Fraying at the Edge (34 page)

He cleared his throat and started explaining about the doctor's appointment she had on Wednesday afternoon. Tests would be run afterward, and then she was scheduled for a follow-up visit after the first of the year.

Cilla's face reminded him of cut stone as she questioned and balked, assuring him that she appreciated the gesture but that she was fine and he needed to spend his money in better ways.

“It's done, Cilla. I've already committed to paying the doctor.”

That wasn't completely true. Was it necessary to lie to her? He'd agreed to pay cash after the visit, and he would owe a fee if they canceled, but he wouldn't owe for the full visit if she didn't go.

She stared at him, and he wondered what her next reaction would be. Would she storm off? yell? A moment later she tackled him with a hug. Too shocked to move, Abram let his arms hang limply by his side.

“You are the sweetest person I've ever met, Abram. Denki.” She sniffled. Was she crying?

Abram wanted to return the hug, but he stood there like a goof, smiling.

The door opened, and Cilla backed away, wiping her cheeks.

Skylar stepped into the kitchen. “Oh.” She looked at Cilla. “Sorry, I didn't think…” She pointed a thumb at the seating area of the café. “I'll just go back that way,” she said as she disappeared.

Cilla beamed at Abram while wiping tears. “
Gross dank,
Abram.”

Abram couldn't speak, so he nodded.

Q
uill slipped out of the model home McLaren was using for the workers' Christmas party. When the door closed behind him, he felt so relieved. He'd taken care of his responsibilities. He'd talked with McLaren and the other bigwigs. Then Dan had interrupted the conversation and told the men there was something pressing Quill needed to tend to at the temp house. His brother had run interference so Quill could get his nonsocializing personality out the door.

Quill pulled his keys from his pocket while crossing the parking area. The ground was slick, as if a layer of ice had formed under the fresh snowfall. He got the snow brush from his car and removed about eight inches of the white stuff from the windshield. He turned on the radio and drove toward the trailer. The tires lost traction for a few seconds here and there, but unlike five years ago he was now reasonably skilled at driving in this kind of weather.

His thoughts returned to Ariana. There was no way of avoiding that, especially when his day grew quiet. They'd texted some since their trip to the planetarium seven weeks ago, but he'd not heard from her in two weeks. He wouldn't break the silence. She was Rudy's. For her sake, he didn't want it any other way.

When he reached the trailer, he saw a clunker car in the driveway. A light was on in the trailer, and through the narrow beige blinds, he saw movement inside. Who was here? Their temporary housing didn't have much worth stealing, except his dog. Quill hadn't taken her with him today since it was so cold and he would have needed to leave her in the car while he was at the party. If he'd known Dan would help him slip out so early, he would've kept her with him.

He quietly got out of his car and walked up the few steps to the trailer door. The lock hadn't been jimmied. Was that food he smelled? He turned the door handle and saw Lexi near the kitchen, wagging her tail. Quill relaxed. “Hello?”

Ariana stepped out of the kitchen, her eyes meeting his, and he knew she was thriving. “Hi.” Her blond hair was loosely pinned, with most of it hanging down, and she had on a thick tunic sweater over a flouncy red-and-purple floral dress that hit midknee and red cowgirl boots.

He had to smile. “What are you doing here?”

She walked to him. He expected her to stop, but she put her arms around his shoulders. “I came to say thank you.”

He held her tight, closing his eyes and breathing in the moment. How many times had he prayed they would rebuild a comfortable friendship? She held him in a sweet, strong embrace—the best hug he'd ever had.

After a moment she released him.

“You couldn't just call or text?” he teased.

“I texted Dan.”

“So he wasn't teasing about something going on here at the trailer.”

“Well, he wasn't supposed to send you home early. I just needed to be sure you guys didn't stop to eat somewhere on the way here. Speaking of Dan, I also asked him to get the family to send pictures to my phone or Brandi's e-mail address so I can make a photo album for your Mamm. You'll make sure your brothers and sisters-in-law do that, right?”

“I will.”

“Are you hungry now? I could fix us a small meal and bake theirs later.”

“I love that plan. Whose car?”

She motioned for him to follow as she returned to the kitchen. The countertops were covered with various foods—unbaked piecrusts, cubed chicken on a chopping block, green beans in a bowl, and pretzel dough rising in pans.

“Nicholas originally bought it as a starter car for his youngest stepson, who isn't sixteen yet. He intended to get the bodywork done and new tires, but since I've never driven an automobile in this kind of snow, he suggested I use it.” She picked up a wooden spoon to stir a large saucepan filled with white roux. “And, boy, do I have stories to tell about my first snow-driving day. I slid into the ditch twice on my way here.” She laughed, her cheeks growing pink.

“Are you hurt?”

“Not a bit. They were gentle but very scary slides both times.”

“Scary, and yet you didn't turn around and go home.”

“I was tempted, but I couldn't think of one man I know who would have, so I didn't. I looked up a towing service on my trusty phone and called the same tow truck to get me out both times.” She pulled a plastic card from her dress pocket, either a debit or credit card. “These things are really nice.”

