tank to the fuel pump and then connected the fuel pump to the carburetor. While I worked, Jenna’s words echoed through my mind, and suddenly I felt the urge to pray.
“God,” I began out loud, “you might not be listening to me, but if you are, I’m here. I’ve been here, waiting to feel your presence in my life again. There’s so much I don’t understand, and it hurts, God. It hurts so much.” Tears spilled from my eyes, and I wiped them with my arm.
Leaning over the engine, I continued attaching the lines. I thought I heard a noise on the other side of the car, but I kept working and praying, certain I’d imagined it.
“God,” I continued, “Jenna says you’ve been here all along, and I’ve probably been shutting you out. But I feel so alone. I’ve lost everyone who mattered. First you took my mom, and I still don’t understand why. Why did you let cancer steal her from Dad and me?” My tears began to flow in full force, but I kept talking, ignoring the quaver in my thick voice. “She was everything to us, God. Then you sent me Zander, and I thought things would be better. But I messed that up. I need him, God. I need your help to get his friendship back, God. Without him, I feel lost.”