by Nancy Moser
“What are you doing?”
Sanchez didn’t even look at Bailey as he answered. “Leaving.”
“You can’t leave.”
Sanchez pointed a whisk at Bailey. “Why did you take credit for my recipe?”
Sim pulled away and tried to sneak behind the ovens.
“Sim! Get over here!” Sim showed herself but kept her distance. “Feeling sick, my foot. This is your fault, isn’t it?”
Sanchez tossed the whisk into the box. “This is your fault, Bailey. You knew how important it was for me to create one great recipe. You knew how hard I’ve worked on it. Yet you took the credit.” He waved his hands to encompass the restaurant. “Isn’t this enough for you? Do you have to grab my dream too?”
“I didn’t grab—”
“You did.” Sanchez dipped his head. His voice softened. “You can’t have it all, Bailey. You need to leave some pride for the rest of us.”
“I didn’t give you credit because I didn’t know your story. The reviewer put me in a bind—”
“You didn’t know my story because you’ve never taken the time to listen to it.” He waved a hand at Sim. “This little lady took the time. She knows more than you do. Admit it, Bailey. You said it was yours because it made you feel important. You stole the glory for yourself. You smuggled my accomplishments as if they were your own.”
Bailey’s features paled. “Look, I’m sorry. I was wrong. I won’t do it again. Just don’t leave. We can work something out. I’ll hunt the guy down, I’ll tell him the whole truth.”
Sanchez shook his head. “It’s like my grandma used to say, ‘Consequences are inevitable.’ I can forgive you, Bailey. But the forgetting part…I don’t know. We’ll see.”
Bailey grabbed on to this bit of hope. “Then you’ll stay?”
“Stay? No. I quit. I won’t be at work tomorrow. As for the next day…?”
Sim glanced up at Bailey. He looked as if he was going to be sick. “But if you leave, how will we finish out the night? How will we open tomorrow? You’re the only one who knows how—”
Sanchez lifted the box and headed for the back door. “Consequences, Bailey. Without truth, there are consequences. Deal with it.”
Sim hugged the passenger door of Bailey’s car. The silence was stifling. If only Bailey would yell. She was used to yelling. She could hold her own against yelling. But silence? She could barely breathe under the weight of it.
She’d tried to skip out of Bon Vivant, but every time she headed for the exit, Bailey was there, pulling her back. Being in his presence was the ultimate torture.
When they got to his house, Bailey didn’t wait for her to get out of the car, or even to come up the walk. He let the kitchen door slam, and Sim heard his keys tossed on the counter.
Her legs tensed. Now was her chance. He was out of sight. She could run away.
And yet, suddenly she didn’t want to run. She was tired of running. Would running make the past go away? As Sanchez had said, “Consequences are inevitable.”
She surprised herself by slipping inside and closing the door. She leaned against it to wait for the storm that would surely come.
Bailey busied himself with a pile of notes on the kitchen desk. He did not look up. “You’ve been trying to escape all night, so what I am about to say should please you. You can stay here tonight, but in the morning, you’re gone. I’ll call Blanche tomorrow and see if she’ll take you in, recliner or no recliner. The great philanthropic experiment is over.”
Tears were imminent, but Sim would not let them come. “I’m really sorry—”
Bailey’s nostrils flared. He kept his distance but pointed an accusing finger. “You had no right to tell Sanchez what I said to the reviewer. You’re a kid and I’m an adult. You have no idea what grief your interference has caused me. I spent months trying to find a chef as good as Sanchez. Do you know how hard it is to get a decent chef to move to a small town like Steadfast? I’m paying him a big-city salary to live in a small town. It’s killing me. But I figured it would be worth it because he’s good. Very good.”
“Then why didn’t you give him credit for the dessert?”
Bailey’s jaw tightened. “I’m not going to go over this again. It would have worked out. I’d have made sure Sanchez got his due. I had to make an instantaneous decision. And I made it. You can’t just butt into people’s lives.”
Sim’s voice was small. “You’re butting into mine.”
“I’m trying to help you!”
“And I was trying to help you!”
Bailey shook his head, his breathing labored. “Get out of my sight.”
Sim’s feet were lead. Each step dipped into her reservoir of energy. As she reached the landing, Bailey added, “Are you sure your aunt and uncle didn’t kick you out?”
She wanted to die. Even climbing onto the bed was too much work. She sank to the floor like a discarded sack of potatoes. She wiped her nose on her sleeve and pushed the tears into her hair. How could everything go so wrong? Just a few hours earlier, she’d been defending Bailey’s business to Jered and defending Jered’s dream to his father. She’d even secretly enjoyed bussing tables, helping Bailey out. Why had she told Sanchez what she’d overheard? If only she hadn’t heard it in the first place. If only she’d given Bailey her loyalty instead of betraying him. If only she’d kept her mouth shut.
I’ve blown it.
With those three words, she knew what she had to do.
As soon as he heard his father’s angry voice, Jered turned down the volume on his computer video game. Finally, someone else is in trouble. He stopped playing until Sim’s bedroom door clicked shut and, soon after, his father’s slammed. Ha! One orphan girl bites the dust.
