by Gayle Roper
“Cooking?”
“No.” Her heart clutched as she thought of the constant reminder that cooking for one was.
“Computers?”
“Double no. I feel about them the way I feel about cars. I want them to work but I have no desire to learn how or why.”
“Or you could get a job.”
Max blinked. That was unexpected, the shiv to the heart when you were looking for a handshake you could ignore. She studied Rachel. “What’s brought on the sudden need to give me advice?”
“Well.” Rachel hesitated as if she feared she’d pushed too far. “We all need a purpose. That’s what my mom says. With the kids and Buddy gone, I guess I’m worried you’ve lost your purpose.”
Max felt only slightly miffed, not really angry, which surprised her. Usually when people tried to tell her what to do, she got mad. The only times she’d ever gotten angry at Buddy were the times he pushed too hard.
She looked at Rachel, face intent as she concentrated on her driving. She was only saying these things because she cared. Max knew that. And she was only saying things Max had already been wrestling with.
“Maybe you’re my purpose,” Max said. “Maybe I get a lot of satisfaction from helping you.” Which was very true.
Rachel nodded. “But you won’t be helping me forever.”
True. She was pretty much launched and soon wouldn’t need Max anymore. Another death of a sort. Max took a deep breath and tried to keep her voice steady. “I’ll figure it out.”
“I know.”
The uncertainty in Rachel’s voice made Max wonder what she saw. A poor, flailing, drowning woman trying to reach a lifesaving ring to pull her from this sea of pain? How pathetic. She was a strong woman. Or she had been. How strange to realize her independence had been dependent on Buddy’s strong arms to catch her if she fell.
They pulled up in front of the classroom building. Rachel climbed out and grabbed her backpack. At the last moment she leaned back in the car. “I love you, Max.”
Max nodded as tears stung her eyes. “I know. I love you too.”
“And you don’t have to wait to see if I’ll be okay like you did Friday.” Rachel smiled and a cluster of her curls fell forward over her shoulder. She was so beautiful!
Max sat in the passenger seat long after Rachel disappeared into the building, staring out the windshield. She wasn’t waiting to see if Rachel came running out. She was waiting to see if she could identify a purpose, any purpose, in her life. Rachel’s questions had upset her, not in a bad way like hurting her feelings. They’d upset her because she had no answers to them. She suspected she could wait here all night and still not know what her purpose was these days.
For years people always said Buddy and Max or Max and Buddy. Who was she now that she was only Max? She’d been trying to figure it out for a year now, and she still didn’t know the answer.
All she knew was that Rachel’s mother was right. A person needed a purpose and she’d lost hers.
Last Sunday in church Mrs. Nelson, an elderly woman whose husband of almost sixty years trailed her everywhere, had approached from Max’s blind side. She appeared like a genie in the church aisle, her orange jacket clashing with the maroon carpeting and pew cushions.
“How are you doing, Max dear?” She peered at Max from rheumy eyes full of curiosity as opposed to concern.
“Okay, I guess.” She forced a smile. “It depends on the day.”
Mrs. Nelson patted her hand. “You just keep on keeping on. After all, all things work together for good, you know.” Then she and Mr. Nelson hobbled off to cheer up some other poor victim.
Recalling the incident, Max shook her head. Surely the old lady didn’t mean it was good that Buddy was gone, even if that’s the way it sounded.
Oh, Lord, it’s so not good!
All year Max had told the Lord exactly how she felt. He was God. He could take it. Besides while she was mad at Him on one hand, she also knew she wasn’t the only woman whose husband had died prematurely. It wasn’t like God singled her out and said, “Max, I have chosen you to go through the pain and agony of loss.” Well, He had, but not only her.
And would it have been any easier if Buddy died when he was Mr. Nelson’s age, and she had to face his loss in the middle of the many other losses that came with old age? At least she had her health, her mind, her home, her, well, her everything but Buddy. And a purpose.
