A cloud of dust surrounded them as Randy’s dad yelled, “Safe! I saw it. She was safe!”
Coughing and shaking her now capless curls away from her face, Sierra tried to move. Randy regained his balance first and stood. He offered her a hand up. Sierra brushed herself off and coughed again, looking at her opponent. Dirt clung to his thick eyebrows like drops of rain on a screen.
“You’re out,” he said in a low, unemotional voice.
“What do you mean, I’m out?” Sierra shouted, “I’m safe, and you know it!”
Randy grinned and smugly held his catcher’s mitt in front of her. He opened it slowly and dramatically, his eyes glued on Sierra’s face as he prepared to show her the evidence. What Randy didn’t see was the way the ball fell out just as he opened the mitt.
“Ha!” Sierra said, pointing. “I’m safe! You have to actually catch the ball before you can get someone out in this game, and it appears you have an empty mitt, buddy.”
Randy looked at the mitt, looked at Sierra, and then gazed down at the ball in the dirt.
“I had it,” he protested.
“Doesn’t matter,” Sierra said. “You have to keep it if it’s going to count.”
The other players had joined them at home base, each one barking out opinions.
“I’m safe. We won. Deal with it, Jenkins!” Sierra teased. As she started to stand up a slice of pain seared her left leg. Rivulets of blood coursed from a long scrape that began above her knee and ran all the way down her leg.
Amy, arriving from center field, noticed it, too. She had Sierra’s runaway baseball cap in her hand and said, “That is so gross. How could you slide on your bare legs like that? You’d better clean that out, Sierra.”
“We won!” Sierra answered Amy triumphantly. “I told you we would win.”
“It was rigged,” Sierra’s brother Wesley said. He had the bat in one hand and a mitt in the other. Of all the Jensen kids, Wes most resembled their father, with his straight nose, wavy brown hair, and slim build. He especially looked like their dad around the eyes. When he smiled, he had the same pattern of laugh lines stretching like party streamers from the corners of his eyes. Only their father’s were deeper and longer.
“Guess your star pitcher was no match for me,” Sierra teased her brother.
“You were out, and you know it,” Wes said, snatching Sierra’s baseball cap from Amy’s hand and plopping it backward on Sierra’s head. Sierra’s six-year-old brother Gavin had joined the mob. When he saw Sierra with her cap on like Randy’s, he said, “Now you and Randy are twinners!”
To her surprise, Randy slipped his arm around her shoulder, pulled her close, and repeated. “That’s us. Twinners.”
Sierra heard a camera click and looked beyond Gavin and Wesley to see her brother Cody and his wife, Katrina, who had just arrived with their toddler son, Tyler.
“That’ll be one for the scrapbook,” Katrina said with a wink at Sierra.
The sharp pain in Sierra’s leg had suddenly become intense. Wiggling out of Randy’s one-armed hug, she said, “I’ll be back,” and with a slight hobble, she headed toward the restroom.
She heard Amy behind her saying, “Do you want me to bring over a Coke for you, Wes? I was going to get one for myself anyway.”
The thought had crossed Sierra’s mind more than once that Amy might have a crush on Wesley. Now she was sure of it. Serving men food seemed to be Amy’s way of reaching their hearts. It didn’t seem to matter to Amy that nearly seven years stretched between her age and Wes’s. Until a week and a half ago, all Amy could talk about was Drake, a guy from school. That was until Wes moved home for the summer from Corvallis, where he attended college. Now Amy was over all the time, and her dark Italian eyes followed Wes wherever he went.
Sierra didn’t know how she felt about Amy flirting with her oldest brother. She couldn’t blame Amy for being attracted to him. Besides his good looks, Wes was patient and kind, and he loved dogs, just as Amy did. Two nights ago, Wes had taken their bumbling St. Bernard, Brutus, for a walk, and Amy had volunteered to go with him. Sierra went along, feeling like a chaperone. Wes had been nice to Amy and talked to her about the things she was interested in. That’s the way he was. Sierra doubted if Amy understood that.
Inside the chilly park restroom, Sierra picked at the wedged brown paper towels in the steel holder until she freed a corner. The first one she pulled came out in shreds. The next towel cooperated. She wet it and began to clean the stinging scrape on her leg.