He was just about to turn the volume back up when he heard soft footsteps in the hall. He recognized the sound of sneaking when he heard it. He cracked his door in time to see Sim turn the corner on the landing. She was carrying her backpack. He waited for the victory sound of the front door closing.
Click.
He smiled. Things were looking up.
Sim climbed into the loft of the barn and settled by the window. She picked up a piece of straw and broke it in pieces.
She wasn’t sure why she’d returned here. All logic said she should have kept going, out of Steadfast, on to another town where they didn’t know her. Judge her. Hate her.
See what happens when you try to belong? Maybe it was time to face the fact she never would. Not in Steadfast, not with her aunt and uncle, not anywhere.
She fell onto her side, cushioning her head with an arm. She closed her eyes. A tear snuck through and skimmed her cheek. If only Claire were there to say just the right thing.
But what would Claire say?
You’re not alone, Sim.
She knew it was true. Deep down, she knew it. She felt it.
Please, God. I’m so sorry. I can’t handle things anymore.
She and God had been in opposite corners. But after last night’s time with Him, and with her simple prayer just said, it was as if a bell sounded and God crossed the space between them—not with fists raised, but with arms outstretched. Sim rose to meet Him, then hesitated.
With all she’d done, could she really move forward…toward Him? It wasn’t just the Sanchez incident that weighed on her heart. It was every questionable thing she’d done since her parents died—since before her parents died. Her clothes, her hair, her pierced nose, her drinking, her I-can-do-it attitude. Her rudeness toward Claire. Throwing apples at Harold. Her sins—her motives—it all sat on her like a huge boulder. The only way to breathe, to move, was to surrender, right there, in front of God.
She moaned. I can’t believe I’m doing this…but I…I need You, God.
As soon as the words took flight, Sim was free. She took a step forward. God made up the distance and pulled her into His everlasting arms.
She’d never be lonely again.
Eighteen
Consider it pure
joy, my brothers, whenever
you face trials of many kinds,
because you know that the testing of your faith
develops perseverance.
JAMES 1:2-3
JERED WOKE UP TO THE BLARE of one of his dad’s oppressive Wagnerian symphonies. He snuck to the top of the stairs and peeked down. His dad sat in the living room, his hands clasped in his lap, his eyes straight ahead. He looked at his watch.
Was he waiting for Sim?
It would be a long wait. Suddenly his dad looked toward the stairs. “Sim?” He had to raise his voice to be heard above the music.
Jered came down. “No, father dearest, it’s not your precious Sim. It’s just me, your detested son.”
His dad turned back around, crossing his arms. “Don’t get cocky. I’m not in the mood.”
“By the way, if you’re waiting for Sim, she’s gone.”
In a single movement, his father pushed himself out of the chair and shut the music off The amputated notes dissipated in the silence. “What did you say?”
Jered scratched his chest and headed for the kitchen. “She’s gone. It’s just you and—”
His father grabbed his arm. “Why didn’t you stop her?”
Jered shook the touch away. “I say good riddance.”
His dad took a step back. “Don’t be petulant.”
“Since when did we start taking in strays?”
“It’s too early in the morning for sarcasm, Jered. Get to the point.”
“It’s never too early for sarcasm, and who’s being sarcastic?” He moved into the kitchen, yanked open the refrigerator door, and took a swig of milk from the carton. “You’re getting bent out of shape over a stupid girl.”
“I was responsible for that stupid girl. Merry was depending—”
Aha. “So that’s it. You aren’t worried about Sim as much as impressing a woman who doesn’t even know you exist.” He grabbed an apple and polished it against his shirt. “Merry doesn’t like you, you know.”
“Hold it right there. You have no right—”
“Everyone can see it except you. She thinks you’re sickening.”
His father perched his fingers on his forehead and took a breath. “I don’t need this. When did Sim leave?”
“Middle of the night.”
His dad’seyes widened. “Where did she go? She’s just a kid.”
“So am I.”
His dad’s eyebrows touched as if Jered had spoken the words in Russian. “You’re nearly grown. Sim’s just starting out.”
Jered withdrew the unbitten apple from his mouth. “And she’s full of potential, right? She’s not a lost cause like I am. You bet it’s different. You care about her.”
His dad took a step forward. “I didn’t mean—”
Jered raised a hand, fending him off. If he were a good father, he’d still come hug me. He’d force me to hug him. “Of course you meant it.”
“Jered—”
“I know I’m a disappointment. The dream of a music career isn’t on the same level as the dream of running a restaurant, right? What I want isn’t important.”
“You’re being childish again.”
Jered inhaled a huge gulp of air and, with one swift movement, heaved the apple against the kitchen wall. It splattered like shrapnel, the pulp slipping to the floor with sickening whispers of shlup.
Jered’s chest heaved, his face hot. “My dreams are childish?”
His dad looked toward the door. “I didn’t—”
“You did!” Jered took a step forward, and his dad raised a hand to fend off a blow. Jered stepped back, going cold. He thought I was going to hit him!
His dad’s hand dropped and his face mirrored his own realization of the awful truth.
So this is how it is…
Jered swept the Monopoly game to the floor.