“They are.”

She lifted a piecrust off the counter and put it in a small pan. “I've never had one before, but it seems especially nice that someone else pays it off. An upside to Nicholas is he's excited to pay bills when I spend money handling things on my own or buying books, clothes, or whatever.” She poured the roux into the piecrust. “Who knew spending money could be so much fun for the spender and the payer?”

Was she really in his kitchen, relaxed and happy and chatty?

He washed his hands and dried them before going to the cutting block where she had carrots, onions, mushrooms, and a knife waiting. “What's going on with Nicholas and the revised bucket list?”

Her smile warmed his insides. “I won. He's not going to sue anyone, and I get to go home next month.”

“Really?” His tone sounded hollow. He wasn't ready for this.

“Uh, a little more enthusiasm, please.”

He dropped the knife on the counter and did a jig.

“All right!” She clapped, beaming. “You could dance in the snow and make it even better.”

“I'd need more good news to be willing to do that.”

“Rudy and I are officially engaged…well, as official as it gets for the Amish before instruction class and such. But you know what I mean.”

He knew. It meant by this time next year she would be married and possibly expecting her first child. “Congratulations, Ariana.”

“Denki.”

It also meant that when the church leaders learned she was engaged and living in Summer Grove again, her every move would be examined until she was wed. Did she realize that? Should he warn her? He decided he shouldn't. Maybe the church leaders wouldn't do that to her, and friends didn't give cause for concern in the distant future when there was a celebration going on.

“Going home next month.”

She grinned. “I know. Can you believe it?” She dusted her hands together. “Enough about me. Tell me all the details of the supposed mistake you made and what Sanders really did.”

Their conversation continued, covering a thousand miles and only a few inches simultaneously. She told him of her travel adventures, and they laughed as they compared stories of adjusting to Englisch life. The weight of years of guilt and months of anxiety fell from him, and he felt as if he were floating at times.

Frieda had said he could tell Ariana anything he chose to, and he couldn't hold back, not anymore. So while he filled glasses with ice and water and put flatware and napkins on the table, he told her all about his life during the years right after he left, leaving out as much personal information about Frieda as he could.

They sat at the table and talked until the timer rang.

“You amaze me.” She filled their plates with his favorite foods—piping hot turkey pie, baked sweet potatoes, roasted green beans, and homemade pretzels.

When she sat again, she held out her hand for his, and he knew it was for the mealtime prayer. The moment their fingers touched, she bowed her head, but he couldn't find his voice.

She squeezed his hand. “Are we doing the old-fashioned Amish silent prayer?”

He nodded, and by the time the silent prayer was over, he'd regained his composure.

She put a napkin in her lap. “Frieda still doesn't want to talk.”

“She will in time. She loves getting your texts. And you were her sunshine when you were teenagers.”

“Was I?”

“Yes. And you wouldn't doubt that if you had read the letter we wrote to you to make that time easier. But I'm glad you destroyed it rather than turn it over to the bishop as he insisted. If he'd read it, it would've caused a lot of problems for Mamm.” Tranquillity shone in her eyes, and he knew she was past judging what he or Frieda should've done…or would do in the future. “What do you remember about Frieda living with Mamm and me?”

“The church leaders came to visit often, and afterward Frieda was always quiet, brooding. It seemed her feelings were hurt, but she always denied that.”

“My Daed knew what was going on long before I did. She wanted it kept from me too, but after he died, she needed my help.”

“Please don't tell me she was assaulted and the church wanted to keep it quiet. I've heard of such things.”

“No, nothing sexual took place.”

Ariana released a deep breath. “Denki, Gott.” She pursed her lips, compassion radiating from her. “I could never stand alone like you did. Not ever. You should be pleased with yourself. If I'd known the truth about why you left, I would've gone a little easier on you”—she held her thumb and index finger an inch apart—“when you returned five years later.”

“Only a little easier?”

“Hey, I feel very deeply, and those emotions have to go somewhere.” She poked his shoulder. “Apparently you are a trusted target.”

“Somehow I'm both honored and terrified.”

“Terrified? You?” She laughed. “So are you at all impressed with what you accomplished by leaving with Frieda at twenty years old?”

“No. I handled too much wrong, caused so much pain.”

“You were young, without anyone except a sick young woman who needed you. Now that things are right between us, look at every other mistake, and tell it to kiss off. You couldn't have accomplished what you needed to if you had tiptoed around everyone's feelings.”

“Kiss off? I think I just heard Nicholas Jenkins loud and clear.”

“He's not so bad for someone who thinks he knows everything.”

Quill chuckled. “Like father, like daughter.”

“You know, you should be nicer to me. I have the number to the phone you leave on twenty-four seven. I could call you with an SOS at two in the morning every day for a year.” A phone buzzed. “Speaking of calls, is that you or me?”

Quill pulled his cell from his jeans pocket. “Not me.”

She went to the kitchen counter and got her phone from her purse. She burst into laughter. “It's from the towing business. You know, the people who got me out of the ditch twice today.” She walked toward him, holding out the phone so he could read the text.