Rum Spring (8 page)

“Are you sweet on him?” Dylan asked.

Rebecca and Tobias had made small talk during the sing and she had allowed him to drive her home afterward, but she didn’t know if or when she would spend time with him again. He had told her more than she ever wanted to know about the inner workings of his family farm and the land he was saving up to buy, but he had not managed to capture her attention the way Dylan had. The way Dylan continued to do. But Tobias was a nice boy and he meant well. Perhaps he deserved another chance. Dylan had given her a second chance. The least she could do was offer Tobias the same courtesy.

“I don’t think I could make a better choice for a husband.”

“Then I guess you can stop looking.” Dylan jumped down off the truck and kicked one of the tires. Dust quickly covered her tennis shoes, turning the sneakers from black to gray. “I’ve never attended an Amish wedding. What’s it like?”

“The preparations take weeks. The wedding feels just as long. First, you send invitations to three hundred relatives, friends, and church members. Then you have to sew the wedding dress as well as dresses for each of the newehockers—what you would call bridesmaids. The wedding itself starts at eight thirty a.m. and lasts for three hours. The women in the wedding party wear blue, the men black suits, white shirts, and bow ties. No one carries flowers and there’s no maid of honor. All the attendants are considered equally important. After the ceremony, everyone gathers for a feast that lasts most of the afternoon. By the time the day is over, everyone is filled with food and with love.”

Rebecca allowed herself to imagine her own wedding. When she did, she pictured Dylan at her side instead of Tobias. She giggled at the thought of Dylan—now busy throwing dirt clods at a nearby fence post—in a dress. Blue, white, or otherwise.

Dylan cocked her head. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“It sounds like a tractor.” Dylan walked to the middle of the road. A few minutes later, a dust-covered tractor topped the hill. Dylan waved her arms over her head to get the driver to stop.

The farmer wrapped a chain around the truck’s trailer hitch and pulled it back onto the road. Dylan and Rebecca thanked him profusely before he continued on his way.

Dylan held up the truck’s keys. “Ready to get back on the horse?”

Rebecca had never heard the expression before, but she assumed Dylan was asking her if she wanted to continue her driving lesson.

“Why don’t we try something else for a while?”

“Like what?”

“Anything would be easier than this.”

Dylan opened the driver’s side door of the truck and guided Rebecca into the seat. “You’re doing great. Don’t let one setback shake your confidence. You can do whatever you set your mind to.”

Dylan said the words with such conviction she almost managed to convince Rebecca they were true.

“Right means go and left means stop,” Rebecca said to herself.

She pressed the brake and put the truck in gear. She bit her lip as she released the brake and the truck eased forward.

“Driving is about constant correction,” Dylan said. “If you feel the truck start to drift to the left, turn your steering wheel to the right. If you feel it moving to the right, turn to the left. Pretty soon, it will become so automatic you won’t even be aware of what you’re doing.”

Rebecca flexed her aching fingers. She was gripping the steering wheel so tightly she was surprised she didn’t leave her fingerprints behind.

“See. I knew you could do it.”

“I’m driving. I’m really driving.” Rebecca turned to give Dylan a high five and nearly drove into another ditch.

Dylan grabbed the wheel and steered the truck back onto the rutted road. “What’s the most important part of driving?”

“Never take your eyes off the road.”

“And the second?”

“No drinking and driving.”

“And the third?”

“Always look out for the other guy.”

“My dad made up a couple of those rules, but in my family, they’re appropriate.”

“Because of your brother, you mean? How did he die?”

“TJ was killed in a car accident when I was seven. He was driving back to college from spring break when he was hit head-on by a drunk driver. The loss devastated my parents and forced me to grow up much faster than I might have wanted. My brother Matt went in the opposite direction. He went from being the sweetest guy you could ever hope to meet to being angry at the world. Instead of dealing with his pain, he tried to inflict it on others or dull it with drugs and alcohol. His behavior got even worse when he was in high school. He was constantly picking fights and getting into trouble. That’s why his friends called him Maniac Mahoney.”

“Where is he now?”

“He and a friend of his share an apartment in Reading. They do just enough to get by. I keep hoping he’ll get his act together, but so far that hasn’t happened.”

