Ties That Bind (14 page)

Patrick lowered the iPad. “If there isn't anything else, let's get started.”

Everyone meandered in different directions until they were scattered. The lighting and sound people went to their spots. The stage managers and stagehands began shifting props. Skylar put the strap of her backpack on her shoulder and fell in behind the other actors, heading for the stairs that led backstage.

Patrick waited at the top of the steps, speaking to people as they passed. He caught Skylar's eye and motioned for her. “Could I speak to you for a moment?”

Her heart picked up its pace. “Yeah, sure.” She broke rank with the others and followed him out of the theater. “I'm sorry I was late.”

“Let's talk in my office.” They stepped into his tiny space, and he closed the door. “This isn't about being late, although maybe I should add that to the list.”

The list? There was a list? Had she done stuff she was unaware of? She put her backpack on the floor at her feet and sat in the uncomfortable chair across from him. Despite trying not to fidget, she bounced one leg up and down in quick succession. Outside of the theater it wasn't like her to get nervous. Her mode of operation was cavalier, which was a huge part of what got her in trouble. Deadlines for projects and studying didn't matter until it was too late to do anything about them.

He pulled a folder out of a small desk drawer and laid it on the desk. “You know I believe in your talent. You've been a part of this team since you were in high school, and you're seriously one of the best I've worked with. Because of that and because of all your mom does to help out, I've cut you too much slack.”

“No you haven't.” Without even a pause her mind raced with rationalizations and possible angles for changing his mind. “I work hard, and I have some flaws that need to be ironed out. That's why you cut me some slack. I'll work even harder. I promise.”

He rapped his fingers on the folder, and she stared at it. Whatever it held, she wished she could run it through the paper shredder.

“You weren't honest with me, Skylar.” Patrick tapped the folder with his index finger.

Had she lied to him? She didn't recall doing so, although in her get-out-of-trouble mode, she tended to say whatever it took to convince the person. “I don't understand.”

“At the end of the spring semester, you told me you were going to take summer classes that would fix the issue with your GPA.”

“That wasn't a lie. I have proof that I attended school all summer.” The last time she'd checked her grades, which was online two weeks ago, right after her summer finals were posted, her grades looked good. “I passed my two summer classes with a high B in each.” And it hadn't been easy, especially considering how grueling the summer theater program was this year. “That pulled my GPA above requirements to stay in theater.” She had hoped to do better than a B in those classes, but unlike a full semester, she'd had to cover a ton of information packed into just a few weeks of class time.

She pulled her phone out of her pocket, ready to show him how well she had done.

“Put it away, Skylar. I have the same information in this folder. Of the two classes you took, you did well. The problem is you failed psychology last spring.”

“But I told you that at the end of the semester.”

“Yes, you did. And it was my understanding that you were retaking it over the summer.”

“I tried, but psychology isn't offered in the summer. I began it two weeks ago with the fall courses, and I've already made an A on the first test. I can pass the course this time. I know I can.”

Why had she chosen to go on a weekend trip last spring when she'd needed that time to study for the final? She'd known she was on the cusp of pass or fail, but she'd followed Peter, her then boyfriend, to the beach with a group of his friends. Then after she failed the class, she learned he'd been cheating on her for months. “I made a silly mistake, and it cost me a passing grade. It won't happen again.”

“I wish that were good enough.” He played with the edge of the file. “I hate to have to tell you this, but—”

“Nooo. Please, Patrick.” She knew she was whining, but she didn't care. “If you don't want to say it, then don't. I can make this right.”

“I believe you. But there are two protocols to being allowed to participate in extracurricular activities at this school. Your summer classes pulled up your GPA, but that's only one of the criteria. No one can have a failing grade in any mandatory class and continue performing in sports or the arts.”

“Oh, come on, Patrick.”

“Sorry, Sky. You're on academic probation, and the only reason you weren't told that months ago is because your counselor had her baby prematurely, and some grades slipped through the cracks.” He opened his desk drawer. “The rules are what they are. When you finish the psychology course, the two grades—the failing one and this semester's—will be averaged, and if that gives you a passing grade for psychology, you will be allowed to rejoin tryouts for the following performance. While on academic probation, you could be a stagehand.”

