Along Came Jordan (10 page)

"It's going well. I never realized it before, but she's a lot of fun."

Was Marc so dense? In what world would I want to hear how happy he was with his new girlfriend?

"Would you like to come over and say hi?" he asked.

"I'm kind of in a hurry." I backed away.

"Oh, come on. Jeannie would like to see you." Marc grabbed my wrist and his touch sent memories tumbling through my heart. He led me around the shelf toward the table where Jeannie watched us with a laser eye. I tried to pull away, but we were almost there.

Jeannie's expression was guarded, and I saw the curtains go down over her eyes. "Hey, Emili, how are you?" Her voice was stiff, like sound waves stuck in the stifling air.

"I'm fine. How about you?"

"Peachy. Did Marc tell you we're going cross-country skiing as soon as the park's open?" Her stiffness had vanished, and she rambled on like a battery charged by nerves.

"No."

"Well, we are. Last weekend, we went to Burns to check out an Amish store. Too bad you weren't there. It was so fun. Some of the Amish didn't speak English." She looked up to Marc and fluttered her brown eyes.

Fluttering was not a good look for Jeannie, but her point was obvious.
Marc is mine now. Back off.

"I have to go." I spun on my heel and hurried off toward the adult section with a concrete ball of despair in my stomach.

Marc was with Jeannie, and he was happy again. I tried to be glad for him, but it wasn't working. At least I didn't need to wonder anymore — he was over me.

I was lame to hope we'd get back together. How many times had I yearned for him in the last weeks? Well, now I knew. The door was slammed shut.

In the adult section, there were at least ten tables with computers at every seat. Most spots were already taken. At one table, there was a mother balancing a drooling baby on her lap, an old man with a pipe sticking out of his pocket, and a mean-looking woman with black square glasses. They all stared at their screens, mesmerized. I chose the empty chair by the mother.

When I sat, she glanced at me, nodded, and went back to typing. The baby seemed happy enough, though his chin was red and chapped behind a layer of drool. I logged in my library card number. I found the URL for Cagnie's Fish Basket and clicked on the section called "Employment Opportunities." They needed a short order cook — dead end there. I tried Burger King, Wendy's, and every other fast food place in town.

An hour passed, and I had nothing to show for it. I looked out the massive side window and saw a few fluffs of snow wisping to the ground. I was going to suffer on the way home.

I didn't want to leave without filling out a few applications. I'd never get a job at this rate, and I had to get one. How could anything at home get better if I didn't make some money? I slumped in the chair and let my head fall back. I'd never noticed the ceiling in the library before. The wooden planks joined together in the middle, making a type of V-formation like an upside-down boat.

When I focused again on the screen, the words SESSION OVER were flashing. I had forgotten there was an hour limit. Everyone else at my table had left, and I hadn't noticed. I scooted my chair back and stood up. My coat was falling off the edge of the table, and I grabbed it and put it on. I shuddered at the thought of biking home and wrapped my scarf around my neck three times.

The library doors were heavy glass. Before I pushed through them, I saw Marc and Jeannie standing outside. There was no way to avoid seeing them again. What rotten luck.

Jeannie saw me come through. "Oh, Emili, are you leaving too?"

"Yeah."

"We're waiting for Marc's mom. She's taking us home."

Well, isn
'
t that sweet?

"Do you need a ride?" Marc asked, ever the gentleman.

Jeannie gave him the evil eye, and he flinched.

"No, I've got my bike."

"You're riding in this weather?" Jeannie asked, turning all sweet and concerned. "You should hurry. It'll be dark soon."

"Right. See you guys." I hoped I wouldn't.

I threw my leg over my bike and started home. The air cut through my coat as if it were tissue paper. I pressed my lips into a tight line and pedaled as fast as I could. The cold numbed my face, and my eyes dried in the brittle air. I made it home in record time, propped my bike against the side of the house, and dashed inside.

Mom was sitting on the couch. "Where have you been? I didn't even know you were gone."