Rebecca looked at Dylan out of the corner of her eye. Dylan always got so sad when she talked about her brothers. Rebecca wished she could take that sadness away, but she didn’t know how. She was glad to know, though, that family was as important to Dylan as it was to her.

“Is TJ’s death the reason you don’t drink?”

“It’s one of the reasons. I’ve tried alcohol, but I don’t like the taste. Even more than that, I hate being out of control.”

“Now I’m even more embarrassed.”

“For?”

“Getting drunk at the hoedown. I was definitely out of control. I said some things—”

“That are already forgiven and forgotten. Let’s leave the past where it belongs. In the past. It’s the future I care about. From where I sit, the future looks pretty bright.”

Rebecca was inclined to agree.

Chapter Four

Drive-in theaters, much to Dylan’s dismay, became obsolete years before she was born. Her parents often regaled her with tales of the two of them sitting wide-eyed in the dark watching movies from the backseat of their respective family cars. Dylan wished she could make a similar memory of her own. The closest she could come to replicating the experience was participating in her high school’s annual Hollywood Under the Stars program. On Saturday nights, attendees spread blankets on the football field while the event’s organizers showed family-friendly films on the scoreboard.

The movie of the week was Footloose, the music-filled Kevin Bacon vehicle from 1984. Dylan had seen the movie dozens of times, but this was the first time the storyline hit home. She was struck by the similarities between the forbidden Ren-Ariel romance and her own. But how much of a romance could hers be if all of the emotions were one-sided? Rebecca still had not expressed her feelings for her—if she had any—and it had been weeks since they kissed. Or was it months? Days. Weeks. Months. It didn’t matter. Dylan felt like it had been years since the last time her lips touched Rebecca’s.

Now there was Tobias Hershberger to deal with. How was she supposed to compete with a walking, talking Ken doll, a straight girl’s vision of the American dream?

She kept telling herself to be patient, but her patience was wearing thin. If there wasn’t a chance for her and Rebecca to be together, even temporarily, she needed to know. And she needed to know now. Before she invested any more of her heart in a relationship that was never going to develop.

Rebecca clapped as the movie’s closing credits rolled across the screen. Dylan introduced her to at least one film each weekend. She enjoyed them all, but this one struck a chord with her. The characters in the movie were banned from dancing or listening to rock music. So was she. Most of the characters in the movie were the children of farmers. So was she. But the kids in the movie learned how to dance and even held a school prom. She would never do either of those things.

Her applause petered to a stop. She could feel Dylan’s eyes on her. The intensity of Dylan’s gaze unnerved her. Dylan had been staring at her for a while now, but not in the usual way. Dylan normally looked at her as if she were a precious jewel to be admired. Tonight, Dylan was scrutinizing her as if she were someone who could not be trusted. What had happened to cause Dylan to lose faith in her and their friendship?

“Is something wrong?” Rebecca asked as Mr. and Mrs. Mahoney folded the oversized blanket the four of them had used as a buffer between themselves and the damp grass.

“Why would something be wrong?”

“You seem…not yourself tonight.”

“I’m fine.”

Rebecca didn’t believe her. Dylan had been tense and edgy all night. She had kept up her end of the conversation, but she wasn’t her usual good-natured self. Darkness hovered over her like a storm cloud. Rebecca prayed the storm wasn’t about to unleash its fury. She didn’t like seeing Dylan unhappy, especially when she suspected she was the cause of that unhappiness.

Rebecca pulled Dylan aside while Mr. and Mrs. Mahoney talked to some people they knew. “What can I do to fix it?”

“Fix what?”

“Whatever’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Talk to me, Dylan.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Whatever’s on your mind.”

“You don’t want to hear what’s on my mind,” Dylan said after a moment’s pause.

“Yes, I do. Please tell me what’s bothering you.”

“I’m just worried, that’s all.”

“About what?”

“I’m going to be graduating next year, which means I’ll have to leave you. I don’t want to go somewhere you’re not going to be.”

“But you have to. I know how important your education is to you.”

“You’re important to me, too. Aren’t you going to miss me, even a little?”