“You want me to make sure Brittany's spotlight, sound equipment, and costumes are in good order? No thanks.”

“Then you'll need to drop theater for this semester. Maybe a break will do you some good.” He put the file in the drawer and locked it. “I did what I could, but it seems we're both in some trouble here. Even though the front office was unaware you'd failed a mandatory class, I wasn't, and I shouldn't have let you continue in the summer program. The bit of good news is that because of that A you've already made on your first psychology test, I managed to get permission for you to finish the last performances of the current musical, but that's all I could do.”

“I've put effort into doing everything you've wanted for four years.”

“I know, and you're a huge part of the reason our ticket sales have increased over the last couple of years.”

“But the theater's fiftieth-anniversary performance would be my best chance to stand out in a sea of applicants to CMU.”

“I don't want to discourage you, and I know you believe in the dream, but I doubt you can pull up your GPA enough to satisfy CMU. Maybe you should rethink that plan.”

Was that true? She grabbed her backpack, slung it at the closed door, and cursed.

Patrick didn't flinch. “Pick up your bag and watch your language, Sky.”

She snatched her bag off the floor. But the hardness of his soft-spoken words was unbearable. Had she been living in a fantasy world to hold on to her dream of CMU? Skylar put the strap of her bag on her shoulder. “So if this hadn't happened?”

He stood. “Yeah, you were going to be the lead.”

She leaned against the door and thudded the back of her head against it numerous times. Why had she let anyone, especially cheater Peter, talk her into going away that weekend? After gaining some control, she stood upright and wrapped both hands around the strap of her backpack. “I'd like to cut practice today.”

“I understand. You know your part well.”

“Thanks. Any chance you could hold off posting the information until after my last performance next weekend?” That would keep her from having to face the entire troupe once they realized she didn't even get a bit part in the next play.

“I'm not sure, but I'll see what I can do.”

“I appreciate it, and thanks for fighting for me.”

“I would say
anytime,
but I need this job.” He didn't look as much like a teacher right now as a middle-aged man who'd been backed into a corner by his boss.

She left his office, and anger warred within her as she walked toward the exit.

Brittany looked at her as she passed. She turned away quickly, but not before she saw the smirk on Brittany's face.

Wasn't there something she could do to reverse this decision? There had to be. Ideas began pounding her brain. Oh, so many ideas.

But just how far was she willing to go to get back on stage before the semester was over?

F
rom behind a booth on the green space of old town Summer Grove, Ariana paused to take in the view. The town buzzed with people for Labor Day weekend. A band was on a stage, playing patriotic music. Booths were set up here and there, some of them selling foods but most selling crafts.

For the first time since they began selling foods at nine that morning, they had no one at their booth. Using a hand towel, she wiped sweat from her face. They could use a roof over their booth to give them some reprieve from the sun.

She pulled a wristwatch out of her apron pocket. Eight minutes past three. What a wonderfully busy day it'd been. At last count they had made nearly $400 today. She still needed thousands more to go to closing, but what a testimony to the idea of owning the café. Four hundred dollars in profits in a day? Her head was spinning. Of course, this type of town event was rare, but if the café made a fourth of that six days a week, that would be nearly $30,000 a year before taxes. If they could make $200 a day, lack for her parents and siblings would become a memory. Oh, how she longed for that.

She removed the last tray of sandwiches from the cooler. She'd baked the croissants as the sun rose and then loaded the bread with thinly sliced deli meats and wrapped them individually. This was the kind of item she wanted to sell at the café. Simple and tasty.

She turned to Susie. “Where are the other trays of sandwiches?”

Scrubbing mustard stains off the booth's countertops, Susie grinned. “Everything is selling like hot cakes. Isn't it great?”

Ariana had soaked in every passing minute since Susie had agreed not to leave the Amish, and her sister was wildly enthusiastic about their endeavors, even when they stayed up baking half the night. So Ariana didn't wish to dampen her sister's fun, but she held up the now-empty tray, silently asking about it.

“Ya,” Susie said, “that's the last of what we brought. I thought Rudy let you know.”

Rudy entered the booth, carrying a grocery bag. They had needed more coffee, sugar, and cream, so he had run to the closest store for them. “Did I hear my name?”

Ariana pursed her lips, half smirking at Susie. “What you heard was my little sister throwing you under the buggy.”

