Sierra Jensen Collection, Vol 2

by Robin Jones Gunn

  “I thought you might find this a little more appealing than the family van,” her dad said as he started up the engine. “Ah! Purrs like a kitten.” He pulled out of the driveway and headed down their quiet street.

  This part of Portland was known for its rows of restored Victorian homes. Sierra’s great-grandfather had built the one they lived in, and many of the original owners or their families still resided along this tree-lined street.

  “So, where are we going?” Sierra asked.

  “I thought I’d keep it a surprise,” her dad said.

  He headed toward the Burnside Bridge that would take them over the Willamette River and into downtown Portland.

  Sierra glanced at the corsage box in her lap and noticed how short her skirt was. She tried to tug it down a bit. Funny, it hadn’t seemed short when she bought it or when she put it on this evening. But now, sitting next to her dad, Sierra wished she had changed into the long gauze skirt.

  “How are things going at the Highland House?” her dad asked.

  “Great. Did I tell you about the macaroni necklaces?”

  “No. I noticed the kitchen was full of bowls of dyed macaroni last week. What did you do with them?”

  “I had no idea the kids at the homeless shelter would get so into making necklaces. I took all the macaroni and let them string their own bracelets and necklaces, and they went crazy! Some of them did a really good job. I told the older girls I’d bring beads for them next week.”

  “Your mom and I are proud of the way you’ve been helping out there this summer and keeping up with your job at Mama Bear’s. You’ve been busy.”

  “It’s been a good summer,” Sierra said, slowly removing the corsage from the box in her lap. The pink rosebuds trembled as she lifted them to her nose. There was only a slight fragrance. The mist clinging to the roses and feathery fern leaves dotted the end of her nose with moisture.

  “And the summer isn’t over yet,” Sierra said, dabbing her nose with the back of her hand. “I’m really looking forward to going to California next week.”

  Maybe I can carry the flowers into the restaurant without anyone seeing them and keep them beside my plate, she thought. It would sure make Dad happy.

  The car came to a stop, and Sierra looked up. Oh no! she inwardly groaned.

  “Here we are,” her dad said.

  Not here! Please, Dad! Of all the restaurants in Portland, why did you have to pick this one?

  “I’VE HEARD YOU AND WES talk about this place so much that I thought it would be fun if we checked it out,” Mr. Jensen said as he opened the door for Sierra.

  She forced a smile and carefully held on to the corsage. She tried to get out of the sardine-can sports car without her short skirt hiking up and her hair falling in her face. She found it to be a difficult task.

  “May I offer you a hand?” her father said gallantly.

  “No, I’m fine,” Sierra said. She pushed herself up and out, trying to appear graceful. Fortunately, no one was in the parking lot, watching her.

  Offering her his arm, Mr. Jensen prepared to escort her into the Italian restaurant that was owned by the uncle of Sierra’s friend Amy. Amy worked there as a hostess, and she had arranged for a lot of their friends to get jobs there. Wes was a waiter; he was working tonight. Sierra felt certain her dad was so into this that he probably had arranged for Wes to wait on them. Her buddy Randy was a busboy, and so was Tre, another guy from school who played in a band with Randy.

  Sierra barely touched her dad’s arm as they walked into the restaurant together. What would people think if they saw this sixteen-year-old girl, all dressed up—with a corsage, no less—being ushered into a nice restaurant by a middle-aged man with a receding hairline, who was grinning from ear to ear? This was so embarrassing.

  Her dad opened the door for her, which gave her an opportunity to let go of his arm and walk slightly away from him. A dozen people were seated on antique benches, waiting for open tables.

  The first person Sierra noticed when they entered was Amy. She had on the lace vest she had bought two days ago when she and Sierra were out vintage-store shopping. It looked cute over her navy dress. Her long black hair was pulled back with one tendril cascading down the right side of her face. Amy had a glimmer in her dark eyes that indicated to Sierra that she knew about this father-daughter date and had been expecting them.

