Treasuring Emma (3 page)
He didn’t move. If he did, he’d give in to her, like he had the last two times.
Nothing about his life was right. Especially his relationship with Ashley.
He heard her huff and get up off the couch. Heard her bare feet padding against the mud-colored carpet in his cheap one-bedroom apartment. The squeak of the fridge hinges. The pop of a beer bottle cap.
“Here.” She sat down next to him, her jean-clad thigh pressing against his. “You need to chill.”
He took the amber bottle from her grasp and set it on the floor a few inches from his shoes.
“You don’t want it?”
Finally he looked at her. “No.”
She lifted her lip in a half smile. “You’ve been acting weird lately.” Her slender fingers threaded through his hair. She touched his chin with her other hand, rubbing her fingertips against the whiskers before snaking her arm around his neck. But when she moved to press her mouth to his, he backed away.
Her smile widened. “Oh. I get it. You want a little show.”
The flowery scent of her perfume tickled his nose. He held back a sneeze.
She unzipped her tight hooded sweatshirt and removed it, tossing it next to her on the couch. When she lifted the hem of her T-shirt, he jumped up.
“Don’t do that.”
She paused, gazing at him through her thick black lashes. “Why? You never wanted me to stop before.”
He gritted his teeth against the battle waging within him. It had been a mistake to sleep with her. He knew that the first time. It hadn’t taken much for her to convince him to do it a second time. Even now he fought his body’s reaction. “I mean it.”
“I don’t get it. You’re acting like such a prude.”
“I’m not a prude.”
Then again, maybe he was. Adam had grown up in a strict Amish family, stricter than most. For the sake of his sanity, he’d had to escape. And the road to freedom had led to Warren, Michigan.
No more dumb-looking clothes and endless rules. He had a pickup truck. A cell phone. At work he clocked in using a computerized swipe card. He watched mindless reality television. Next thing on his list, when he could afford it, was a laptop computer.
Granted, his apartment was a dump and his job wasn’t exactly thrilling, but it was better than shoveling dung out of the barn and sitting through three hours of boring church sermons.
Or was it?
He’d been so deep in his thoughts he hadn’t noticed Ashley standing there watching him. Her thin, arched eyebrows lifted. “Adam. What’s wrong? You’re not acting like yourself.”
He hadn’t acted like himself for a long time. He turned away from her, kicked the bottle with the toe of his shoe, and watched as beer soaked into the carpet. Great. His landlord would love that.
“I’m fine.”
Her features relaxed. She pressed her hand against his chest. “Good. Then we can get back to what we were doing.”
They’d only known each other a couple of months. Had she always been this thickheaded? Maybe she had, but he’d been too distracted by her looks, and then her actions, to notice. “Ashley, I meant what I said. We can’t sleep together anymore. Ever.”
She batted her eyelashes and gave him a coy smile. “We weren’t exactly sleeping.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t.” She tossed a lock of streaky blond hair over her shoulder. “Making love is supposed to bring us closer, not pull us apart.”
“Ashley, I don’t love you.”
Her mouth dropped open. Then she shut it and smiled again. “Of course you don’t. I don’t love you either. But that doesn’t mean we won’t ever love each other. And in the meantime, we should enjoy the side benefits of our friendship.”
He closed his eyes. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he couldn’t imagine spending the rest of his life with this girl. He could barely stand to be in the same room with her. So what were they doing together?
“This isn’t working out, Ashley.”
“Is this about Mike?”
“Who?”
“Mike, at work. It was just that one time, you know. No big deal. He’s just a friend, Adam. So are Tanner and Steve. You don’t have to be jealous.” She narrowed her eyes. “You do believe me, don’t you?”
He had no idea if she was telling the truth or not, but he didn’t really care. Her eyes, the same shade as lush summer grass, were blank. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me. I want us to be together.”
“Why?”
His question brought her up short. “What do you mean, why?”
“Why should we keep dating? What kind of future will we have?”
“Future? We’re only twenty-three.”
“I’m twenty-four.”
“Whatever.” She frowned at him. “It’s still young. Too young to be worrying about the future.”
“Or about marriage?”
“Who needs marriage?” Ashley shook her head. “Adam, I know you grew up Amish and they have all these old-fashioned ideas. But you’re living in the real world now.”
The real world
. How real was a world where people fell together on a whim, and then fell apart again? A world where, he realized with a rush of humiliation, he’d have to go to some anonymous clinic and be tested for STDs because he’d slept with a girl who’d slept with some other guy who’d slept with who knows how many more? A world where people paid more for sneakers than it would take to feed a small village of hungry children for months?
Shame washed over him. Had he left all his values behind when he left his Amish upbringing? Had he abandoned his soul as well?
She moved closer to him, ran a hand over his faded red T-shirt. “You’re bumming me out with all this serious talk. Why can’t we relax and have some fun?”
He removed her hand from his chest. “I think you should go.”
“I don’t believe this.” She moved away from him. “What else is going on?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you cheating on me?”
He held out his hands. “Why would you even think that?”
“Because of this conversation. We’ve been so good together, Adam. Then suddenly you don’t want to have anything to do with me.” Her voice faltered. “It’s like I’m not good enough for you anymore.”
Adam shook his head. “I’ve never thought that, Ashley. I’m not better than anyone else.”
“Then why are you breaking up with me?”
How could he explain it to her, when he barely understood it himself? Two years ago he couldn’t wait to be where he was right now. Free from rules, his parents. Free from the ministers who dictated every aspect of his life. From the bishop who warned him to avoid the “devil’s playground,” the outside world that had intrigued and fascinated him for so long.