With a great sigh she climbed out of the passenger seat, walked around to the other side of the car, and climbed behind the wheel. Time to go get her dinner. She planned to try the diner Rachel had told her about.
A flutter of panic chilled her. Had she remembered her Kindle? She checked her purse and felt a great flood of relief wash away the alarm. She had it. Somehow eating out alone was easier when she had something to read. She could fill her mind with a story rather than regret or discomfort at dining by herself in a public place.
Now if she could only figure out a purpose.
Chapter 12
The first thing Rachel saw when she walked in the classroom was Amy saving a seat for her, the same one as last week.
“You know,” Amy began before Rachel even sat, “I forgot to get your phone number last week. We could have done something over the weekend if I knew how to get ahold of you. I looked in the phone book, but there are lots of Beilers. And Bylers. I thought about calling them one by one, but then I decided that was pathetic. I could survive one weekend without my BFF. But I need your number, like, right now.”
Rachel blinked and got out her phone. Her number was probably in there somewhere, but she didn’t know where. It wasn’t as if she planned to call herself, and the people she knew wouldn’t be calling her either.
She stared at the phone with all its little apps staring back. It felt alien in her hand. She knew lots of her People used cell phones for business, but she didn’t. It wasn’t like she had to call her students.
“I know,” Amy said. “Who knows their own number, right? Here, I’ll figure it out. I’m good that way.”
Rachel felt great relief when Amy took her phone. She pushed a few buttons and then hit some numbers on her own phone. Then she pushed some numbers on Rachel’s phone.
“I just entered my number for you.”
She pushed some more buttons on Rachel’s phone and held it up facing herself. She pushed again, and a flash went off. More fiddling and she handed it back.
“My picture’s by my number. Now when I call, you’ll see my picture pop up and know it’s me.”
Her phone could show pictures of the person who called? It was a sad thing when your phone was smarter than you were.
“You only have one other person’s name in there.” There was genuine concern on Amy’s voice.
Obviously having only one name was suspect. “New,” she managed.
“Ah.” Amy seemed satisfied. She looked past Rachel’s shoulder. “Hey, Rob.”
He was every bit as tall and handsome as Rachel remembered. And Englisch in his jeans and T-shirt with a logo over the heart. When he took the empty seat next to Rachel, she was able to read Wounded Warriors.
As he pulled his tablet from its case, Amy leaned to Rachel and pointed at the phone. “Get his number,” she whispered. “He likes you. I know it.”
But he liked Warriors, and unless they were some team mascot, she didn’t. She was Amish. She believed in non-violence. Warriors were the opposite.
Dr. Dyson called out, “Good evening, people. Hope you had a good weekend and a productive one. I look forward to reading your papers.”
Again the class sped by. Again Rachel felt herself open up like a thirsty flower to a rain shower. She wished there was some way she could take more than one class, but there wasn’t. Amish school started next week, and she wouldn’t have the time.
She bit her lower lip. She was getting greedy.
When Dr. Dyson gave them a ten-minute break in the middle of class, Amy searched in her purse until
she pulled out a bedraggled and nearly empty roll of mints. She offered one to Rachel. “Do you have someone picking you up after class tonight?”
Rachel nodded as she took one. “But Friday I’ll be driving my own car.” My own car. It was still an unbelievable concept.
“That’s nice.”
That’s nice. That was all Amy had to say? Clearly she didn’t understand how momentous having her own car was, but then she had no context.
Amy held the mints out to Rob who took one; then she popped the last one in her mouth. “Why don’t you text whoever’s supposed to pick you up and tell her I’ll take you home again.”
Text her? “I’ll give her a call.”
“Whatever.”
As Rachel called Max, she was conscious of Rob watching her. “My neighbor,” she said as she waited for Max to answer. “Max.”
His eyes narrowed. “Max?”
“It’s really Maxine.”
“Ah.” And he smiled.
