Fraying at the Edge (33 page)

His jaw clenched. “We do this once.” He raised a finger. “Only once. I won't be dragged into a second round. Agreed?”

“I guess.”

“The response is either yes or no.”

Where had his open, always-friendly attitude gone?

“Okay, yes. I got it.” She glanced outside at the wind swirling the falling snow. Her ability to deal with physical discomfort was at an all-time low, so rather than going outside, she walked up the wooden steps to the loft.

The steps behind her creaked, and she knew he was following.

Once at the top she gestured to the lone chair.

“I'm fine right here.”

“What is the deal, Jackson? Was I so rude a couple of weeks ago that you want nothing else to do with me?”

“Yeah, that's it. Can I go now?”

She couldn't believe this was the same man who'd been friendly and witty from the first day they met. “Fine. Go. Don't know why you agreed to come up here if that was all you had to say.”

“Because you wouldn't let this go, and I don't want to upset the others.”

She gestured toward the stairs.

He went down a few steps and then turned and came back up. His build was daunting, and she backed up as he came toe-to-toe with her.

“You…” He whispered, his finger pointed, and she knew his anger had the best of him. “The day we met I thought I saw pills pass from your dealer's hand to yours, but I thought
no way,
that it had to be my imagination due to my own baggage, because you were surrounded with rock-solid Amish people. I foolishly convinced myself that you were a better person than you were simply because of the company you kept.” He touched his temple. “I let another druggie make me doubt myself.”

“He was my boyfriend. Not my drug dealer.”

“Yeah, right. I had too many questions after your outburst, so I pushed Abram for answers. Now you and I both know the score, Skylar, so don't even try to tell me otherwise. You can't imagine how much I detest that kind of stuff. I don't have it in me to let any of it slide. You have people around you that do. I just hope they don't live to regret it.” He stared into her eyes, seemingly determined to totally shut her out.

“I expected you to get that this has been a really hard time for me, learning my biological family is Amish and having to leave my old life for this one. At the least I thought you'd cut me some slack since Abram is my twin.”

“That's the thing about the kind of people who use. Without exception they think there's some reason their bum rap in life deserves extra grace and understanding. It's the way users think before they start using, and it allows them to believe their woe-is-me and I'm-not-like-other-users bull crap. And they feel justified. They're able to live with themselves, and the rest of us can learn to cope or get out of the way. I opt for door number two, please.”

“You only knew Abram from a job site, but when he quit that work, you went out of your way to be friends with him. You help with the café, and you plan to take Cilla to the doctor—all generous. But you can't deal with an outburst from me?”

“It's not about you lashing out!”

“The drugs? Good stinking grief, Jackson. It's not like I used any hard substances. I downed mostly C4s, some C2s. That's all, but they are addicting.”

“Great rationalizing, Skylar. I feel so much better about this conversation now. The hardest drugs you used were just C2s. Cocaine, opium, and morphine are also C2s.”

Was that true? Had she been lying to herself all this time, thinking that, because so many people used C2s as routine medicine, they weren't controlled substances like cocaine?

He turned, looking around as he put his palm to his forehead. “I can
not
believe I'm having the exact same conversation I've had too many times before. I don't want those memories resurfacing. Just steer clear of me, okay?”

“Memories?”

“Your life is on fire, Skylar, and not in a good way. I've spent half my life in a burn unit, and I won't…I can't do it again. Let's just leave it at that.” He headed for the stairs.

She moved in front of him. “But I'm clean.”

“That's good.” The look on his face didn't match his words.

“You don't believe me? Ask—”

“No need.” He went for the stairs again.

She stepped in front of him again, stopping him at the top of the stairs.

“I'm sorry, Skylar, that you don't get why I'm being this way, but I know there is no winning with addicts. Today's win is tomorrow's defeat.”

She couldn't believe her ears. He'd just given a rousing declaration that she would fail. “You know what? Just go.” As she gestured and moved to the side, her foot slipped off the top step. With her movements seemingly in slow motion, she fell backward. Jackson's hand loomed large as he grabbed for her. He clutched her shirt, and it ripped, but he slowed her momentum as she banged the back of her head against the wall. She ricocheted off the wall and flew headfirst down the steps. How could she witness every tiny movement but be like a rag doll, powerless to stop herself? Force jerked the back of her jeans, and a moment later Jackson's arm came around her waist, stopping her in midflight. They stumbled down a few steps before coming to a halt.