He just wanted a little space. A little peace.
Then he found Ashley. Beautiful. A little wild. So different from the Amish girls he’d grown up with.
He’d found his freedom. But the peace never came. He didn’t belong in the Amish world. Yet it was becoming clear he didn’t belong in this one either.
“So this is how it ends?” Ashley’s arms fell to her sides. “You tell me to leave and it’s over?”
“Ashley.” He felt like such a jerk. “I never meant to—”
“Hurt me?” She snatched her sweatshirt off the couch. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that before.”
He wanted to comfort her, but he had to be honest. “It’s not you, it’s—”
“Me?” When she shot a look at him, he nodded. “You know what? I’ve heard that before too.” She swiped a finger under her eye. “I seem to have a gift for dating scumbags. Don’t worry, I won’t bother you anymore.” The front door slammed behind her.
Adam flinched. “That could have gone better,” he said to the empty apartment. But what else could he have done? She wanted something from him he couldn’t give.
He picked up the beer bottle and dumped the remaining contents down the drain. Two months ago he would have considered such waste a sacrilege. Now he wished he hadn’t spent money on the six-pack.
He plopped down on the couch and flipped on the TV, trying to forget about Ashley. After cycling through shopping, sports, movies, and endless news channels with the remote, he snapped it off and went outside to check the mail.
Stepping into the fresh air calmed him. He breathed in deeply, not the aromas of fresh-cut hay, burning leaves, or manure, but car exhaust, with undertones of dryer sheets from the laundry building near his apartment. Still, it was better than the stale atmosphere of his apartment.
Barefoot, Adam crossed the parking lot to the array of mailboxes. He barely noticed the gravel digging into the soles of his feet. He’d grown up shoeless for most of his life, except for winter, or when he went to school and church.
He stuck his key into the lock of number 114 and twisted it. Probably bills, some junk mail. Maybe a letter from home. His mother often wrote, but never his father or anyone else from Middlefield. Why would they? He had rejected them and their way of life when he left.
He pulled out the mail and was about to close the door when he noticed a small envelope tucked in the back. The right corner curled up. He pulled it out and read the address. The letter wasn’t from his mother. It was from Leona Shetler.
Why would she write to him? He slammed the mailbox door shut, jerked out the key, and ran back to the apartment. He dumped the rest of the mail on the kitchen counter and ripped open the envelope, almost shredding part of it as he yanked it from the tight pocket.
Dear Adam,
I’m sure you are surprised to hear from me. Shame on me for not keeping in touch. I hope you are well. I have prayed for you from the moment you left. Just wanted you to know that.
There are two things I need to tell you. The first is that Emma’s mother died last week. She got cancer shortly after you went to Michigan, and the Lord ended her suffering. She put up a good fight. Emma is taking the news real badly.
Adam stopped reading. Emma Shetler. She’d intruded into his thoughts off and on over the past two years. They had been childhood playmates, and in many ways she had been his best friend. But she ruined everything the night before he left. She had tried to convince him to stay, telling him anything she thought he wanted to hear. Even that she cared about him as more than a friend. He’d laughed it off, partially out of embarrassment, partly out of disbelief. They were friends. That’s all they ever would be.
He rubbed his hand over his face, his mustache and beard tickling his palm. Poor Emma. She’d lost her father, now her mother. He frowned as he continued reading.
The second thing you need to know concerns your mother. I’m worried about her. She hasn’t been herself for the past couple of months. She’s been sad, and acts like her mind is somewhere else. I don’t know for sure, as she isn’t interested in talking much beyond pleasantries like the weather and how many tomatoes she’s canned. But there’s something deeper going on. I don’t know if it has to do with you, but I suspect it might.
I’m asking you to think about coming back to Middlefield. For a visit, at least. Your father has been as kind as ever to us, especially since Mary’s funeral. Don’t let the shunning stop you from loving the woman who gave you birth.
I don’t want to make you feel guilty, but if you do and it makes you come home, then I won’t be sorry about that.
Sincerely,
Leona Shetler
He sat down on the couch, read the letter again, and then folded the paper. What could be wrong with his mother? Was she sick? Had she hurt herself somehow? If his mother was ill, why hadn’t his father contacted him?
Adam knew the answer to that. His father would never break the
bann
. Even though some Amish in their district didn’t hold to strict shunning, his father did. He followed all the rules of the Amish to the letter, and expected his wife and son to do the same. Variance wasn’t tolerated. Neither was doubt or questioning.
There was only one way to find out what was going on. He’d have to return to Middlefield.
Suddenly he wished he hadn’t tossed that beer down the sink. But alcohol wouldn’t give him the courage to face his family. He’d have to muster that himself. Or ask God to help him, as his father would say.
God will never turn His back on you
.
Those were his mother’s last words to him before he left Middlefield. But Adam and God hadn’t been on good terms for a long while. And his mother hadn’t lived Adam’s life. She hadn’t doubted or questioned. She’d always been committed to the Lord, her faith, her family.
Adam had fled from all those things, straight into the “devil’s playground.” Had he even thought about God since leaving home? Only when he needed something, like a job or a car. Then he’d tossed out a flippant prayer for help. Lately he hadn’t even bothered to do that.
Was it possible to find his way back?
Should he even try?
“Why did you ask Emma to stay with us?”
Peter stared straight ahead, holding the reins lightly in his hand. The horse’s hooves clopped against the asphalt road. Although it was still early evening, there were few cars out. “It was the right thing to do. Besides, I didn’t just ask Emma. I want Leona to stay with us too.”