The Next To Last Mistake

by Jahn, Amalie

  Zander excuses himself to give the three of us a moment alone, leaving me between Alice and Leonetta searching for the right thing to say.

  “I’m sorry about your dad,” Leonetta says, squeezing my fingers. “He was a really nice guy.”

  I look at our hands woven together. The richness of her skin set against the paleness of mine. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. We are completely different and absolutely the same.

  “He was,” I say. “He really was.”

  Leonetta continues, clearing her throat uncertainly. “Alice told me y’all were moving back to Iowa, but I guess I didn’t figure it would be so soon. I thought maybe we’d have more time together.”

  I remember thinking the same thing about my dad, always assuming we’d have more time. It was the same with Zander back in the fall and with Alice and Leonetta now. But I guess that’s the thing about time—it’s tied to Fate, so you never know how much you’re gonna get.

  We better make the most of what we have while we have it.

  I turn to Alice, then to Leonetta, holding their gaze long enough for them to appreciate the importance of what I’m about to tell them. “I love you guys. You know that. I love you like I’ve never loved any other girlfriends because the truth is, before you, there weren’t any other girls I felt comfortable letting into my life. But the three of you… you taught me what it means to be a friend. A real friend. What it means to have someone else’s back even when life gets hard or messy.”

  “Like when triflin’ heifers try to sabotage you at every turn?” Leonetta adds.

  “Yes,” I say smiling, “especially then. But more than anything else you taught me people are just people. It doesn’t matter where we’re from or how we grew up because we all want the same things out of life—to be loved and respected and a part of something bigger than ourselves. I didn’t appreciate that before I got here. I didn’t appreciate that before I met you. I thought I was going to be so different from everyone that no one here would understand me or want to get to know me. But that wasn’t the case at all, because despite our differences, we turned out to have lots more in common than I ever imagined we could. A few connective threads bound us together. And that was all it took.”

  Alice leans into my shoulder, trembling against it. “We’re gonna miss you, Tess,” she breathes.

  “I’m gonna miss you, too,” I say past the lump in my throat. “I’m sorry I’m not gonna get a chance to harvest with you this fall.”

  “It’s okay,” she says. “I’ll send a cotton bouquet to your house. Something to remember me by.”

  “And maybe you can come back to visit. Or we can come visit you,” Leonetta adds, her voice wavering.

  “I’d like that,” I tell her, but even as the words escape my lips, I fear I may never see her again.

  A moment later my mom’s at the door announcing it’s time for us to leave. As we’re saying our final goodbyes, Leonetta takes a folded piece of paper from her back pocket and presses it into my hand. “Love ya, girl,” she says.

  We make it to a rest stop in Indiana before I find the courage to open the note.

  Eleven Reasons Why We’ll Always Be Best Friends

  1. Tell each other the truth, even when it’s hard to hear.

  2. Stick up for one another.

  3. Force each other to try new things, including Tabasco and chess.

  4. Loyal. Faithful. Reliable.

  5. Excuse each other’s weaknesses.

  6. Champion each other’s strengths.

  7. Try to imagine the world from the other’s point-of-view.

  8. Never judge one another.

  9. Challenge each other to be brave.

  10. Fight together against triflin’ heifers.

  11. Love each other just as we are.

  Chapter 32

  New Beginnings

  Friday, August 16

  Dad’s service is held at the funeral home across the street from the Nazarene church, and he’s buried at the cemetery off Second Street. The entire town shows up to pay respects to their fellow farmer turned fallen hero, and in the days that follow it seems as though I will never have a moment to myself again thanks to the seemingly endless procession of people delivering casseroles, fresh vegetables, and sympathy cards to our doorstep.

  Then, as quickly as they appeared, everyone slips quietly away, back into the blissful normalcy of their lives. Everyone, that is, except Zander.