They stood in silence a moment, studying the mess.
“That was totally unnecessary, Jered.”
“Actually, it was extremely necessary if it got your attention. And it’s symbolic. Trouble-child Jered is being replaced, swiped off the family roles, just like the game.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” His dad blinked and seemed to change gears as he shifted from one foot to the other. “You stay out too late, you sleep too late, you—”
“Maybe everything’s too late.”
His father stood behind a chair. “Listen, Jered, I’d love to have you—
“Disappear off the face of the earth.”
“What?”
Jered paced in front of the counter. The feeling consuming him was like the disturbing exhilaration he’d experienced when he’d driven the car off the road. A frightening mix of anticipation and dread, power and weakness, confidence and doubt. “You’d be thrilled if I was gone instead of Sim. Maybe she’s the brave one here. Leaving this loser house. Finding a better life anywhere else.” He stopped and faced his father. “Admit it. You’d like me out of here so the path would be clear to train some other, more worthy successor.”
“Jered—”
“You’ve hated me ever since I got old enough to use my own brain.”
“When was that?”
Jered felt the slap of the words.
“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…it just slipped—”
Jered raised his chin, forcing it not to quiver. “The truth slipped out, didn’t it, Dad? You think more of a stranger than you do about me.
“That’s not true.”
“You hate me.”
“That’s not true either. I hate your attitude. Your choices.”
“You’ve forced me into those choices.”
“That’s a lie.” His dad’s hands began to shake. He clasped them together. “I’ve done nothing—”
Jered gave a harsh laugh. “Exactly. You’ve done nothing to make me think I was worth anything. For years you’ve been telling me what I don’t do right. Ignoring what I want. Making fun of my dream.”
His father laughed this time. “You bet I make fun of it. You say you want to be a famous singer, yet I never hear you sing.”
“I don’t sing in front of you because you don’t want to hear me sing.”
He hesitated. “If I felt you really had any chance, I’d be right behind—”
The fight spilled out of Jered and pain rushed in to replace it. “You don’t think I have a chance? At all?”
His dad rubbed a hand across his shirt. “Jered, face it. The odds are against you. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“But I am hurt! I’m hurting now.”
His dad winced. “If I let you try the singing thing—”
“Let me?” Jered resumed his pacing. “So I don’t know where to start with this music business. So what? I deserve a chance. Everyone deserves a chance.”
“Then look into it. Do some research. Show some…gumption.”
Jered stopped pacing. “You’re always throwing my faults in my face.”
“You’re the one who flaunts your faults. You seem proud of your disrespect, your lack of responsibility, your loser friends, your drinking. And lately—”
“Did you ever consider I drink because I don’t get any respect and because you don’t trust me to assume any real responsibility for my life?”
His father hesitated. “You haven’t shown much interest in the restaurant.”
“That’s because I don’t care about the restaurant!”
“You don’t care—?”
“You are deaf, dumb, and blind! You don’t know a thing about me. You think because I’m your son I want to do what you do, be what you are.”
“But you just complained I was showing Sim—”
Jered flicked a tear from his cheek as if it were acid. “I complained because you show more interest in Sim than you do in your own son.”
“Jered—”
“No!” He turned toward the kitchen door, grabbing the knob like a falling man needing a handhold. He flexed his fingers but held on. W
hen he spoke again, he found his voice surprisingly soft. “I want you to love me.”
“I do—”
Jered whipped around. “Don’t lie to me!”
His dad sucked in a breath and put a hand to his chest. His eyes widened in shock. In a single moment of clarity Jered knew what was happening, but all he had time to say was “No!”
His father collapsed to the floor.
Sim shot to a sitting position.
Go to Bailey’s!
She held her breath. She looked out the window of the loft to see who spoke to her. She was alone. It was morning. A few cars drove by on their way to work. Sim shook her head, discounting—
Go. To. Bailey’s.
She didn’t take more time to think. She ignored the ladder and jumped down from the loft, running as fast as she could.
Sim pounded on Bailey’s front door.
No answer.
She cupped her hand to the window. Bailey wasn’t in the living room or the dining room. She looked beyond to the kitch—
Is that a pair of legs?
She tried the door. It was locked. She ran around back. The kitchen door was open. Bailey was in a heap on the floor, Monopoly pieces scattered around him.
Sim grabbed the phone and called 911.
Jered hid behind the neighbor’s garage and watched as the ambulance took his father away, Sim riding in the back. Like the daughter.
Yet if it weren’t for Sim…
His father was alive but the heart attack was Jered’s fault.If his father woke up, he would remember their argument and any love he had for his son would die.
In spite of everything, Jered cared about his dad. He even loved him. I’m so sorry, Dad, so sor—
An arrow flew through his organs. He clutched his middle and moaned.
He forgot about love—and the pain went away.
Nineteen
“Therefore my people will know my name; therefore in that day they will know that it is I who foretold it. Yes, it is I.”
ISAIAH 52:6
MERRY WAS EAGER TO GET HOME. In so many ways it had been a wasted trip. Not that her mother hadn’t had an operation, but the needle biopsy had been far less involved than she’d described. Outpatient. Thirty minutes, tops.