She certainly understood Amy’s attraction to an older guy. Sierra had been interested in an older guy named Paul, who had pretty much ruled her dream life for the last five months. Then Paul left for Scotland, and that was the end of that fantasy. Ever since Paul left, Randy had been, well…attentive. And she liked it.
The blood cleaned up quickly enough, revealing a small cut. It had stopped bleeding, but the cool water felt good as she held the paper towel to her leg.
So here she was. The summer stretched out before her, and her calendar was full of plans with her friends. The best part was, for the first time in her life, Sierra had a bedroom all to herself. Two days earlier, her only sister, Tawni, had taken off for Southern California, where she had big plans to break into modeling. Tawni had invited Sierra to make the two-day drive with her, but Sierra couldn’t arrange the time off from work. She had already asked Mrs. Kraus at Mama Bear’s Bakery for time off to go on a backpacking trip with her youth group at church. And then she had asked for a week off in August to travel to California for the wedding of her friends Doug and Tracy.
Tawni had understood. Their good-bye had been a tearful one, and Sierra wondered if she had made the right choice—backpacking with Randy and Amy over going with Tawni. Surprisingly enough, after sixteen years of living side by side as feuding sisters, she and Tawni were suddenly becoming friends.
Friends. Sierra liked that word. She had good friends, and she was looking forward to the fun they were going to have together this summer. Only one nagging question kept running around in the back of her mind. But she was ignoring it. For weeks she had been ignoring it.
After splashing some cool water on her face and neck, Sierra felt better. She turned her cap around, pulled her ponytail through the hole in the cap, and was ready to join the others. She stepped outside the dark, musty bathroom and into the bright afternoon sun.
Randy stood a few yards away, leaning against a tree. Obviously, he had been waiting for her. Randy smiled and walked toward her. The nagging question surfaced again: Do I know what I’m doing?
Again Sierra brushed the question away. Greeting Randy with a smile, she said, “No stitches required.”
“That’s good,” Randy said. He looked almost shy as he stepped forward and held out his hand.
Not sure what else to do, Sierra slipped her slightly damp hand into his, and they walked together across the lush grass toward the picnic tables where the others were now gathered. A summer breeze laced its way through the ancient cedars towering above them. It seemed to Sierra as if the trees were whispering to each other, “Look! Look! They’re holding hands. Isn’t that cute? Oh, he likes her. And she must like him, too!”
Inside Sierra’s heart, another voice filled her with doubt and anxiety, asking, Sierra, do you know what you’re doing?
JUST AS THEY APPROACHED the rest of the group at the picnic tables, Sierra conveniently let go of Randy’s hand to adjust her ponytail, a task that required both hands. She hoped no one had noticed them holding hands. They would all tease her, and Wesley would be the worst. She had never had a boyfriend before—not that Randy was one, she reminded herself—but to start acting like that now, in front of her whole family, would qualify her for endless teasing later.
“There you are,” Sierra’s mom said, looking up with a serving spoon in her hand. “We’re ready to eat. Howard? We’re all here. Would you pray for us?”
“Sure. Why don’t we all hold hands?”
Randy reached for Sierra’s hand as the group formed a circle. She had to admit that it felt nice and warm and comforting. Randy had rough hands from working as a gardener. He had built up a nice little business mowing lawns for twelve regular customers. In Portland this time of year, lawns needed mowing at least once a week, so his business was thriving.
Sierra’s brother Gavin took her other hand. As she lowered her head to pray, she noticed the pleased look on Amy’s face across the circle. She was, of course, holding hands with Wes.
When Dad closed in a group-echoed “Amen,” Gavin let go of Sierra’s hand and headed for the front of the food line. But Randy kept hold of her hand and gave it a squeeze.
Now Sierra definitely felt embarrassed. If she let go Randy would think she was being rude. If she kept holding hands, someone would notice. She wondered why Randy wasn’t embarrassed to have his parents see them holding hands like she was. With a halfhearted squeeze back, she let go and said, “Do you want me to get you something to drink?”
Oh no! I’m starting to sound like Amy! Sierra thought in horror.
“Sure,” Randy said. “Coke, if any is left. I’ll grab you some chicken.”