  I’m waiting for him on the stoop—two rickety, wooden steps leading to the front door of our new house in town. It’s a rental on 4th Street, within walking distance of the elementary school and the old folk’s home. Growing up, I passed this nondescript, mid-century rancher a thousand times going into town, never imagining I would eventually come to call it home. Never knowing the circumstances that would take me out of Iowa and back again.

  Zander’s truck turns the corner at the end of the street and a sense of peace washes over me. We’ve barely spoken in the weeks since my return, but words have been unnecessary. Everything important between us is understood, as it always has been.

  He pulls up to the curb, and I don’t wait for him to get out to greet me. I’m already halfway across the front lawn before he can even shift the truck into park.

  “You wanna invite Ashley to come along?” he asks as I slide into the passenger’s seat.

  I shake my head. “Kassi’s here, spending the night. They found a bunch of old Reese Witherspoon movies on Netflix and are having a binge marathon.”

  “Sounds like fun,” he says sarcastically.

  “What, you don’t wanna watch Legally Blond with her for the thousandth time?”

  He lifts an eyebrow at me as we drive away from the house. “Did they find Election? Because she’s brilliant as Tracy Flick.”

  “Probably,” I tell him with a playful shove. “We can always come back here later on if you really want.”

  We head to the shaved ice stand in the center of town, which is nothing more than a dilapidated shed managed by a twelve-year-old kid with an ice crusher and a selection of artificial flavorings in various dayglow colors. Zander pays for two blue raspberries and, with spoons in hand, we set off to our final destination.

  I haven’t driven by our farm since we returned, and as we approach I can’t swallow down the lump forming in my throat. With the exception of a late model Toyota in the driveway and a pair of freshly painted white rockers on the porch, the house, the barn, and all the outbuildings look as though we never left. I catch myself scanning the horizon for Dad atop his tractor on his way in from the fields. Zander places a reassuring hand on my knee, jarring me from my introspection. I’ve been holding my breath, but this is the moment I’ve been waiting for. It’s time to finally exhale.

  “You okay?” he asks as we turn toward the Robert’s Farmstead Dairy sign, crunching up the gravel drive toward his house.

  I manage a weak smile in appreciation of his sensitivity and awareness of how difficult it is for me to be here. “Not now. But someday I will be.” It’s as close to the truth as I’m able to articulate given everything that’s transpired.

  We park beside his house, and he takes my hand as we cross to the fenced pasture on the east side of the property. The rough edges of his calluses press against my palm, and I recognize each of them as if they’re my own. Across the field, our oak stoically endures the heavy burden of its branches. I resist the urge to run to it.

  Until I notice her.

  “Sunshine,” I call into the breeze. “Sunshine, I’m home.”

  Cows, for all their endearing qualities, are not dogs. I don’t expect her to break into a full gallop and race across the field to greet me the way a Golden Retriever would. Still, my heart melts when her ears twitch at the sound of my voice.

  “Sunshine!” I call again, unable to hold back tears or the sudden rush of memories.

  She stops grazing, lifting her face from the grass, turning toward the fence I’m now scr
ambling over. Zander’s footsteps thud behind me as I race across the field. I slow as I approach, not wanting to frighten her, realizing she may have forgotten me in the many months we’ve been apart. I hold out my hand above her snout, feeling the warmth of her breath.

  “Sunshine?”

  She takes a step forward, pressing her nose into my palm the way she did the night I spent with her after the birth of her first calf. Tears flow freely as I press my face to hers, taking in her familiar, earthy smell while I scratch behind her ears.

  “He’s gone, girl,” I tell her, wrapping my arms around her neck. “And he’s not ever coming back.”

  *

  As the sun dips below the horizon, Sunshine follows us back to the barn. Zander slips quietly away to tend to the rest of the herd, leaving Sunshine and me together on the floor of the stable. She chews at her cud, blissfully unaware of how my world has repeatedly imploded over the course of the past year. Spared a certain death by Zander’s compassion, for her all that’s changed is the side of the fence she calls home. For me, however, nothing will ever be the same. Dusk has fallen and shadows overtake the barn as we lie together on the clean bed of straw. I’m propped against her back, laughing as I tell her about how Leonetta once admitted she’d never been close enough to a cow to hear it moo.