"I went to the library." I yanked off my gloves and rubbed my hands together. I felt a tingle of warmth as the blood started flowing again. Now if I could only warm my heart.

"How'd you get there?" Mom proceeded to drill me.

"I rode my bike."

Her eyebrows raised. "In this weather?"

"It wasn't so bad."

She shook her head. "Yeah, I'll bet. Did you ask your dad if you could go?"

I pulled my coat and scarf off. "No. I didn't want to bother either of you. Thought you might be taking a nap or something."

"Because I'm always taking a nap," she snapped.

I cringed. I'd never get used to my mom spewing sarcasm when she used to scold me for it. I looked away and headed for my bedroom. I expected her to stay with the scolding, but she didn't say anything else.

I pushed open my bedroom door and went to my dresser. My perfume-making supplies were neatly lined up as usual, greeting me like old friends. I picked up the dark bottle of jojoba oil. I could develop a new recipe — making perfume was my go-to stress reliever. I loved to mess around with different scents and carefully record them in my logbook. Now I'd have to experiment like Scrooge — I knew how much all my oils cost.

Another reason to get a job.

I looked at the small dark bottles of perfume I'd already made. I could sell them. If I charged about seven dollars a bottle, I could make a profit. But where? It was the middle of winter. Otherwise, I could have had a yard sale or something. Sometimes there were sales in the middle of the mall, where people set up tables and sold all kinds of things. I could purchase a table and sell my perfume there.

I pulled out my phone and searched for our mall's website. It was easy to find, and there was a button for special events, which I clicked. I was surprised to find quite a few activities, but the only community sale event was right before Easter. Too far off to do me any good.

My door opened, and Sarah walked in. Her hair was rumpled and tangled down her back in a sloppy braid. She looked rested, though, which was a relief.

"Hey, Sarah."

"I tried."

"What do you mean?"

"Mom was in my room, asking me all sorts of questions. I tried to answer her. I opened my mouth and everything, but nothing would come out."

I patted my bed. "Sit."

She sank down beside me. I pushed her hair behind her ears. "Don't be so hard on yourself. You tried, and you deserve some credit."

Her eyes were full of tears. "No, I don't."

How could someone not talk if they wanted to? It didn't make any sense. If you wanted to say something, you simply opened your mouth and said it. What was wrong with her?

"Yes, you do, Sarah. It shows you care. It's important to try a little bit at a time. Don't worry. It'll be fine."

I was blathering and I knew it. I had no idea if what I was saying was true. Sarah nestled against my side. She seemed to believe me, anyway.

"Want to play Boggle?"

We hadn't played for months, and we used to play quite a bit. Sarah was good at it, too. She often beat me.

She sat up straight. "Can we?"

"Sure, why not? Don't have anything else to do right now."

She ran to my closet. All our games were on my top shelf, arranged by size. Boggle was at the top. She couldn't quite reach it, so I went over, stood on my tiptoes, and grabbed it.

"Okay, girl, let's see what you've got," I said.

She smiled. Not her stretch-across-the-face smile, but a smile, nevertheless.

After an hour and losing two games, I took her to her bedroom and tucked her in. I bent over to kiss her on her cheek.

"Emili…"

"Yeah, Sarah?"

"Thanks."

I pulled the blankets up under her chin. "Nothing to thank me for, kiddo."

She grabbed my hand and held it to her cheek, and my heart felt as though it would crack open. I bent to kiss her again. She let go, and I walked to her door and turned out the light. As I left the room, I pulled her door quietly shut behind me. Mom stood at the end of the hall watching. Her face was poised, as if she wanted to say something. I paused, but she turned away and went back into the living room. I didn't move for a minute. A lump grew in my throat, closing off the air. I swallowed hard.

I went into the living room where Mom sat stiff as a new pair of shoes, her feet placed flat in front of her like she was waiting for her turn at the doctor's office.

"She's okay," I said. "She's asleep now."

Mom nodded, a small formal movement. I nodded back, turned, and retreated to my room.