Jackson clutched the railing with one hand, steadying himself before he put her feet on the steps in front of him.

She grabbed the banister, panting.

“You okay?” he asked.

She rubbed the back of her head. “Yeah. Thanks.” She sank onto the fourth step, shaking but grateful Jackson had caught her before she hit the floor. “Just go.”

It sounded as if a team of horses were thundering through the café, and when the noise stopped, a group of Amish-clad family members was staring at them. “Is everything okay? We heard thuds,” Susie said.

“Yeah.” Skylar blinked, trying to clear her vision. “I lost my balance, and Jackson caught me.”

Jackson sank onto the step next to her. “She needs some ice, please.”

“I'll make an ice pack.” Martha disappeared.

Skylar's heart raced. She could've been seriously injured or even died. Feeling as if she were riding an ocean wave, she folded her arms on her knees and lowered her forehead to rest on them. But she saw Jackson motioning for the others to go away.

Neither of them said a word.

Martha brought her an ice pack. “You sure you're okay?”

“Yeah, Martha. I'm much too hardheaded for something like a bump on the noggin to matter.”

Martha hesitated until Susie called to her.

Skylar put the ice pack against the back of her head. “I have no idea why we're arguing like this. We barely know each other.”

Jackson propped his elbows on his knees and rubbed his temples. “Because I have raw, unfiltered anger against users. I try to keep it buried deep, and I gravitate toward people who don't dig it up—people like Abram and Susie.”

She probably should mind her own business, but she had to ask, “Who was the addict?”

He hesitated a long time. “My mom,” he whispered. He stared straight ahead, but it seemed as if he was looking decades into the past. “You and she are alike in that she used C2s—and the people who cared about her—to get her fix.”

His words cut deep, but she couldn't deny they were true. “I never meant to use people.”

“It goes with the territory. Users use everything. Even their own kids.”

“How old were you when you learned her secret?”

“The first time I knew something was weird I was seven, sitting in a doctor's exam room, listening to my mom expound on how hyper I was and how I couldn't ever sleep.”

“Oh…to get you diagnosed with ADHD.”

“I believed I was out of control, and I started behaving like it. She gave me a free pass to do lousy in school and act out. I was thirteen before my dad began to put all the pieces together—her taking me to see different doctors, her getting the pills filled. He asked me one day how often I took them, and I said ‘regularly,' just like she'd always said.”

“So you took some of them?”

“Yeah, whenever she told me it was time. See, the best way to make a non-ADHD kid look hyper is to give him Ritalin before taking him to see the people who'll prescribe the stuff.” He shook his head slowly as if he still had a hard time believing all she'd done. “My health records indicate that for most of my life I've taken Adderall XR and Ritalin for hyperactivity and Ativan or Xanax to be able to sleep. The thing is, she started out as a good mom. But she got so busy with sports and music lessons for my sister and me that she couldn't keep up. So she needed a boost to be the kind of mom she wanted to be. And it ended up ruining everything.”

“That makes sense. I don't actually know how Cody got hold of the prescriptions he gave me.”

“Happens a lot more than any of us want to admit.” He shifted. “I still can't do this, Skylar. I can't hope you're staying clean, or act as if I believe it, or any of it.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Could you keep your relationship with Abram and Susie, helping out as you've been doing? I'll slip out of the room when you're around, and we'll just be polite strangers.”

“I feel like a shallow jerk.”

“You sound like a man with PTSD, and I'm a trigger for it. We've both earned our way into that spot, and we have to deal with it. I'm here for a while yet, maybe three or four months. We can make a truce and keep our distance in the meantime.”

“My fear is in those few minutes of seeing you, I'll realize you're using again, and I won't care who's standing near us. I'll start yelling, and it'll get really loud and ugly between us superfast.”

Her ability to rationalize away her drug habit had evaporated during the last two weeks. “Sounds fair to me.”

T
he aroma of coffee and sugar filled the air as Ariana pulled a pan of cinnamon buns out of the oven. It was early morning, but Brandi stood at the island preparing the Thanksgiving turkey for roasting. The three of them had been baking off and on since yesterday morning. And the mixture of aromas was intoxicating.

