The early morning sky was dark, and stars twinkled brightly as Skylar looked out the side window from the backseat of the carriage. It was almost Thanksgiving, and a foot of snow covered the landscape. The white layer on the road muted the thudding of the horse’s hoofs. Abram drove her, Susie, and Martha toward the café. Cilla would arrive in a couple of hours since she wasn’t needed until the customers started coming in. Abram thought Brennemans’ Perks wouldn’t be as busy today with snow on the ground and more expected by midmorning.
Detoxing had meant four long days and nights at the Brenneman home with headaches, nausea, leg cramps, sleeplessness, crankiness, melancholy, and depression. Then, for good measure, Skylar had spent an extra week on the farm, learning to milk cows and tend the horses. The horse venture was her favorite. It was a kind of equine therapy for a former addict. Detoxing was behind her, and a lifetime of craving relief was ahead of her.
“Skylar.” Martha nudged her. “You okay?”
Of all the maternal figures in Skylar’s life now, her youngest sister seemed to outmother the others. “Yeah. I’m good. You?” Good was an exaggeration, but Skylar had learned numerous lessons the past two weeks as the Brennemans pulled together to help her detox and find new strength to draw from. One was that love thought of others first. Martha was genuinely concerned. Step one in responding to others who cared: assuring the person she was fine. That was the easy part. Skylar lied all the time about how she was doing.
The hard part was step two: doing whatever it took to make sure she was fine. The whatever it took could be talking to someone, talking to herself, going for a walk, getting a hot bath, tending the horses, or milking the cows. She had swung from exhausted to edgy during her two weeks on the farm, and when she was edgy, she had to stay busy.
“If you start feeling jittery today, I’ll make you some of my tea.”
Martha’s tea, a concoction of loose leaves she mixed herself before brewing, seemed quite helpful. Or maybe it was just the girl who brought it to Skylar with hope radiating in her eyes. Who knew? The only thing Skylar knew for sure was that she had too many people invested in her success to let them down.
Skylar focused on Martha, her angelic face illuminated by silvery moonlight on freshly fallen snow, and Skylar’s heart wrenched. This fifteen-year-old girl was her little sister, the youngest of five girls. Since they shared a bedroom and a bathroom, along with Susie, both innocent girls had seen too much recently—Skylar puking her guts out, moaning in pain, and ranting with anger.
She put her arm around her little sister. How had this quiet wisp of a girl and Susie’s humor-laced sarcasm softened parts of Skylar’s stony heart? “I’m strong enough for today.” She had voiced her concern at having to see people today, customers she’d been rude to or whose coffee mugs she’d overfilled or some other embarrassing thing in the weeks she’d worked at the café.
Susie turned from the front seat, and Abram looked at Skylar from the rearview mirror. All of them meant so much more to her this week than when she’d stormed out of the café two weeks ago. How had it happened? If five weeks of living with the Old Ways had made this much difference, what would a year do?
But could she hold on to her newfound strength? Love and gratefulness were like their own high even as her body ached. Her physical aches and low tolerance to pain might take months to fully go away. Odd how that worked—the body became overly sensitive to pain after using drugs to dull the pain. “I’m fine, guys. If I feel lousy, I’ll let you know, and you can help me.” Skylar squeezed Martha’s shoulders. “Okay?”
She knew a lot more now than she did two weeks ago. She knew she needed to be in Summer Grove with the Brennemans for a while yet. They were good people, and she needed whatever weird magic they possessed. And they needed her help in the café. Other than those things, she had no idea what she wanted to do, and she’d talked to Lovina and Isaac about that. She felt new and different and weird.
Abram pulled around to the back of the café and stopped the rig. When she got out, she stayed with him, and he showed her again how to unhitch the horse from the carriage and rigging. She didn’t care about a buggy and how to make it work, but after spending a good bit of time this past week in the barn with the horses, she cared about them. There was something curative about meeting the needs of such beautiful, intelligent creatures.
Using the halter she led the horse to the hay wagon and tethered it. Abram put the horse blanket over it. He’d put up a makeshift shelter of tarps and rods so the horses—their horse and Cilla’s or Barbie’s horse—could stay dry when there was precipitation. She hoped the thin protection for the horse was enough to keep it comfortable, but that was another lesson she had finally come to accept recently—periodically all inhabitants of Earth groaned under some type of lack, and people who were worth their salt learned to cope without taking it out on others or using drugs.
While Abram filled the trough with fresh water, she patted the horse and let it nuzzle against her. Where had her newfound understanding come from? Maybe desperation. She was seeking answers, and she had found some. Maybe the insight came from watching each member of the family serve her so humbly, reading to her when she was too antsy to read to herself and praying over her. The Brenneman family believed in prayer. Skylar didn’t. But there was no denying that faith worked for them, and she was glad. They deserved the kind of peace that came with believing, and if faith in God and the Bible gave it to them, she was grateful. Of all she’d learned recently that surprised her, a greater respect for faith was at the top of the list. She didn’t have to believe in faith to accept that it could be real. She didn’t know everything. Her internal workings that hated religion had finally quieted. It wasn’t likely that the grumblings against faith would ever completely hush, but she could reason with them, and that was enough.