  “Good evening,” Amy said formally. She made a mark on the seating chart in front of her. “Reservation for Jensen, party of two. Right this way, please.”

  Sierra fell in line behind her friend and whispered, “Okay, Amy, cut the act. This is humiliating enough without your playing along.”

  “Who’s playing along?” Amy whispered over her shoulder as they wound past the round tables in the packed restaurant. “This is what I do every night.”

  Sierra wanted to playfully pinch her friend, but before she could, Amy turned, and with wide eyes, she whispered to Sierra, “There he is. Over there by table seventeen. That’s Nathan. Is he a dream or what?”

  “Table seventeen? Where’s that? I don’t see any dream.”

  “Over there,” Amy said under her breath. “By the window. He asked me tonight if I have to work next Tuesday.”

  “Oh,” Sierra said.

  Amy had been raving about this guy for the last two weeks, ever since he had started to work there. That was about the same time Amy had given up trying to snag Sierra’s brother. Wes was nice to Amy, and she had hoped all summer for something more. But when nothing happened and Nathan came to work at the restaurant, Amy quickly readjusted her goal.

  Sierra glanced at Amy’s new dream boy again. Nathan looked as if he were about twenty. He had bleached blond hair that was combed straight back and dark eyebrows over deep-set eyes. His severe looks didn’t appeal to Sierra. She knew he had really made an impression on Amy, though.

  Amy stopped at a booth in the back corner of the restaurant and motioned for Sierra to slide in.

  “Don’t you get it?” Amy whispered. “Tuesday is Nathan’s night off. I think he’s going to ask me out!”

  She handed Sierra a menu and then handed one to Sierra’s dad.

  Clearing her throat and switching back to her hostess voice, Amy said, “Wesley will be your server tonight. He’ll be here in a moment to tell you about our specials. Enjoy your dinner.”

  Amy gave Sierra a little raised-eyebrow gesture, and as Sierra watched, Amy walked the long way back to the front of the restaurant just so she would have to walk past table seventeen, where Nathan was writing down an order. He turned his head slightly as she passed, and Sierra knew Amy’s guess was probably right. She had attracted his attention, and he would undoubtedly ask her out.

  The whole scenario didn’t feel right to Sierra. Maybe the unsettled feeling came from watching Amy’s dating life unfold while Sierra sat with her “daddy,” trying to find a way to hide her rosebud corsage. She placed it next to her fork, then unfolded the cloth napkin and laid it in her lap. Sierra realized she owed it to her dad to be appreciative of all this attention. He had obviously gone to a lot of effort.

  “Hi,” Wes said, stepping up to the table. He was a younger version of their dad in many ways, including his lean build and clear brown eyes that crinkled in the corners when he laughed. The biggest difference between the two was that Wes had a full head of wavy brown hair.

  Pulling out his notepad, Wes asked, “Would you like to hear about our specials?”

  Mr. Jensen closed his menu and said, “Why don’t you give us your expert recommendation?”

  Sierra felt relieved that Wes hadn’t done anything to tease her. In a way, it felt as if they were a bunch of little kids playing grown — ups.

  “The manicotti is superb tonight. That’s what I had on my break. You might want an antipasto salad and an order of Tony’s Romano bread, too. The bread is our house specialty and is made with bits of tomato and melted cheese on top.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Mr. J
ensen said. “What would you like, Sierra?”

  “That sounds good to me, too. Just a small salad, though. And I’d like some mineral water.”

  “I’ll have water and coffee,” her dad said.

  Wes’s pencil scratched across the notepad. He picked up the menus and gave his dad and sister a nod as if they were any other customers on any other night. “Very good. I’ll get those drinks right out for you.”

  As Wes walked away, Randy, who was busing the table next to theirs, stepped over. He held a tubful of dishes and had a white apron tied around his waist. She hadn’t seen him in the white-shirt-and-black-bow-tie uniform before. The waiter outfit looked normal on Wes, but Randy, with his crooked smile and chin-length, straight blond hair parted down the middle, looked as if he were dressed for a costume party.