  “Can you imagine, Sunshine? Never hearing the sound of your voice?”

  I tell her what I learned from Alice about cotton, how the burrs cause your fingers to bleed. “Think about what those would do to your lips,” I say, knowing her proclivity for taste testing foliage she shouldn’t. “And Summer says she tried milking a cow once on a school trip in Georgia, but it sounds like she didn’t get any milk out since she was doing it all wrong. Maybe someday she can come here for a visit, and I can teach her how.”

  I have no idea how long we lie there together, me talking and her listening, but I’m certain it’s close to midnight when Zander’s flashlight sweeps into the barn.

  “Tess? You still in here?”

  “Yes,” I reply, stretching a kink from my back. “I’m over here with Sunshine.”

  A moment later he appears at the stall door wearing a white t-shirt and blue athletic shorts. I’d recognize his pajamas anywhere.

  “I guess it’s time to take me home,” I say, getting to my feet. I’m ashamed of my selfishness, keeping him up so late. “I didn’t realize how long I’ve been out here.”

  He shakes his head, stepping barefoot into the stall. There are two old pillows and a thin blanket under his arm. “You don’t have to go,” he says. “In fact, if you want, you could stay the night.” A look of yearning crosses his face as he continues to ramble. “I already called your mom to let her know you might stick around, so she didn’t worry, in case you wanted to stay. If not, I can take you home.”

  There’s so much I want to say to him, standing in front of me, silhouetted by strips of moonlight creeping through the rafters. I want to explain how much I’ve changed in the short time I’ve been gone. How much I learned about true friendship from a group of girls I would have never had the courage to say hello to, much less befriend, if I’d never moved away. I want to warn him I’m no longer afraid to let other people into my life, so I won’t be relying on him so much to fill that space anymore. I don’t need him quite the way I once did.

  Because now I imagine him occupying a different square on my chess board.

  I sit back down, sliding over to make room for him beside me on the straw, and he acknowledges my invitation to stay by flicking open the blanket. As he lowers himself beside me I say, “We never made it to the beach.”

  “I know,” he says.

  “I’ll repay you for the plane ticket.”

  He chuckles, wrapping the blanket around our shoulders so we’re encased in a cocoon of woven cotton. “I don’t care about the money,” he says. “And I don’t care if we never get to see the ocean.”

  I let my head fall to his shoulder and yawn, mindlessly rubbing Sunshine’s back with my foot. “We’ll get there someday.”

  He takes my hand, squeezing it with an urgent sort of desperation, and I can tell by the way his muscles tighten against mine he wants to say the words we’ve never spoken aloud to one another before.

  “Maybe we will and maybe we won’t, but I’m sorry you had to lose your father for me to get my wish.”

  My chest tightens at the mention of my dad. “What was your wish?” I ask.

  “This. This right here. To have you back on the farm with me.” He hesitates before continuing, rubbing his stubble against the back of his hand. “I missed you, Tess.”

  “I missed you, too,” I say, my heart rocketing around in my chest. “But…”

  I stop then because we’ve reached a pivotal moment in our friendship. He wants to tell me he loves me, and I wish I could do the easy thing and accept this path he’s paving before me. Accept his love and be the Tess he wants me to be. It would be easy. So very easy.

  But we’ve always been honest with each other. Always.

  And since one of the last things Dad told me was to follow my heart, I can’t lie to Zander now. I intend to keep my promise.

  “But what?” Zander says, turning my face so he can see me fully. Even in the darkness, there’s no mistaking the trepidation in his eyes.

  “But I’m afraid this place might not be enough for me anymore. Now that I’ve seen what else is out there, who else is out there, I want to go explore the world.”

  He flinches.

  “But I don’t want to go alone. The next time I leave, I want you to come with me,” I finish.