“You ready?” Abram opened the café’s door.
“Not really.” She stroked the horse a few more times.
Despite all the progress, a large part of her was as irritable today as she’d been when she stormed out of the café two weeks ago. Apparently feeling good and peaceful would never come naturally for her. But she refused to do anything that would hurt Lovina, Isaac, or any of her siblings. And part of her ached to see her mom, to have the chance to say she was sorry for being bratty, for lying, and for all the rest. At the same time, an equal part resented the way her mom and dad had dumped her for Ariana. Now that she understood the concept of thinking of others first, she hoped she could manage some of her overwrought emotions and venomous thoughts.
“Don’t go anywhere,” Skylar whispered in the horse’s ear. “I may need the soothing effect of patting you.” She went inside, and something akin to nostalgia washed over her.
Susie glanced up and tossed an apron her way. “If you want to try your hand as an assistant baker, put that on. And if we’re not too busy today, maybe you could work on organizing the loft.”
“Sure.” Baking didn’t sound so great, but she liked the idea of cleaning the loft. It would get her away from the customers, and it would be a nice thing to do for Susie since she hoped to live there once her parents gave their permission.
She slid the white apron over her pullover sweater and jeans. The minutes slipped into hours, and soon snow began falling again, greatly diminishing the lunch crowd.
Skylar went to a table and began removing dirty dishes. Despite the lack of customers, her back ached, and her energy was less than zero.
Abram ran a broom across the floor. “You doing okay?”
“Everything hurts, but yeah.” She sprayed the table and began wiping it.
His eyes showed pride. He pointed at the snow. “It’s good sledding weather. Should we close early?”
Martha came out of the kitchen, making a rare appearance in the front of the café. She had a mug in her hand. “A hot cup of tea and an egg salad sandwich.”
“Thank you.” Skylar took a sip. “Perfect.”
“Sit. Enjoy. You’ve earned it.” Martha picked up the tray of dirty dishes and went to the kitchen.
Skylar went to a table in the corner near the front window since so few customers were here today and she wanted to look outside. She stretched her back while sipping the tea. Snowflakes continued to fall. Would it be difficult to get home? She picked up her sandwich and turned back to Abram. “Have you eaten?”
“Ya. I ate while you were working on the loft. How’s it looking?”
“Worse, much worse. Right now it looks as if a bomb has gone off. I think the loft mirrors my life. To bring order, I create utter chaos. Now I need to sort, toss, and give away.”
“If it’s a mirror of your life, I suggest you gulp down that food and clean up that loft.”
She laughed.
The café door opened, and Jackson walked in carrying a crate. Skylar wasn’t ready for this encounter and hoped he wanted to avoid her too. What had Abram told him?
“Hey, guys.” Jackson’s voice carried through the almost-empty café.
“Hi.” Abram set his broom aside and took the box. “Thanks for getting the supplies for Susie. It’s made running this café so much easier.”
“Then it works for all of us.”
Susie peered out the pass-through. “Today’s special?”
“Please.”
“You got it, Jackson. Just take a seat.”
Abram took the box to the kitchen, and Jackson went to his usual table without noticing Skylar.
Cilla brought him a cup of coffee. “So how goes the sled building?”
“It’ll be a speed demon, and I’m hoping to do a trial run today. Care to give it a whirl?”
Cilla laughed. “Me? On something like that?” She walked off, cackling at the idea.
Skylar’s nerves were tap-dancing. Was she going to approach him or wait for him to do all the work? Before she could make herself budge, he glanced behind him, looking out the window at the snow, and spotted her. “Skylar.” He spoke her name with such frostiness that ice could’ve formed around them.
It was suddenly colder inside than out.
He was Abram’s friend and an asset to the café, and he’d been a lot of help to Susie.
She picked up her plate and mug and walked to his table. “May I?”
He rubbed his temple. “Actually…”
“Oh, come on. You’re fine letting me sit with you.” She sat. Then she fought with herself to apologize. “I’m sorry for coming unglued at you.”
“Thanks.”
She waited. He said nothing, and he kept his eyes on the register, the kitchen, anywhere except on her. “Is there something else I need to say, Jackson?”
“No, that covers plenty. We’re good. Let’s just let it go, okay?”
“I’d like that.” She took a sip of her tea. “So you build sleds?”
“Not from scratch, no.”
It was apparent he was uncomfortable, and she thought about letting him off the hook by wishing him well and taking her plate to the kitchen. But she couldn’t. Why was it so important that they work through this? Was it because she now realized that relationships mattered or because he was Abram’s friend or because he was a guy and she was currently without one? She needed to sort through her motivations, but she’d have to do that later.
“How then?”
His dark eyes stayed focused on the table. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry.” He rose. “Excuse me.”
When he started to walk toward the counter, she jumped up and moved in front of him. “Wait. What’s going on?”
He glanced at the customers. “This isn’t the time or place.”
“It is the time. Your friend is my brother, and my behavior toward you was unacceptable. We need to talk. Give me five minutes, either outside or in the loft, and then erect all the walls you want.”
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.”