  “Hey, Sierra! Hey, Mr. J.! Did you hear about Drake’s accident?” Randy said.

  “No. What happened? Is he okay?”

  “Yeah. He was driving the delivery truck and hit a phone pole. Blew out the front tire. It was over in Laurelhurst, and I was there doing lawns. I heard this huge crash and ran down the block to see what it was, and there was Drake. The engine was smoking. He was pretty ticked. He said he swerved to miss a cat.”

  Sierra knew how her dad felt about cats and hoped he wouldn’t throw out a comment about how it would have been better to rid the world of that cat than to crash because of it.

  Fortunately, Mr. Jensen only said, “What kind of delivery truck?”

  “Bundle of Joy,” Randy said, readjusting his posture so that the dishes rattled slightly.

  “It’s his dad’s business,” Sierra explained.

  “Bundle of Joy diapers?” her dad asked.

  Sierra nodded. She knew what he was thinking. Anyone who met tall, dark, and athletic Drake would never picture him driving a diaper delivery truck.

  One of the other waiters came up behind Randy and said, “Table seven, and can you hurry?”

  “Gotta go,” Randy said. He turned, and then with a quick look over his shoulder, he added, “You look real nice, Sierra.”

  “Thanks,” she murmured, feeling a tinge of pink rising up from her neck.

  “You have great friends,” her dad said after Randy disappeared.

  “I know I do.” Sierra thought how nice it was that Randy had been so comfortable around her. She and Randy had seen each other nearly every day this summer. At the beginning of the summer, they had acted as if they were dating. Then, after an adventurous backpacking trip, they had settled back into their “just buddies” relationship, and everything had felt normal since then.

  Sierra had considered dating Drake for a while, too. They did go out to the movies once, just the two of them. But when everything had started to unravel in her other friendships, Sierra decided she wasn’t ready to exclusively date one guy. Her other friendships were too important to her. Drake had said he understood, but he didn’t pursue her too much after that. As interested as he said he was on their first date, he cooled off when things didn’t continue on the course he had set.

  Wes brought the drinks and a warm plate of Tony’s Romano bread. Sierra began feeling a little more comfortable and settled into this evening with her dad. The scent of garlic immediately piqued her appetite.

  “Are your plans all set for next week? When do you leave?” Mr. Jensen asked.

  “I fly down to Orange County on Wednesday afternoon. Tawni is going to pick me up.”

  “And who is it that’s getting married?”

  “Doug and Tracy.”

  “Oh, right. He was the group leader on your outreach trip to England last January.”

  Sierra nodded. “And he’s friends with Jeremy.” She wasn’t sure if her dad remembered the connection between Doug and Tawni’s boyfriend. “Jeremy and Tawni are going to the wedding, too.”

  “Right. I think I remember hearing that. Sounds like a fun week for you.” Her dad sipped his coffee.

  “I’m ready for it,” Sierra said. “Did you know I worked forty-two hours last week at Mama Bear’s? Everyone decided to go on vacation at the same time. Mrs. Kraus was great about letting me have the time off. She has a new person coming to train while I’m gone since I’ll have to go back to my twelve hours a week when school starts.”

  “Here you are,” Wes said, placing the salads before them in bright blue and white Italian pottery bowls. “Would either of you care for grated cheese on your salad?”

  “No thanks.”

  “Not for me.”

  “Enjoy!” Wes said, walking away with the cheese grater in his hand.

  “Would you like to pray with me?” Mr. Jensen asked Sierra. He always prayed when they ate out, so it seemed natural to Sierra. She bowed her head and closed her eyes while her dad thanked God for the food and for his beautiful daughter.

  When he said, “Amen,” Sierra looked up and said, “Thanks, Dad.”

  He gave her a little wink, and they started on their salads.

  Sierra had hardly swallowed her first bite when her dad said, “I guess you’re wondering why I asked you out like this.”

  For some reason, Sierra’s heart began to pound again. She lowered her fork and waited to hear what her dad had to say.