“Well,”—Rudy winked at Ariana—“as long as you are with me, I won't mind.” He set the items on the counter. “So what's the problem?”

“We are going to be out of sandwiches soon, and I didn't realize that.” Ariana wondered how quickly she and Susie could run home, put more together, and return.

Susie opened the grocery bag and pulled out the coffee. “So here's the good news: apparently opening a café that sells sandwiches, scones, and other simple lunch items is going to be quite hot.” She licked her index finger and pressed it against Ariana's shoulder and made a sizzling noise. “Yes, folks. Hot like my big sister.”

Ariana suppressed the desire to correct her sister's risqué remarks. It seemed to her it would be best not to nitpick. “Be that as it may,”—Ariana pulled the sugar and cream out of the bag—“you and I need to go home and make more sandwiches. I hope Mamm put the rest of the croissants in to bake after we left.”

“You're going to leave Rudy here by himself?”

“He doesn't mind. The two of us will make short work of it.”

“Oh, face it, Ariana.” Susie put both hands on her hips, a mischievous smile on her lips. “You just want to make your little sister a clone of yourself.”

Rudy's eyes met Ari's, and he seemed to be thinking the same thing she was—sometimes it was difficult to know how to take Susie's cheekiness.

His smile replaced the hint of uncertainty. “It would be okay with me if you become a clone of Ariana. You could do the work while I take your sister out. I like that plan, actually.”

“We're leaving now.” Susie grabbed Ariana's hand and tugged her out of the booth. “And I hope you are overrun with throngs of people wanting sandwiches you do not happen to have.”

Rudy held up a couple of sandwiches. “But I have some and plenty of coffee,” he teased.

Ariana waved at Rudy, and then she decided to do something she had not done to any adult—she blew him a kiss. His dimpled grin greeted the action. Then she picked up the pace, pulling Susie along while hurrying away.

They wasted no time hopping into the rig. Ariana reached for the reins, but Susie grabbed them. “I'll take those. Denki.”

“Fine by me. Just be careful of pedestrians. It will only slow us down if you run over someone and we have to stop to deal with it.”

Susie burst into laughter. “All right! My sarcastic ways are finally beginning to rub off on my big sister.”

After winding their way through the busyness of town, they were able to pick up speed and make up for a little lost time. Ariana leaned back, tired but really happy.

Where was Quill about now? Susie had surely told him that she didn't intend to leave the Amish. Had he gone home, back to wherever he lived?

As they passed his mother's home, she saw a car at the foot of the porch stairs with the passenger door open. The screen door banged open, and Quill walked out, carrying his mother.

What was Quill up to now? Ariana took the reins from Susie. “I need to check on this.”

Was Berta sick again? Did Quill think he could run off with her as he'd done with Frieda? Ariana's thoughts made little sense, and all she knew for sure was she didn't trust Quill Schlabach—not concerning his Mamm's health or his respect for her wishes.

“Who is that carrying Berta?”

Apparently Susie didn't recognize Quill with his baseball cap on and in jeans and a T-shirt. Susie's main contact with him had probably been during the cover of night. Or maybe they'd made all plans through phone calls and letters.

“Just stay put, okay?” Ariana barely stopped the rig before she tossed the reins at Susie and jumped out. “What's going on?” She hurried up the steps.

“She passed out cold, and since rousing a bit, she's been addled. I'm taking her to the hospital.”

Is that what Berta needed, to be rushed to the ER? Unless medical help was absolutely necessary, it wasn't worth how draining it would be on Berta emotionally. Probably financially too—at least that's what Ariana had assumed before she realized Quill was a part of her life. “Put her down and let me think for a second, okay?”

Quill paused, looking unsure whether to trust Ariana in such matters. “But—”

“I…I'm okay.” His Mamm's eyes fluttered open, and she looked more asleep than awake. She lifted her hand to his cheek. “Do as she says.”

He awkwardly eased her onto the top step. Ariana knelt beside her. Quill got on the other side.

She pressed her fingers against Berta's wrist. “How are you feeling?” Her pulse seemed shallow, and Ariana wished she knew more about such matters.

“Dizzy, but better,” Berta whispered.