Brandi clicked her tongue “Man, I forgot to buy wine.”

Cameron reached around Ariana, a glint in her eyes as she stuck her finger in the icing. “You know it's a bad Thanksgiving when your family runs out of liquor before noon.” She licked the sugary stuff from her finger.

Ariana laughed. “Yeah, Brandi, what's that about?”

Brandi put her hands on her hips. “You girls. Stop that. I need it for the stuffing…and…other recipes.”

Cameron angled her thumb toward her mouth. “Glug. Glug. Glug.” Then she gestured toward Brandi.

Ariana couldn't help but laugh. When it came to sarcasm and teasing, nothing was off-limits to Cameron, including their Sunday morning churchgoing. One Sunday in church they heard a faint noise rise and then lessen as the preacher talked. Cameron leaned in and whispered, “Do you know why it's important to be quiet in church?” She paused. “Because people are sleeping.”

Now that Brandi and Gabe were going to church with them, Ariana tried to put an adult between Cameron and herself. But from the moment the service was over, Cameron kept Ariana in stitches with her observations.

When the doorbell rang, Gabe set down his newspaper and headed for the door. A moment later he and Nicholas walked into the kitchen.

Ariana and Nicholas had returned to Bellflower Creek five days ago. He'd dropped her off here, and they were both polite, but there was an uncomfortable awkwardness between them. Since they'd spent so much time together on the trip, she was scheduled to stay with Brandi until after the Thanksgiving holiday, as if she were a minor and the parents had a custodial agreement.

“Happy Thanksgiving.” He sounded somber as he nodded to Brandi and Cameron. “It smells delicious in here.”

Brandi washed her hands. “Thanks.” She grabbed a dishtowel. “So what's up?”

“The thing we've been texting about.”

Brandi angled her head, looking curious and a bit scared. “You want to talk about this today…on Thanksgiving?”

“I've wrestled with it since the day we dragged Ariana here last month. You've voiced the same opinion she has—to let her go home. So I'm here to give what I guess is good news.”

“She gets to choose when to leave?” Brandi asked.

Ariana's heart raced with excitement. But Brandi was in no rush for her to go. Ariana knew that as well as she knew her Mamm wanted her home again. But good moms often pulled for what their children wanted over what the moms wanted, especially when the child was twenty.

Nicholas nodded, shoving his hands into his pants pockets. “Ari, I ask that you stay until after the first of the year, preferably mid-January, so that your leaving isn't hanging so heavy throughout the Christmas holidays. And I ask that you not tell your family just yet. Let's let Skylar go through the holidays before we shake up her world again, okay?”

“Mid-January sounds great.” Ariana tempered her response, but her heart soared as she went to him and clutched him around the neck. “Thank you.”

He held her, his palms flat against her back, like a dad who didn't want to let go. “I'm going to miss you.” He drew a ragged breath.

Ariana stepped back, part of her wanting to do a little jig, but no one in the room looked happy about the announcement, especially not Cameron.

Brandi stepped forward and hugged her, more of a lukewarm congrats than a hearty one. “Good for you, sweetie.”

“Thank you.” She released Brandi and winked at Cameron. “We're still sisters, and it's your turn to enter my world.”

Cameron rubbed each eye with an index finger, as if dust had gotten in them. “Yeah, we're sisters, and we'll stay so close that I'll be there to pick you up if you fall.”

“After you finish laughing at me, right?” Ariana grabbed a bowl of icing and held it out.

“It must be time for you to go. You already know all my jokes.”

No one but Ariana looked excited or relieved. “Don't worry, guys. The bishop will ask that I have some settling-in time, but after that you can visit me. And when I prove where my heart is, I'll be allowed to visit you too.” Or at least she thought so.

If Nicholas had realized how hard Brandi and Cameron would take this news, would he have waited? Did they expect her to temper her decision to get home as soon as possible?

“Brandi.” Nicholas checked his phone. “We'll need to go see Skylar and have a sit-down talk between January 2 and 12. Can you look at your calendar and let me know?”

“I can do that now.” Brandi got out her phone.