Rachel told herself she was smiling back because she was glad Max wouldn’t have to drive out again tonight. It had nothing to do with Rob wondering if Max was a man.
As soon as class was finished, Amy stood. “Come on, guys.” She fluffed her bangs. “Let’s hit the Star. I’m hungry.”
“Me too.” Rob flipped his pack strap over one shoulder. “If you didn’t suggest it, I was going to. I didn’t have time for dinner before I came.”
As she collected her things, Rachel felt as cozy inside as if she was sitting in front of her fireplace on a winter’s night. It was stupid, she knew, but it had been a long time since she had friends who wouldn’t talk husbands and babies. Not that there was anything wrong with talking husbands and babies, but she had neither. And there was more to life.
As they walked out of the room and down the stairs, some of the cozy feeling dissipated. She became aware that all around her the others in her class wore clothes in patterns and styles she didn’t understand. As far as she could tell, no one wore the same thing they’d worn Friday night.
No one except her. She looked down at her denim skirt and white blouse and knew she had to do something. In not wanting to stand out by wearing her real clothes, she was standing out because she didn’t know how to wear Englisch clothes.
All she wanted was to learn things. How did it get so complicated?
On Friday Amy had worn pants that looked too short to be regular pants and too long to be shorts but were apparently in style since a couple of the other girls had them on too. Some of the tourists who came to the produce stand also wore them. Amy’s were patterned with flowers, a circus of colors. Friday she wore a pretty pink top with them. Tonight her top was the green of a ripe lime and her pants were dark blue.
Even Rob had on something different than he wore the other night. At least tonight’s purple Warrior shirt was dry and wrinkle free, unlike Friday’s shirt.
“I’ll follow you again, Rob,” Amy said as they reached the cars. “I think I know where I’m going, but I’m not sure.”
He nodded and they fell into procession like last week.
“You should have gone with him,” Amy said as they waited at the first light.
“Why would I go with him? I thought we were BFFs.” She had to find out what that second F meant. Tomorrow night at Max’s she’d look it up on Google after she bought a book of Dr. Dyson’s on Amazon.
“If you need me to tell you why you should ride with a great guy like Rob, then don’t bother.” She sounded somewhat disgusted.
“Amy, I’m not looking for a guy.” Especially an Englisch one who advertises warriors. “I’m a widow. Another guy after my husband seems too strange.”
Amy stared at her. “You’re a widow? How can that be? You’re too young!”
Rachel shrugged. “It happens.”
“The war! Afghanistan or Iraq?”
“Neither, and the light’s green.”
Amy surged ahead to catch up with Rob. “So what happened?”
“He fell from a roof.”
“Ouch.”
Ouch indeed.
“How long were you married?”
“A year and a half.”
“That’s all? That bites.”
Rachel wasn’t familiar with the phrase, but it was obvious what Amy meant. “It does.”
“How long ago did he die?”
“Three years.”
Rachel braced herself to hear that three years was long enough and she should move on, and Rob would be the perfect guy to move on with.
How should she answer that? Three years was a long time, and she felt guilty when she realized a day—or even several days—passed without her thinking of Aaron. He didn’t deserve to be forgotten. But Rob being the perfect replacement? Absolutely not.
“I’m so sorry,” Amy finally said. “Is that the right thing to say? The only widows I know are old ladies.”
“I’m sorry is the best possible thing you could say.” Rachel was impressed. A smart, sensitive lady lived in that perky little person.
“On the cop shows they always say, ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ when they go to tell someone about that week’s murder.”
“That sounds good too.”
“What was his name?”
“Aaron.”
“Was he good looking? Nice? Did you love him?”
Only Amy. “He was very good looking. Very nice.”
“Good looking like Rob?” she asked as they pulled into the Star’s lot.
“No. Aaron was slighter and shorter. He had light brown hair, much lighter than Rob’s. He was strong though. He and his brothers built our house.”
“You have your own house? How cool is that!”
“It’s very cool,” Rachel agreed. “It meant I didn’t have to go home to live with my parents after Aaron died.”