What little Ariana knew about the pulse, fainting, and blood pressure, she'd learned from the nurses and doctors during Berta's most recent illness. “She began blood-pressure medicine a few weeks ago. The doctor said that while her body was adjusting to the medication, fainting could be a side effect.”

Quill seemed relieved. “Does that mean there's no real danger?”

Ariana studied Berta, disliking the gray tint to her skin. “I think so.”

“If you're not sure, I'm taking her in to be seen.”

Ariana finished checking Berta's pulse before she looked up. The desire to point a finger at Quill and do all within her power to make him see how wrong he'd been all these years was overwhelming. When had she stepped into those hideous shoes, the ones that belonged to some bitter, self-righteous minister's wife? “Just give me a few minutes!” After snapping, she wrestled her inner grudge holder into submission and forced the next word to the surface. “Pl…please?”

“It can't hurt to take her in.” Quill's steely blue eyes bore into her. “What's the issue? Are you afraid I'm going to kidnap her?”

Ariana's cheeks tingled, and she hoped they weren't turning red.

He scoffed, releasing a burst of laughter that mixed with sharp disbelief. “You're kidding. Seriously, Ari?”

“She hates hospitals, and they're expensive, but…” Should she admit how little she trusted him? She released a slow breath of air, hoping to take the edge off her uptight emotions. “Ya, the…the kidnapping thought did sort of cross my mind.”

“Even you should know I wouldn't do anything against someone's will.”

“Even me? Just what does that mean?” As soon as she asked, she held up her hand, shushing him before he could respond. “I don't want to know.” They had to call a truce, a real one where they came to an understanding that they would never agree about anything of real value, but right now their focus needed to be on Berta.

“Friede dezwische du Zwee,”
Berta whispered breathlessly.

“So denk ich aa.”
Ariana nodded, assuring Berta that she wanted peace between them too. She was weary of falling just short of hating Quill…if she fell short of it.

Berta seemed unable to catch a full breath. “None of what happened was within Quill's power to stop.” She turned to her son. “Tell her.”

Quill gently sandwiched his Mamm's hand between his. “Sh. Mamm,
es iss allrecht.
”

His assurance that it would be all right and his tenderness with his Mamm warred with the strange words Berta had spoken. Except for the loss of his Daed, Quill had never seemed to have a powerless moment in his life. He took control, even of his own fears and grief.

Berta grasped Ariana's wrist and placed her palm on the back of Quill's hand and then sandwiched their hands between hers. “Peace.”

Ariana's heart felt as if it would explode from the opposing emotions swelling within it—the need for peace and the desire to unleash years of bitter disappointment in Quill. She prayed for help while fighting against her righteous indignation.

Taking a breath—and a step of faith—she wrapped her fingers over his and squeezed. Unlike her, he didn't hesitate in his response. He returned the gesture. Moments ago it had seemed obvious that she and Quill needed to find some measure of goodwill between them, but maybe it was just she who needed to find it.

She pulled her hand free and checked Berta's pulse again. “What was going on right before she fainted?”

“She was on the couch, reading, when I went in to say good-bye. She seemed fine until she stood. The next thing I knew she was swaying, and by the time I grabbed her, she was out cold.”

“Ya, standing up too fast with this new med in her was probably the cause.” She checked the pulse points in her feet as the doctor had showed her, making sure her circulation was normal. “Remember, Berta, we talked about how slowly you need to get up if you want to stay by yourself at night?”

Berta's eyes barely opened, but she nodded.

Susie came up the steps. “Is there anything I can do?”

Ariana pressed her fingers against Berta's forehead. She felt a little clammy but not bad.

“Quill Schlabach?” Susie sounded confused, as if she was surprised he was still in the area. “What are you doing here?”

Ariana didn't want these two talking or spending even a minute together. “Susie, we've got this. You need to go on to the house and make the sandwiches and take them to Rudy. Tell Rudy and Mamm what's going on with Berta's health and that I need to stay with her tonight.”

Susie remained in place, eyeing Quill.

“Please do as I asked.” Ariana checked Berta's pulse again. It was stronger this time.

Quill walked down the steps with Susie and stayed by the carriage, talking to her.

“Quill?” Ariana called him.

He said bye to Susie and then turned. “Ya?”

“I need her blood-pressure cuff. Do you know where she keeps it?”