“And lots of my mom’s potato salad,” Sierra added, heading for the ice chest. Reaching her hand into the cold ice, Sierra couldn’t help but compare slipping her hand into Randy’s strong grip and dipping her hand into the ice chest. She had never noticed before how sensitive hands could be. All sorts of feelings at my fingertips, Sierra thought ruefully.
“I like Randy,” a voice beside her said softly. It was Sierra’s sister-in-law, Katrina. She wore her thin hair straight around her face. Katrina had a gentle, couldn’t-hurt-a-fly look. Sierra had always liked her but had never felt especially close to her. Perhaps it was because Sierra had been only twelve when Katrina married Cody. They had been high school sweethearts and married the week after they graduated. Sierra couldn’t imagine herself being ready to marry anyone a year from now.
“Are you two going out?” Katrina asked.
“Going out?” Sierra echoed.
Katrina smiled and divulged her secret. “I saw you holding hands. I thought maybe you were going together.”
“No, we’re buddies,” Sierra said calmly. “Just friends.”
She dredged up a can of ginger ale and wondered why no Cokes were left. “Do you know if any Cokes are in that other ice chest?”
“I don’t know,” Katrina said. “Are you trying to change the subject?”
Suddenly, Amy stood in front of them. “She always changes the subject when the topic is Randy.”
“I do not,” Sierra said, plunging her hand back into the ice chest and fishing for a Coke.
Amy gave Katrina a knowing look by raising her dark eyebrows and pulling up the corners of her mouth.
“He’s crazy about her, but she’s not willing to admit how totally crazy she is about him.”
“It’s not like that, Amy, and you know it.”
“The question is,” Katrina said, looking Sierra straight in the eyes, “do you like him?”
Sierra looked away. Though she liked the attention from Randy, she didn’t like Katrina’s interest in her love life.
“Sure. Everybody likes Randy. He’s a great guy. Oh, good. Here’s a Coke. Gotta go.”
She turned on her heels and delivered the icy soda to Randy. He was still waiting in line and hadn’t dished up any food for them yet. As usual, he’d let everyone in the world get in line ahead of him.
“You need to be more aggressive in this family,” Sierra told him. “Everybody else sure is. Start reaching, or you’ll go hungry.” She stretched her arm across the table and grabbed two paper plates. Within minutes the plates were loaded with food, and they were ready to chow down.
Sierra found two seats at the picnic table next to Granna Mae, who was sipping hot coffee from one of her favorite china cups. Granna Mae always drank from a china cup, and the family had gotten used to packing one of her cups and saucers whenever they picnicked.
Granna Mae returned the rose-painted cup to the matching saucer and said, “Hello, Paul. How are you today?”
Sierra bit the inside of her lip.
“I’m Randy. Paul’s the one who went to Scotland.”
Randy shot a sympathetic look at Sierra. He had been around her family enough to see Granna Mae when her mind slipped into a haze like this, and he knew it was best not to try to force the issue. “How’s the chicken?”
“Well, dear, I haven’t tried it yet. But I do like this fruit salad.” Granna Mae speared a chunk of watermelon and held it up. With a quizzical look on her soft face, she asked him, “Rather sweet for this time of year, don’t you think?”
“Very sweet,” Randy agreed. “Great watermelon.”
Wes stuck one of his long legs under the picnic table across from Sierra and plopped down his plate and said, “Have a little potato salad, why don’t you?” His plate held three times the amount of potato salad she had on hers.
“Look who’s talking!” she retorted.
“Hey, I’ve missed Mom’s home cooking.”
As Wes sat down, Amy slid into the place beside him.
“I thought my family was a bunch of big eaters,” Amy said, making herself comfortable. “But now I think you Jensens could outeat a Degrassi any day. At least this one could.” She turned toward Wes with a smile of admiration. Amy’s long dark hair hung down her face, complimenting her molasses eyes. She was a striking young woman.
“And who’s this?” Granna Mae asked.
“That’s Amy,” Sierra said, leaning close to her grandmother. “You remember my friend Amy. She was over a couple of nights ago for dinner.”