“I’m never going home to my parents either.” And Amy slammed the car door behind her for emphasis.
After Patsy seated them, Amy looked at Rob. “Did you know Rachel’s a widow?”
Rob studied Rachel. “I’m so sorry. The war?”
Why did everyone assume the war? People died for all kinds of reasons. She shook her head. “Accident.”
They were all quiet for a minute as they considered Rachel’s loss. Then Amy pointed to Rob’s shirt logo. “Speaking of the war, do you work with Wounded Warriors?”
“No. It’s more I send them money to help the guys who need it and if you send enough, you get a shirt.”
Betts came to their table to take their beverage orders, and it was a few minutes before they were alone again. As usual Amy had something she wanted to know.
“Tell me about your families, both of you. You know mine was awful. I need to hear about good ones.”
Rob took a deep breath and looked off to the side as if he were uncomfortable. “Not much to tell. Mother, father, brother.”
“What’s your father do?”
“He was in investments, but he’s retired now.”
“Huh.” Amy looked surprised. “Were you a late-in-life kid or something that you have a father old enough to retire?”
Rob laughed. “Not especially. He was sort of forced to retire.”
Betts appeared at the table with a small tray holding their beverages. “Rob’s father is notorious.” She served the drinks and smiled at Rob. “But we all love this guy anyway. He’s as good as they come.”
Notorious? That was a strong word with negative connotations. What was Mr. Lanier known for? Rachel waited for Amy to pursue the comment, but she didn’t. Maybe she’d somehow missed it. Or maybe, as seemed more likely, she felt the discomfort pouring off Rob in waves and was being as discreet now as she’d been about Aaron.
Rachel looked at the tense Rob. “Tell us about your brother.” Hopefully he was a safe topic.
With the subject of his father dropped, he relaxed. “Four years younger than me. Nice guy. Charming. Still trying to find his way.”
“That’d make him
just about right for me,” Amy said. “Age and situation. Would I like him?”
Rob leaned back as Betts set his burger and sweet potato fries in front of him. “Amy, I have no idea. And I don’t set up blind dates.”
Amy looked at Rachel. “Isn’t that just like a guy? No imagination for things of the heart.”
“Not true,” Rob said. “I just play things of the heart close to the vest.” He grinned at Rachel. “Especially at first.”
Amy smirked as Rachel felt her face go hot. Again Amy showed discretion and let the topic drop. “It’s your turn, Rachel. Tell us about your family.”
Her face cooled as Rachel talked with affection about all the Millers. Both Amy and Rob laughed at the story of the chicken sacrifices and smiled at the story of Datt trying to get her to move back home. The biggest challenge was to keep the Amish aspect of her family quiet.
When she stopped long enough to drink the last of her soda, Amy sighed deeply.
“You are so lucky!”
Rachel nodded. “I know.”
“Do you think they’d adopt me?”
Rachel laughed as she imagined introducing Amy to her parents. Culture shock on both sides.
As she bit into her grilled cheese, she wondered again what she was doing endangering her life with her family. And how she could do anything else if she wanted to survive.
Chapter 13
Rachel stood just inside Max’s living room. “Max, I’m wearing the same thing I wore last week.”
Max nodded. “I wondered when you’d notice that. Or if you’d care.”
“It’s vain to care.”
“Not if you want to fit in.”
Rachel’s closet at home held dresses in varying colors, though the style was the same. For over a year after Aaron’s death she’d worn only black and had felt like she was abandoning him the first time she wore another color.
But this situation was different. Englisch styles and patterns were a world she didn’t understand, and delving into that confusing world felt strange, another not so tiny step away from the familiar and the correct.
“Time to go shopping?” Max smiled in anticipation.
There it was: that Englisch fascination with shopping. What was so wonderful about walking through malls and stores? All they did was make you greedy. The very idea of shopping for Englisch clothes made Rachel’s stomach drop.