  “YOU KNOW,” Mr. Jensen began, clearing his throat twice, “ever since you told your mom and me a couple months ago that you were going to write out your goals and standards for dating, we’ve been talking about what we could do to encourage you.”

  Sierra slowly took a bite of her salad and waited for him to continue.

  “That’s what I wanted to do tonight,” her dad said, clearing his throat again. It seemed to Sierra that he was a little nervous about all this, too. “I wanted to find a way to show you how special you are. Not only to your mother and me, but to God.”

  Sierra nodded. “Thanks, Dad, I appreciate that. But you don’t have to do all this to make me feel special.”

  Mr. Jensen munched his salad. He seemed to be thinking. Either that or trying not to look nervous. This was all a little awkward. She knew her parents loved her, and she knew God loved her. But the ceremony of dressing up and going out to dinner seemed like overkill.

  “I’d like to know what you ended up writing out,” her father said. “Your goals and standards, I mean. What’s on your list?”

  “I’m not sure I remember. I mean, I remember, but not the exact words. I wrote two different lists. One is sort of like my criteria for the kind of guy I’d go out with, and the other list, I guess you could say, is my creed.”

  “Your creed. Sounds interesting. I’d like to hear about both of them.”

  “Well,” Sierra said, putting down her fork and pushing her nearly finished salad to the end of the table, “I only had three points on the boyfriend list.”

  “Yes?”

  “The first one was that he has to be a Christian. And not just a believer but a really strong, growing Christian. A God-lover.”

  “A God-lover?”

  Sierra nodded. “That’s what Doug and Jeremy and their friends call themselves.”

  “I like that.”

  “So do I,” Sierra said. “The next requirement, or whatever, is that he has plans to serve God with his life. I think what I wrote down is that he’s committed to God and is planning to serve God in his future career.”

  “Are you saying you only want to date future pastors or missionaries?”

  “No, that’s not what I mean,” Sierra said. “You don’t have to be a pastor to put God at the center of your work. Like with Doug. He’s an assistant to a financial planner. He’ll probably be a businessman all his life because that’s where his strengths are. But Christy told me that he and Tracy are budgeting to live on half his income so they can give the other half to missionaries.”

  “Really?” her dad said, raising his eyebrows.

  “I don’t know if they’ll be able to do it or not,” Sierra said. “But I like that Doug puts God at the center of his career, and even t
hough he’s getting married, his goals don’t change.”

  “Quite noble,” her dad said.

  Wesley arrived at the table with plates of steaming manicotti and placed them before Sierra and her dad. “Some grated Romano for either of you?”

  “No thanks,” Sierra said.

  “Sure, I’ll take a spin,” her dad said.

  Wes twisted the handle of the fancy cheese grater and the thin white flakes floated down.

  “That’s good,” Mr. Jensen said.

  “I’ll be back with more coffee,” Wes said. He looked at Sierra and then at her right hand. With a glance at Mr. Jensen, he turned and left.

  “Go on,” Sierra’s dad urged. “Any guy you date must be a God-lover who is planning to honor God with is career. What else?”

  Sierra felt a little embarrassed telling her dad this one. She sunk her fork into the soft pasta and said, “Well, I guess the way I wrote it down was that I have to be attracted to him and vice versa. And that we’re both committed to saving ourselves physically for our future mate.”

  “Sounds as if you have some pretty serious and stiff guidelines.”

  Sierra was surprised. She took another bite of the delicious dinner and then asked, “Do you think my goals are too high or something?”

  “Oh, no! They’re terrific. I can tell you’ve really thought it through. What about the other list? Your creed. I take it you mean a creed as in a summary of what you believe.”

  Sierra nodded.

  “Where did you come up with that idea?”

  “You’re going to laugh.”

  “Try me.”

  “I saw this poster in a music store at the mall when I was there with Randy a couple of months ago. It was called ‘The Rocker’s Creed,’ and it had a list of ten points for people who believe in hard rock. It was supposed to be funny. Like, ‘If it’s too loud, you’re too old.’”