“It's none of my business,” Ariana said, “but does it seem strange to anyone else that no one has contacted Skylar?”

“She could've called us, and she hasn't,” Nicholas said. “It's best to let Skylar make those decisions. But I'm sure she'll be willing to talk by January and will be ready to come home.”

While Brandi, Gabe, and Nicholas chatted, Ariana returned to the stove to ice the cinnamon buns. Cameron got a plate from the cabinet and held it out.

Ariana put a bun on her plate. “I think I should tell Quill this news in person.”

No one—not her Amish or her Englisch family—would understand this victory or celebrate it correctly in their hearts the way Quill would. Added to that, once she was home, Rudy would want—demand—space between Quill and her just as she would if he had a female friend who'd been as close as Quill had become.

An idea came to her. “What did Quill say was his last day in Mingo before the family goes to Kentucky for Christmas?”

“Thursday, December 17. I remember because the next day is the last day of school before the holiday.”

“Perfect.”

While the Schlabachs were at the job site that day, she would go to the trailer, let herself in with the key Dan had told her about, and make Quill his favorite meal. But she'd make enough for all his brothers. It would be her way of thanking him and celebrating her victory of going home and saying a proper good-bye, although she'd probably catch glimpses of him here and there. She might even stumble into him at Berta's house one evening while he was visiting, and she'd stay and talk with him. That pattern was sure to repeat here and there over the decades until they grew old.

In two shakes of a lamb's tail after the first of the year, she was going home! Rudy would be thrilled when he found out and so very relieved that, rather than being gone a year, she'd be home after less than three months.

Cameron sat on the counter beside Ariana and dangled her legs. “You sure about this?”

“Am I sure?”

“Yeah, about going home so soon. You looked excited for a few minutes, but right now your eyes don't reflect any thrilled-ness.”

Ariana chuckled. “I think you may be projecting your lack of enthusiasm onto me.”

“Yeah, maybe so.”

But Ariana did sense an odd reservation in her heart. It had to be because her Englisch parents were hurt. Had she cheated them out of nine months with her they could never get back? Was three months enough in God's eyes?

With the café closed for the day, Abram flicked soapy water at Cilla. She squealed and grabbed a kitchen sprayer and held it up to threaten him.

“I dare—” Cold water splashed his face.

Cilla burst into laughter, dropped the nozzle, and scurried toward the door.

Abram went after her and slid between her and the doorway. “Going somewhere?”

“I was hoping to, ya. But you'd have to move out of my way.”

He wiped a hand down his wet face. “Back to the sink. We have dishes to wash.”

She dropped her head, looking defeated, and started walking that way.

“Children, is there a problem?” Skylar called from the loft, where she and Susie were doing inventory.

“Cilla.” Abram called back. “She's the problem.”

“Cilla,” Skylar scolded, “don't let him get away with any nonsense.”

Cilla laughed.

“Thanks, sis.” Abram couldn't see Skylar from here, but he was sure she was chuckling.

“Anytime,” Skylar offered.

No one was in the café but the four of them. He returned to the kitchen sink. Today, like several days late last week, were good days for Cilla. She had energy, and laughter came easily and often. He longed for good days to be the norm in her life.

Her doctor's appointment was two days away, right after work, and he'd yet to tell her. He wasn't sure how she would take it, and because of that, he'd decided to tell her at the last minute.
Now
was pretty much last minute. He removed a stack of clean plates from the rack. “Can we talk?”

“Sure.” Cilla continued washing the plate in her hand.

“Privately.”

Her smile vanished as he closed the covering to the pass-through. Then he closed the swinging kitchen door.

She grabbed a hand towel. “Is everything all right?”

“Ya, of course. I just need to talk to you.” He tried to find the words he'd been rehearsing, but they had scattered. Maybe if he opened his mouth and started talking, the right words would gather. “It's nice having you on the days you feel good, and then you and Barbie on other days. You two work well together.”

“Ya, I know what needs to be done, and she's capable of doing it. She says that together we make the perfect woman.”

“I'm glad she has you.”

Cilla chuckled. “You said that wrong. I'm the weak one, so you're glad I have her.”

“What good is being able to do physical things if you don't know what to do?”

She chuckled. “I like the way you think, even when it's wrong. So what's this about?”