“Of course I will. I’ll think of you every day.”

“I don’t want to be thought of. I want to be loved. If you can’t do that, please let me know and I’ll find someone who can.”

Dylan watched Rebecca’s face fall. She wanted to kick herself for taking her frustrations out on Rebecca, but the targets that were easiest to hit were usually the most convenient—and the most inopportune.

“Don’t mind me. You’re right. I’m not myself today, but there’s no excuse for what I said to you. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for being right. You deserve someone who can love you as much as you love… her.”

When Rebecca stumbled over the word, Dylan realized she had been deluding herself for the past two years. She and Rebecca weren’t having some kind of storybook romance. She had a crush on a straight girl who could never reciprocate her feelings.

Dylan flinched when her father clapped her on the back.

“Call me crazy, but I feel like dancing. Who’s with me?”

“I never learned how,” Rebecca said.

“We can show you a couple of moves,” her mother said. “I’m sure Dylan would love to be your instructor. Wouldn’t you, honey?”

Dylan forced her mouth to curve into a smile. “I can’t wait.”

Mr. and Mrs. Mahoney moved the furniture in the living room aside to form a makeshift dance floor.

“What should we start with?” Mrs. Mahoney asked.

“How about something classic like the Twist?” Mr. Mahoney stood on the balls of his feet and twisted them into the carpet as if he were trying to squash an insect.

“How about something she could actually use one day?” Dylan said.

“So I guess that means the Charleston’s out, too?” Mrs. Mahoney wagged her index finger in the air while she gyrated through what Rebecca assumed was once a popular dance.

Mr. Mahoney snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it.”

“Should I be afraid?” Dylan asked.

Rebecca couldn’t tell if Dylan was really getting into the spirit of the evening or if she was only pretending to in order to please everyone else.

“You should be very afraid.”

Mr. Mahoney searched through the collection of CDs until he found the one he wanted. He took the disc out of its case and put it in the player. Dylan groaned when music began blasting out of the speakers.

“You can’t go wrong with the Chicken Dance. It’s a staple at wedding receptions everywhere.”

Rebecca tried to follow along as Mr. Mahoney demonstrated the dance. She felt ridiculous mimicking his actions, but the way everyone was laughing, maybe that was how she was supposed to feel.

The waltz was next.

Mr. and Mrs. Mahoney held each other close as they glided around the room.

“I’ll never be able to do that.”

“You never know until you try.” Dylan held out her hand. “Do you want to try?”

“Yes, I do.”

Rebecca tried to mirror Mrs. Mahoney’s position. She gripped Dylan’s left hand with her right and put her left hand on Dylan’s shoulder. Dylan’s right hand rested on Rebecca’s waist. Rebecca responded to Dylan’s cues as Dylan subtly directed her to move left, right, forward, or backward.

“See,” Dylan said when the song ended. “I knew you could do it.”

Rebecca couldn’t breathe. All she could see was Dylan. All she could hear was Dylan. All she wanted was Dylan.

“Teach me more.”

“You two have at it,” Mr. Mahoney said. “I’m beat.”

“Me, too,” Mrs. Mahoney said.

“Party poopers. Let’s go to my room, Rebecca. I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

Rebecca followed Dylan upstairs.

Dylan closed her bedroom door behind them and switched on the lamp next to her bed. Then she turned on the stereo. Music, loud enough to be heard but not loud enough to disturb Mr. or Mrs. Mahoney, drifted out of the speakers.

“This one’s called the Electric Slide. It’s a group dance, so it’s more fun when you have a lot of people participating.”

Dylan demonstrated the steps. Rebecca tried to keep up. Halfway through the song, she had the moves down pat.

“There you go. You got it.”

The song ended and another one began.

“Give me your hands.”

Rebecca allowed her hands to be guided to Dylan’s shoulders. Dylan circled her arms around Rebecca’s waist and taught her how to slow dance.

“Feel the music. Relax and let your body move to the rhythm. That’s it. Just like that.”

Rebecca felt her self-consciousness begin to abate as Dylan continued to offer encouragement. She moved forward. Rebecca heard Dylan’s breath catch when Rebecca molded her body against hers.