“Oh, yes. The pork chops. I told Emma not to use onions when she cooked them.” Granna Mae shook her head and took another bite of fruit salad. “She’s always using onions. Onions, onions on everything. Even on pork chops. Can you imagine?”
“Actually,” Amy said cautiously, “we had spaghetti the night I was over. And who’s Emma?”
Sierra leaned back and shook her head, signaling to Amy there was no point in trying to enter Granna Mae’s foggy world, nor would it help to try to coax Granna Mae back into theirs.
“So, Randy,” Wes said, a half-devoured drumstick in his hand, “are you going on this backpacking trip Sierra’s been talking about?”
“I plan to, if I can finish all my yards.”
“I’m going,” Amy said brightly. “Why don’t you come with us, Wes?”
“I’m not in high school anymore.”
“So? Come as a counselor. A trail guide. Assistant to the youth pastor. Why not have some fun this summer? After all, you don’t have a job yet.”
“Oh, thanks for the gentle reminder, ‘Mom’” Wes rolled his eyes.
“Come on, Sierra. Tell him it’ll be fun.”
“It’ll be fun,” Sierra said.
“Randy?” Amy asked, looking for more support.
“It’ll be fun, Wes,” Randy echoed.
“You two sound real convincing,” Wes noted.
“Speaking of fun,” Sierra said, “why don’t you come with us tonight, Amy? We’re serving dinner at the Highland House.”
“Thanks, but we’re having a big dinner for my dad tonight at home. And you changed the subject again, Sierra. Seems to be your specialty lately.”
One of the things Sierra liked about Amy was her persistence—as long as Amy was on a personal mission for some worthy cause, that is. But when Sierra was the object of Amy’s mission, she didn’t like it one bit.
Amy didn’t let up on Wes or on Sierra. On Monday afternoon, Amy came by the house on her way to work. Mrs. Jensen let her in and sent her upstairs to Sierra’s room.
It was a big house, built in 1915 by Granna Mae’s father, and Granna Mae had lived there ever since she was born. Sierra’s family had moved here from northern California in January to keep an eye on Granna Mae. And Sierra and Tawni were given the large bedroom at the
top of the stairs.
Amy tapped on the bedroom door and walked in. “Hi. I only have about twenty minutes before I have to be at my uncle’s restaurant, but I was dying to find out how things went with Randy last night at the Highland House.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sierra, come on! I saw you guys when you left the park—holding hands and looking so sweet and cute. He even opened the car door for you.”
“So?”
“So, it looks like the beginning of a summer romance to me. What happened after the Highland House? Did he kiss you?”
“Of course not! Amy, how many times do I have to tell you? We’re just friends.” Sierra stuck a pair of rolled-up socks into her dresser drawer and returned to the pile of clothes on her bed. “Nothing happened last night. We left the picnic, went to the Highland House, helped serve dinner, and cleaned up.”
“And nothing happened after that?”
“No. He drove me home, came inside, and watched TV for a while with my brothers. I came upstairs, wrote a letter to Christy, and went to bed.”
“I don’t believe you,” Amy said, plopping down on Tawni’s now vacant bed. “That isn’t the way to catch a boyfriend.”
“I’m not trying to catch a boyfriend.”
“Obviously,” Amy said dryly. She glanced around the room. “What’s different here? Something is different.”
“Tawni’s gone, and so is all her frilly stuff.”
“No, it’s not just that. This room is looking, well…uncluttered. I’ve never seen your side of the room cleaned up before. And look at you! If I’m not mistaken, you’re actually putting clothes away.”
“Yes, I am.” Sierra carried a bunch of clothes on hangers over to the closet and hung them in the empty space.
“What’s come over you? You feeling okay?
“I decided to clean my room, that’s all. It’s a big room, and it looks better picked up.”
“This is not like you.”
“Maybe it is,” Sierra said, sitting cross-legged on the bed next to Amy. “Maybe now that Tawni’s gone, my true self will sprout in all kinds of ways. Like maybe deep down I’m really a tidy person. But I never explored that because my whole life I had a neat freak sister for a roommate, and she kept things spotless enough for both of us. Now maybe I’m finding out who I really am. Do you know what I’m saying?”
Sierra Jensen Collection, Vol 2 Page 11