  The tension between us slips away, and he allows me to settle back into the hollow of his chest. “After graduation, we always planned on moving to Des Moines,” he says. “You wanna go somewhere else?”

  “I think so,” I say. “I mean, instead of staying here in Iowa, maybe we can go to college in Seattle or Baton Rouge or Poughkeepsie. All I know is there’s a lot more to life than farms and cows and tractors, and I don’t want to squander a single opportunity to learn everything there is to know about the world outside of Iowa. Experience new adventures. New traditions. New people.”

  “Poughkeepsie, huh?” he laughs. “Is there even a college there?”

  I elbow him in the ribs causing him to grunt. “I dunno. Maybe not in Poughkeepsie, but there’s a college out there somewhere for us in a place where we can learn more from the people than we can from the books.” I turn to him, our faces so close I can smell the toothpaste on his breath, and I love him and want him to be a part of the grand undertaking that’s going to be my life. “Eventually, once I’ve experienced the whole of the world, I might be ready to come back here and be a farm girl again. Because I love being a farm girl. I’m good at it.”

  “You’re great at it,” he agrees.

  “But until then, will you think about coming with me?”

  “Follow you around the country? Like, as your boyfriend?”

  My breath catches at the word. “Yes. Exactly like that.”

  His lips are on mine before I realize what’s happening, and as I quickly respond with my own, all I can think about is what took us so long to get here. “Yes,” he says finally, coming up for air. “I’ll go with you, wherever it is you wanna go.”

  We sit together in comfortable silence, and Sunshine’s switching tail grows still as she drifts off to sleep. For the first time in my life, I’m surprisingly okay with the great unknown of my future. I’m no longer afraid of not fitting in. Of changing circumstances. Of new people. Because as long as I keep an open mind and an open heart, I can handle whatever life throws my way.

  Zander stirs behind me, finding a comfortable position to settle in for the night. In the darkness, his voice drifts through the thick night air. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Hmm?” I murmur, adjusting my head on one of the pillows.

  “At your dad’s funeral, when you read everyone your list about why you love him, why wer
e there eleven reasons?”

  The nostalgia incited by his question makes me want to laugh and cry, remember and forget, leave and stay.

  “You mean instead of a round number like ten or twenty?”

  “I guess.”

  I tell him about Summer and Alice’s lists. About how the lists brought us together, taught us about one another, and gave us purpose.

  “Girls can be weird,” he says.

  “No doubt.”

  Crickets chirp noisily out in the fields, and in the barnyard, I hear the contented moo of a lone cow. Zander kicks me playfully with his foot.

  “Maybe someday I’ll make it onto one of those lists.”

  I smile, grinning to myself in the darkness. “Maybe you already have.”

  Eleven Reasons I Love My Dad

  1. Always believed in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself.

  2. Taught me by example to follow my heart.

  3. Introduced me to chess.

  4. Kept me safe.

  5. Encouraged me to embrace change even if I was scared.

  6. Showed me what kindness and acceptance look like.

  7. Never let me take the easy way out.

  8. Trusted me to do hard things.

  9. Allowed me to be myself.

  10. Let me know he was proud of me.

  11. Will always be my hero.

  A Note to Readers

  from Amalie Jahn

  “Every story is a love story –

  the only question is what kind of love.”

  When I began writing The Next to Last Mistake my intention was to pay tribute to one of the most powerful forms of love I’ve ever experienced—the serendipitous bond of friendship between a group of young women coming of age under a unique set of circumstances. Although Leonetta, Tess, Alice, and Summer are fictional characters, the friendships they portray are not.

  After relocating from Maryland to North Carolina in my early twenties, my husband’s unexpected deployment during our first months together at Ft. Bragg came as a devastating blow. At the same time, three coworkers at the elementary school where I taught found themselves similarly upended, and the four of us quickly became family. As one of the few white teachers in a predominantly black school, the type of interracial friendship we shared was the norm, but it’s not hyperbolic to say that the grace and wisdom afforded to me by the incredible black women at LBES forever changed my life.